Beyond Evil

by Neil White

  ‘So why hasn’t anyone received them? They must have been sent yesterday?’

  Sheldon gave a rueful smile. ‘Her secretary didn’t realise the importance, because Amelia hadn’t told her what they were, and so she just didn’t get round to sending them. Mason’s group pinched the discs.’ Then something occurred to him. ‘You don’t seem surprised.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your involvement with Amelia was to get John Abbott into the group. That had no connection with Billy Privett.’

  ‘We didn’t know at first, but then when Amelia called us after Billy was killed, we started to wonder about it. When Amelia was killed, well, it became more than a guess.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me?’ Sheldon snapped. ‘I was in charge of the Billy Privett investigation then. You should have come to me.’

  Horne started to say something, and then he stopped and looked at the floor.

  Sheldon stepped closer. ‘It was time to cover your arse, wasn’t it?’ he said, glowering. ‘You’d lost your undercover man, and so you thought that if Henry’s group had killed Billy Privett, then perhaps Abbott had taken part. How close am I?’

  Horne nodded but didn’t look up. ‘Too close.’

  ‘So you let them stay free because you were protecting your department?’ Sheldon said, incredulous. ‘They killed Amelia the next day. If you had passed this on, we could have locked them up straight away. Amelia would have been alive.’

  ‘I know,’ Horne said, all the resolve gone in his voice.

  Sheldon sat back down on the windowsill, shaking his head.

  ‘Chief Inspector Dixon,’ Sheldon said. ‘She has looked worried the last couple of days. Is that why? She let you onto her patch and you’ve caused mayhem?’

  Horne shook his head. ‘Dixon doesn’t know about Abbott.’ He exhaled noisily. ‘You might as well know. Dixon couldn’t know about Abbott.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Dixon’s daughter is with the group.’

  Sheldon paled. He remembered how Dixon acted when he brought Lucy into the station, when everyone thought she was Billy’s housekeeper.

  ‘It was Dixon who arranged for Lucy to be seen with Ted Kenyon,’ Sheldon said, trying to work it out through his head. Now, it seemed clearer. ‘It was done to stop him campaigning and getting too close to the truth. She was protecting her daughter.’

  ‘That’s how we read it now,’ Horne said, ‘but we hadn’t known there was any connection with Billy Privett.’

  Sheldon went to the door. Before he got there, he turned round and said, ‘What’s the name of Dixon’s daughter?’

  ‘Gemma,’ Horne said. ‘Gemma Dixon.’

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Henry handed the knife to Gemma, his eyes wide with excitement.

  Dawn was screaming, long lung-bursting shouts of fear, but Henry showed no reaction. They were a long way from anyone who might hear them.

  John’s heart felt like fast finger taps. Dawn was thrashing in front of him, and he knew he should intervene, but he was excited by it. He tried to shake it away, but it was there, seeing Gemma enjoying it so much. Gemma looked at him and gestured with a cock of her head that he should join her. He looked around the group. Everyone was looking at him, expectant, and so he stepped forward, stood alongside Gemma.

  She smiled as he got next to her. He glanced over at Henry, who smiled almost paternally. Arni glowered, the intensity in his eyes telling John that he was turned on by this.

  He looked down at Gemma’s hand, at her slim fingers around the handle of the knife. The blade seemed to blink with reflected light. He could feel the presence of everyone else. The breaths they were holding, the anticipation. He looked up once more at Henry, who nodded. It was time.

  All John heard were the sounds of Dawn’s struggles. Her heels and elbows on the stone, the bang of her head, skin catching on the rock. Panicked cries.

  Gemma’s hand moved forward until the tip of the knife rested against Dawn’s skin, just pressing inwards, making a dimple, just under the ribs. Dawn winced.

  Henry held up his hands, and everyone turned to him.

  ‘No battles are won without spilling blood,’ he said, his voice low. ‘It’s been the same throughout history; progress has cost lives. And so without the shedding of blood, we cannot move ourselves forward. We are free men and free women.’

