* * * * *
Cooper followed the suited man through a long, dark corridor of the prison, until they entered a room and was met by another suited man.
“You don’t have authorisation,” he told her.
“Yeah, I actually do.” She glared at him and held out the paperwork. “Your warrant expired three days ago. Until it’s renewed, or she’s charged with something, an order for Mairead’s immediate release has been executed.”
The man snatched the paperwork and gave it a quick perusal before giving her a sulking nod.
“Alright, I’ll take you through to Miller. He’s with her now.”
The screams reached them before they had got to the room. Other men were running from the other end of the corridor, but Cooper got to the door first and threw it open.
The sight that greeted her took her breath away. Miller was crouched over Mairead who was curled up on the floor. She was hysterical and making guttural yelps like that of a wounded dog.
“What the hell are you doing?” Cooper rushed to kneel beside her. She turned back to the men. “Where are the fucking keys?”
When the cuffs were removed, Mairead remained as she was. Cooper looked at her gaunt face, the shadows under her staring eyes and the cracking about her lips.
“Christ. Someone get a fucking ambulance.”
Miller stood up and stepped back. “What are you doing here, Detective? Mairead Vaughn is not your concern.”
“Your warrant is expired,” Cooper snarled back at him. “The question is, what is she doing in here and what the hell have you been doing to her?”
Miller glared at her. “That’s none of your business, and you’re overstepping your boundaries.”
One of the other men stepped forward. “Sir, her physical welfare still has to be established and monitored under the circumstances, especially since she is pregnant.”
Cooper gaped at him and then glared furiously back at Miller, almost daring him to protest. When he said nothing, she turned back to Mairead, who had begun quietly mouthing words.
She touched her hand gently. “Mairead, we’re getting you out of here.”
Mairead continued to tremble, her mouth moving in a whisper, struggling to form words. “James… James?”
“What?” Cooper peered at her and shook her head. “He’s fine, Mairead. He’s recovering well.”
The trembling grew worse and Mairead turned her head to look at Cooper. “He’s dying.”
“No, Mairead, he isn’t, I promise. Why would you think..?” She stopped and shot a venomous look at Miller before turning back to her. “Fuck. I give you my word, Mairead. James is very much alive, and getting better every day.”
Mairead stared wide-eyed at her, searching her face.
“It’s true,” Cooper smiled. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I spoke to James this morning.”
Mairead nodded weakly and lay her head back to the floor, just staring at nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Wairarapa, New Zealand, February 2014
For the first time that day, Dylan’s hand was trembling from something other than pure adrenaline coursing through his body. It was a strange feeling, disarming him with a vulnerability he had rarely experienced. His head was thick with imaginary sounds of giggling and he almost expected Tammy to open her eyes and admire the pink and gold clouds of a spectacular sunrise.
Instead, she lay silently in the pink coffin, and he was loathe to put the lid in place. For the hundredth time, he inspected that everything had been done perfectly. Her hair was brushed thoroughly with the same amount of strands draped over each shoulder, and a pink bow tied to the side. The white dress with a pink sash, had always been her favourite, with layers of tulle underneath, peeking out about her knees. The ankle socks were also white with pink bows, sitting above the shiny black, patent leather shoes with gold buckles.
It had been difficult working out which teddy bear was her favourite and he had placed three of them inside the coffin with her, wishing he had paid more attention. At least he knew her favourite roses, and had chosen deep red petals to scatter over her. Once the coffin was in the ground, he would replace the rose bushes that had been carefully removed with their roots untouched, that she might be buried under them.
The eight foot deep hole had been dug with every ounce of fury pumping through him. When it was done, he had been covered in sweat, his muscles aching, but with little of his energy spent. A fire was raging through him that refused to be quenched.
The last item to be placed in the coffin was her hairbrush, but he found he couldn’t let go of it. He’d lost count of the times he had spanked her with it, amused by her tantrums that she didn’t want a spanking, but was then all too eager to lay across his lap, wriggling about and gasping excitedly, as he lowered her panties. These were the things he would never experience with her again, that would never again distract him from the reality of this world, with its misery and cruelty.
For the last time, he bent over her and laid a gentle kiss on her icy cheek, rosy with the blush he had applied. His body quaked and the tears finally escaped, running down his face.
“I’m so sorry, little one. I promised to protect you and I failed. Now, I can only give you their pain and their blood. Just know that I loved you, all those times you asked me. I’ll never forget you, my Tammy.”
He kissed her again and quickly placed the hairbrush into her hand, resting it on her body, before taking the lid and putting it in place, wanting to tear it off to look at her again. A battery drill was used to screw the lid in place until only the final task remained. There were two wide canvas belts crossing over and under the coffin. He brought all the ends together and attached them to a hook, winching them tightly in place. A cable ran from a pulley, and gradually took the strain.
