Rabiot shrugged, “I remember her screaming for Jeff but seriously, how would I know? I left them there, in the farmhouse, covered up with an old length of carpet that I found lying about. They’re probably still there, stinking the place out, by now.”
“You speak about this stuff like you saw it in a film.”
“I tell you, when I was a kid, not more than seven or eight, I was mucking about in the bush with some friends. I’d lifted a gun from my old man’s cabinet. We came across a cat and I figured it’d be fun if I shot it. It screeched like nothing I’d heard before, ran around in circles for at least ten minutes, before it died. Funniest thing I’d ever seen but when I looked at my friends, they were horrified. One of the girls threw up, right there.”
“Is there a moral to that story?”
“I learned something, that day, and it’s seen me right ever since.”
“Which was?”
“Never let people know who you are or what you’re thinking. I’m different to people like them, people like you.”
“No argument from me,” Caslin said. “What about Natalie? You said things changed.”
“Yeah. With hindsight, she was probably a mistake. Too close to home.”
“Complacent? You broke your own rules?”
Rabiot nodded, “I should’ve known better. I never act on impulse. I’ve spent years planning, scouting locations, planting my kill-boxes-”
“Kill boxes?” Caslin asked.
“Old recon trick. I stash equipment around the country, buried in fields, others off of laybys, remote but reachable. I can prep a weapon, place it in an airtight container and it’ll still be ready to fire when I come back to it, even years off. Anything else I need, cable ties, rope, bleach, are all there.”
“Bleach?”
“Or drain cleaner, whatever was easy to hand. Wipes out the DNA. The less I travel with, the more likely I am to pass unnoticed. Turn the mobile off, use only cash. I may as well be a ghost, in and out before anyone realises someone was ever there.”
“This time, with Natalie?”
“Too impulsive. I saw her. I wanted her, so I took her. Nice girl. I enjoyed her company, albeit briefly.” The callous tone left Caslin certain that he was facing a sociopath.
“The ransom?”
“Spur of the moment. Too good an opportunity to miss-”
“You’re out of work…and you have a family to feed.” The last comment seemed to strike a chord as the mask of determination faded, if only slightly. Caslin couldn’t drop his guard. Rabiot was talkative but both men knew this was merely a pause. “You broke your own rule. That was risky.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Finding out who she was and the next day, going back and rigging that photograph took a bit of doing but it worked.”
“You have a family of your own, you have a daughter. Did you think of her when you set out on all of this?”
“Leave them out of it,” Rabiot retorted. Caslin sensed he had found the chink in the armour.
“Can’t though, can we?” he countered. “How do you think all this is going to affect her when it comes out, her school friends…your wife?”
“I told you to leave them out of it!” Rabiot snapped. He lunged forward, scrambling unceremoniously over the table between them, startling Caslin with a vicious attack that he only just managed to fend off.
The fight was joined once more, Caslin endeavouring to hold his ground. Such was the sustained nature of the assault that he found the respite had been of little benefit. Deflecting blow after blow, he found himself back-pedalling faster than he had space to manoeuvre into. In the corner of his eye, he saw Alison crawling towards the entrance. Backing away, deeper into the room, he took a calculated gamble and put their attacker between them, enabling her to reach the door unobserved.
Caslin was momentarily relieved to see her reach safety but that proved short-lived, for Rabiot was upon him, in a heartbeat. Once at the rear wall, there was nowhere else to go and he found himself pinned against it, a blade at his throat. Checkmate.
“I thought that this might end with the two of us, together,” Rabiot whispered to Caslin, “but it wasn’t supposed to happen yet. I underestimated you.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Caslin replied genuinely, trying not to convey the terror that he now felt.
“We’re leaving, you and me.”
Caslin blinked, “You think I’m going to walk out with you?” Rabiot stepped back but held the blade before him, well within striking distance of Caslin’s face.
“Yes, I do,” he said calmly.
