The DI Jake Sawyer Series Box Set

by Andrew Lowe

  ‘It’s not that. I’ve never… felt anything like this before.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’ll go away soon. Just try and breathe a bit slower. And we’re nearly out! Did my mum come with you?’

  ‘No. But I’ll take you to her. Let’s go.’

  They pushed on, to the railway line chasm. Sawyer hitched Luka up onto his shoulders. He was light, doll-like.

  ‘You’re shaking.’

  ‘I’m just cold. Had to swim through water.’

  ‘I told you!’ Luka’s tone was impatient now. ‘You have to breathe a bit slower.’

  Sawyer sidestepped across the tracks, keeping himself steady against the cold rock wall. His nerves tremored, but he flexed his muscles and strained to keep his arms taut and steady.

  On the other side, Sawyer set Luka down and they crouch-walked forwards, into the tall, narrow passage that led to the entrance. Sawyer went first. As they walked, the trembling kicked in, stronger than ever, and he dropped to his knees, too weak to go further. He sucked in the precious breaths, trying to hold them, savour them. But his lungs demanded more frequent inhalations, and he collapsed onto his front, face down in a shallow puddle of muddy water.

  His gag reflex kicking in, Sawyer rolled onto his back, eyes closed. He was sinking, into himself. It was a sudden fading; a twist of the dial from light to dark. He was slipping into a deadly kind of sleep.

  Fresh water splashed over his face, rousing him. He opened his eyes, squinting into bright headtorch light.

  ‘Luka…’

  But it was Crawley. Peering down in predatory pity. He lifted Sawyer’s head upright and fed him from a bottle of mineral water. ‘What was that you said to Luka outside my room in the hospital, Mr Sawyer? “Pain is inevitable. Suffering optional.” Right now, you’re choosing to suffer. You know how this works. You have to slow down your breathing, accept it will pass.’

  Sawyer took a deep slug from the water, froze, looked into Crawley’s eyes.

  Crawley squinted, then smiled. ‘Don’t worry. It’s Buxton Still. No added hemlock. Got to say. You do have a pair of balls on you. For a novice. But it’s got you in the end, hasn’t it? The fear. It’s probably the CO2 build-up. Old mines are notorious for that. Rotting wood and vegetation. Organic pollution carried by the water. Poor ventilation. Can be deadly. There’s a famous case of a guy in the fifties who got trapped down Peak Cavern. The panic got to him, and the CO2 build-up finished him off before they could get him out.’

  Sawyer tipped his head back. His breathing was slowing, but only slightly. He reached up to his helmet and tore it off.

  Crawley smiled. ‘They call that “escape behaviour”. It’s a claustrophobia thing. You’re probably feeling like you want to get that suit off, too. I don’t blame you. It’s not very flattering.’

  Sawyer finished the water. He leaned to the right, looking past Crawley. Luka was pressed up against the cave wall, watching.

  ‘I’m curious how you got the boy’s padlock off. But not curious enough to hang around and find out.’ He grabbed Luka’s arm.

  As he turned to leave, Sawyer craned his neck up. ‘Dennis…’

  Crawley leaned down towards him. ‘What’s that?’

  Sawyer took in a slow, shuddering breath. ‘Dennis Crawley. I’m arresting you for the murders of Toby Manning and Georgina Stoll.’

  A broad smile spread across Crawley’s face. He crouched down and listened.

  Sawyer coughed and caught his breath. ‘And for the kidnapping and false imprisonment of Luka Strickland. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on… in court.’ He collapsed into another coughing fit.

  Crawley held up his hand. ‘It’s okay. Take your time.’

  ‘Anything you do say… may be given in evidence.’

  Crawley burst into slow, sarcastic applause. The sound crackled around the cavern. ‘Bravo! Now I’ve really got to be off. I’m assuming the cavalry are waiting over Ecton Hill, so I’ll be taking a different route. I don’t want to leave you in the dark, though. Take my light.’ He unclipped and removed his helmet, and unhooked the strap around the back of the headtorch. ‘Maybe I’ll see you again. You can at least tell Luka’s mother he’s safe and—’

  Sawyer brought Shepherd’s tactical pen up and around, in a tight arc, like a hook punch. The steel tip connected with Crawley’s left temple. He gasped in shock and wilted over to his right, crunching into the cave floor, unconscious.

