by Wes Markin
‘She told you about us then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Everything?’
‘I didn’t pass judgement, I just listened.’
‘And if you had to pass judgement?’ he said, realising, with sadness, that the laughs they’d had during the previous twenty minutes were now a distant memory.
‘I don’t know the ins and outs of the situation.’
‘There isn’t much to know. My father was dying of cancer and I refused to go and say goodbye. He’d spent his entire life a drunk, with his back turned on his family. He left my mum a drug addict, yet my sister deemed my actions inappropriate. It’s never easy to see eye-to-eye when family are concerned I guess.’
‘You really don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted you to know that I was friends with your sister, before you found out from someone else.’
Yorke looked at her. She had a contrite expression. ‘I probably didn’t know that already because I wasn’t allowed on the case.’
‘I know, it’s a shame, you’d not have sent Tom Davies to jail while William Proud got away.’
‘I don’t know about that. There was a lot of evidence that pointed towards Davies at the time from what I hear, and Proud was slippery, hence his disappearing act.’ He stopped the car on Park Street and looked at Patricia. ‘Is this okay?’
‘Yes ... I didn’t accept your lift because I knew your sister, honestly. I just wanted you to know in case ...’ She looked away.
‘In case of what?’ he said, immediately thinking, shit, I’m just making this awkward.
‘Thanks for the lift, Mike. I enjoyed it. I really did.’
Yorke smiled. ‘Me too. I’ll call you.’
‘That’ll be good.’ She returned his smile and exited the car.
As he watched her disappear up her driveway, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He looked at the screen and sighed. Harry.
Having been moments away from sleep, Jake cursed as he reached out from the sofa bed for his mobile phone. ‘Yes?’
‘Jake, is that you?’ Lacey said.
‘You have got to be kidding.’
‘No, please listen.’ She was whispering. ‘Don’t hang up, please. I’m in trouble―’
‘You can say that again. This is harassment.’
‘I’ve been attacked, Jake, I’m hurt, badly and in danger―’
‘Why?’
‘Phil Holmes.’
‘The IT technician at the school?’
‘Yes.’ She was still whispering.
‘What happened?’
‘He hit me. Several times.’
Jake sat up. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in my bedroom, the door is closed. I’m not sure if he’s gone.’
‘Lock your door if you can, I’ll call response.’
‘Can’t you just come?’
‘No.’
‘Wait, I heard someone―’
‘Don’t move.’
‘Jake―’
The phone went dead. Jake climbed off the sofa bed.
11
STARVING, BUT DIZZY from having been knocked out, Joe Ray struggled to break the stale bread. His handcuffs rattled as he eventually pried loose a piece and forced it into his mouth. As he chewed, blood ran from his throbbing temple where the large man wearing the grotesque mask had hit him; he rubbed it away before it reached his eye.
At all times, he kept his eyes on the wheelchair bound woman, and the girl who stared into space; the line of drool hanging from her mouth looked like a silvery strand spun by a spider. They were sitting to the right of a large, misshapen table which he headed. One other place was set with an empty bowl and a rustic plate holding a chunk of brown bread. Plumes of sweet-smelling steam rose from a large broth-filled pot in the centre of the table; some of the liquid had spilled out and crystallised down the sides.
He’d not long woken in this large, sparsely furnished cold room. Despite the occupants, the place felt empty and lonely. Around him, grey wallpaper peeled and sagged, and even though there was a window, there was no light outside to show him where he’d been brought.
The old woman said, ‘You can start now, Martha.’
Martha smiled and the line of drool snapped and glued itself to her bread like a slug trail. She tore off a piece of bread and threw it into her mouth. Joe felt another sudden throb in his temple and rubbed more blood away with the back of his hand.
While Martha chewed, the old woman regarded him.
He’d asked several times already, but he tried again. ‘Where am I?’
She smiled, revealing a mouth with few teeth.
‘Where’s my son?’