The entrance doors were thrown open, DCI Inglis in the lead. Rabiot grasped Caslin by the shoulder and spun him around, using him as a shield, brandishing the knife close to his throat.
“Mark Rabiot!” Inglis barked. “This is over.”
“That’s my decision, not yours,” Rabiot countered. “Back off.”
“You’re not leaving here,” Inglis said flatly as Rabiot inched forward, pushing Caslin before him.
“Easy for you to say, Guv,” Caslin muttered quietly, the distance between them closing. Rabiot nudged Caslin forward almost to arm’s length but kept the blade touching the base of his skull. With his free hand, Rabiot reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an object. Caslin saw Inglis’ resolve falter and the accompanying officer looked across for guidance, his Taser trained on the advancing pair. Rabiot held the grenade aloft for all, except Caslin, to see before using his teeth to remove the pin. He spat it to the floor. Caslin noted it and raised his eyes heavenward.
“What do I do, Sir?” the constable asked.
“Put the knife down,” Inglis instructed Rabiot. “Give it up. There’s no need for anyone else to die here, today.”
“Move aside or I promise you, we will all die,” Rabiot said evenly, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around Caslin, returning the point of the knife to his throat. No one present was in any doubt that he meant what he said.
“We can’t do that,” Inglis said but his tone implied a lack of faith in that pronouncement.
“Where’s my brother?” Caslin asked quietly, turning his head sideways to look at his abductor.
“Shut up,” Rabiot replied. “I said back off!” he shouted at Inglis, who stood his ground, barring the exit.
“What do we tell your daughter?” Caslin asked.
“I told you to shut up,” Rabiot hissed.
“Simple question, Mark. You may never see her again. What should we tell her?”
Rabiot hesitated for a fraction of a second but it was enough. Caslin brought his forearm up, under Rabiot’s, brushing the blade away. Twisting his body, he levered himself away from the Australian’s flailing grasp. The moment was seized and the constable discharged his Taser. Caslin shrieked as the two were momentarily still in contact when the darts struck home. On this occasion, the weapon delivered more of a blow, bringing Rabiot to his knees. He screamed in pain but was far from incapacitated. Caslin lurched away, trying to run but found his legs unsupportive and he faltered. Inglis looped one arm under his and practically hurled both men towards the door. Firm hands seized him from the other side, as the constable also took hold, dragging him forward. The three officers clattered through the double doors and into the corridor beyond. Such was their pace, off balance, they stumbled over each other, colliding and crashing to the floor. Inglis landed atop Caslin, who exhaled heavily as he impacted the ground. An attempt to draw breath proved futile as a sensational force struck him, forcing him down. Fighting for air, he found none to be had, as a wave of heat washed over him and he clamped his eyes shut, silently screaming until it passed.
As quickly as it began, it was over. Caslin gasped for breath. The relief of the oxygen was surpassed by the acrid smell, taste and subsequent coughing that came with it. To his left, Inglis was up on his haunches, coughing in spasm, a swirl of dark smoke passing about him. Caslin tried not to but his body forced him to draw breath, this time in smaller volume, only to
reject it once more. Feeling something trickling down the side of his face, he tentatively inspected it. Despite finding it wet and sticky he was unable to process what had happened. Looking to his right he saw the uniformed officer, on one knee, bracing himself against the wall. He was mouthing something to him but Caslin couldn’t make it out. There was blood running from his ear. His own were ringing, impossibly loud, and he reached up with one hand to find his head too sensitive to touch.
Rolling onto his side, Caslin levered himself up onto one elbow, amongst the debris and looked back towards the pathology lab. The smoke was still thick but beginning to dissipate as a draught pulled it through the building. The doors were missing, the frames warped and twisted at a peculiar angle. He could make out no detail beyond them for everything was shrouded in a veil of darkness.
“Now it’s over,” he said aloud but no-one heard the words.
Chapter 26
“You have a mild concussion, nothing to be too concerned about,” the doctor told him. Caslin gingerly probed the left side of his body with his fingers.