  Sawyer pulled himself upright and checked Crawley over. He was slumped in an awkward position, face down, arms folded over his head. He turned him onto his side and took out the two cable ties from inside Luka’s spectacle case. He wrapped one around Crawley’s wrists and another round his ankles, twisting and clicking them tight.

  He picked up the headtorch and shone it towards the far wall, towards Luka. ‘Let’s go.’

  Outside, the rain had ramped up, and it pummelled Sawyer and Luka, as they climbed the hill. Sawyer ripped his phone out of the Velcro pocket and squinted into the screen. No service; they were too deep in the valley.

  Driven by adrenaline, Sawyer pushed up hard through the mud, but Luka fell back, stumbling and sobbing.

  Sawyer leaned down beside him. ‘Can you make it, Luka? Are you suffering? Do you need help?’

  Luka caught Sawyer’s gaze. For a second, his defiance flared, but then he closed his eyes, nodded his head.

  Over the hill at the Ratcliffe House, Shepherd and Keating stood beneath a large umbrella next to Shepherd’s Range Rover, parked in front of the gargoyle gates. Two squad cars sat with their blue lights flashing a few feet further down the lane, blocking entrance from below. Maggie sat in the back seat of the Range Rover, next to Eva Gregory.

  ‘We could call in a chopper,’ said Shepherd. ‘Make sure he doesn’t get clear of this area.’

  Keating closed his eyes. ‘We don’t even know he’s in there yet.’

  ‘Sir!’ DC Walker climbed out of the squad car parked near the kissing gate that served as the entrance to the hill. Shepherd and Keating followed his pointing finger.

  Sawyer staggered over the top of the hill and made his way, slowly and carefully, down through the mud. He carried Luka draped in his arms.

  Eva dived out of the back of the Range Rover. Shepherd made a swipe for her, but she got through to the gate and scrambled up the hill, stomping against the mud.

  She made it to Sawyer, her face slick with rainwater and tears.

  She hesitated, looked over Luka, then back up at Sawyer.

  Sawyer nodded. ‘He’s fine. Just exhausted.’

  He handed Luka back to Eva and sank to his knees.

  The world frosted over.

  65

  THREE DAYS LATER

  Viktor Beck stepped out onto the patch of bright green grass in Eva Gregory’s garden, and held up a hand to hush the audience. He squinted into the strobing lightshow of flash photos. The conference had been heavily trailed on social media and the pavement outside the garden gate was jammed with invited regional and national press, curious locals, paranormal geeks, crime watchers. Donald Ainsworth was also there, alongside his PA, Kelly. Keating had sent a couple of uniforms to manage the crowd, and Beck had stationed Stefan and another goon of similar stock just inside the gate. Eva and Luka hovered behind Beck, with Darya further forward, at his side.

  ‘Thank you all for coming this morning. I did not call this conference to criticise the police. Their efforts in returning Luka to safety were invaluable, and I thank them for that. But this happy outcome is further evidence that we are at the cusp of something new and exciting in deductive science. After handling Luka’s glasses, sent by his abductor, Dennis Crawley, I stood here and declared that he would be found near water, in a place of darkness. To their credit, the police combined my prediction with some techniques of their own, and Luka was rescued from a deep and dark cave network with waterlogged tunnels. I am both
delighted at this outcome and pleased to, once again, silence critics of the select few, like myself, who possess abilities which lie outside the realm of conventional science.’

  An orange Mini pulled up across the street. Sawyer and Richard Jensen got out and crossed to the crowd. Jensen had a backpack slung over his shoulder.

  ‘I would like to pay tribute to the brave officers who confronted and arrested Mr Crawley. He is, by all accounts, a damaged and dangerous individual, whom I believe is now safely behind bars, awaiting judgement. But I have to stress that this story might have had a more tragic ending, had I not been approached by the equally brave Ms Gregory, Luka’s mother, and the police, after my abilities had been verified by the fine work of Professor Donald Ainsworth, who I’m delighted to see is with us today. Make yourself known, Professor!’

  Murmurs in the crowd. Ainsworth held up a hand and offered a bashful smile.

