by Wes Markin
After this, his father may even give him that long-awaited blessing to join the police.
11
THE STUNNED SILENCE continued in Yorke’s office until Utter returned.
‘What’s with that fucking name anyway?’ Jake said.
‘The language is Nahuatl,’ Utter said.
‘And you understand it?’ Yorke said.
‘Some of it,’ Utter said. ‘I have studied it. Did you know that Nahuatl is still spoken by over one million people in Mexico and Central America?’
Yorke flashed him a disinterested look. ‘So, what is the translation of Tezcacoatl?’
‘It means King, but it also means Repenting Serpent.’
’Well, he is a snake, no question,’ Jake said, ‘but what’s with the Repenting? Did he choose this name?’
‘Absolutely. Definitely. The Aztecs were metaphorical. Beautifully so. The King translation is obvious – he wants to be the Tlatoni of the Second Age, but the Repenting Serpent, I’m not so sure …’
‘Wait,’ Yorke said. ‘Billy Shine said that Tezcacoatl brought his mother in the van with him when they met, didn’t he? Also, Gillian Arnold said that there was someone in the back of the van when he tried to abduct her. Billy claimed that Tezcacoatl said his mother was proud of what he was achieving and that she was close to forgiving him.’
Utter looked confused.
‘Listen to this.’ Yorke played Utter the entire recording between Lacey and Billy.
By the end, Utter looked repulsed. ‘She sounds as bad, if not worse, than he does.’
‘Tell us about it,’ Jake said. ‘It’s been an ongoing problem.’
‘Well, this Billy Shine was an impersonator. He explained that to this woman, Lacey, yes?’ Utter said.
Yorke nodded.
‘Well, that means he was being lined up for the Toxcatl festival next May. At the climax of those festivities, he would have had his heart removed, his head cut off, and his body flayed. His flesh would have been eaten by Tezcacoatl and the other nobles of the city – if there was any at that point.’
‘Well, someone has saved him the trouble,’ Jake said.
‘Which is a real shame because this man could have led you directly to him.’
‘We know,’ Jake said.
Unless, Yorke thought. Unless … ‘Okay, I’ve had an idea.’ He pointed at the screen. ‘You email him back and we trap him.’
‘Is that even legal?’ Utter said.
‘When will this child die?’ Yorke said.
‘Today, if I’m right,’ Utter said. ‘But I may not be.’
‘But if you are, then what?’
Utter sighed.
‘This is about me. All about me,’ Yorke said. ‘I am sending the email. I just want you both to check it is okay.’
‘But will it work?’ Jake said. ‘He may already know that Billy Shine is dead.’
‘How?’ Yorke said. ‘Billy’s name is not in the press yet and we will keep it out of the press until our bastard reads the reply.’
Yorke, with Utter’s support, drafted an email.
Tezcacoatl,
Thank you for my new name, I’ll treasure it.
Don’t worry, I’ve followed your rules perfectly and had an excellent time, you’ll definitely be proud. Another reason for my quick reply is that this festival sounds too good to miss. I want to see Tezcatlipoca’s great temple.
So I have done something which may upset you. I have come to Wiltshire to see the waters gush forth! Don’t be angry, I only want to share this with you. It would be really cool if I could join you tonight. You told me how the Aztecs often sacrificed with four priests and had an audience too, so I figured you’d be okay with it.
‘How do we end it?’ Utter said.
‘He knew how to bring a smile to that cold maniac’s face,’ Yorke said. ‘Let’s play on that.’
I also want you to know that I meant what I said - you have been like a father to me. Do you remember our earlier discussions about how I felt as if I never belonged? Now, because of you, I really do.
You will be a great leader,
Your privileged son, forever,
Tepiltzin
Together they hunted through the older emails again. Checking Billy’s mistakes and colloquialisms. They noticed that he’d spelled discussion, disscussions – so they edited this in the email. They then found five other spelling mistakes to use. They also took the capital letter off Aztecs and took away the paragraph breaks. After twenty minutes of careful editing and checking to see if Billy actually used expressions like ‘cool’, which he did, the email looked acceptable.
After Yorke had sent the email, he asked for a moment alone.
He stared out of the window at the whitening world and realised he had crossed a new line.
But the killer was coming again, and he needed stopping.
Riley banged even harder on the motorhome door.
‘You up yet, for God’s sake?’