“Forgive me if I disagree,” he replied, wincing as he pressed too hard.
The doctor smiled, “The x-rays show three fractures to your ribs. Your bruising will develop further over the next couple of days and they’ll be sensitive for a time but other than that, there’ll be no lasting damage. You were lucky.” Caslin nodded his agreement but, sitting in a triage cubicle at York hospital, he felt far from it. The last he remembered was his attempt to stand, following the explosion in Dr Taylor’s pathology lab. The next he knew he was waking in an ambulance heading for the hospital. “I see no need for you to stay in overnight, unless you feel any significant change in your pain levels, nausea or vomiting. Come back to us, if you do. In the meantime, I’ll prescribe you some pain relief to tide you over.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Caslin replied, annoyed with himself for the flash of anticipation within him upon hearing the last. DCS Broadfoot, concern etched onto his face, arrived as the curtain to the cubicle was drawn back. Despite the apparent conclusion to the case, he still carried an air of apprehension about him, as if the weight was yet to lift. That struck Caslin as odd, for Broadfoot was the archetypal man-manager and consummate politician, always seemingly at ease with himself, no matter what pressure was put upon him.
“Good to see you, Nathaniel,” he said, extending his hand. Caslin took it. “You’re in better shape than I was expecting.”
“The others?” Caslin asked.
“Well enough,” Broadfoot offered. Caslin observed his grave expression. “I’m afraid that PC Markson didn’t pull through.” That news wasn’t a surprise to him.
“I didn’t know him particularly well.”
“Married, two young children,” Broadfoot said solemnly, answering the perceived question.
“Is Alison okay?” Broadfoot’s demeanour shifted, taking on a more upbeat tone.
“Yes, Dr Taylor needed treatment for a head injury but I’ve been reassured that she’ll make a full recovery. Lucky woman. What with you and John turning up when you did.” There was that word again, Caslin thought. “What drew you to her, this morning?”
Caslin shook his head and shrugged, “I hadn’t warned her. We knew that he was following me, possibly targeting those near to me and it didn’t cross my mind until today, that he may have seen us together.”
“You’re close, the two of you?” Caslin took the measure of the question. The last he wanted was to become the focus of station gossip, at least no more than he already was.
“No, not really. We had a meal whilst going over her findings on Melissa Brooke, that’s all. Probably why-”
“It slipped your mind to warn her,” Broadfoot finished.
“Exactly,” Caslin agreed. “Stupid oversight, really.”
“It’s probably a reasonable one. Don’t beat yourself up too much, Nathaniel. Plenty of time to analyse all of this, in the coming days,” Broadfoot said. He looked away from him at that point and Caslin was momentarily fearful of what was coming next. “We haven’t had any joy in the search for your brother, as of yet. That’s not to say that we won’t, mind you. I have Hunter leading a team over at Rabiot’s house, as we speak. They’ll take it apart looking for any indication of where Stefan might be.” Caslin appreciated the focus shifting to the search for his brother.
“Thank you, Sir. If there’s anything, I’m sure she’ll find it.”
“I’ve every confidence in her and the team. We’re treating Stefan as if he were one of our own. Have you spoken with your father?”
Caslin shook his head, “No, he’ll likely be out for a while yet but I’ll call in on him when we’re through here, make sure there hasn’t been a change in his condition.”
“Don’t let me hold you up,” Broadfoot said, making to leave. “I’ll touch base with you later, to arrange a debrief.”
Caslin picked his jacket up from the end of the bed, dusting it off with the palm of his hand. The mixed aroma of smoke along with the grenade’s cordite, was strong upon it. He threw it across his arm rather than put it on. Leaving the cubicle, his thoughts turned to his brother and what had become of him. Choosing to think positively, going against all empirical experience, he racked his brains to figure out where Rabiot could have taken him. With a twisted sociopath, he was in no doubt that Rabiot was such a person, there were no end to the possibilities nor the motives for abducting his brother. Tears welled in his eyes and he fought to suppress the avalanche of emotion, threatening to overwhelm him. They hadn’t been close for many years but family duty and blood ties, were forged in steel. The sense of guilt, of being the one among them who should’ve been in a position to protect his family, weighed heavily upon him.
