by Tania Carver
She managed a grim smile, hoped it didn’t scare him. ‘Good. Come on.’
She had packed a holdall with as much stuff as she could manage. She slung it over her shoulder, kept it in place with one hand, held Ben’s hand in the other. She looked over at the car. It was still there, the two men sitting in the front, pretending not to look at her.
Donna set off down the road, away from the main entrance on to Barrack Street. It was starting to get dark. The grey in the sky deepening, the sodium lights casting the street in pools of orange.
They passed the car, Donna looking through the windscreen at the two men. Both big, both wearing suits.
Just like Faith had said.
She swallowed hard, gave Ben the signal and started to run.
Initially, nothing happened. Then she heard car doors opening, slamming closed. Feet running behind her. They were coming.
Still gripping Ben’s hand hard, Donna ran down the road and round a corner. There were no houses down here. It was a walkway, a cut-through to another street. Bushes pushing against a chain-link fence on one side, the high wall of a graffitied garage on the other.
She raced down the cut, still holding the bag on her shoulder. Glad she was wearing trainers. Ben was running as fast as he could, trying to keep up with her. They reached a corner, ran round it. Stopped.
It was a longer alley, bushes on both sides, fast-food debris, plastic bottles lying around, broken glass sparkling like uncut diamonds in the weak reflected light of the occasional street lamp. It was deserted.
‘Get behind me. Quick.’
Ben obeyed, holding on to Donna’s leg, gripping it tight.
‘Don’t cling on to me, just stand there.’
He dropped his hands, did as he was told.
Donna waited, flattened against the fence, chest heaving from the exercise. If she got out of this, she told herself, she would never smoke again. Or cut down at least.
All she could hear was her own breathing.
She felt inside her jacket pocket, did an inventory with her fingers. All there. Good. She took out a small cylinder, held it tight in her hand.
Then she heard them, above her own ragged breathing, the pounding of feet on tarmac. She braced herself. Knew she would get only one chance at this, had to do it properly.
The first one arrived. She didn’t even stop to look at him, see if she recognised him. She just pointed her pepper spray, let him have it full in the eyes.
It took him a couple of seconds to realise what had happened, but once the shock subsided and the pain kicked in, he flung his head back, clawing at his eyes. He dropped to his knees, head forward. Gasping, screaming.
The other one arrived then. She turned to him, ready to give him the same treatment. But he was too quick for her. He had quickly sized up the situation, decided the same thing wasn’t going to happen to him. He looked straight at her, anger in his eyes. Punched out his fist. Knocked the can flying from her hand.
Advanced on her.
He smiled. He had her.
Or so he thought.
Heart beating so fast she thought her chest would explode, she reached into her pocket for Plan B. Brought it out.
The kitchen knife.
Gripped it tight. Felt the heft of it in her hand, saw the light glint off the long, sharp, heavy blade.
Didn’t hesitate. Just thrust it outwards, sliced at him. As hard and as fast as she could.
He stood there, shocked, unmoving. Looked down at his chest. Blood began to seep through his white shirt from his left shoulder down to the top of his belt. He looked at her, surprise on his face.
Donna was shocked at the sight too. Couldn’t quite comprehend that she had actually done that, that she was responsible for it. But she recovered quickly. Saw that it had only slowed him down, not stopped him. Slashed him again.
The blood began to pump now, more quickly, soaking the white fabric to a deep red.
Donna looked at the knife, at the man in front of her. He was starting to topple forward, falling to one knee, his hand trying to hold himself together. He looked up at her. The smile was a distant memory. Incomprehension had given way to shock, which had now given up its place for terror. Fear in his eyes.
And Donna felt a surge of strength. She knew now what it must be like to be a man. To have that sense of control, that power. It was a new feeling to her. And she loved it.
She looked at the knife again. She wanted to slash him once more, keep slashing, until there was nothing left of him but ribbons of blood and flesh. Make him answer. Make him pay for the years of pain and abuse she had suffered at the hands of men.
The knife went towards him once more.He cowered away.
She stopped herself. Reminded herself she was doing this for a reason, a purpose.
‘Give me your car keys. Now.’ Shouting, adrenalin raising her voice.
He did so, taking the keys out, throwing them on the ground.
‘Pick them up, Ben.’
She looked behind her at the little boy. He was standing there, hands covering his face, shaking.
‘They’re bad men, Ben,’ she urged him. ‘They’re going to hurt us. We have to do this. Quick.’
He didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ she said, and bent down herself to pick the keys up. ‘Now your wallets. Just the cash.’
Neither of them moved; they just lay there, groaning.
‘Now!’ She brandished the knife once more. It worked.
They both dug into their pockets, flung their wallets on the ground. She bent down, took the cash out. Didn’t look at it as she pocketed it, but it felt like a couple of hundred there.
‘Now phones.’
They did so. She picked them up, threw them over the hedge.
‘Right,’ she said to Ben. ‘Come on.’
She grabbed his hand, pulled him along with her. It was like dragging a small slab of granite.
They ran back the way they had come. The car was still parked there. Donna ran towards it, threw the holdall on to the back seat. Told Ben to get in the passenger side. He did so, moving numbly.
