‘What did you do to her?’
‘I asked first, Frank. I think you’d better answer me now.’
He glanced across at Nicky, who’d heard the entire conversation through the office speakers. He licked his lips. ‘Yes. Yes, we are interviewing your brother. Now tell me what you did to my daughter.’
‘I slapped her. Hard. With the phone. She didn’t seem to enjoy that. Perhaps I should do something else. Something even more harmful.’
‘No. No, you don’t have to do that, Violet.’
‘Ah, so you do know my name, then. I see.’ She paused, obviously considering this fresh information. ‘Well, no matter. You still don’t know the most important details. Such as where I’m keeping Sophie.’
Frank almost missed it. He was about to respond when the anomaly snagged. ‘Sophie?’ he said. For a further moment, the name didn’t strike any chords.
‘Did I say Sophie? I meant Laura, of course.’
Frank tossed the name about. Then he had it. ‘But you did say Sophie, Violet. Maybe it is her, after all. Perhaps you don’t have my daughter at all.’
The laugh that rattled down the line made Frank wince. ‘Don’t be absurd. Of course, it’s your little bitch of a daughter. Sophie left us a long time ago. She won’t be coming back.’
‘Violet … why did you call? What do you want from me?’
‘Larry, of course. I want my brother back, safe and sound. I get him, you get Laura.’
Frank shook his head. Telling this woman the facts of life wasn’t going to work. She had already proved she could be violent. Telling her now that her brother was going to stay behind bars and rot there for the rest of his life could only make matters worse. Frank had to stall, give himself some time.
‘That’s going to take some time to arrange, Violet. What you’re asking me to do is not all that easy, and I can’t make the decision on my own. I need a few days, at least.’
‘You’ve got twelve hours,’ she said. Then the line was dead in Frank’s hand.
‘Quite a family,’ Nicky said, slumping into a chair opposite his friend. He leaned back and shook his head despondently. ‘I thought that sick fuck downstairs was bad, but she sounds every bit as crazy.’
Frank nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, but is she as clever as him? She’s confused, badly disorientated. When she said she had Sophie, she really did mean her sister.’ He stroked his chin and closed his eyes. ‘Nicky … I get the terrible feeling that in her own way, she’s even more dangerous than her brother.’
‘Why? Because of what she just did to Laura?’
‘Partly. But he was content to toy with us, me in particular. The taunting was a pleasant distraction. The kind of violence he’s into is final, no coming back from it. When he means business it’s all over. Since snatching Laura he’s decided to fuck with minds, and obviously gets a real kick out of it. But his sister is not in control of herself like he is, therefore she’s more likely to do something stupid. Like hurt Laura badly … or worse.’
Nicky leaned forward. ‘Frank, I don’t want you jumping down my throat for saying this, but I think the time is right for you to come off this case. They’re using you, and it’s got you stuck between a rock and a hard place. You’re going to have a breakdown, because you’re emotional and you know we have fuck all to go on. Each hour that slips by will eat you up, mate. I don’t want that to happen.’
Frank thought about it. He knew how close he was to the edge, thoughts swimming in ever decreasing circles. Soon he wasn’t going to be of use to anyone. He admitted as much to Nicky.
‘But,’ he added, ‘I need to see this through as far as I can take it. Realistically, the only chance we have of finding them is to break that evil fucker downstairs. I’m the only one who can do that now.’
Nicky had to allow the argument. It was their only chance. ‘I’ll have someone contact BT to find out where that call came from. You never know. Meanwhile, are you ready to go back in there?’
‘Not really. But the clock is running.’
‘Twelve hours. You think she’d do something the moment her deadline is up?’
‘Yes I do,’ Frank nodded adamantly. ‘I think she’s the type to send us a finger or an ear or something equally repellent.’
Nicky stood up. His features were grim as he headed for the office door. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I think you could be right.’
61
‘How did you enjoy talking to my sister, Frank?’ was how Lawrence Swain resumed the interview.