Leaving A and E, he walked to the lifts. His side was sore and he felt lightheaded so ignoring the stairs were justified, on this occasion. Pressing the button to call the lift, he played over their confrontation, in his mind. There must have been something that was said, at the very least a hint, of what he had done with Stefan. Mulling over the timeline, as the doors opened with a chime, he realised that Rabiot had a narrow window in which to leave with Stefan and take him somewhere else, let alone dispose of his body. There were only a few hours between the abduction and Rabiot’s sighting, by Caslin, at the hospital. Where could he have been and how far could he have gone, in the intervening time? The abduction implied that Rabiot wanted him alive, for whatever purpose. Therefore, the logic would follow that his brother was still alive. Dr Taylor had been knocked out with chloroform, perhaps Stefan was given the same treatment or was restrained in some other way. Why though, with the perfect opportunity to do so, hadn’t Rabiot inflicted an emotional blow by revealing or implying, the nature of his brother’s fate?
Once the lift ascended to the third floor, the doors parted and Caslin stepped out. He was buzzed through the security entrance to his father’s ward, one he had not visited previously. The events of the night before had seen the closure of much of the ICU, for it was still a crime scene. In the meantime, those patients who could be moved had been transferred to nearby facilities. There was still an armed policeman standing outside his father’s room and Caslin brandished his warrant card, despite being recognised on sight, and was bidden entry.
He felt a crushing blow, observing his father lying in the bed, pale and gaunt. His shallow breathing pattern, along with the regular accompaniment of a beep from a monitor, all there was to indicate he was still with them. His face was badly swollen with areas of deep blue and black, symptomatic of the beating that he had taken at the hands of Rabiot. Even were his father not in a medically-induced coma, it was doubtful he’d be able to open his eyes, such was his physical condition. Pulling the visitor’s chair as close as he dared without fear of interfering with the equipment, Caslin sat down. Leaning forward, elbows to his knees, he put his head in his hands and closed his eyes, looking to the floor. The only time in memory that he’d felt this helpless had be
en the day Karen asked him to leave, his marriage and career in tatters. Reaching out, he placed a hand on his father’s forearm. There was no response but he hadn’t expected one.
Turning his thoughts back to Rabiot, Caslin tried once more to make sense of what motivated the abduction. He had goaded Caslin, pointing out his lack of knowledge about those people closest to him. It was true that he’d underestimated the dangers they were exposed to. Having discovered the wall of pictures detailing his own prominence in the case, he should have reacted differently. There had been a collective failure in understanding the threat. Looking at his father, the guilt washed over him in a tsunami effect.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said quietly. “I should have known better.” There was a knock on the door and he glanced sideways. The officer outside held the door open, indicating another visitor. It was Alison Taylor. She inclined her head slightly to check it was okay to enter. He beckoned her in with a weak smile.
“Kyle told me you’d be here,” she said coming to stand alongside him. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
Caslin shook his head, noting she was on first-name terms with the Chief Super, “Of course not. It’s good to see you.” She reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Instinctively, he moved his hand to meet hers. “I’m sorry that I brought you into all this.”
“Nonsense,” she replied. “He brought me into it. If you hadn’t come when you did-”
“We should’ve known…I…should’ve known, you were at risk.”
“How could you possibly? Men like him are few and far between, thankfully,” she said. He rose from the chair, offering her his seat. She made to decline but he insisted.
“I was coming to see you, once I had visited my father. How are you?”
“I’ve one hell of a headache but I’ll be okay, Nate,” she said confidently. He observed the dressing on the side of her head.
“How is it?” he asked, eyeing the area.
“Fourteen stitches,” she replied with only the hint of a smile, before continuing, “but I’m alive. Largely, thanks to you.”
Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2) Page 27
