by Mark Roberts
The old man’s eyes stared at Hendricks as he wandered up the bone-white steps of the cathedral.
‘We need to know who the victim is and where the rest of him is,’ said Clay, gazing at the river. ‘There haven’t been any decapitations on Merseyside for years, never mind a decapitation with both feet taken for good measure.’
She recalled the old man’s face and focused on the neatness of the stitching that kept his eyelids attached to the line of his socket and his eyes wide open. She pictured the cleanliness of the kill in Leonard Lawson’s bedroom and sensed Hendricks, benevolent but vulture-like, across the city, picking away quietly at the workings of her mind.
‘Old men being targeted for murder by the same perpetrators: it’s very rare, Eve, but not unheard of.’ In reading her mind, Hendricks had scored a dead-centre bullseye.
‘What the hell’s going on, Bill?’
‘Just that,’ replied Hendricks. ‘Hell. Discuss, Eve?’
Clay put two images together in her mind and let her thoughts unwind. ‘Two victims. One starting point. A painting depicting the merry march to hell. Huddersfield and his accomplice believe they’re sending their victims to eternal damnation.’
‘What does Gabriel Huddersfield’s private space say to you, Eve?’
She added up the religious imagery of Christ on the front door of his flat, a door that could be seen by anyone inside the building, and the things she’d seen in the lair of his secret self. The fetishist mask on the dummy in the bathroom and the progression of mankind from the Garden of Eden through the violence of the fallen world to the eternal sufferings of the damned. ‘They’re sending their victims to hell.’
‘We’ve been hanging around together too long, Eve. I’m going into the cathedral,’ said Hendricks, closing the call down
On the edge of Clay’s vision, a small cargo ship glided slowly towards Garston Docks and she was filled with a sweet sadness. She remembered visiting Otterspool Promenade as a small girl with Sister Philomena and how they’d waved to the deck hands on the boats. It was a game she played with Philip on the same Cast Iron Shore. A wheel turned in her childhood memory.
As she got into her car, the ship on the water sailed closer to the dock and her head spun faster and faster.
46
10.35 am
As she buttered a slice of brown toast, Danielle Miller smiled at the racket coming from the table. She would never understand how a handful of men could make themselves so loud. They shouted and laughed across the table at each other. She looked around. Standing near the garden door, Abey was the odd one out. Quiet and distracted, he looked out of the window as Adam approached the house from his shed.
‘Toast, Abey?’ she asked.
‘No thank you. Not hungry.’
Maybe, she thought, he’s picked up on Louise’s upset.
‘That’s a first,’ said Gideon from the table. ‘Are you OK, mate?’
‘OK, mate,’ replied Abey as the door opened and Adam entered the kitchen with his thermos flask.
‘Tea,’ said Adam, holding up his flask to Danielle.
‘You’ll have to boil a kettle,’ she replied.
‘What are you laughing at, Gid?’ asked Adam.
‘A face that Tom Thumb just pulled.’
‘I hope you’re not laughing at me.’ Adam smiled.
Abey looked at Adam’s back and then at the garden shed.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Danielle. ‘Drop it!’
Abey slipped out of the kitchen and started to walk down the line of footsteps that Adam had made in the freshly fallen snow.
He looked back. No one was coming.
His breath heaved from his body in vast plumes of vapour and his heart beat faster as he came closer to the shed.
A frightened bird flew from a shrub and a branch weighed down with snow dropped to the ground. Snowflakes landed on his soft eyelashes. He wiped his eyes.
He glanced over his shoulder. No one was behind him.
The shed door, normally locked, swung a little in the wind.
It was dark in the shed and the smell of Adam’s body poured from it like darkness.
He looked at the door and back over his shoulder.
There was a light on in the shed. And the air tasted like the zoo.
He turned to walk back, then pivoted round again in the same moment.
His fingers fitted the edge of the open door.
Abey went into the shed.