  Sawyer pushed through the crowd and showed his warrant card to one of the uniforms. He opened the garden gate and walked through, followed by Jensen. The press photographers recognised Sawyer from the coverage and shifted their lenses away from Beck. Stefan and friend stepped forward, blocking Sawyer’s path.

  Sawyer held up a hand. ‘Mr Beck. Sorry to interrupt. But, while we have the nation’s attention, I have a couple of loose ends to tie up.’ He caught Eva’s eye. ‘Yes. Your prediction did seem to tally with Luka’s location, but there’s a small problem with your… veracity.’

  Beck smiled, wavering. ‘Please, Mr Sawyer. Plain speaking, please. What is the reason for your interruption?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll keep it straight. You’re a liar, Mr Beck. And a fraud. You have the same paranormal “abilities” as everyone else here today. None.’

  Cameras flashed.

  Beck stood back and folded his arms. The strip of rainbow stubble under his lip had expanded to a spiralled goatee. ‘Mr Sawyer. My abilities have been proven by rigorous testing from a professor of parapsychology, and by my involvement in your own case. What more can there possibly be to add?’

  Jensen opened the backpack and handed Sawyer a portable audio player connected to a small speaker.

  ‘This is audio taken from your recent show at Sheffield City Hall. At the time, you were talking to a member of the audience, Bernard Connor. The comments are being spoken into a concealed earpiece which I later discovered in your wallet.’

  ‘Mr Sawyer, we are here to celebrate the return of an abducted child, and the capture of a deadly killer. Nobody wants to hear your absurd allegations.’

  Sawyer turned to the crowd and held the audio player up high. ‘Who wants to hear it?’

  The crowd roared its approval.

  Sawyer played the audio. A female voice, crackly but distinct.

  ‘Bernard Connor… Sixty-seven… Recovering from a heart attack… Father, Gordon, died from it…’

  In the crowd, Ainsworth looked at Kelly.

  She wilted in his gaze. ‘Professor. Viktor and I…’

  ‘Did you split the money?’

  She closed her eyes, didn’t answer.

  Sawyer switched to another audio file. ‘This one is when you were speaking to Eleanor Tate. She’s still grieving after losing her twelve-year-old son Sammy in an accident at a scout camp. He was killed when a gas stove exploded.’

  He played the audio.

  ‘Eleanor… Son Sammy died in accident… Scout camp… Stove exploded… She wants to know if he’s happy on the other side…’

  Sawyer handed the player back to Jensen. ‘There’s plenty more of this stuff. It’s pretty clear what you do. Your ticketing is personalised. Your researchers collect details from the buyers. Social media is a sweet shop of not so private info, these days. They also mingle in the queue outside the venue, and cross-reference anything they hear with tickets and seat numbers. For the show, you have various elaborate ways of selecting the seat numbers, apparently at random. But that doesn’t really matter, because you have a good deal of research information about the person sitting in every seat.

  ‘It’s a good trick, and you’re an excellent performer. But there’s nothing extraordinary or paranormal going on. And as you claim otherwise, Mr Beck, that makes you a liar and a fraud.’

  Beck shuffled in position and looked back to Darya and Eva. Both avoided his gaze.

  Sawyer continued. ‘As for your performance at Strathclyde University’s paranormal challenge, I’ve spoken to Professor Donald Ainsworth in the last couple of days. The voice helping you at the Sheffield show is the professor’s PA, Kelly. That gives us an answer to how you managed to connect the items to their owner’s locations. Your accomplice fed you the information beforehand. It was a pretty basic memory trick. And again, that word. “Trick”. It’s what you’ve done to us all, Mr Beck. You’ve grown yourself a bit of profile off the back of a bereaved man, the Professor, and a desperate woman, Eva.’

  Beck just about held his composure. ‘Mr Sawyer, I am disappointed that you felt the need to embarrass me in public like this. But this “evidence” is at best, hearsay, and at worst, fabricated. My statement stands. I am pleased to see Luka back safe with his mother, and I contributed to this happy outcome. Good morning.’

  He turned and stalked back into the house, followed by Darya and Eva, trailed by Luka. Sawyer waved away shouts from the press pack, and the uniforms ushered the crowd away.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Jensen. ‘There’s nothing we can definitively call evidence. Apart from the PA’s voice. That doesn’t look good.’