Frank tried hard not to show his surprise. His eyes betrayed him this time, and the prisoner chuckled.
‘What makes you think I spoke to Violet?’
‘Frank, my dear fellow, neither of us is a fool. My sister’s no fool, either. It wouldn’t have taken her long to piece it together. What’s more, the good Chief Inspector Loizou’s face was all too easy to read.’
There was no point in denying the fact. Frank shrugged and said, ‘She wanted to know how you were.’
Swain’s eyes narrowed. For perhaps the first time since he’d been taken into custody he was showing some anger. ‘Don’t fuck with me, Frank. I thought we had some kind of an understanding. The smell of bullshit doesn’t appeal to me. Now, either you talk straight, or I stop listening.’
With enormous effort, Frank resisted the urge to strike out. The arrogance of the man was astounding. It didn’t matter that he was being held, that his clothes had been stripped off, that he had been subjected to a none-too-delicate body search, or that he had admitted to murdering innocent children, because as far as the madman was concerned he still held all the best cards.
Frank had to make an instant decision. He couldn’t think of a single reason to tell Swain about his sister’s deadline, but in the back of his mind, he wondered whether this was a prearranged plan in the event of Swain being captured. The trouble was, he didn’t want to tell the man a thing about it, didn’t want to give him any more reason to feel superior and secure.
‘Violet has given us a deadline,’ he said finally. ‘Either she has you back within twelve hours or she does something to Laura.’
‘Does what exactly?’ Swain asked, the beginning of a smile playing across his lips.
‘She didn’t specify.’
A frown. ‘How very disappointing. My dear sister is not as accustomed to boring into people’s minds as I am. Such a waste of a conversation. She could have tasted your pain, too. We could both have recalled it in our twilight years.’
‘You would have painted a picture for me.’
‘Most certainly. So where do we go from here, Frank?’ He sat back in the chair, the frame groaning beneath his weight.
‘You go nowhere. You stay right here.’
‘But your little girl, Frank. Your little precious, the fruit of your loins. What will become of her?’
‘I have no idea. Whatever the outcome, I’ll have to live with it. The simple fact is, even if I wanted to let you go, I don’t have the authority.’
‘And if you did …?’
Frank recalled Debbie asking the same question. ‘I still wouldn’t let a sick fuck like you back on the streets.’
Swain nodded appreciatively, eyebrows raised. ‘That’s honest enough. I admire that. Between us, my sister and I have fucked up your entire life, yet you stick to your principles.’
Frank shook his head, snorting contemptuously. ‘I wouldn’t let people like you ruin my life. I’d never give you that satisfaction. The most important thing is never allowing you to win. My family has been devastated, my daughter may yet die, but you will ultimately pay the price for your crimes. You and your sister both.’
Behind his back, the handcuffs rattled as Lawrence Swain gave a brief burst of mocking applause. ‘Bravo, Special Detective Rogers. A fine and noble speech, to be sure. But we both know what will actually happen. If I were in a country where the death penalty was still in existence, then indeed I might well pay the ultimate price. But we’re in England,
Frank. The last civilized country in the world, so it is said. Who am I to argue? No, I will either be placed into some kind of institution, where I will eventually convince any amount of head doctors that I am sane and able to be released back into society, or I will serve my time in solitude, with a colour TV, hi-fi, books, and just about anything my heart desires to keep me company. Whatever the outcome, the one thing you can be sure of is that I will not suffer for my crimes. Now, does that sound as if I’ll be paying the price?’
The terrible thing was, Frank knew the man was right. The punishment would never fit the crime, would never come anywhere near making amends for the wasted lives, the pain, the misery that Lawrence Swain had inflicted. But beneath the madman’s smug grin of self-satisfaction, there was something he had not considered: Frank would not allow him to go on living.
He couldn’t say for certain when he had arrived at that decision. It had always been his intention to kill the man if Laura perished, but now he was going to do it, whatever the outcome. In general, he was not altogether convinced about the need for a death penalty, but when you were dealing with a mind like this, you simply had to eradicate it completely.
