by Tania Carver
And the Golem.
He stood in the corner by the door. Still, silent. His body motionless, his face blank, his eyes hidden by shadow. Like an automaton waiting for a new instruction. Her eyes trailed over him. A very handsome, well-sculpted automaton. Even with the grey skin. In fact the grey skin made him even more interesting.
Michael was engrossed in the laptop. Dee moved away and left him to it. She walked slowly round the room, supposedly without purpose, eventually fetching up next to the Golem. She looked at him closely. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, the fabric pulled tight over his honed torso. She felt that familiar ache, that tingling in her groin. The Golem didn’t look at her, gave no acknowledgement that she was even there. That just intensified the ache.
When she felt this way — which was often — she had to be satisfied. There was nothing sophisticated about it, nothing civilised. It was just a physical craving, an animal lust that needed sating. Like a basic need, food to stave off hunger. Her mind would absent itself, her body would take over and she wouldn’t stop until she had had enough. Usually Michael could satisfy it, but if he wasn’t there, she had to find other methods. Other people.
And a grey-skinned killer would do just fine.
She licked her lips. Reached out a hand. Traced the line of his bicep with her finger. He turned to her as she did so. His eyes looking straight into hers. She felt her heart stepping up in her chest as she smiled in what she hoped was an inviting way. Anticipating what was to come.
She kept stroking, pressing harder.
He kept looking at her.
‘Nice … ’ she said, her finger still moving. ‘Strong … ’
Eyes still locked, she bit her bruised lip hard, enjoying the pain. She worked her teeth round, drew blood. Bit down harder. Felt the taste of hot pennies in her mouth. Hot, wet pennies. She ran her tongue round her teeth, opened her lips, smiled, her red-stained teeth glistening.
He stared at her eyes, her teeth. Then, impassively, looked away.
His response was emotionless, but that made it all the more dismissive. She should have felt shamed, humiliated by it. She did. And that just made the tingling, the ache, stronger.
‘You’re a robot,’ she said, her voice low, slushy with blood, ‘a big human robot.’ She giggled. ‘You’re all power. Scary.’ Her breathing grew faster. ‘Would you make me fear you? If I let you?’ She moved in closer. ‘Would you?’
He said nothing. Her fingers traced down the side of his body, down his hard torso.
‘What if I begged—’
‘Dee.’
She looked up. Michael had stopped work on the laptop and was staring at her. He didn’t look happy. This wasn’t part of the game.
Head down, she crossed the floor, stood beside him.
‘What d’you say?’
‘Sorry.’ Her voice a small, breathy whisper.
He turned back to the laptop. Dee felt she should give it her attention too. She looked at the screen. And in that shiny surface she saw not what she was supposed to see, but her own reflection.
Not her usual reflection, the face she had now, but the old one. The way she once was. It had broken through. She felt her heart sink like a stone lost in a lake. The tingling stopped. Shame took over. She couldn’t keep looking. She couldn’t look away. So horrible.
‘Dee.’
Michael’s voice again. He knew what was happening.
‘Look at me, Dee.’
She tore her eyes away from the screen, looked at him. He placed his hands on her arms. Gripped her tight.
‘It’s not real,’ he said. ‘It’s not you.’
She heard his words but she didn’t believe them. She never did. Not at first.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘It’s not real. It’s not me.’ Her voice dry and dead.
‘You’re Dee Sloane. Who are you?’
‘Dee. Sloane.’
‘Good. Remember that.’
He let go of her. She stood silent, head down. As motionless as the Golem.
‘It’s hidden,’ he said, pointing at the laptop. ‘But it’s here. Only a matter of time. Then we’ll have them.’
She knew she was expected to say something here. ‘Good.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
He went back to working on the laptop.
Dee just stood there, lost in her own world.