He turned around and looked out across the white emptiness. It was desolation. And the snow drove hard into it. The trees were covered, and the branches looked like a network of black veins, bursting through white skin.
‘An old man could freeze to death out here …’
The door opened behind him and he turned to look at Brookes, hunched over in the doorway, wearing only a dressing gown.
‘Is that how you dress for all of your guests?’ Riley said.
‘Come in,’ Brookes said.
Inside, Riley noted the quarter-full bottle of whisky on the table and gave his friend a knowing look.
Brookes shrugged.
‘Did it help?’
‘Helped me stop thinking for a while.’
‘And now?’
‘I’m thinking again. Coffee?’
‘Yes.’
Riley limped into the room and took his place on the sofa. He tried not to groan as he sat, but it was difficult; his leg really played up in the cold weather.
Brookes came over with two cups of coffee and sat down beside his neighbour.
‘Ewan?’ Riley asked.
‘I was just about to ring him; he’ll be helping out at Dad’s store.’
They both drank some coffee.
‘That helps,’ Riley said. ‘So, what you been thinking about? If you want to talk about it, that is?’
‘A few things. What I’ll do when they finally catch the bastard for starters.’
‘Which is?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve got the gun you gave me in the back if needs be.’
‘Hey, that’s for emergencies. Don’t you go off hunting and stitch me up.’
Brookes laughed. ‘Don’t worry. If Mike and company can’t even catch him, what chance do I have?’
‘Behave,’ Riley said. ‘A man that leaves that amount of devastation behind him is always living on borrowed time.’
‘Well, we can only dream he’ll pay me a visit.’
‘Be careful what you wish for.’
‘Don’t worry, Riley, I wouldn’t fucking miss.’
Riley sighed and then finished his coffee. ‘Thanks for that, starting to feel human again.’
Brookes nodded and forced a smile. ‘Also, I’ve been thinking about what me and Ewan are going to do.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, I can’t bring him up in a motorhome.’
‘Suits some people,’ Riley said.
Brookes looked at him.
Riley smirked. ‘But that wouldn’t be right for Ewan, would it?’
‘Nope. Shit, Riley, I know you are the most obvious person in the world to ask this question to, but do you ever wish you’d done things differently? I mean so, so differently?’
Riley patted his Jacket pocket. ‘You know what I have in here?’
‘Go on.’
‘A letter from my daughter.’
‘And what does it say?’
‘Don’t know, haven’t opened it.’
‘Why not?�
��
‘Disappointment, Iain. I’ve gotten far too old to cope with it.’
Brookes finished his coffee. ‘How do you know it’s going to be disappointing?’
‘I let my daughter down. I went to jail for a long, long time due to my impulsive actions. She’ll never forgive me for leaving her. And I don’t want her to forgive me because I don’t deserve it.’
‘You’ve paid your debt. What are you supposed to do? Never talk to her again, and die? What good is that going to do anybody?’
‘I did talk to her, years ago. We met up a few times, didn’t we? But I couldn’t help myself. Always the judgemental old prick; always wanting to get involved. I told her that the husband she was with was a cheating snake, which he was, and she didn’t want to hear it from someone who’d not seen out her childhood. I totally get it.’
‘So, how do you know that letter isn’t going to ask you to come back so you can try again?’
‘Well, it probably is, but like I said, do I really want more disappointment? I’ll go back and make the same mistake all over again. I have no right to care after what I did, so if I start to care, it backfires.’
‘Sounds to me like you’re overthinking it.’
‘The point of my story could be this for you though, Iain.’ He put his coffee cup on the table and turned himself on the sofa to look directly at Brookes. ‘What happened to you, and Ewan, is heinous and unbelievable. It really is. But you are both still alive, and Jessica has gone. It must be the most painful thing to hear, it really must …’ He paused because Brookes’ eyes were filling with tears. ‘But you still have each other. That gun is for protection? Fight the desire to do anything impulsive. You’re looking at one man who has been there and has worn the T-Shirt. Listen to me, Iain, you have one priority left, that son of yours. That bold, handsome and cocky little tyke. Promise me right now that that’s it. That is all you focus on. That is all Jessica would want you to focus on.’
‘It’s hard, Riley, it really is.’ Brookes used his thumb and forefinger to brush tears from his eyes.
‘Well, make that promise and I’ll promise to open that envelope right now.’
‘I promise.’ Brookes looked at Riley and forced a smile. ‘Now fucking open it.’