Donna got behind the wheel.
Drove away as fast as she could.
37
The phone rang. And the rest of the world fell away as the Teacher heard the voice.
‘You’re not supposed to call. Not here.’
‘I know,’ said the Lawmaker. ‘And I wouldn’t be. Unless it was important.’
The Teacher sighed. ‘What? I thought we had it all arranged. A plan.’
‘We did. But things have changed since then. Very quickly.’
The younger one’s heart skipped a beat. ‘How?’
‘The investigation seems to be picking up things we don’t want it to. Talking to people we’d rather they didn’t.’
‘Can’t you fix it?’
‘Of course. But it takes time. And there’s been an added complication. The woman who died.’
‘The accident.’
‘Right. Her… partner, shall we say… has disappeared. Taken that boy with her.’
‘But she doesn’t-’
‘We don’t know what she knows. We can’t take the chance.’
The Teacher sighed. ‘We should stick to the original plan. Let the others do their part.’
‘I agree. But there’s more we could be doing.’
The Teacher felt the chill in the words. Knew that further argument was futile. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘We stick to what we’ve already arranged. As far as that goes.’ The Lawmaker’s voice dropped, became conspiratorial. ‘But I think our Missionary friend may have made his final mission.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘I think he’s been recognised. Even after all this time. And if that’s the case, it won’t take them long to put a name to the face. And then… well. Do I need to tell you?’
Silence.
‘It won’t be a question of damage limitatio
n any more. It’ll be the end. Of everything. We don’t need the Missionary any more. He’s done his part, the deal’s been struck. We’ve already got our new partner, could even be the next Missionary. So the current one would just be… in the way.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
A chuckle. ‘That’s what I like about you. So pragmatic. The Missionary is removed. Permanently.’
‘How? Not one of us, surely.’
‘Of course not. But I imagine the Gardener isn’t too happy at the moment. Waiting for his ritual to go ahead, not knowing whether he’s going to get his victim returned to him or not, he’s going to have a lot of pent-up energy. He’s going to need a release.’
‘But on the Missionary… ’
‘Poetic, don’t you think?’
‘Would he do it?’
The Lawmaker laughed. What do you think? The Missionary will be on… gardening leave. Permanently.’
The Teacher thought about it. ‘Does the Portreeve know?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Will he know?’
‘Eventually. They’ll all find out.’
‘So why tell me?’
‘Because the Portreeve is the past. And you’re the future. And it’s always wise to invest in the future.’
The Teacher could find no words.
‘We’ll talk tomorrow. Remember, you still have a part to play.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten.’
‘Looking forward to it?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
‘We’ll speak soon.’
The phone went dead.
The Teacher put the phone away. The real world, held in abeyance for the duration of the call, started up again.
But it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel right.
It felt like an illusion.
It felt like… nothing at all.
38
Phil ducked under the tape, dodged the waiting news crews, walked away from the crime scene. His Audi was parked on the opposite side of the road.
Marina was going back to the station in her own car. Just as well, he thought. He had felt uncomfortable around her. And he had felt bad keeping what he was feeling from her. The trouble was, he still didn’t know what exactly he was feeling. Just that it wasn’t good.
As he reached his car, he heard his name being called. He turned. Saw Don Brennan walking over the bridge towards him.
‘There you are,’ said Don.
‘Don.’ Phil walked away from the car to join him on the bridge. With the lack of action, bodies or blood down below, the gawpers had thinned out. ‘What brings you here?’
Don shrugged, smiled, tried for casual. ‘Oh, you know. Just out for a walk. Bit of exercise.’
‘And you ended up here.’
Another smile. ‘Can’t keep away, can I?’
Phil looked at the man he regarded as his father. He was in his sixties but kept himself fit. He hadn’t succumbed to the expanding waistline and strawberry nose that cursed so many ageing coppers, those who couldn’t deal with the lack of focus and direction once the pension cheques started and the excitement of the job abruptly ceased. He played tennis, badminton. Still had a full head of hair, now white. Still dressed well. Not for him the beige windcheater and elasticated trousers. Instead, a plaid shirt, tweed jacket and jeans.
Don looked down at the house, the white tent. ‘Brings it all back,’ he said, smiling with the corners of his mouth.
Phil waited. He doubted this was just an accidental meeting.
Don looked away from the crime scene, back at Phil. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Early days,’ said Phil. ‘You know how it is.’ He was going to add or was, but decided to leave it. Sure that Don didn’t need any more reminding.
Don nodded. ‘Kid in a cage, wasn’t it? That what you said?’
‘That’s right,’ said Phil.
‘What, down there? In that house?’ Don looked once more at the crime scene.
‘That’s the one,’ said Phil, his eyes following.
‘Any leads? Anything?’
‘Nothing yet. Early days, like I said.’ Phil turned back to Don. ‘Are you really just here by chance, Don?’
Don looked down at the bridge’s stone balustrade, his own hands. Then back up to Phil. ‘I just thought… you know, you’re always saying I should come back, get in with the cold-case squad, that kind of thing… ’
‘Yeah. We’ve talked about this before.’