‘Justice will be seen to be done,’ he said. ‘The deadline is irrelevant to this interview. So, shall we move on?’
‘By all means. It’s your time we’re wasting. Your little girl’s time. But listen, Frank, if I’m going to trust in you, I have to know you better. Why not tell me a little about yourself?’
‘Later. Maybe. If I choose to.’
But Swain was shaking his head and tut-tutting. ‘Oh, no, no, no, Frank. I thought we were agreed on this matter. You may have me handcuffed and incarcerated, but I still call the shots. You will tell me about yourself when I choose.’
‘Or you’ll say nothing at all.’
‘You’ve got it. But for now, I’m happy to continue.’
‘How considerate of you. So, back to taxidermy. How did you manage to get it right in the end?’
Swain gave a broad grin. ‘It was so easy. I merely telephoned a taxidermist, told him I was an author researching a new novel, and that I wanted to pick his brains. The man I spoke to was only too eager to impart his wisdom.’
‘So how was it done?’
‘Briefly, you take the skin off in one piece. Slit the carcass up the front or rear, between the legs up to the chin or back of the neck. With the arms, you cut from wrist to chest and across to the other wrist. Legs are slit from the ball of the foot up the thighs, around and back down again. There is little blood, because it will have coagulated by the time the first incision is made, so it’s not all that messy.
‘You sound as though you enjoyed yourself,’ Frank said, interrupting the flow of words.
‘And so I did. Very much. Once the skin is off, you then have to skin that …you know, get rid of the surplus, pare it down. Then it is placed in a bath filled with water and formaldehyde. While this is soaking, you take the flesh off the bones and then boil the bones. After, the bones can also be soaked in the bath. Later they are taken out to arrange once more into a skeleton. Onto the skeleton you must rebuild the shape of the muscles and that sort of thing. That was done by binding wood wool onto the bones to form a rough mannequin. Over this goes a mixture of papier mâché and plaster, to smooth and shape the muscles and develop the shape of the body more fully.
‘This takes two or three days to dry. When it is, the skin can be washed in undiluted formaldehyde and then sewn onto the mannequin. As this dries, it must be pinned because of the shrinkage. It takes roughly ten days to dry properly, depending on ventilation. When it’s ready, the pins come out and all the minor imperfections, stitches and cracks are filled in with beeswax.
‘The flesh is discoloured, of course. It’s a kind of green, off-white, and blue colour. To look right it must be made-up with cosmetics. Then the hair goes back in place. I use the real hair if I can. Finally, we pop in the glass eyes. Job done.’
Frank had hardly dared to breathe while the prisoner was speaking. He could just as easily have been talking about performing taxidermy on an animal or bird, and Frank found it almost impossible to imagine this happening to a human child. He sat looking at the monster for several moments, unnerved by Swain’s complete lack of compassion for his victims.
‘How many were successful?’ he asked eventually.
‘Three.’
‘And they’re at home still.’
‘Two of them. Where I can see them. Where they can see me. I gave you one.’
‘Of course. The formaldehyde … Where did you obtain it?’
‘Various places. Mostly farm suppliers.’
‘And the other materials are presumably just as easily purchased.’
‘Yes.’
‘Except for the eyes,’ Frank said as it came to him. ‘Not exactly the kind of item you pick up at your local Tesco.’
‘They can be found if you know where to look. Now then, Frank,’ Swain said, leaning forward. ‘Tell me, how did you feel when you saw Gary lying in the mortuary all cold and dead and useless?’
The sudden change of tack threw Frank for a moment or two. Swain was quick to latch on to his disorientation. ‘Come on, Frank. Picture his innocent little face, eyelids gummed together so they couldn’t spring open and shock you, no breath escaping his colourless lips, no heart beating beneath his ribs.’
Frank clamped his teeth together. Through them he hissed, ‘You bastard. You had no need … no right to take his life.’