‘All in good time.’ Her voice was hoarse and difficult to understand.
‘Please tell me.’
Ignoring him, she turned away. He let his fists fall down onto the table. Martha flinched. Then, he tried to move his feet; the heavy chain looping around his ankles and the chair legs clanked against the floor. A rising surge of adrenaline helped ward off the disorientation and he raised his voice. ‘Tell me now, or I won’t be responsible―’
‘Shush,’ Martha said with a finger to her mouth. ‘If Lewis hears you getting angry, he won’t be happy.’
He could see that she looked genuinely concerned.
‘And we’re expecting him any minute now,’ the old woman said. ‘Martha, can you serve our guest?’ Her mouth was as empty as a black hole, and with every croaked word, Joe felt as if he was being pulled further and further into it.
Martha jumped to her feet and, ladle in hand, skipped around the table to him. She had her jacket zipped up tight. Her long hair was knotted and her hands were caked in dirt. After leaning over and dragging the pot towards them, she plunged the ladle into the broth and scooped some into Joe’s bowl. It splashed over the table and down his front. ‘It’s yummy,’ she said.
Ravenous, he clutched the bowl with cuffed hands, tilted his head back and drank, just like he’d seen Japanese men do in a small Ramen restaurant he frequented in Southampton. The lukewarm broth was sweet and gristly.
When he’d finished, he put the bowl down and took a deep breath.
‘Teach him about manners,’ the old woman said. ‘The same way I taught you.’
Martha slapped the back of his hand.
‘How do you expect me to eat properly with these on?’ Joe said, raising his cuffed hands and then curling up his top lip.
‘It’s for your own good,’ Martha said. ‘Lewis doesn’t like bad manners.’
‘Who is this Lewis anyway? Is he the freak wearing the pig’s head? The one that assaulted me? Does he have my son?’
‘Again Martha, the way I taught you,’ the old woman said.
Joe pinched his eyes shut to await the blow. When nothing happened, he opened his eyes to see Martha hesitating.
‘Now!’
Martha cracked the back of his hand with the ladle.
‘Argh! You brat ─’
‘And again, even harder!’
‘Please Mother,’ Martha said. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘I shall tell Lewis you disobeyed me.’
Martha hit him even harder.
‘You little cow,’ he said, lunging at the girl, but the restraints around his legs took control, and he plunged face-first, crushing his cuffed hands beneath him. His chair, which had been chained to his legs, crashed down onto his back.
Gasping, he opened his eyes, and stared at the withered, duck-like feet of the old woman poking out of the bottom of a woollen shawl.
‘Someone’s going to pay for this.’ He tried to turn over, but the weight of the chair pinned him down. The hag cackled.
‘Stop laughing!’
She stopped immediately, not because of Joe’s demands but rather because of the sudden roar of a car engine.
Martha darted back to her seat.
Was it the man wearing the pig’s face?
A hot stone of fear burned in his stomach. He writhed on the flo
or, trying to untangle himself from the restraints.
‘Shush,’ Martha said. ‘Please. He’ll hurt you.’
The car engine stopped.
‘Be quiet, Martha,’ the old woman said.
There was a loud yawning sound as cold wind rushed into the house through the opened front door.
‘Help me.’ Spit ran from the corners of his mouth as he struggled. The handle on the dining room squeaked and he gave every last ounce of energy he had to try and wriggle himself free. It was useless and just seemed to make the chair on his back press down even harder, causing him more pain.
When the dining room door opened, the hot stone of fear skimmed over his insides.
He lifted his head as far as he could. He could see a baggy pair of jeans tucked into giant brown CAT work boots, but most of his view was obscured by the table. The man crossed the threshold into the room with a heavy step and closed the door shut behind him.
‘Hello Lewis,’ Martha said.
‘Hi Lewis,’ said the old woman.
Lewis didn’t reply; neither did his wet, glistening boots move. Joe heard the wind whistle as it explored the cavernous parts of the old house.