‘I know that. And I’ve always said no. But… ’ His eyes flicked down to the crime scene. Phil could tell he was tempted to keep looking, but he brought his gaze back up. ‘Well, I was thinking. You were saying about how short-staffed you were. Cuts and that.’
‘Yes.’ Phil could see where this was going.
‘Well I just thought… ’ He shrugged. ‘You could use all the help you can get.’
‘You want to work this case? With me? Be on the team? That what you’re saying?’
Another shrug. ‘If you’ll have me.’
‘And what would you do, exactly?’
‘You know. Filing. Office stuff. Bit of legwork.’ He looked away again. Phil couldn’t see his eyes. ‘Check out the files, the archives, see if this kind of thing’s happened before. Any connections… ’
He didn’t look back at Phil. Phil couldn’t read his expression.
‘D’you think it has?’ said Phil. ‘Does it remind you of anything?’
‘Don’t know. I could have a look.’ He tapped his head, looking at Phil at last. ‘Get the old brain cells going again.’
Phil didn’t know what to say. He was sure from his body language that Don had some ulterior motive. But he also knew that if he asked him, he would just deny it. Still, something about this case was stopping Phil from thinking straight. It might be good to have someone he could trust and rely on alongside him.
‘You sure you can stand working with me?’
Don gave a small laugh. ‘Why wouldn’t I? Taught you everything you know.’
Phil smiled. ‘OK. I’ll have a word with Glass, see what he says.’
Don frowned. ‘Glass? Brian Glass?’
‘That’s him. D’you know him?’
‘Years ago. He was uniform when I was CID.’ He nodded, memories screening behind his eyes like old movies. Again the sides of his mouth curled into a smile. Not a happy one, Phil thought. ‘Yeah, I remember him. Doubt he’d remember me, though.’
‘We’ll see. I’ll give him a call.’
Phil detached himself from the side of the bridge. Looked at Don. ‘I’ve got to go. Marina’ll pop round for Josephina in a while, yeah?’
He went back to his car.
Head like a badly tuned radio.
39
Darkness had fallen. And cold with it: the air catching the breath unexpectedly after a warm day. And with the cold, fog. Drifting, swirling, rendering the world in dark, Impressionistic hues.
But the Gardener didn’t notice any of that. He didn’t care. He was out of the cave. That was all that mattered.
He stood by the gates, staring upwards. Breath a cloud of steam, his personal fog machine.
Out again. That stupid weak fool Paul. The Gardener laughed. He loved the man really. Paul had saved his life. Stepped in at a time when it was all falling apart. Showed him there was a different way. A better way. A purer way. And he would always be grateful to him for that. Always.
But he was a fool. And a soft-headed, soft-hearted one too. He had hope. Even now. Even after everything that had happened. And that was why he would never win. He would put the Gardener in the cave. Yes. But he would let him out again. Always.
Yes. Always.
The Gardener nodded to himself. Eyes never leaving the house before him.
Big. Old. Lights on in lots of rooms. Making it look inviting. Warm. Big gravel drive curving round before it. Grounds at the side. Grass. Trees. Deer in the trees. He had seen them. They had seen him too. Run from him. Scared.
Good. They should be.
He had received the call. Been told what to do.
He hated being told what to do. Hated it. Especially with what had happened today. The sacrifice house gone. The boy taken. How had that been allowed to happen? Didn’t they know how important it was? To him? To them? All of them?
They had said they did. And that they would make everything all right. Get the boy back. Use the other sacrifice house. They had better, he had told them. They had to.
Or it would be their turn next.
They knew that. But first they wanted him to do something for them. And for himself too.
They had told him what it was.
And he had smiled.
He would have done it anyway if they had asked. Enjoyed it. But he didn’t tell them that. Made them bargain. Give him what he wanted. Needed. It was only right.
And they would keep their promises.
As he would keep his.
He looked up at the building once more. Saw what it once had been. Heard the voices of ghosts, glimpsed them all around. Then saw it for what it had become. And the voices stilled. Now there was… nothing.
He moved towards it. Knew the secret way in. Knew everything about the place.
Pulled his hood on. Felt his breath against the inside. A truer skin than his own flesh.
Felt inside his pocket for the blade.
Smiled inside the hood.
Like God had kept his promise to Abraham, he would make sure they kept their promise to him.
And he would enjoy it while he did it.
40
He took a sip of his drink. Rolled it round his mouth. Good. Fine. Smiled. Took another one. Settled back in his chair. Relaxed.
They’d never find him here. Here of all places. Never think to look.
Not that they were looking for him.
Nah. Everything was fine.
Or it would be.
Bit of a misunderstanding, that was all. Just like he’d told them. Needed the money for the deal to go through. No problem. It would all be sorted out soon. Because no matter what the filth had found – or thought they’d found, because they didn’t have a clue yet – it could all go away with money. Just like the old days. Bung a bit here and there, a few favours, pay for some blind eyes, that was it. Bish, bosh, and free to go about your business. Didn’t know what all the fuss was about. Especially now. Not with-