47
10.41 am
As Clay was about to turn on to the roundabout at the bottom of Jericho Lane, heading away from the tip, DC Barney Cole approached in his Renault Picasso. She pulled up in the middle of the road, wound down her window.
‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this,’ he said.
‘What’s the alternative? You’re too cheap to buy me a coffee. Good news or bad on the CCTV?’
‘Good and bad.’
‘Start with the bad.’
‘Looking to place Huddersfield and AN Other at Lark Lane, top end near Sefton Park, in and around the vicinity of Pelham Grove, in the two-hour window before the 999 call, we have three sources. The wine bar, the Mexican restaurant and an antique shop. They all have cameras pointing on to Lark Lane. I’ve been through six hours of footage and there was absolutely no one on there.’
‘OK, how about the good news?’
DC Cole laughed. ‘No, no, there’s more bad.’ He pointed in the general direction of the tip, formed a gun from his finger and mimed shooting himself in the head. He then pointed in the direction of Riverside Drive, the road that paralleled the course of the River Mersey into town. ‘I got footage from two sources. The Festival Garden’s front gate and the Britannia pub. Both crystal-clear footage from between eight and nine o’clock this morning. That’s one way of getting away from the tip. There were several vehicles but not a single white van. Even given the number of white vans out there. Not this morning.’
‘Dare I ask?’ said Clay.
He held up a pen drive. ‘Fulton Court, the apartment block back there on Jericho Lane. It’s got a CCTV camera on its front gate. The lady from the block’s management company assures me that it’s got a direct and clear view of any traffic leaving the tip between eight and nine this morning. And that is the only other way of getting away in a vehicle from the tip. I’ve only just copied it.’
‘Phone me as soon as you ID the vehicle!’
‘I’ll make two calls on two phones at the same time. You and the DVLA in Swansea.’
‘You know I love you, don’t you, Barney.’
‘That’s why you put me on CCTV watch.’
‘You’re a sensitive soul. I’d rather you were watching cars than looking at what turned up at the tip today.’
‘I heard.’ He smiled. ‘Rufus and Chaka Khan.’
‘Eh?’
‘Ain’t Nobody...’
She turned on her ignition. ‘You’re really quite a sick individual.’
He waved the pen drive. ‘A sickie with a stickie and a pair of beady eyes.’
48
10.42 am
The shed door opened and Adam froze in the doorway. Abey stood in the centre of the shed facing him, silent.
‘What are you doing in here?’ asked Adam, his voice like barbed wire.
‘Fresh air. The kitchen noisy. Head hurts.’ Abey took a step backwards. ‘Walk in garden. Door open. Come inside. Cold garden.’
A look of rage filled Adam’s face, but almost immediately it was replaced by a look of amusement.
‘OK, that’s fine by me, Abey. But, really, you should never come into my shed on your own. Do you know why?’
‘No.’
‘First of all, it’s my shed and you have no business being here. But I might as well give you directions to the Runcorn Bridge and expect you to understand that than elaborate about manners. So I’ll tell you the other reason.’ He indicated the walls, and the saws, hammers, planers, screwdrivers and pliers all
neatly set out on their individual hangings. ‘It’s full of tools and tools can be very dangerous, particularly for a fully certified village idiot such as yourself, Abey. Tools. Dangerous. Dangerous. Tools.’
Adam poured himself a cup of tea from his thermos flask, saw Abey watching and asked, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Abey?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Go to the kitchen, there’s plenty tea there. What are you staring at?’
‘No.’ Abey shook his head sadly.
Adam sipped his tea and asked, ‘I overheard you talking in your bedroom this morning. I was bleeding the radiators, working hard, to make sure you lot don’t catch a chill. So, yeah, I heard you talking out loud. I heard you say why. Were you with someone?’
‘No.’
‘You can’t be asking yourself why. I’ll ask you again. Were you with someone?’
‘No, not anyone. Talk.’ Abey prodded himself in the chest. ‘Me talk to me.’
‘Are you sure you weren’t with someone?’
‘Sure.’
‘On your dada’s grave?’