  Sawyer looked out at the dispersing crowd. Kelly had walked away, clearly eager to distance herself. ‘The university can investigate. It won’t be easy for her to deny.’

  Ainsworth tried to enter the garden, but was blocked by one of the uniforms. Sawyer waved him through.

  ‘Jake. I have to leave now, with Kelly.’

  ‘If I were you, Donald, I’d get myself a new assistant.’

  Ainsworth snorted. ‘Indeed. I just wanted to thank you. For lifting the veil for me. I feel a great new clarity. I obviously can’t continue with Kelly, but I have a reputation of my own to rebuild, after being duped so comprehensively.’

  Sawyer glanced at the house; Luka had stopped at the door to look out, but Eva ushered him inside. ‘I’ve remembered something else. I tried to get into Beck’s dressing room at City Hall, and his girlfriend Darya stopped me. I bet Kelly was back there and, if we looked deeper, they would know each other. She wasn’t working for you, Donald. She was working for him.’

  Ainsworth sighed. ‘It’s just another blow in a long, sad series, Jake. I will recover.’

  ‘For the Challenge, she must have noted the room details. You mentioned that Beck visited the toilet before the test? If you’d looked straight after, you would have probably found something hidden in the cistern. Maybe a note. Or a phone she texted details to.’

  Ainsworth shook his head. ‘All for a bit of money. I would like to draw a line under it, though, as long as he returns the prize. I may just focus more on the known sciences now. On psychology. There are plenty of people already challenging the psychics and charlatans.’ He turned to Jensen. ‘I’m a great admirer of your books.’

  Jensen beamed. ‘Thank you. I could write another one based on this case alone. Maybe I will.’

  ‘Perhaps we could collaborate.’

  They all shook hands, and Ainsworth headed out of the gate, after Kelly.

  Sawyer looked at Jensen. ‘The beginning of a beautiful friendship?’

  Jensen laughed. ‘I’m not into polyamory.’

  ‘Sheffield thing going well, then?’

  He nodded, gave a devilish smile.

  The back door crashed open and Beck stormed over to Sawyer and Jensen. Stefan followed, restraining him. Beck was wide eyed, steaming angry. It was the first time Sawyer had seen a slip of his mystic mask.

  ‘Mr Sawyer. I have a question. Tell me, what exactly is wrong with what I do? If, as you say, it is all tricks and nonsen
se, then what is wrong with bringing comfort to desperate people? Making them feel good, and reconnected to lost loved ones?’

  ‘It’s a lie,’ said Sawyer. ‘There are enough lies in the world. I would rather spend the limited time I have on this Earth pursuing some kind of truth. And, anyway, who are you to decide which lies might help a vulnerable person who has lost someone they love? The connection and memories behind their story, it’s none of your business. When you tell them a dead person is guiding them or watching over them, that’s all about your ego. It’s nothing to do with their comfort.’

  He stepped close to Beck. Stefan, a little nervous, filled the space between them. ‘Cold reading. Barnum statements. Body language. Accomplices. You’re a cheap conjuror, Mr Beck. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. You’re an end-of-pier sideshow passing himself off as Jesus Christ. The difference between you and stage magicians is that they tell you they’re going to lie to you before they do it. You claim your lies are real, because you know there’s more money in pretending to be something you’re not.’ He pulled back. ‘I’m sure you’ll get over this. You’ll always have your disciples who won’t accept any challenge to whatever they’ve decided to believe about you. They’ll just see us as jealous antagonists doubting your great powers.’

  Beck shook his head. ‘There is a great sadness in your past, Mr Sawyer.’

  Sawyer smiled. ‘As there is in everyone’s past.’

  ‘No. It is deeper with you. Someone close was taken, way before their time. I feel you are looking for answers to some deep questions. The truth will reveal itself in time. And while you accuse me of lies and say you go looking for truth, I feel that is what you are afraid of. You are afraid of what kind of truth you might find.’

  Sawyer leaned in to him. ‘Fear isn’t really my thing.’

  On the way back to the car, Sawyer’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Phone call from Ainsworth.