by Shaun Hutson
Then, finally, he turned and strode back towards the waiting cortège.
Behind him, the birds began singing in the trees.
Carter held the black suit before him on the hanger, plucking a stray hair from the collar. Then he opened the wardrobe door and replaced it among his other clothes.
Harrison had told him to take the rest of the day off despite the fact that Carter didn't much feel like being cooped up inside his flat alone after the funeral. He returned to the small dwelling in Finsbury, showered and then went for a walk.
His seemingly aimless ramblings took him back towards Islington, towards the street where he and his brother had lived most of their lives but when he reached the street he hesitated and turned back, wandering home again. He spent the evening in front of the TV and dropped off to sleep, a bottle of vodka beside him, a glass gripped in his hand.
By the time he woke the sun had fallen behind the jagged skyline of the capital, flooding the twilight sky with crimson, until the heavens resembled a floor cloth soaked in blood. And with the evening came a chill.
Carter pulled on a sweatshirt. He'd jammed the Smith and Wesson 9mm in his belt at the back, the weapon hidden by the folds of his sweatshirt. He stood before the full length mirror in his bedroom, twisting and turning, making sure that the weapon couldn't be seen. When he was satisfied that it was invisible, he wandered back into the sitting room and poured himself another glass of vodka, swallowing half the fiery liquid in one gulp.
The strident ringing of the phone startled him.
He shook his head, as if trying to clear the fog which shrouded his brain, then he crossed to the phone and picked it up.
'Hello.'
'Ray
He recognised her voice immediately and allowed himself a smile.
'Tina. What's wrong?' he asked, the smile suddenly fading.
'Nothing. I wanted to know how you were,' she told him.
'I've been better,' he told her.
'I didn't get a chance to say anything to you this afternoon.'
'Nothing needed to be said. It's over now.' He changed the subject. 'Where's Frank? You're taking a risk calling me.'
'I'm not expecting him until later. I had to speak to you, find out how you were. I wish I could be with you.'
'If you come you'd better bring a bottle,' he said humourlessly. 'The one I've got's nearly empty.' He glanced at the bottle of Smirnoff and at his glass.
'Will I see you tonight?' she wanted to know.
'I don't think that would be a good idea, especially if you're expecting Frank. I'll probably end up in the same hole as Jim if he finds out.' He paused for a moment. 'Tomorrow maybe.'
Silence.
'Tina?'
He heard sounds of movement at the other end of the phone.
Carter frowned.
The phone went dead.
Eleven
She hadn't heard the key in the lock.
Hadn't heard the door swing open.
Only when he pushed it closed behind him did Tina realize that Frank Harrison had walked into her flat.
She turned and smiled at him, trying to hide her fear, praying that he hadn't overheard. At the same time she pressed down on the cradle of the phone, severing the connection.
`Frank,' she beamed with practised sincerity. 'I wasn't expecting you this early.' She replaced the receiver and moved away from it.
'I thought I'd surprise you,' Harrison told her, the bouquet of roses held in one hand so that it bore more resemblance to a club than an offering of affection. He smiled but the gesture never touched his eyes. He held the flowers out before him, as if daring her to take them for him.
She took a pace forward, reaching for the bouquet.
`They're beautiful,' she said, preparing to take the offering.
Instead, Harrison jerked them back from her grasp and gripped her wrist with his free hand, pulling her close to him.
'If you're that pleased with them then prove it,' he said, smiling even more broadly. But, on Harrison's craggy features, the exaggerated smile looked like a mockery of emotion. As genuine as the greasepaint grin of a circus clown.
Tina felt a twinge of fear as his vice-like grip tightened on her wrist. She swallowed hard and leant forward to kiss him.
'Frank, you're hurting me,' she told him.
Still that grin remained plastered across his features like some vile rictus.
He dropped the flowers and snaked his other arm around her waist, pressing her lower body against his groin.
Through the thin material of her skirt she felt the beginnings of his erection pressing into her. He kissed her fiercely, still keeping hold of her wrist, squeezing so tightly now that her fingers began to tingle. She felt his tongue pressing against her lips, trying to force its way inside her mouth and, reluctantly, she allowed him to experience that delight but her response was muted. The pain from her wrist was becoming intense.
She shook loose and looked at him angrily.
`You're hurting my wrist, Frank,' she told him and, with infinite slowness, he released it, revealing white indentations where his finger-tips had been. He held her with his other arm, though, still pinning her to him, enjoying the feel and smell of her body, savouring the build up of his own excitement.
He stroked her long hair, finally winding it into strands, gripping those strands, pulling gently at first.
Then harder.
Harder.
She wore only a thin blouse and skirt and as he tilted her head back he could see her nipples straining darkly against the material.
He kept his grip on her hair but eased her head forward once more, kissing her nose.
She smiled convincingly.
Harrison continued to grin.
`Who were you calling?' he asked, softly, his voice low but full of menace.
`A friend of mine;' she told him, feeling the pressure on her scalp increase slightly as he pulled on her hair again.
`Anyone I know?' he enquired.
`I doubt it,' she said, trying to ease her head forward to relieve the pressure as he continued to pull.
