The Colour of the Soul

by Richard T. Burke

  “Like that’s going to happen. Why don’t we go back in time a year? Your sister’s in a coma. It turns out you have a crush on my dear brother. Your diary made for compelling reading.”

  Annalise scowled at their captor. “So you’re the one who burgled our house.”

  Steven clapped his hands slowly. “You’re really not particularly quick on the uptake, are you? What does he see in you? About the burglary; strictly speaking, I got first pickings: the interesting stuff like the diary and the iPad. By the way, the iPad proved very useful in tracking you down. Some acquaintances of mine took the rest. Anyway, let’s discuss your sister. I’m going to read some extracts.”

  He strolled to the writing desk and picked up a small black notebook from the top. He turned back to his three captives and held up the book. “The secret diary of Beatrice Becker, aged seventeen and a quarter.”

  “That’s private,” Beatrice shouted.

  Steven strode forwards until the gap between them was less than a foot. He glared down at her. “Perhaps you’d like a hole in your leg, or maybe your arm. I warned you about making too much noise. You’re going to sit there and listen to what I have to say. If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Is that clear?”

  Beatrice nodded.

  Steven narrowed his eyes and moved his head closer until their noses almost touched. “I said, is that clear?”

  The girl pressed herself into the sofa cushions. “Yes, yes it is.”

  “Good.” He turned his back and retreated to the centre of the room. He flipped open the notebook and riffled through the contents. “Ah, here’s an interesting one. It’s dated the twenty-fifth of October.” His voice changed to a falsetto. “Mark called me today. He’s so sensitive and he totally gets me. Mum and Dad won’t understand. They never do.”

  He licked his finger and flicked through several more pages. “Here’s another one I think you’ll find amusing. This is from the seventh of November. M called again today. I can’t stop thinking about him. I know it’s wrong. Annie is lying in a coma and all I want to do is fantasise about her boyfriend. The doctors are saying she might never wake up. I know it makes me sound like a terrible person but part of me wants her to die. Not much sisterly love on show there, eh?”

  “What’s the point of this?” Annalise asked.

  “Oh, the best is yet to come. Here we are. I went round to M’s flat today. When I arrived he kissed me—on the lips. We sat on the sofa and talked about music. Then he put his arm around me. The next thing I know we’re snogging. Before too long we’re in bed. He was totally AMAZING! I can’t believe the things he did to me. I’m definitely in LOVE!!!”

  Steven laughed and shook his head. “You really are a bit of a stud, aren’t you, brother? One sister is critically injured in the intensive care ward, and you’re busy banging the other. What have you got to say to that?”

  Mark’s shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes.

  “Is that it, then?” When there was no reply, he focused his attention on Beatrice. “What about you? You shagged your sister’s boyfriend while she was lying unconscious in hospital.”

  Beatrice turned, locking her gaze onto Annalise. Once more, tears streamed down her face. Snot dribbled from her nose. “I’m sorry, Sis. I never meant it to happen. We only did it once. We both realised it was a big mistake, and we agreed to end it a few days later.” She sniffed loudly and burst into a fit of coughing.

  “Once, twice,” Steven said, grinning. “What does it matter? It’s still a betrayal of the worst kind. And if it was over why did you come running when you received a text from lover boy?”

  “I ... I thought he wanted to talk things through like we did before.”

  “You seemed very eager to jump in his car. I must have been quite a shock for you when the chloroform rag appeared. In the meantime, Prince Charming was already fast asleep in the boot. Perhaps I should have left him there when I chucked in the match. On second thoughts, this way is better. Anyway, I digress. There’s still more to come in this sordid little tale.”

  He stepped sideways, standing a yard away from his brother. “So, Mark—or is it Frank?—what about the dating site? Two sisters couldn’t satisfy your needs, so you went online and met the delightful Catherine. God, she was boring. I only had the dubious pleasure of meeting her face to face for a few minutes, and that was enough to last a lifetime. What the hell did you see in her? I’m guessing it wasn’t her brains you were thinking about. Did you manage to get her into your bed too? I bet you did. It would be nice to ask her opinion of my elder brother, but as you’re aware, she’s not available. The way she died was the only interesting thing about her.”