‘It’s not too late to think about what you’re all doing, you won’t get away with this, you can’t get away with this.’
Still no reply and no movement.
‘Are you listening? I want to see my son!’
Lewis began to take heavy slow steps towards the table. Each thud seemed to vibrate through Joe’s already tiring neck. When it started to burn and he couldn’t hold it up any longer, he let his injured forehead return to the floor.
‘Starting without me – you could have waited,’ Lewis said in a deep, but clear voice. It was definitely the man who’d come to his house. The sound of his words, “you’re greedy, Joe,” remained clear in his memory.
‘It was going cold,’ the old woman said.
Lewis snorted.
‘Lewis, today I went to the barn,’ Martha said. ‘Paul was so cold. I would like to take him a blanket.’
Lewis said, ‘You shouldn’t have let her go to the barn, Stella. You were told to take him the food.’
‘Can I take him a blanket?’ Martha said.
‘Not now,’ Lewis said. ‘I would like you to go and get me some coffee from the kitchen.’
‘Okay,’ she said, and left the room.
‘She’s not to go again, Stella.’
‘I couldn’t see the―’
‘Not again, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘What’s in the broth tonight?’
‘Pig,’ she said. ‘What else?’
Lewis moved again. Joe managed to crane his neck again and saw him coming around the side of the table towards him. This time with no mask. Despite a large body, his face was gaunt. Long, black hair streamed down around his shoulders.
He looks familiar ...
His abductor lumbered past him. Then, he felt large hands slip under his armpits. He was scooped up; it felt like it was being done by a mechanical crane.
‘Hello Joe,’ Lewis said into his ear.
‘He’s not been the best company,’ Stella said.
‘How’s the food?’ Lewis said.
‘It would be better without these on,’ Joe said, lifting his cuffed hands. He was trying to maintain an air of dignity, but he struggled to keep the quaking out of his voice.
‘I see.’ Lewis leaned over him and used a key to unclasp the cuffs. ‘Better?’
‘Yes, where’s my son?’ he said, flexing his wrists.
‘I will take you to him after you’ve eaten.’
‘No, I want to see him now.’
‘Okay.’
Joe felt an energetic tingle of hope run through his body, before realising for the first time that he was shaking quite hard.
Lewis went to the back of the room. Joe couldn’t see him, but it sounded as if he was rifling through a drawer. Eventually, he came back over. ‘Are you ready to go?’
‘Yes.’
Lewis removed the chains from his legs. ‘Stand up and turn around.’
Joe obliged and saw Lewis aiming a sawn-off shotgun at him.
‘I’ve killed before and I will kill again, do you believe me?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Joe said. I really do.
‘You walk a metre in front of me. If you walk too fast, too slow, turn or attempt to run, I will kill you. Do you understand?’
PC Kelly Stamp stared up at the modern flats towering over the medieval city. She’d never really liked Spire View; it was sterile, and the old world hunching desperately beneath these claws of modernisation made her feel sad.
After parking, and exiting, she adjusted her duty belt; the handcuffs hung on her left side, her baton on the right. Her partner PC Neil Chappell didn’t check his duty belt as per usual.
‘You need to take more care.’
‘I’ve checked it once already today.’
‘You know procedure, check it again. I can tell your handcuffs aren’t set from here. He could still be up there.’
Neil ensured his handcuffs were in the preloaded position as they approached Lacey’s flat.
They buzzed Lacey’s number. Over a minute later, they heard, ‘Yes?’
‘Ms Ray.’
‘How can I help you?’
‘PCs Kelly Stamp and Neil Chappell, we’re following up on the report you made to DS Jake Pettman. Are you safe?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘We have reports of assault and a possible threat to your safety. Can we come up please?’
‘I would rather you didn’t. I said already, I’m fine.’
Kelly looked at Neil. He shrugged. This callout was so common around Salisbury, especially on the council estates, that it wasn’t even worth discussing. They’d have to check she was safe; it was their duty.