27
Tyrell had found sleep difficult to come by. The dogs had barked intermittently all night. He couldn’t shake the image of them tearing apart the little girl in the house, and rose regularly to look out of the window and check they weren’t doing that. There wasn’t a full view of the dogs’ enclosure from his window so he couldn’t be entirely sure, but he thought if the girl had been there he would have heard her. Or he hoped he would. Since dawn broke, he had kept vigil from the window. It was fully light when Jiminy Cricket arrived.
‘Hands off cocks and on with socks, as my mother used to say.’ Jiminy Cricket laughed. Tyrell didn’t join him.
‘I’ve brought you breakfast.’ Jiminy Cricket placed an old, cheap laminate tray down on the table. Tyrell looked at it. A mug of something brown. Some toast and a mound of scrambled egg that had hardened into a mini yellow Ayers Rock on the walk over.
Just like being in prison, Tyrell thought.
‘Eat up,’ Jiminy Cricket said.
Tyrell stayed standing. ‘Where’s the girl?’
‘In the house. She’s fine.’
Tyrell stared at him. Levelly, unblinkingly. The other man’s eyes darted all about, zinged and ricocheted off surfaces like a speeding bullet in a metal bank vault. He finally brought them to rest on the scrambled eggs.
‘Eat up. You’ll need your strength. Big day.’
‘Where’s the girl?’
‘She’s all right.’ Almost shouting, voice coming out of his body like steam erupting from a poorly closed pressure cooker. ‘You … you don’t need to concern yourself with her. She’s fine. Just fine.’
‘What about the dogs?’
‘What about the dogs?’ Tetchy, irritable.
‘You were going to feed her to them.’
He sighed in exasperation. ‘I wasn’t going to feed her to them.’
‘Yes you were. The woman in the kitchen said so. I heard her.’
‘No one’s feeding the girl to the dogs.’
‘I don’t want the little girl fed to the dogs.’
‘She’s not going to be fed to the dogs!’
‘I won’t help you if you do.’
Jiminy Cricket stopped talking then, stared. This time he did make eye contact. Moved up close, face to face. ‘The girl is fine,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice low, controlled. ‘You don’t need to worry about her.’
Tyrell stared.
‘Look, last night I was … angry. But we’re fine now, OK? Right?’
He wanted to be believed, but Tyrell wasn’t sure he was ready to do that yet. He didn’t think letting him know was the best thing to do, though, so he said nothing. His silence was taken for assent.
‘Good. Right. Let’s keep it that way.’ Jiminy Cricket sighed, looked relieved to have headed off Tyrell’s revolt, handled it so well. He smiled, pointed at the eggs.
‘Eat up. Big day.’
‘Why?’
Another sigh, a roll of the eyes, but hidden. Like he thought Tyrell was an idiot but didn’t want him to know it. ‘Like I said. This is the day all your questions are answered. Today’s the day you find out who you are.’
‘I know who I am. You told me. Tyrell.’
‘Yes,’ he said, moving close, putting his arm round Tyrell’s shoulder like a friend or an overfamiliar used-car salesman. ‘That’s right. Tyrell. But that’s just a name. Today you get your identity. Your legacy. Who you are, who you were, and most importantly, who you forever shall be.’
Tyrell said nothing. He was still thinking of the girl and the dogs.
‘That’s the spirit
.’ The other man laughed, squeezed Tyrell’s shoulder, put on a cockney accent. ‘Stick with me, mate, and this time next year we’ll be millionaires.’ He looked at his watch, laughed. ‘This time tomorrow, even.’
Tyrell didn’t know whether he wanted to go along with it. He wished he had gone straight to the hostel when he got out, not got into the car. He wished …
He wished he were back inside.
His friend took his arm away. Made for the door, pointed to the table. ‘Eat your eggs.’ And was gone. Locking the door behind him.
Tyrell looked at the plate of food, the rapidly cooling tea. He sat down at the table. Picked up the fork. He didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice.
He ate. It tasted exactly as it looked.
28
Marina was just about to set foot in the hotel lobby when she realised something was wrong.