  Gemma grinned and whispered, ‘As it is.’ Then she pushed with her hand.

  Dawn bucked as the blade disappeared into her side, blood rushing onto the knife. It went in so easily, John thought. Dawn screamed again, except this time it was the sharp scream of pain. John shuddered and he felt himself go light-headed. The field swam in front of him. He had to hold on, he knew that. He was the only one reacting. This had happened before. There was nothing new. And they were watching him. This was his first real test.

  He looked down and watched as Gemma withdrew the knife. Blood ran quickly from the wound down to the stone, gushing out in spurts as Dawn’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyelids flickered. She was in shock.

  Gemma turned to John and held the dagger to him. ‘Now you,’ she whispered.

  John looked around the group. Everyone was smiling.

  ‘Don’t be uncertain,’ Gemma whispered to him. ‘This is the way. We all take a turn, so that we have all banished her.’

  John swallowed and felt his mouth go dry. He looked at the hole in the ground, waiting for her, a large stone lying flat alongside.

  Gemma followed his gaze and smiled. ‘We bury her, in the stone circle. A stone for her, just like the rest.’

  A headstone, John thought.

  Gemma’s hand went around his. Her fingers felt warm, and he remembered how they had been on his body. He could feel her breath on his cheeks, the soft brush of her hair against his neck.

  The knife was placed into his hand and the blade pushed against Dawn’s skin. She was saying something, and he paused as he listened to hear her words.

  ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,’ Dawn said, pausing to lick her lips. ‘He makes me lie down in green pastures.’

  Gemma whispered to him that he should push, smiling, her teeth on her lip, biting, coy. Her hand went to his neck, her fingers caressing softly, and she was nodding at him.

  He didn’t know how it started, but he felt his hand move forward, and when he looked down, the blade was disappearing into Dawn, just as it had done when Gemma had done it. Dawn was shaking now, her eyes rolling, and he just kept on pushing until he felt the handle of the knife rest against her skin.

  He looked at Gemma. She was smiling, her eyes showing her arousal.

  Dawn groaned when he pulled out the knife, her voice already getting weaker.

  The person next to him, Jennifer, took the knife from him and moved to take her position next to Dawn. The blade went in quicker this time, as if they had all become impatient, and John watched as the knife moved down the line.

  Dawn stopped moving after the fifth person, when the blade had found its way between two ribs and into her chest. Her body suddenly became flaccid, as if they had watched her life leave her, but still the knife went down the line, so that everyone had their turn, the ceremonial stab.

  Gemma turned to John and kissed him, her lips urgent, and John realised that his body was already responding, knowing that Gemma was aroused by the display. She pulled away.

  ‘You’re truly one of us now,’ she said. He just smiled and nodded. There was no turning back.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  ‘We’ve got to do something,’ Ted hissed at Charlie, who pulled out his phone. He had a message. He shielded it with his back to hide the glow from the screen.

  ‘It’s from Sheldon,’ Charlie said. He read it and nodded to himself.

  ‘What is it?’ Ted said.

  ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,’ he said, almost to himself. When Ted frowned, Charlie said, ‘It’s about John Abbott. The poli
ce paid our bill to represent him, because Abbott works for the police.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Charlie showed Ted the message. It just said, Abbott is undercover. Infiltrated group.

  ‘Undercover?’ Ted whispered, surprised.

  ‘It looks like Amelia represented a fake defendant to attract the attention of Henry Mason.’

  Ted’s eyes widened, visible in the moonlight. ‘Which is why Amelia called the police after Billy made the video. She was worried about Abbott, because she knew that Henry Mason wasn’t just some political activist.’

  ‘He was a murderer,’ Charlie said, nodding.

  Charlie sent a message back to Sheldon to let him know that people were in danger, and that they were at an old cottage on Jackson Heights. Once he clicked send, he looked at Ted and said, ‘We have to wait for the police. There’s too many of them. They’ll turn on Donia if they catch us.’