  Mark looked up from the armchair, his expression a mask of hatred. “You didn’t have to kill her.”

  “Oh, but I did. I needed you to feel like I did: everything you valued stolen or destroyed. That’s why I torched the house you were renovating. Given our past, I thought that was a nice touch. I would have done the same to your fancy bachelor pad. The only reason I didn’t is because I stole a spare key on my first visit. After that, I could let myself in whenever I wanted to check your email or read your post. It was just too convenient. Nobody paid any attention when I visited because we obviously look identical.”

  Annalise leaned forwards. “What did he do to make you hate him so much?”

  Steven smirked. “Your memories are back, and you still don’t know? That must mean he didn’t tell you everything. This keeps getting better and better.”

  “He told me you burned your parents’ house down.”

  “Oh, there’s more to it than that. He betrayed me just like he betrayed you.”

  Chapter 55

  The unmarked police car nudged into Damascus Street. The clock dial in the centre of the console read three twenty-five.

  “That’s the one,” Sophie said, pointing at the green front door of a house bearing the number forty-four.

  “I’ll get him,” Billings said. The vehicle blocked the narrow residential road, but there was no other traffic. He turned on the hazard lights and jumped out.

  Dan reached for the handle. “I’ll join you in the back,” he said to his wife. He had just fastened the seatbelt when the disgruntled figure of Tony Davies emerged from the house. A patch of grey and purple bruising surrounded his left eye, and a lump protruded from the bridge of his nose. He wore the same casual clothes he had been wearing at the police station.

  The two policemen strode towards the vehicle. Davies glowered at the rear seat occupants as he levered himself inside. “What the hell are they doing here?”

  Billings turned the key in the ignition. “Everybody’s busy on the murders. They’re tracking the stolen iPad.”

  Davies twisted to face his colleague. “Let’s get this straight. Three people have been murdered, and you get me out of bed at three thirty in the morning to help you investigate the theft of an electronic gadget? What’s so important that it can’t wait until daylight?”

  Billings sighed. “I explained when I called. The Becker girls are still missing, and we believe the murderer is the person who’s holding them. There’s a possibility the iPad may be in the possession of the suspect.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a far bigger chance it’s some lowlife scumbag. If you really believed it was your man, you’d have brought an armed response team with you. What a waste of bloody time.”

  “Um ... sorry about earlier,” Dan said. “Thanks for helping out.”

  Davies shifted sideways and swivelled in his seat. “I’m still going to press charges whatever happens here. Assaulting a police officer is a serious offence.”

  “Alright, Tony,” Billings said, “can we just concentrate on the matter in hand? The address is St George’s Road. The location hasn’t changed, has it, Mr Becker?”

  Dan glanced down at the phone screen. “No, the dot’s still in the same place.”

  Davies faced forwards. “Take the next left. Whereabouts on the street is
it?”

  “It looks like the far end on the right. I’ll zoom in to see if I can get a better resolution.”

  Billings drove slowly. Cars lined the pavement on both sides. The houses were a combination of semi-detached and terraced with tiny front gardens.

  Dan pointed. “It’s saying that’s the one over there. No, hang on a sec, it’s just jumped a bit. I think it’s the next along.”

  “Make your bloody mind up,” Davies growled.

  “No, I’m sure it’s that one.” Dan indicated an end of terrace. Sophie reached over and tightly grasped his other hand.

  Billings glanced up at the wedge of light escaping from behind the curtains of the upstairs window. “Well, it seems somebody is home. I’m going to call in the address and find out who lives there.” He drove past the house and parked on the pavement at the junction twenty yards further on.