There were two uniformed police officers at the reception desk.
Usually she wouldn’t have given that a second thought. After all, she was on the payroll as a police psychologist. But where she would once have seen officers as no threat, as allies even, she could no longer afford to think that way. Not when her daughter’s life was at stake.
They’re here for me, she thought. They know I’m here and they’ve come for me. It was the phone call last night, she thought, or my credit card when I checked in. They’ve traced me.
Her heart began to pound heavily. She had to get out. Get past them and into the car. Drive away. Do what was required of her and get her daughter back. Not get hauled in by the police.
Another thought struck her. They’re not here for me. They’re here about something completely unconnected. There’s no way they could have found me yet. In that case, her reasoning continued, just keep going. Right past them. To the car and away.
But something stopped her from doing that. Paranoia. A sixth sense. A desire to not take unnecessary risks. Something like that.
Instead, she ducked back behind the corner, looking out to check they hadn’t seen her. They hadn’t. Good. She turned round, walked back the way she had come, glancing over her shoulder. She wished she hadn’t. The receptionist was gesturing towards her, or at least towards the corridor she was in.
Heart rate increasing, she moved quickly towards the lift, punched the button. The lift was still there from her coming down in it. The doors opened. Slowly. Marina heard footsteps coming towards her.
She jumped inside, pressed the buttons for the first and top floors. The footsteps got louder, voices with them. The doors took millennia to close.
But eventually they did.
She was alone. The lift made its way slowly to the first floor. She jumped out, pressing the button to close the doors as she did so. The lift continued its ascent to the top floor.
Marina looked up and down the corridor. The maids’ mobile cleaning unit was standing further along the hall, two maids working in unison, entering vacated rooms, removing bedding and towels.
She looked the other way. The stairs were through a set of heavy double doors on the left. She ran to them, opened them. Listened. Heard footsteps coming up. Voices.
The two officers.
An image of Josephina formed unbidden in her mind. Of Phil lying unconscious. She pushed them aside, concentrating. Her heart was hammering now, eyes darting everywhere. She closed the door to the stairs, went back into the corridor. Looked round.
No one about but the maids. She walked towards the cleaning unit.
Behind her, the door to the stairs opened.
Marina ran, not looking back.
Past the maids’ trolley, eyes frantic left and right, desperate to find somewhere to duck into.
The cleaning supplies cupboard and service room was open. Without stopping to think, she jumped inside, pulled the door closed behind her.
Still holding the handle, she turned.
To find a cleaner staring at her.
The cleaner was young, foreign. Her initial amazement was quickly giving way to fear. She opened her mouth. To scream, speak, Marina didn’t know. She couldn’t take the chance and find out.
‘Sorry,’ said Marina in as loud a whisper as she dared. ‘My husband.’ She pointed to the door.
The cleaner kept staring.
‘He’s … I’m not supposed to be here.’
The cleaner still seemed unconvinced. Maybe she doesn’t speak English, thought Marina. Maybe she just doesn’t understand me. Here was a woman with wild hair and ripped, soiled clothing jumping into her room and closing the door. Holding her captive. Marina didn’t blame her for being scared.
She could hear voices on the other side of the door, getting louder.
She turned back to the cleaner, who had heard them too. Her mouth was opening, making ready to shout.
Marina desperately thought of something that would convince her.
‘My husband, he … ’ She took her hand off the handle, mimed punching herself in the face. Then she gestured to the door and the increasingly loud voices.
The cleaner nodded, understanding.
Marina thought she saw some spark of recognition in the young woman’s eyes. Some shared commonality of experience. She felt a shudder of guilt at that, but smiled.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
The cleaner said nothing. Gave a small smile.
The footsteps, the voices receded.
Marina slowly turned the handle, risked a quick glance down the hall.
With another nod of thanks to the cleaner, she left the room, heading for the stairs.