  ‘We can’t just sit here and watch someone die,’ Ted said, and started to climb out of the ditch.

  Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him back. ‘It’s too late to save whoever that is,’ he said, desperation creeping into his voice. ‘Think of Donia.’

  Ted shrugged him off but didn’t say anything.

  Charlie looked towards the figures by the stones, and in the moonlight, he saw the blood on the woman on the stone, dark against her pale skin. She was still now. He looked across to the window where he could see Donia’s outline, and he realised she would be next, whatever they did.

  Ted was right.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Charlie said, and started to clamber out of the ditch.

  ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Sit tight,’ he said, and then jumped out of the ditch and ran the short five yards to the wall. He was in the open, and knew that movement might attract their attention, but it was the only way. His hands went onto the wall. The stones were loose, but his choices were limited. He threw his leg towards it and scrambled over, heard the clack of stones as he fell to the ground on the other side. He sat there, panting, waiting for some sign that he had been seen or heard. He couldn’t hear anything.

  Charlie took a deep breath and tried to work out the layout. There was movement nearby. He jumped, and then clasped his hand to his chest as he saw the outline of a sheep. The deep thump of his heart made him realise that he couldn’t afford to get this wrong.

  He went onto all fours and shuffled along, his fingers moving through the coarse grass. The cottage got nearer all the time, and he could see light through the windows. Donia wasn’t visible, and he started doubting that it had been her, but he had to keep going, just in case.

  He got to a gate, a metal five-bar that kept the sheep penned in. He peered through. He was level with the standing stones, visible along a stone path than ran alongside the cottage. His eyes shot to the window again. He saw Donia’s outline again, the curl of her hair. And he noticed something else this time; the metal grille on the window, and the sharp knots of barbed wire.

  There was excited chatter coming from the group at the stones. The woman on there was naked and still, and Charlie could see blood on her, some of it seeping onto the stone. He smacked his hand against the wall in frustration. He should be helping her. He sat back, felt the cold stone against his body, and hung his head for a moment. But he couldn’t focus on that. He had to find a way inside without being spotted.

  He went to the gate again and peered through. The woman on the stone had not moved, but it seemed like the group was distracted by her.

  The gate was held closed by a small loop of rope. Charlie lifted it away from the stone gatepost, watching the group all the time, waiting for someone to spot the movement, and then pulled at the gate. It didn’t creak. He let out a long breath, and then put himself into the gap. He kept on watching the group and made a silent prayer that there was still enough darkness around him to hide the pale glare of his face.

  There was a small stone courtyard behind the cottage, sheltered by an outbuilding that spurred off the main house. It would give him shelter, but he couldn’t see a way in. As he looked along the cottage though, he saw a shaft of light going onto the grass. It was the main doorway. He would have to go in that way.

  Charlie ran across the path, kept low and headed for a dark shadow in the grey stone that was created by the overhang of the roof. There were no shouts, no one looking towards him.

  He tried to absorb himself into the wall so that he was enveloped by darkness, but everyone seemed too engrossed in whatever was going on at the stone circle to hear him.

  His footsteps were slow as he crept forward, careful of where he was standing. The darkness at the side of the house made him feel more secure. His foot kicked something metal, and so he paused, to make sure that no one had heard him. As the metal object caught the light from the window, he saw the jagged teeth of an animal trap.

  Charlie knew then that it wouldn’t be easy.

  As he edged forward, he saw that he had to cross the window where he had seen Donia. He moved quickly, knowing that he would cast a shadow across the path. As he got back to the relative darkness, he took another look around. There was nothing there except the light from the window reflected back against the eyes of a watching sheep, like yellow glints in the black.

  He was close to the corner of the house and could see more clearly what was happening on the stones. The woman on the stone wasn’t moving, but the blood still ran from the wounds along the side of her body, gravity doing the work, her heart no longer pumping it out.

  Charlie closed his eyes. What the hell was going on up here?