Kelly blew on her numbing hands and pressed the buzzer again.
‘Ms Ray, we are obligated to check on your safety.’
There was a buzzing sound and the door was released.
Bypassing two chained-up muddy mountain bikes, they climbed white stairs. An elderly man stood at the top, squinting at them through spectacles, fiddling with a long hair poking from his eyebrow.
‘Evening sir,’ Neil said.
The old man stood to one side to allow them past.
‘She’s trouble,’ he croaked from behind them. ‘Always has been, always will be.’
Tracy heard his cane tapping the stairs as he descended.
They knocked on the door. When it opened, Lacey stood there in a velvet dressing gown. Her left eye was black and her bottom lip was split. Her chin was covered in blood, making her look like some kind of gorging vampire. Tracy heard Neil take a deep breath behind her.
Harry Butler opened the door for Yorke; he was unshaven and his eyes were puffy.
‘Thanks for coming, Mike.’
Yorke winced at the whisky fumes. ‘Are you okay? You sounded desperate on the phone.’
‘Anna’s left me.’
Yorke sighed. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, I really am.’
‘Can you come in?’
‘It’s not a good idea. Someone is coming to pick you up for a second interview. I think it’s best to leave it to them.’
‘Please, five minutes?’
Yorke sighed and entered the house. With widening eyes, he observed the chaos around him: takeaway boxes, piles of letters and unwashed mugs.
‘When did Anna really leave?’ Yorke said, wincing at the musty smell of clothes that hadn’t been aired properly.
‘Last month.’
Yorke stepped into the lounge, raising a cloud of dust from the carpet; the place was an asthmatic’s worst nightmare.
Resting on a shag rug on the floor were photo albums and an open jewellery box. He looked down at the photos and saw Dawn’s beautiful face staring back up at him.
‘I still miss her, Mike,’ Harry said, taking a gulp of whisky.
&
nbsp; Yorke didn’t say anything.
‘That’s why Anna left.’
Yorke nodded and drew his hand back. He paced around Harry’s dirty living room and stopped next to the mantelpiece, where he took a deep breath and sighed; a small cloud of dust billowed up from an ornate clock which had frozen at two fifteen PM.
Harry said, ‘I couldn’t cope when that bastard got out. I really couldn’t. He should have died in jail.’
‘I agree,’ Yorke said, turning to face him.
‘I spent so long rebuilding my life and then it just ... well, fell apart again.’
Yorke took a deep breath. ‘Why did you call me here?’
‘I know you hate me. After I let Proud get away, who can blame you? But I was doing it for you, I really was. I was convinced it was Davies.’
Yorke forced back a wave of anger, he’d already buried his resentment over Harry’s poor judgement and he didn’t want to unearth it again right now.
‘I’ve tried to find Proud for you, I really have, for years ... but the man’s gone.’
Yorke nodded, biting his lip, wanting to say: Stop telling me you did these things for me. You did these things for yourself. Because you couldn’t handle the game anymore. Couldn’t handle having to prove the truth when murder was involved.
‘I don’t blame you for not wanting to know me.’
‘Is that the only reason you called me here, Harry?’
‘No. I called you because I’ve not been completely honest with you.’
Yorke’s phone rang, he looked at the screen; it was Topham.
‘Excuse me,’ Yorke said, disappearing out of the lounge. He answered the call.
‘Sir.’
‘Hi Mark.’
‘The blood at Joe Ray’s house has been identified as Thomas Ray’s blood.’
‘Meaning Paul could still be alive, good news―’
‘Mike, listen, Harry’s DNA has been found on Thomas Ray’s body.’
Yorke took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Christ, I’m with him now.’
‘Jesus ...’
‘Send someone to pick him up.’ He hung up and turned around. Harry was moving towards him. He felt his blood freeze.
‘What was that about?’ Harry said.
