by Mark Roberts
The ring tone sounded in Hendricks’s ear.
There were only two other signs of human life in the car park. The police van in which Gabriel Huddersfield was detained and a white van that had been checked out as Adam Miller’s vehicle.
‘Sergeant Harris, I want to talk to Gabriel Huddersfield.’
‘I can see you, DS Hendricks.’
Hendricks walked towards the white van and pictured Adam Miller driving up to the gate of the Otterspool tip and dropping off the freezer that morning. He looked through the windscreen and saw only darkness within. The driver’s door was locked. He walked round, opened the back doors and shone a torch around the interior. He opened the closest bag to him, saw the bank books and a passport, and noted the black box, like a makeshift coffin with a padlock to ensnare the spirit of the dead things inside it. He recalled the scenes in Gabriel Huddersfield’s flat and whispered, ‘Fun and games, eh?’
The passenger door was open, a clear indicator that Miller had become careless and was falling apart under the pressure of his crimes. I so want, thought Hendricks, to be in the interview suite with you and Eve Clay.
He sat in one of the passenger seats, turned on the overhead light, opened the glove compartment and took out the only item in it. A leaflet from the Anglican Cathedral, the calling card of Adam Miller, a master of disguise hiding behind the vastness of the church.
Behind him, Sergeant Harris opened the back door of the police van and then the cage in which Huddersfield was contained. Through the rear-view mirror, Hendricks watched him march Huddersfield over to Miller’s van.
‘Get in, Gabriel. Sit down.’
Huddersfield, bound by handcuffs and in the early stages of extreme fatigue, slumped into the space next to Hendricks. Sergeant Harris closed the passenger door and Hendricks pressed record on his phone.
‘Nice and cosy,’ said Hendricks. ‘Home from home for you.’
‘How do you mean?’ The wind picked up, lashing the empty space of the car park, causing the van to shake. The chime sounded louder.
‘You must have travelled in this van with Adam Miller?’
After a long time, Huddersfield replied. ‘No.’
‘I want to establish some basic details, Gabriel. It’s too late for lies. Tell me the truth. How did you and Adam Miller travel to Leonard Lawson’s house?’
‘We didn’t.’
‘Did you meet him there by pre-arrangement?’
‘No.’
‘Did he arrive first and let you in or vice versa?’
‘No.’
‘We will catch Adam Miller, Gabriel. He can’t escape the country because the ports and airports have all been put on red alert. His passport’s in the back of the van. He has nothing but the clothes he stands up in and part of that belongs to a dead police officer. It’s not a case of if he gets caught, it’s a case of when, and that when’s probably going to be within a matter of hours. You’ve got a chance to get ahead of him for once. Take it, Gabriel.’
Hendricks glanced at Miller’s teeth marks in Huddersfield’s neck. ‘Look at me, Gabriel. Please,’ he said with kindness.
Slowly, Huddersfield turned his head and engaged with Hendricks.
‘Adam Miller’s in a lot more trouble than you are. Please don’t make your situation worse by defending him. If the roles were reversed, he’d be sending you down the river at the speed of light and begging for a plea bargain. What he’s done to your body for his own gratification, he’d do to the whole of your being, including any hope you have for the future. And he’d do it without a second thought. Take off your chains. Help yourself. Stop being a perpetual victim.’
‘How?’
‘Tell me the truth. You’re not the instigator in these crimes.’
‘The First Born served Death and I served the First Born as the Angel of Destruction.’
All right, thought Hendricks. If it’s easier for you to talk in these terms. ‘How did the First Born communicate with you?’
‘The First Born came to my room, followed me from the park, followed me up the stairs, came into my room and told me not to turn on the light.’ Gabriel sighed, looked as if he was about to fall asleep. Hendricks looked out at the bell tower and guessed fatigue had made Huddersfield omit to say that he’d been tailed from the cathedral.