  Then when he opened his eyes again, he saw that everyone was looking up the field, distracted now. He followed their gaze, and then he put his head back against the wall.

  It was Ted, walking towards the group.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Sheldon arrived at Dixon’s home and jabbed at the doorbell, which sounded loud in the night. When Dixon answered the door, it looked like she had expected visitors. There was no surprise. She turned away from him without a word and walked into the house. She slumped onto a large leather recliner, and as she settled, Sheldon thought her eyes took too long to refocus on him. There was a large wine glass half-filled with a deep red liquid, and the bottle on the floor next to her was empty.

  She saw him looking. ‘So, I’m getting pissed. So what? I’m entitled to celebrate.’ Her voice sounded bitter.

  ‘Celebrate what?’

  ‘What do you think? The end of my police career,’ she said, and she raised her glass. ‘A-fucking-men to that.’

  Sheldon sat down on the sofa opposite, the soft leather squeaking as he made himself comfortable. He thought about offering some words of comfort, but she was right. It was all over, and she knew it.

  ‘Where is Mr Dixon?’ Sheldon asked.

  Her lip curled. ‘Mr Dixon isn’t here anymore. He doesn’t like the way I do things. And do you know what, Sheldon; neither do I.’

  ‘So tell me,’ Sheldon said. ‘How do you do things?’

  She didn’t answer, just stared into her glass instead.

  ‘Answer me something else then,’ Sheldon said.

  She looked up.

  ‘Why did you want me to lead the investigation?’ he said. ‘You tried to keep me. Why?’

  Dixon considered him for a few moments, and then she shook her head. ‘You don’t want to go there.’

  ‘But I do.’

  ‘You know the answer.’

  ‘I want to hear you say it.’

  She took a gulp of wine, and then went to the room next door, coming back with another bottle, picking at the foil seal with the end of a corkscrew. Once she had opened the bottle, she refilled her glass and held the bottle out for Sheldon. ‘Do you want some?’

  Sheldon shook his head.

  She scowled. ‘Didn’t think you would,’ she said. ‘Too fucking pure and controlled. That’s always been your problem. Not enough fun away from the job.’

>   ‘You don’t look like you are having fun to me.’

  She leaned forward, wine spilling out of her glass onto the carpet. ‘Don’t be smart, Sheldon, it doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘So tell me,’ he said, his tone firmer. ‘Why did you appoint me as head of the investigation?’

  ‘Why do you think? Because I admired you? Is that what you think?’ she said, the words snapping out, becoming strident. ‘No, Sheldon, you have it all wrong.’ She laughed, but it was exaggerated, filled with drunken scorn. ‘I knew you would mess it up, and so I fought for you.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t get found out?’ he said. He had guessed that as a reason, but it didn’t lessen the feeling of betrayal, of humiliation, that he was the force joke. ‘Or was I just getting too close, by bringing in Lucy? You put me on leave to keep me away, hoping that the files would eventually become cold cases, and so that you could hold on until retirement, hoping that Gemma grows out of her little gang of misfits.’

  Dixon looked like she had been slapped when he said Gemma’s name.

  She took a drink. ‘I protected my daughter, that’s all. Is that a crime?’

  Sheldon nodded slowly. ‘You know that it is, the way you did it.’

  Dixon paused at that, and then her lip trembled, her eyes glassy, tears brimming onto her eyelids. She swallowed and gritted her teeth as she tried to maintain some control.

  He felt like he ought to go over to her, to offer some support, but he couldn’t get over the fact that people had died, due to her actions.

  ‘When did it start?’ he said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘How long have you known about Gemma and Billy Privett and Alice Kenyon?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t know. That was the problem. I still don’t. I just know that Gemma is with people she shouldn’t be with. But what can I do? She’s twenty now, although she doesn’t look it. I followed her a few times, and I found out they were hanging around with Billy Privett. They were having parties there, just a couple of weeks before Alice died. As soon as I heard about Alice, I feared the worst, I suppose.’