‘No need, no right, just something to do, Frank. Some men like train-spotting, others enjoy a few pints and a game of pool with the lads. Me, I like masturbating over women who are being fucked, sticking something sharp into defenceless flesh, taking little girls out into the dark night and scaring the crap out of them. These are a few of my favourite things.’
Frank stood up and moved away from the table. He rested his forearm on the brick wall and leaned against it. He felt the acrid taste of bile rising up into his gorge, and his entire body seemed as if it were jerking, spasm after spasm, wave after wave of anger so black it fogged his vision. Behind him, Swain hummed softly to himself.
Frank wheeled. From where he stood he glared across at Swain. ‘Your father masturbated over Violet’s face as he watched you and her fucking, didn’t he?’
The question didn’t require an answer. Frank just knew.
‘He came into your room at night and took Violet out, and you always thought he would put her in the cupboard with Sophie. And whenever he felt like it he would cut you, cut Sophie, cut Violet. And he would use a tool from his carpenter’s kit to do it with.’
Lawrence Swain jerked back in his chair as though physically stunned by the tirade of words. His eyes narrowed menacingly. ‘Don’t think you can fuck with my mind, Frank. Believe me, you don’t want to join me here in this kind of darkness.’
Frank held his gaze. ‘There are many degrees of darkness, Swain. You have no idea how dark a world I’m prepared to inhabit if it gets me what I want.’
‘But you would need some light to guide your way back. Without it you could lose yourself in there for good. That’s the difference between us, Frank: I don’t need to come back.’
‘Perhaps not. But I can come deep enough to reach you. As deep as I need.’
‘Nothing can get through to me. Nothing at all. When I’m attacked I simply clear my mind and enter a different world. A world of aesthetic wonder, where the likes of Wilde are not vilified because of their sexual preferences. A world I can actually go to any time I like because I can create it with my bare hands. Laura’s been there, Frank. She’s seen my other world, been a part of it.’
His eyes were big and round and bulging with a rage he was desperately trying to control.
The two men stared at each other for some time, neither willing to break the contact first. But then Frank let the twisted bastard enjoy a moment of juvenile victory.
‘Interview suspended,’ he barked. ‘Frank Rogers
leaving the room. Prisoner to be taken back to his cell.’
Puzzled, Swain shifted angrily on his seat. ‘You can’t leave now,’ he cried. ‘I was just warming up. There’s so much more where that came from, Frank. Let me tell you about Laura. Let me tell you about how I—’
But he was talking to an open door, two burly constables filling the empty space. ‘Come back here, Frank!’ he roared, as the two policemen took hold of him. ‘Come and hear all about how I punished your daughter for trying to escape. Hear how I tore her apart, Frank.’
Swain’s voice seemed to follow Frank as he fled along the corridor and up the stairs two at a time. The monster’s taunts echoed in his head as fresh tears blurred his vision.
62
They sat in the doll’s house, Violet lying on her side on the single bed, Laura perched on the edge of the chair directly opposite. Since her desperate and ultimately futile attempt at escape, Laura had been waiting patiently to die. The man had laughed at her tears of frustration, then he had left her alone with the promise that he would kill her upon his return from a business trip. He had made the threat so casually that Laura was convinced of its sincerity.
She was going to die.
Time had passed quickly at first. Now that she had light spearing into the room, she was able to follow the passage of the day. She was a little surprised when no food came at midday, but decided that he was punishing her. She fully expected him to come for her before twilight, but then dusk came, followed by the kind of city darkness that is never complete. And still he hadn’t shown. Even the woman had not come into the room.
Laura slept badly that night, but was amazed that she had managed to sleep at all. Daylight again. The sun was rising on the other side of her prison, and she watched as the shadows grew shorter. Hunger pains gnawed at her stomach. At one point, she wondered whether this was the way he’d intended to kill her, by starving her to death. But even at her tender age, Laura was aware that a man like her captor needed death to be violent and bloody and personal.
Degrees of Darkness Page 32