Even with the leverage, the weight of thick oak wood and Tammy’s body was a slow, hard challenge followed by the burial and restoration of the garden. Finally, he was able to throw the spade aside and feel a momentary distraction of exhaustion. All that remained was the emptiness inside of him. After nine years, Tammy was gone from his life as suddenly as she had come into it.
The days of mourning her would soon be replaced with something that was much more familiar to him. Dylan could now concentrate on making right the wrongs that had been done.
Returning to the house, Dylan showered, dressed and headed to his private room. The screens were all active, but his attention was drawn to the one monitoring the room in the wine cellar. He watched the screen passively, slightly irritated by Adele’s latest tantrum, which had involved a tube of toothpaste and the wall opposite the camera. Quite skilfully, she had used the white paste to spell out ‘MURDERING PIG’ across the wall. What had once been an orderly room for her basic comfort was now more akin to a vandalised hovel.
Food had been thrown against the wall. The few books he had left for her had been ripped apart and pages scattered. There was even shampoo on the floor, where Adele had made attempts to throw the bottle against the camera, until it had hit the floor too many times, split and released its contents.
It was the screaming that annoyed him the most. On a bad day, she could keep it up for hours, demanding that he show his face, until her voice became hoarse and she could barely utter a word. It tended to keep her quiet for a few days, until she could find another way to express her contempt.
At other times, she was curled up on the bed, mewling pathetically and calling out for her parents. With no windows to give her any sense of night and day, sleep only came after an exhaustive session of hysterical crying. Sometimes, she would drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness, though he knew it wasn’t directed at him. She made no effort to hide how much she hated him.
It surprised him that she had showed little fear, but Dylan suspected Adele was far too lost to her grief. Admittedly, it had been malicious, leaving her a newspaper to break the news of her parents’ demise, but so was the hell she had opened. He wanted her t
o suffer, and he was doing all he could to keep himself from inflicting something far more damaging to satiate his fury.
The room was little more than a prison cell, with the essentials provided for her hygiene. Meals and water were passed through a panel in the door, and he had avoided being in her presence, since her recovery from the drugs he had administered to her.
Her hair hadn’t been brushed the entire time of her captivity, and she was still in the same knee-length night shirt she’d been in when he’d taken her. There was no sign that she had used the bathroom facilities, other than the toilet. The change of clothes he had left for her had all been ripped up.
As much as he would have liked to let her suffer in her own filth, it had come to that point where he was going to have to approach her. Perhaps the reality of him would subdue her, and if not he had no qualms of showing her the harsher side of his nature. One way or another, Adele and the room were going to be cleaned up.
Dylan looked at the print-out he had taken from the many online articles in the news that morning. A memorial was to be held for her parents the following week. He was tempted to give it to her without a word, and savour the distress it would cause her, but he was reluctant to push her any further.
Adele was already displaying signs of a mental breakdown. Somehow, he had to find that balance of dealing with her without destroying her. He had seen too many women ravaged by the evil of men, left broken and soulless. No matter how much contempt he had for her, breaking her completely would profit him nothing.
He had chosen to rescue her and now he was stuck with her, but after three weeks of observing her antics, he was ready to lay down the law. Folding the article, he put it in the back pocket of his jeans, but paused before leaving the computer room. Being near her was going to stoke his anger, and he had to be confident he was ready for that.
On his way, he collected a mop, bucket and garbage bags, with some cloths and cleaners thrown into the bucket. Another change of clothes was tucked under his arm as he made his way downstairs to the level below.
It had the appearance of a small wine cellar, with stone walls, low ceiling and diamond-shaped racks of dusty bottles lining one wall. Further on, it expanded into a larger vacant area with doors to a few prisonlike rooms which had once accommodated his neophyte slaves.
Setting everything down outside one of them, Dylan took a key from his pocket and opened it. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and the room looked far worse than it had on the screen. Adele was sitting on the floor, clutching her knees, her greasy, wild hair hiding her face.
The sight of him had Adele rising up and crawling into a corner on the bed. It seemed she wasn’t as brave as she had pretended. He could see her fear and it gave him some satisfaction.
Approaching her slowly, she became like a panicked animal, cringing into the wall until she made a desperate attempt to fly past him, only to be captured about her waist by his powerful arm. She became a fury of nails and teeth, writhing and twisting her body until he threw her down on the bed and came over her. His hands crushed her wrists into the mattress, as his knees pressed into her thighs, forcing them to part until he was kneeling between them.
The fight went out of her and was replaced with sheer terror as she stared wide-eyed into his face. Her lip was trembling as she turned her head away. Dylan smiled, sensing her total surrender and bitter resignation to whatever vile treatment he was about to inflict.
His arms were stinging and he realised that some of those teeth and nails had found their mark. Her widely spread thighs were pressing against his own, and he wasn’t surprised to feel his cock stiffen a little. Shifting her wrists together above her head, he pinned them with one hand, while the other gripped her chin and made her look at him. Tears were running down her face.