‘It was dark. It was always dark when the First Born called to see me, to talk to me, to tell me about the wicked things that people did and how they needed punishment, and he left me an instruction to paint a vision of what would happen to these people when they came to their last judgment. The First Born showed me a picture in a book, but I knew the picture already because it was on the wall. The First Born was well pleased in me. The first task the First Born gave me was to paint over the vision, to bring the faded colours to life. And when I’d painted it, the First Born called in the dark, always the dark, and I was to stand outside when the First Born stood alone in the room and turned on the light and I listened as the First Born wept tears of joy and happiness. I heard the light turn off and the First Born commanded me to enter the dark room and I followed the First Born’s voice to the centre of the room and the First Born pressed me down on to the floor and the First Born lay beside me, the lion and the lamb, and the First Born told me I was his angel and that we were to serve Death. And that is how it happened. And that is how it became. And that is how it is.’
‘Did the First Born visit you often?’
‘Often in the dark. Sometimes talking. Sometimes silent. Always lying together on the floor. Sometimes touching. Sometimes not.’
‘How long ago did these visits begin?’
‘I counted the days. 365.’
‘You grew close to the First Born?’
‘The First Born was preparing me to become the angel.’ Huddersfield laid his hand on Hendricks’s wrist, gripped the bone beneath his sleeve. ‘Two weeks ago, the First Born tested me. We walked towards the river, to the big house where the old people lived. Abraham and his wife.’ His grip grew tighter.
‘Had they sinned like Leonard Lawson?’ asked Hendricks.
‘Everybody sins, but none like Leonard Lawson. No, it was simply their time and so we had to prepare them for the last judgment. He without a body, facing judgments as head and feet, she tied to the post and pole with diagonal bonds. It was simply a test of my faith.’
Huddersfield smiled.
‘What’s amusing you?’
‘I loved every second of it, every moment inside every second.’ The smile dissolved as quickly as it formed. ‘Then I was confused. I asked the First Born what we would do with the body and the First Born said freeze it. I asked the First Born what we would do with the wife’s body and the First Born said feed the maggots. I asked the First Born what we would do with the head and feet and the First Born said use them. The First Born would see to everything.’
Huddersfield’s eyes misted over. ‘When no one came knocking on my door, no police, I knew the First Born was true to the First Born’s word. We were immune from the world in the service of Death and the working of the Lord’s will. The First Born told me, find Leonard Lawson, let him know what fear is. Give him back what he gave to the other half. I obeyed. We lay in the dark and the First Born whispered, Leonard Lawson, it is his time, he knows we are coming.’
‘Why did Adam Miller hate Leonard Lawson so much, Gabriel?’
Gabriel Huddersfield looked as if his mind had drifted away from his body. ‘Did he? Are you sure of that?’
Hendricks paused. ‘We know about your past, Gabriel. All those elderly men you attacked. But you weren’t the leader here. Why did he target the elderly?’
‘The First Born. He killed them. He hated the old. He hated what they reminded him of. He hated to think that there would be a time when his body was weak and limp and sagging. He hated his father and there was something about Leonard Lawson that reminded him of his poor dead daddy. But most of all, he just loved to inflict pain on others in as many different ways a
s he could. I’ve said all I’m going to say.’
‘You’ve said enough for now, Gabriel. The First Born, Adam Miller, solicited your help in murdering three old people. One was a punishment killing, the others were a bloody dress rehearsal.’
Huddersfield’s mouth closed and he took his hand away from Hendricks’s wrist. As Huddersfield looked away, Hendricks still felt the pressure of his fingers digging into his flesh.
He stopped recording, opened the passenger door and instructed Sergeant Harris to take Huddersfield to Trinity Road.
He phoned Clay. ‘Where are you, Eve?’
‘On my way back to the station.’
‘Gabriel Huddersfield. Listen to this.’ He pressed play. ‘Nice and cosy.’ Hendricks disliked the sound of his recorded voice. ‘Home from home for you.’
99
6.28 pm
In the interview suite at Trinity Road police station, Riley looked at the clock on the wall and then at Louise, still and silent on the other side of the table.