She pulled open the double doors, taking the steps two at a time until she almost tripped and lost her footing. She took control of herself, paused momentarily. Continued the rest of the way as fast as she could.
She reached the ground floor. Panting for breath, she opened the double doors, looked down the corridor.
No one about.
She stepped into the hallway, then, taking a deep breath, walked towards the main doors.
As she reached the receptionist’s desk, she kept her face averted. The receptionist had her head down. Marina was aware of her glancing up as she walked past.
‘Oh.’ Surprise in the receptionist’s voice. ‘Oh. The police … there’s someone here to see you.’
Marina kept walking.
‘Excuse me … ’
‘Just going to the car,’ Marina shouted over her shoulder. ‘Back in a mo.’
The doors opened. Marina was out into the fresh air.
She heard the receptionist calling behind her. Knew the girl would be deciding what to do next. Come out and chase her; go and find the police.
She couldn’t risk either of those things happening.
She ran across the car park, found her car. Got in quickly, locked the doors. She checked that the phone was in her bag, started the car. She could enter the postcode into the sat nav when she was away from the hotel. She drove off.
As she passed the hotel entrance, the two uniforms were standing there, the receptionist with them. One of them, the male, moved into the path of her car, waving his arms about, trying to flag her down, stop her.
Marina speeded up.
He jumped out of the way.
She made for the exit and away.
She couldn’t think about them, about what she had just done.
She just had to focus on where she was headed.
29
‘Feels like we’re paying our last respects in a funeral parlour,’ said DS Jessica James. ‘Should be playing organ music.’
The body lay straight on the bed, arms by its sides, legs together, head back, eyes closed. She leaned over it, scrutinising. Particularly the neck and the head. She straightened up, turned to DC Deepak Shah who was next to her. ‘What d’you think? Are you fooled?’
He shook his head. ‘As much as you are, ma’am.’
She nodded.‘If he was standing upright, his head would stay on his neck about as well as a bowling ball on a broomstick
.’
The investigation was into its second day but hadn’t made much progress. No one had reported seeing a child matching Josephina’s description, either on her own or with anyone else. But they were still pursuing it, the uniforms out canvassing and the team searching the area.
With nothing else happening, Jessie had paid another call to Jeff Hibbert intending to ask him some more questions, and had received no answer. Thinking that it was unlikely he’d be out, she had gone round the back of the house and found the lock on the door frame hanging off, the frame splintered, the back door itself open.
She ran inside, calling his name with no response. Fearing the worst, she made her way upstairs. And that was how she found him. Laid out on the bed. Peaceful.
She wasn’t fooled for a second.
And neither were the Forensic Scene Investigators. She had called it in straight away, keeping her hands off any surfaces, then carefully retracing the path she had taken into the house in reverse, stepping outside so as not to contaminate the scene further.
The pathologist and FSIs were finishing up their preliminary investigation and had allowed Jessie and Deepak in. They stood in the dull room, the drawn curtains lending it an ever deeper atmosphere of depression.
Her own head was feeling a little like a bowling ball on a broomstick. Caning it two school nights in a row. Not good, but she couldn’t help it. Just the one with a mate. That had been all. Or all she had intended. But it had spiralled and there hadn’t been a happy reception when she had finally got home. She sighed, rubbed her eyes, pushed it all into a small corner of her mind. She could deal with that later. She had more pressing matters to attend to.
‘What a horrible place to live in,’ Deepak said, looking round.
‘And die in,’ said Jessie, turning away from the body and seeing what the rest of the room contained. ‘Which he was doing. Lung cancer, I reckon.’ She pointed to the oxygen cylinder at the side of the bed. ‘He looked rough when I came to see him yesterday. Thought I’d better question him again as quickly as possible.’
Deepak frowned. ‘Why?’
She told him about Stuart Milton and the address he had given. ‘I got the feeling Hibbert knew more than he was letting on.’ She turned back, looked at the bed.‘We’ll never know now.’