'How do you know?' he asked. 'I know a lot of people.'
He held her wrist once more, pushing her hand down so that it was behind her back, allowing him to hold both her arms simultaneously. Then, still with that grin plastered across his face, he began unbuttoning the buttons of her blouse.
Tina stiffened, her eyes fixed on Harrison's face.
'So, who were you calling, sweetheart?' he wanted to know, undoing another button.
'I told you, lover, just a friend,' she explained, trying to inject a note of softness to her voice, to banish the hint of fear which hovered there.
'Male or female?' he persisted, opening her blouse and revealing her breasts. He cupped one in his hand, rubbing it hard, scraping his palm across the nipple which hardened despite her anxiety.
Tina swallowed hard and pushed herself against Harrison, allowing him to explore her upper body more fully. She began to grind her crotch against his leg, hoping that her display of passion would distract him enough to divert him from this line of interrogation.
'It isn't important is it?' she said, feeling his erection grow more prominent.
'After what happened the other night in the restaurant you should be careful who you talk to,' he told her, still rubbing her breasts hard. In fact, his attentions were becoming a little too intense. She felt his nails rake the soft flesh of her breast and held back the whimper of pain. He left three bright red grazes just above her nipple.
'Did I hurt you?' he said softly, almost mockingly, finally releasing her arms.
She pulled away from him, quickly fastening her blouse.
'Bashful all of a sudden?' he said, watching as she brushed her hands over the material.
'We're supposed to be going out tonight aren't we?' Tina reminded him, heading for the bathroom.
Harrison crossed to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whisky. He found
a glass and poured himself a large measure.
Harrison looked towards the door of the bathroom and heard the sound of the shower sputtering into life.
'Where are we going?' Tina called.
The gang boss didn't answer, he merely glanced at the phone then back at the door.
'Frank, I said where are we going tonight?' she called again, raising her voice to make herself heard over the running water.
'Perhaps we should stay here,' he said. 'It might be safer. If somebody took one crack at me then they might try it again.'
'You can't hide, Frank. They'll think you're afraid.'
Harrison strode towards the bathroom, the drink still in his hand. He tugged back the shower curtain and gazed in at Tina who almost screamed, startled at the sudden intrusion.
'I'm not afraid,' he hissed, watching as the water coursed off her body.
She stood beneath the spray feeling suddenly frightened.
Harrison watched the water running in warn rivulets down her body, from her wet hair over her shoulders and firm breasts, across her lean, fiat stomach. Through her triangle of pubic hair and down her slim legs.
They stood like that for long seconds until Harrison took a step backwards to sit on the stool in one comer of the large bathroom.
Tina reached forward to pull the shower curtain across again.
'Leave it,' snapped Harrison, his eyes still fixed on her. 'Finish your shower.' That infernal grin was beginning to form on his face once more.
Tina finished washing hurriedly and stepped from the shower, drying herself with a towel as Harrison watched.
'I was thinking about you too,' he said, swigging from the glass of whisky. 'You could have been killed when that bomb went off. I don't want that happening again.'
Tina dried her hair then wrapped the big bath towel around her. She padded into the bedroom and sat down at her dressing table, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, glancing towards the bathroom door every so often. Harrison emerged a moment later, a cigarette jammed between his lips, the tumbler still gripped in one large hand. Tina pulled a pair of curling tongs from a drawer and set them on one side to heat up.
Harrison moved to within a couple of feet of her, gazing hypnotically at her, finally catching her eye in the reflection in the glass.
'I think it'd be better if we stayed here tonight,' he said, moving closer, snaking one hand into the damp mass of her hair. 'Just to be on the safe side.'
She felt him touching the back of her neck with his free hand then he put the whisky glass down and began massaging her shoulders. She reached up to touch his hands as his grip grew a little too strong. Again the briefest glimmer of fear flickered across her eyes.
She heard his breathing become harsher as he rubbed and stroked her neck more frenziedly, one of his hands finally sliding forward beneath the towel to grip her right breast. He squeezed hard and she groaned as she felt his nails scratch her once more in that most delicate place. He pulled the towel free, exposing her nakedness, his excitement now almost uncontrollable. She felt his penis straining against his trousers, pressing into her back.
And still he held her firm by the back of the neck as a dog might hold a rabbit.
Tina squirmed as she saw and felt his thick fingers slither round to her throat where he now stroked and squeezed.
'I wish you'd tell me who you were talking to on the phone, sweetheart,' he crooned, his hand tightening on her throat, his other hand kneading her breast roughly. 'We shouldn't have secrets from each other you know.' He released her breast and began fumbling with the zip of his trousers, finally pulling out his swollen organ which he rubbed against her smooth back. She felt the clear fluid oozing from the head, smearing her skin and she did her best to hide her disgust, more concerned about the force with which he was holding her neck. His fingers dug more deeply into her flesh.
`Tell me who it was,' he whispered, turning her round so that her face was level with his groin, so that she was gaping at his throbbing stiffness.
She reached forward and eased his trousers and underpants over his hips, closing her right hand over his shaft, feeling his strong hand pushing her towards his rampant member.
'Who were you talking to?' he rasped, the softness all but gone from his voice.