  He pressed a button on the dashboard. “This is DCI Billings. I need an identity for the resident of a property on St George’s Road, Steadmore. Number two. Over”

  “Standby,” came a disembodied female voice. Several seconds of silence passed. “I’m seeing two properties, a 2A and a 2B. 2A is the ground floor, 2B is upstairs. The system is reporting 2A as empty. I have a Steven Jennings as the sole occupant of number 2B. Age twenty, no priors. He’s been living there for about six months. Over”

  “Received. Please inform Sergeant Anson at Steadmore police station. Tell him I’m going to attempt to interview the householder. Ask him to check the man’s background in relation to the kidnapping of the two girls. No backup is required at this time. Over.”

  “Confirm no backup required. Over.”

  “That is correct. Over and out.”

  “But what if he is the man?” Sophie asked.

  “I think it’s still pretty unlikely,” Billings replied. “It’s harder than you might imagine to set up a false identity.”

  Dan leaned forwards in his seat. “The age is about the same as Webber’s. What are you going to do if nobody answers?”

  “We haven’t got a search warrant, so we’ll have to return later.”

  “But if he’s holding them at the property, he probably won’t even answer the door.”

  Billings pulled the handle and eased himself out of the car. He ducked his head back inside. “Let’s just see. I want you two to stay here whatever happens. The doors can only be opened from the outside anyway.”

  “Let’s get this over with, and then I can get some sleep,” Davies said, raising a finger to his damaged nose.

  “One of us needs to take the front, the other the back.”

  Davies folded his arms. “I’m not chasing anybody over garden fences at this time of night. You can have the back.”

  Billings shrugged. “Suit yourself. Give me two minutes then knock on the door.” He turned and headed towards the end of the road where he disappeared from sight.

  Chapter 56

  Steven paced backwards and forwards before his three captives. He stopped in front of his brother. “Frank—or Mark as he calls himself now—was two years older than me. He was always getting into trouble. When he was ten and I was eight, our parents decided to separate us and send us to different schools. We didn’t want to be split up. There was a big argument, and we came up with this plan to burn the house down. I can’t remember whether we intended to kill them or not.

  “We wouldn’t have known how to set about doing something like that except that Frank had a group of friends who were budding arsonists. The little bastards had torched some derelict property and were forever bragging about it. My Dad kept barbeque lighter fluid in the garden shed: the stuff you squirt on the charcoal. We planned to do it at night.

  “The afternoon before we were supposed to go through with the plan, Frank chickened out. He tried to talk me out of it. I think he recognised the seriousness of our intended crime. I was too young to understand. We agreed to cancel, but I said it just to keep him quiet.

  “That evening I helped my Mum prepare the tea. She loved that sort of thing. What she didn’t know was that I had stolen some of her sleeping pills and crushed them up beforehand. We ate the main course. When it came to pudding, we had apple pie. I offered to stir the custard, and when she was busy getting the pie out of the oven, I slipped in the tablet powder.

  “Everybody else had custard, but I refused and had it without. My parents used to joke about the chef having to taste what he had prepared, so I had to try a bit on the end of my spoon. I was terrified it would put me to sleep. Of course, it was such a small amount it had no effect at all.

  “It was a Saturday night, so they allowed us to stay up late watching television. It wasn’t long before everybody was snoring. I considered starting the fire there and then, but I didn’t want to hurt Frank. I shook my mother and father awake, and they staggered up to bed. My brother followed them.

  “I waited until it was dark outside. It must have been about eleven o’clock when I entered their bedroom. They were fast asleep. I squirted the fluid on the curtains, around the window and on the bedspread. I borrowed Frank’s lighter—he was already smoking at that age—and touched it to the wet patches. Even now, I can still hear the whoosh of the flames in my head.

  “As I left the room, I sprinkled more by the handle and lit that too. The door had a key which I had taken earlier, and I locked it from the outside.

  “I had no idea how fast the blaze would take hold. Pretty soon, they began to scream. I went to wake up Frank. I remember worrying that I wouldn’t be able to carry him if he stayed asleep. He was groggy, but when he heard the noises coming from the bedroom, he quickly shook it off. He kept asking what I’d done, although it was obvious by then. I said we had to get out. He barged past me and raced down the hall. The paint on the door was bubbling by that stage. He reached for the handle, but it was so hot it burned away the skin on his hand.