‘Dada’s grave.’
‘Goooooood boy! You know, I think you can be trusted, Abey.’
Adam’s eyes danced to the door of the shed. He went over to it and sliced the inner bolt shut.
‘All locked in, safe and sound and snug, Abey. You and me, boy!’ Adam produced a small key from his pocket. ‘You know, you’re a good-looking fellah in a simple kind of way. I know a few people who’d love to make your acquaintance.’
He bent down, pulled a locked box from beneath his workbench and opened the padlock. He looked at Abey. ‘It’d do you the world of good to get out of this place and meet new people. How does that sound?’
Abey said nothing.
‘Would you like to meet new people?’
‘No.’
‘Abey?’
‘No like strangers.’
‘Abey?’ He took a step towards Abey.
Abey looked over his shoulder. His back was against the back of the shed.
‘They’re nice guys, Abey. Would you like to meet them?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s exactly the right answer. And because you’ve given the right answer, I’m going to give you a little treat. Look at this.’ Adam opened the box and reached inside. He took out the top object and showed it to Abey. A whip. Unwinding it, he held the handle firmly in his right hand and half-whipped the narrow space of the shed. ‘Do you want to have a go?’
He placed the whip in Abey’s right hand and the long, thin strip of leather dangled to the floor at his feet. ‘It’s all in the wrist and elbow. Have a go.’
Abey made the whip shake and dance around his leg.
‘Hey, we’re having fun, Abey. Maybe, Abey... Ha, maybe, Abey, we could spend more time together. Having fun. With the toys in my box.’
‘That your toy box?’
‘Oh, yeah, it’s full of toys.’
‘Me see.’
‘Can you do as you’re told?’
‘Me can do told.’
‘Can you keep your mouth shut and not tell?’
Abey closed his mouth tightly, placed both hands over his mouth.
‘Listen, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, because some clever so-and-so up in the house will no doubt be wondering where you are. But before you go...’ He put the whip back in the box and locked it. ‘Who gets whipped?’
Abey dropped his hands. ‘Horses. And Jesus.’
‘And anyone who breathes a word about my toy box.’ He pointed at Abey, who zipped his own lips with his fingers.
Adam unbolted the door and lifted a large silver axe from the wall. He picked up a block of wood from a plastic bin full of oddments of timber. The door of the shed gaped open. The garden was empty and snow fell like frozen tears.
‘Do you know what this is? This is an axe. An axe! Have you ever heard the word axe before?’
‘Yes. Axe.’ Abey crossed his arms, held on tightly to his shoulders.
‘This is what an axe can do.’ Adam placed the block on the workbench and with an expert swing split the wood in two. He swung again and the wood flew off the bench. Taking the axe up high, he buried the sharpened blade in the work surface. ‘Which is what I’ve been explaining to you, Abey, about being safe around dangerous tools. What have we been talking about?’
Arms still crossed, Abey pointed at the axe. ‘Dangerous tool. Adam tell Abey... how be safe...’
‘Go on, beat it back to the house now!’ Adam held his finger to his lips and whispered, ‘Ssshhh!’
When Abey was out in the snow, Adam closed the door and pulled the bolt over. He took out his mobile phone and connected to the one contact on it. AG.
‘I want more, more of the same, Angel Gabriel.’ He spoke to the ringing of the phone. The phone had one function. To manipulate Gabriel. It rang out. Gabriel wasn’t picking up, was probably too weak to get out of bed.
Adam disconnected and placed the axe back on the wall.
When his phone rang out, a wave of shock hit him. Gabriel was under strict instructions never to ring him. He guessed at a cold call from some PPI repayment scammers but was shocked to see ‘AG’ on the display.
Adam connected and said, ‘Do you realise you’ve just disobeyed me?’ There was silence. ‘Do you realise that actions have consequences?’ Silence. It sounded like AG’s place – the sour ambience, the hollow spaces. Coldness crept across Adam’s skin as footsteps echoed in another room and men spoke in the background. ‘Are you there?’ Something was wrong. ‘Talk to me.’