'I told you, a friend,' she insisted.
He gripped her by the hair and dragged her up so that she was looking into his face. His eyes blazed wildly.
Tina yelped in pain and tried to struggle free of his grip but he merely twisted her long hair around his fist until she feared the golden strands would be tom from her scalp.
'I know you'd never lie to me,' he said, breathing whisky fumes in her face.
'Frank, for God's sake...' she whimpered, the pain now forcing tears from her eyes. She beat at his chest, aware still of his erection throbbing against her.
'You wouldn't lie to me, would you?' he whispered venomously.
'No,' she blurted, tears now running down her cheeks.
He reached for the curling tongs, now almost unbearably hot. He could feel the searing heat as he gripped them, bringing them close to her face.
`Frank, please ...' The words trailed off as he jerked her head back savagely.
He moved the blistering hot tongs closer to her face and she tried to wrench her head to one side to escape the heat.
'We have to trust each other,' he said, moving the tongs away from her face, further down her body. She felt the heat close to her shoulder then her breast.
Tina was on the verge of screaming. Her breath came in racking sobs and although she tried to speak her throat was dry and constricted.
He passed the tongs close to her nipple. Unbearably close. The swollen bud contracted as the overheated tool missed it by a fraction of an inch.
'I love you,' he said flatly, parting her legs with his knee.
She felt the heat of the tongs between her legs, the searing warmth close to her thighs. Then, with renewed terror, she felt the scorching hotness moving near to her vagina. It hovered there like some blazing penis, held by Harrison's unwavering hand.
'You know I love you, don't you?' he said, glaring at her. 'Don't you?'
She tried to nod her head but his powerful hold on her hair prevented that simple gesture. She was only aware of the blistering heat so close to her pubic mound.
'You wouldn't ever try to leave me would you?' he continued. 'We need each other, especially now.' His own voice was low, thick and mucoid.
He smiled.
'We belong together. I want everyone to know that.'
It was only a fraction of a second.
Less than the time it takes to blink.
He pressed the tongs against her left thigh, close to the soft curls of her pubic hair.
Tina screamed, both from the sudden excruciating pain and from the shock of being released.
Harrison pushed her towards the bed where she lay on her back, unconsciousness slipping over her, the burn on her inner thigh already glistening red. Throbbing as it swelled into a blister the size of a finger-nail.
Harrison was upon her immediately, his face between her legs, lapping at the burn as a cat would lap at milk.
Tina sobbed as she felt his tongue flicking at the red, swollen area. He finally raised his head, that insane grin still on his face.
'My mark,' he said, chuckling. 'That means you're mine. It's important that everyone knows you're mine. We need each other. We need to trust each other.'
He slid between her legs, his penis nudging against her cleft.
'Love me,' he whispered and drove into her.
The room was silent but for the ticking of the clock and Frank Harrison's low grunting as he slept.
Tina lay on her back, gazing up at the ceiling, listening to Harrison's rasping snores.
She finally pulled herself out of bed, wincing as she felt a stab of pain between her legs. Tentatively, she pressed her fingertips to the small blister which had formed on her inner thigh, hissin
g as she touched the pustule a little too hard. She crossed to the bathroom door, tugged the light cord and fumbled in the medicine cabinet for the bottle of TCP. Soaking a piece of cotton wool she dabbed at the blister, wincing as she did so.
Tina glanced back at the sleeping form of Harrison, remembering how he had burned her, how he had used her body. She gritted her teeth, the pain she was feeling slowly replaced by anger.
There was a safety razor in the cabinet, along with some spare blades.
Blades.
She looked at them, then back at Harrison who had rolled on to his back, his mouth open.
How easy it would be, she thought. How easy to take one of the blades and slit his throat.
He grunted and began snoring even more loudly.
She looked at the razor blades again.
So easy.
No, she told herself. Not now.
Not yet.
She pulled the cord, plunging the room back into darkness.
There would be another time, Tina thought.
Soon.
Twelve
The door from the cells swung open and two uniformed policemen walked briskly through into Number One court.
Behind them came Jonathan Crawford.
Those occupants of the public gallery turned, as one, to gaze at the young man who had just entered the room.
Mr Thomas Briggs QC gave the defendant only a cursory glance.
Crawford took the stand with all the nonchalance of a superstar making another comeback, enjoying the attention which had been lavished upon him. The stories about him and the murders he'd committed (although Crawford preferred to think of them as executions) still occupied the front pages of most newspapers. It was a notoriety which he found pleasing. The packed public gallery was further proof of the continued interest which his exploits aroused. He regarded the rows of faces impassively, almost disdainfully.
Jonathan Crawford was in his twenty-fifth year. A tall, gangling youth but one who displayed no signs of the clumsiness or awkwardness of some who, like he, approached almost six feet four in height. He was on the thin side of lean; the prison overalls which he wore were woefully short in the sleeves, the trousers too large. His dark hair reached as far as his collar which was open, allowing room for his overly-large Adam's apple. He regarded the occupants of the court from beneath heavy eyebrows and a lined forehead. His eyes sparkled mischievously, darting back and forth with something akin to excited expectation.