‘It’s been nearly half an hour since DCI Clay took away the pages from the back of your cross-stitch. I’ve already read them and when she returns she’ll have read them. I’ve asked you about them and you’ve stonewalled me. That makes this a one-sided conversation. When DCI Clay returns, this is going to become a formal police interview. You have the right to legal representation when that happens.’
Louise looked down at the palms of her upturned hands.
‘Let me ask you again. What happened on the roof of the Vestey Tower?’ Silence. ‘Many, many times, Louise, when we interview criminals, they sit there and respond to every question we ask with No comment. If you choose to remain silent, we’ll class it as a No comment interview. Nine out of ten No comment interviews result in the criminal being convicted and serving a custodial sentence. Innocent people who’ve found themselves mixed up in the horrible messes that we deal with... Innocent people cooperate with us, because they’ve either got nothing to hide or, if they do have something to hide, the circumstances surrounding that mean it’s not their fault. They got sucked into other people’s wrongdoing. Deeper and deeper, so they can’t see a way out.’
Louise made eye contact with Riley for the first time since she’d entered the interview suite.
‘I know you’re scared, Louise, but—’
The door opened and Clay entered clutching the cross-stitch. She sat at the table next to Riley and said, ‘We’re making video and audio recordings of this interview, Louise. Do you understand that?’
‘I’m not a fool.’
‘Do you want the legal representation that you’re entitled to?’
‘No.’
‘Then we’ll proceed.’
Clay sent out a round-robin text: DS Riley and I are in the interview suite with Louise Lawson. Please only contact in the case of an absolute emergency. Thank you. Eve
She pressed the record button and formally opened the interview.
‘I apologise for the length of time I kept you waiting, Louise, but I’ve had a lot of thinking and reading to do. And a call to make.’
Clay laid the sampler on the table, opened the back and took out the picture of the two newborn baby boys and the twelve pages.
‘I’ll start with the phone call I made, Louise,’ she said. ‘I telephoned the medical records department of the Royal Liverpool University Hospital and asked them to pull up two sets of records. Do you know whose notes I asked for, Louise?’
‘I’m not psychic.’
‘Your notes and your father’s notes. You see, I went back to the first time I clapped eyes on you because I wanted to double-check everything. The first time I saw you, Louise, you were in the recovery position on the street, post-epileptic seizure.’
Clay waited, leaned forward and said softly, ‘Louise, you’ve never been treated for epilepsy in your life. Your father has, but you haven’t. The Lyrica tablets for L Lawson that you left on your dressing table were prescribed for your father, not you. Congratulations on a fine performance. Most people would have broken their fall with their hands, but you did it with your head, which was most convincing. Most people sitting where you are would now go and tell me that it runs in the family and just because you haven’t been diagnosed, you’ve had your moments and this being such a traumatic event and the strobe light being in play, you had your first fully blown fit... No, Louise, look at me, not the wall behind me... And it happened in the street in front of strangers, oh, the shame! Question: why did you fake the fit?’
Louise Lawson looked directly at Clay. ‘Why are you asking me questions when you should be out there looking for Adam Miller?’
Clay turned to Riley.
‘That sounded like No comment to me,’ said Riley. ‘A bit more confrontational perhaps, but No comment all the same.’
Clay picked up the pages of the manuscript. ‘Did you fake the fit?’
‘You’re right. I have turns,’ replied Louise. She looked at Clay again. ‘But I’ve never been treated for them. Have you been treated medically for every symptom you’ve suffered?’
‘You told my colleague Detective Sergeant Karl Stone that you had a telephone in your house because your father was old and you had epilepsy.’
‘Did I?’
‘Your friend has been brutally murdered and so has your father. Why are you playing games with us, Louise? What have you got to hide?’
‘I... I don’t understand what you mean?’