He disconnected, stared at the phone and wondered if Gabriel had visitors and if so, who they were. He unbolted the shed door and locked it on the outside. Looking up the garden, he felt the first wave of giddy panic crash inside him as a police siren sounded, passing the front of the house.
He had made a call and that call had been returned to the same place. His shed. Adam looked at the sky. Satellites. Calls could be pinned down to the shed.
In the distance he heard more sirens, but the loudest siren was inside his head.
49
10.46 am
As Clay walked into the main room of Huddersfield’s flat in 777 Croxteth Road, she picked up the buzz of excitement in the air.
‘I was just about to call you, Eve,’ said Mason.
The floor was filling with three categories of Huddersfield’s possessions.
Paints, canvases, brushes, modelling plaster, books, magazines, prints.
Statues of saints, crucifixes, Bibles, pictures of Jesus, pamphlets, books on spirituality.
Ropes, chains, knives, vibrators, magazines, whips, handcuffs, ankle shackles.
Art. Religion. Sex.
‘Good God, you’ve been working hard,’ said Clay.
Mason held out a small, cheap phone. ‘Huddersfield’s mobile.’
Clay walked over to him and squinted at the eleven digits on the display panel.
‘I think the First Born called.’ Mason smiled. ‘I answered a call to Huddersfield’s phone, I played the silent card, the caller hung up. But this number came on the display.’
‘When did this happen?’ asked Clay.
‘A minute ago. We’re already on to the service provider and should have a name and address within the next few minutes.’
‘Did you call back?’
‘I did.’
‘And did the caller speak?’
‘Yes. He said, Do you realise you’ve just disobeyed me? Then something about actions having consequences. I bet it’s Huddersfield’s sadomasochistic other half.’
‘You have this taped?’
‘Of course.’
‘Hey, Terry!’ A voice from another room called.
It felt as if the coldness of the entire house had manifested itself as an invisible finger that brushed the back of her neck. A name was coming and with that name an address, an identity...
A face framed in a white hood peered from the doorway
. She watched the mouth picked out by a landing light, a mouth that seemed disembodied, and the effect was chilling.
‘News from the service provider...’ She watched vapour pour from the mouth. ‘Their system’s down. All the client data’s locked up in a glitch.’
Clay felt it like a direct punch to her stomach and, for a moment, she feared she was going to throw up.
‘Their engineers are working on it.’
Cold mist, abysmal news. Was the First Born at work, using humans as toys and meddling with mankind’s toys and gadgets?
‘They’re going to phone us as soon as they’ve fixed their systems and can divvy us a name.’
‘No!’ Clay was surprised at the volume of her own voice and the way it seemed to fill the room. ‘Don’t wait for them to phone back. Phone them back every minute on a free line.’ She headed for the front door. ‘They’ll fix the system and fail to call us back because there’s been a change of shift and someone forgot to tell!’ She stopped at the door, anger peaking. ‘Terry, get the biggest pain in the arse you’ve got to get his or her teeth into their ankle!’
50
10.57 am
On Croxteth Road, in the thickening fog, Riley almost collided with Clay. iPhone in hand, Clay said, ‘I was just about to call you.’
The disappointment Clay had just experienced lifted when Riley said, ‘Successful trip to the Hart Building. I’m waiting on Justine Elgar to come up with some people who knew Leonard Lawson back in the day.’
‘Gina, walk with me to my car, please.’
As they walked, Clay realised she could barely feel her feet. The cold had numbed them. She blew into her hands and wished for spring.
‘Leonard Lawson spent the best part of his life hiding something,’ said Riley.
‘Go on,’ said Clay.
‘His whole career at the University of Liverpool was marked by an almost supernatural blandness. Decades passed and he never missed a lecture, never missed a beat. Then, in the early eighties, he was offered megabucks to go Stateside and cough out twenty lectures. He turned it down with a, an excuse and b, a complete lie.’