  “I asked him what he was doing. He ignored me and sprinted to the bathroom where he soaked a towel in water. Then he ran back and tried again. By now the sound of screaming had stopped. He became increasingly desperate. Eventually, he realised it was locked.

  “He grabbed me by the throat and demanded to know where the key was. I stayed silent. That’s when he hit me—right in the face. I fell on the floor. My head touched the door which is where this came from.” Steven gestured to the scar at his temple.

  “He stood over me, screaming at me to tell him where I’d hidden it. Still, I refused, so he kicked me in the stomach. Then he laid into me with everything he had. The attack was so savage I lost consciousness. That was the last time I saw him until a year ago. I woke up the next morning in a hospital bed, bruised and suffering from smoke inhalation. It turns out my brother left me there in the burning house while he rushed off to find help. A fireman found me lying on the carpet. When they eventually broke down the door to my parents’ room, it was far too late for them.

  “Initially, they thought Frank was behind it all. He told the police it had been my idea.” He turned to Annalise. “So when Frank—or Mark—informed the investigators you were driving, it wasn’t the first time he had lied to save his own skin.”

  Mark leaned forward, his face pale and hollow. “I tried to call it off. You agreed. I didn’t think you were going to go through with it.”

  Despite her predicament, Annalise experienced a surge of relief at discovering that her boyfriend was not a cold-blooded murderer. Conversely, she noticed a darkening of the swirling tempest surrounding the younger brother’s head.

  “I did it so we could stay together,” Steven shrieked. “They were trying to separate us. You abandoned me and left me to die.” He took a deep, shuddering intake of breath and exhaled slowly, glancing down at his trembling fingers. He jammed his hands into his armpits.

  “So when they started to investigate, they discovered the key in my pocket. They found the remnants of the sleeping tablets in my parents’ bloodstreams—not that there was much of anything for them to
examine afterwards. Frank also tested positive for sedatives, but I was clear. To cap it all, they detected traces of the lighter fluid on my skin. At the age of eight, I didn’t attempt to disguise what I’d done, so it was simple for them to pin it all on me.

  “Obviously, I was too young to prosecute. I wasn’t old enough to be sent to a youth detention centre either, so I ended up in care. They stuck me in a house with a dozen other juvenile delinquents. It was sheer hell, and that was just the adults. These days it would be classified as child abuse. If we did anything wrong, they’d beat us, making sure not to leave any marks. The other kids were equally bad. The older ones bullied the younger ones. If they saw something they wanted, they took it. On average, I was beaten up three or four times a week. So what happened to you, Frank? Did you have a good upbringing?”

  Mark shrugged.

  Steven bent forwards and screamed, spittle flying from his lips. “I asked you about your frigging upbringing.”

  Mark glanced at the floor for a second then raised his eyes to meet his brother’s belligerent stare. “They put me with a foster family.”

  “And how did that work out?”

  “They were very good to me.”

  Steven grinned. “Great. I might pay them a visit when this is over, tell them what you were really like—just before I slit their throats.”

  Anger clouded Mark’s face. “If you touch them, I’ll—”

  “Oh, you won’t be doing anything dear brother, other than pushing up the daisies of course. Anyway, ladies, back to the main topic of our gathering. There was one last twist of the knife. A year ago, I saw the story about the car crash in the news. It was ten years since I’d seen Frank, but for obvious reasons, I immediately recognised him from his photograph.

  I moved to Steadmore. I make a living stealing cars to order, so it doesn’t matter too much where I live. It’s one of the few useful skills I learned while I was in care. I began stalking him. That’s when I discovered the final betrayal. I broke into his flat and searched through his stuff. There I came across the documents about the trust fund. By the way that’s also where I found out about the delightful Catherine. The authorities decided I shouldn’t profit from my crime, so there’s no juicy bundle of cash for me. I inherited precisely nothing.”