“Play time is over, Adele,” he told her. “And I’m not too pleased with your behaviour. This room is a fucking pigsty.”
Some of her anger returned. “Just do what you’re going to do and spare me the lecture.”
“And what is it you think I’m going to do?”
“You’re a sick pervert, a fucking murderer.”
Dylan nodded. “I am, and yet somehow that doesn’t give you the moral high ground, does it?”
Her lip trembled again and the tears spilled over more. “You killed my parents. What did they ever do to you? Why didn’t you just kill me?”
“I know you think that’s what happened, and I really don’t give a fuck what you think. My concern right now is this room and your stinking body, and I mean that, Adele, you fucking reek.”
“Then get off me,” she demanded.
A vicious smile spread slowly over Dylan’s face. “I didn’t say it puts me off. It just makes it a little less pleasant to have your legs spread wide open.”
His comment made her retch. More tears ran down her face. “You’re an animal.”
“I’m not the one who smells like a pig. So this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to clean every inch of this room. I’ve brought all the equipment you’ll need, and then after that you’re going to shower and change into the clothes I have for you, and brush your teeth and your hair.”
“Why should I?”
“Because if you don’t,” he grinned. “I’m going to put you over my knee, just like a naughty little girl, and spank your bare arse until you can’t sit down for a week, and then I’ll wash and clean you up. I’ll get a real kick out of that, but I’ll guarantee you won’t.”
“You’re sick.”
“I’m not denying it, and you really don’t want to find out how sick I can be. So do we have an agreement?”
She glared at him, but finally nodded.
Dylan climbed off and stood glaring down at her. He pulled the folded paper from his back pocket and threw it on the bed.
“There’s a memorial being held for your parents next week. Start behaving and I’ll let you watch it, if that’s what you want.”
Adele stared at him and then broke into wracking sobs and nodded.
“For your information,” Dylan continued. “I didn’t kill your parents and I only had time to save your miserable neck from the ones who did. Your parents were good people, unlike their evil bitch of a daughter. If you’re looking for someone to blame, have a fucking good look at yourself.”
With that, he walked from the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“She’s pregnant. If she had died in that place after having every one of her rights seriously abused…” Cooper paced again before turning back to launch another tirade at her boss. “When the hell did we start doing that type of cruelty in this country?”
“I don’t know,” Tobias Collins replied gravely. “This is the first time I’ve heard of it, but…”
“She was being held in an isolation unit on the prison grounds for nearly two weeks without being charged, and was denied a lawyer. The warrant had expired three days earlier. As far as I am aware her incarceration was fucking illegal.”
“Apparently there were some mistakes…”
“Mistakes?” She glared at him. “You didn’t see her, Tobias. She looked more dead than alive. This is a girl who’s been in the news for years. I’ve seen how alive she is, loud-mouthed and a bloody trouble-maker, but the Mairead Vaughn in that prison wasn’t much more than a shell, and you want me to sit back and do nothing.”
“You did something, Lizzie.” He told her firmly. “You got her out and the SIS are off her back.”
“Yes, because her husband is taking the fall. Not that I believe either of them are guilty of anything more than stupidity, and no one should be tortured for that.”
“It’s all to do with this new legislation…”
“There is nothing in legislation that covers what they did to that girl. They’re making it up as they go along and keeping it all hidden from the public.”
“Because Lance and Vivian Easton were murdered, along with a pile of other
people and according to Miller, they’re dealing with an international terrorist. We’ve never had to cope with anything on this scale in New Zealand. This is a first. Of course they’re making it up as they go along, but it’s all getting immediate approval in Parliament and being signed off by Kutcher.”
“Who just happens to have his best mate in charge. Bevan Miller is a cruel, slimy prick who let a little power go to his head. He needs to be investigated himself.”
Collins shook his head. “You’re poking about in some dangerous territory.”
“And if I hadn’t, they would have had a dead girl on their hands. She was severely dehydrated, physically exhausted and suffering a mental breakdown. That prick told her that her husband was dying.”
Tobias blew out a puff of air. “How’s she doing now?”
“After a week in hospital, remarkably well, physically. Mentally, I don’t know. The nurses say she just sits there in the bed all day, sleeps a lot, eats what they bring her and lets them do their observations. Apparently, she suffered some mental affliction a year ago that landed her in hospital, which the doctors are putting down to her current condition. Of course, nothing was said to them about what she had just undergone for two weeks prior.”
“It’s all going back to Parliament and there will be an investigation on how this was handled.”
“Oh yeah, led by who? Miller? He was alone in that room with her when I walked in. Even the others were shocked. Miller’s visit was not scheduled or authorised. That was right off his own back.”
“Right now, Miller is still in charge, and he wants us out of it altogether, and if you keep going on the offensive, we’re both going to find ourselves on the outside with no way of looking in. At least this way we can keep track of it.”
Sins of the Master Page 40