Clay spread the twelve pages from the cross-stitch across the table. ‘This is your problem, isn’t it, Louise? This sorry episode. Who concealed these pages into your “Silence is Golden” sampler?’
‘My father.’
‘We can’t cross-reference that response because he’s dead. How convenient. Let’s try a different method. We’ll proceed on the basis that, for once, you’re telling the truth.’
‘My father did conceal them. He took the sampler from my wall without my knowledge and he sealed the pages inside the back of my needlework.’
‘Have you read the pages, Louise?’
She shook her head. ‘Father wouldn’t allow me to read anything he had written.’
‘Why did your father conceal these twelve pages that he had written about the English Experiment?’
‘Because he’d broken the law and didn’t want to get caught.’
‘If he had broken the law, why would he write about it and then conceal it?’
Louise sighed. Her shoulders hunched and her head dropped. ‘My father was a mass of contradictions.’
‘Louise, we’re at a crossroads at the moment. You can tell me the whole story your way or I can tell you the whole story the way that I see it based on what your father wrote.’ Clay pushed the pages on the desk towards Louise. ‘Do you want to read it?’
Louise said something.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, Louise.’
‘I said, I don’t have to. History is repeating itself. I’m being punished for my father’s mistakes again. The reason I’m sitting here now.’
Louise raised her eyes, looked at Clay and Riley. And in spite of her age, Clay saw a small girl’s expression in her face, lost and bewildered in a world that offered no sense.
‘Louise, silence isn’t golden. It’s an iron yoke that has been placed around your shoulders. Talk to me.’
‘I didn’t want anything to do with the English Experiment!’
‘In the twelve pages about the English Experiment, Louise, it mentions a Creator and a Shepherd. I believe the term Shepherd relates to the Psamtik experiment. Sixth century BC. The man who had control of the infants was a shepherd. I believe you were the Shepherd in the English Experiment that happened in the late twentieth century.’
‘That’s the way I read it too,’ confirmed Riley. ‘Louise, you were trying to tell me about the two little boys in your dream. You don’t have to dress up the truth in dreams. Please, start at the beginning and tell us what happened.’
Cla
y watched a silent scream pass across Louise’s face. The bleakness in her eyes was undeniable.
‘One day in April 1973, there was a knock at the door. I thought I had imagined it, because no one ever called at our house. But then I heard the knock again, louder. I paused at the door of my father’s study, listened to the horrible clack-clacking of his typewriter and asked, Shall I answer the door?
‘He didn’t reply. The caller knocked again, this time sounding angry and impatient. I was afraid.
‘Answer the bloody door, Louise. Can’t you hear? I’m working.’
Louise’s eyes filled with tears.
‘I walked to the door...’
100
6.37 pm
At the mortuary, DS Bill Hendricks stood next to Danielle Miller in the viewing gallery. The red velvet curtain in front of the glass window behind which Abey Noone’s body would be shown for formal identification was closed and the red light above placed them in limbo. Michael Harper, Dr Lamb’s APT, stood at the door, waiting.
‘Abey Noone’s body was mutilated. I haven’t see him myself, Mrs Miller, but I believe that the skin from his face was removed along with his scalp.’
‘Dr Lamb has covered his face and head with a cloth. She wants to know if you could confidently identify him from any unique markings from the neck down,’ said Harper.
‘Yes,’ said Danielle. ‘I had to bathe him once recently when he’d had a toileting accident. I would recognise his naked body.’
Harper left and as the door closed, Hendricks asked, ‘Mrs Miller, was your husband ever violent towards you?’
‘No. My husband was completely indifferent towards me. I was nothing to him, not even worthy of violence. I was a part of his mask of respectability. The wife of the upstanding pillar of the Church of England.’
‘Why did you stay?’
‘You know what he’s capable of. He made it clear that if I were to leave, there’d be another accident. Just like the boating accident that killed his father. The father he loved and revered. Oh yes, Mr Hendricks. When his father died he came into all that money. That was the thing about my husband. He didn’t deal in idle threats. His threats were real.’