Riley pulled the envelope out of his pocket and opened it. A passport-sized photograph fluttered out. He leaned over to pick it up, groaning over the stiffness in his leg.
They both looked at the picture of a young boy, no more than two, with cropped black hair.
‘Who is that?’ Brookes said.
But Riley didn’t answer; it was his turn to cry now because the little boy in the photograph was clearly his grandson.
Yorke contacted Dr Reiner at Mary Chapman and asked him to read the exact words that Karen Firth had said to him the night of her explosion.
He then read them out to Jake and Utter.
‘You’re right,’ Utter said. ‘She seems to be referring to Tezcatlipoca’s mirror seeing inside of us, and she is also probably referring to his familiar, the jaguar.’
Jake shook his head. ‘That’s too much of a coincidence.’
‘It may seem like a coincidence, but some of these deities work in powerful ways,’ Utter said.
‘No, Utter, I’m not having that. We’re not bringing that into the equation. We work on fact only around here,’ Yorke said.
Utter’s face reddened.
‘I am not admonishing you for your beliefs, Utter,’ Yorke continued. ‘I’m incredibly grateful for how far you have clearly taken us, but discussing dreams and influential gods is not going to help us out here. Now, let’s think, let’s reason this out. Jessica Brookes has been murdered and her mother, Karen Firth, has spoken of a dream possibly involving Tezcatlipoca. What put Tezcatlipoca on her mind?’
Utter looked down; he still clearly believed Tezcatlipoca himself had put Himself on her mind! Yorke left him to sulk and said, ‘Had Jessica herself ever discussed these matters with Karen Firth?’
‘We have found nothing to suggest that Jessica had any involvement with these Aztec beliefs,’ Jake said.
‘Also, she has been in no state, for a long time, to have any discussion. Yet, she knows, somehow. Has our killer, Tezcacoatl himself, being in contact with Karen Firth?’
‘But why, for what end?’ Utter said, raising himself from his sulk.
‘Which is a good question,’ Yorke said. ‘Let’s look at this from another angle. Our first victim’s mother has demonstrated knowledge of Tezcatlipoca despite being practically catatonic; our second victim, Robert Preston, was murdered because he was a witness and, besides, his mother died years ago. Which takes us to the third victim. The victim that never was. Gillian Arnold.’
Gillian Arnold was currently with them in the Wiltshire station being interviewed in another room.
Yorke was already on his feet, heading there. Jake followed while telling Utter over his shoulder to remain there.
Yorke burst into the interview room and the interviewing officer looked up surprised, ‘Sir?’
‘A minute, please.’ Yorke bypassed the leaving officer, and took a seat opposite Gillian. He heard Jake take a seat alongside him. ‘Strange question coming, Mrs Arnold.’
‘I wouldn’t expect anything less under these circumstances and call me Gillian.’
‘Your mother, Gillian, and I’m sorry if this offends you, but is she still alive?’
Gillian sighed. ‘Barely. She has Alzheimer’s– why do you ask?’
But Yorke was too stunned to answer, so the next question fell for Jake. ‘Where is she, Gillian?’
‘The Mary Chapman Assisted Living Facility,’ Yorke said, answering for her.
It was Gillian’s turn to look stunned. ‘Yes …’
‘What’s her name?’ Yorke said.
‘Michelle Miller. Why?’
But Yorke didn’t answer because he was already up and out of the room.
In a van that smelled of old age, Tezcacoatl checked through his equipment one more time. Content that everything was in order, he reached up to switch off the van light, but when his eyes fell to his mother, and he saw how beautiful she looked this afternoon, he paused. There was still time until he had to make a move, and the plywood board that walled off the front, ensured that no one could see in from the car park, so why not allow himself a moment?
He had changed her into her favourite outfit. A sunflower-yellow silk dress with a low-cut bodice and, despite her age, she looked as fresh as she had done all those years ago on that bench in the garden, when he had nestled in her arms and felt the smooth silk against his skin.
Again, he checked the belt that kept her secure in the wheelchair and he checked her head was supported by its mount. You couldn’t conduct enough checks, especially considering the driving he was forced to do yesterday when he took a sharp turn off the road into the park where he eventually lost Gillian.
He wiped dribble from the corner of her mouth and kissed her on the forehead. Her head was warm, and, while he gazed at the cherry colour flourishing in her cheeks, he reached up to touch his own cold face. He wished she could kiss him there again like she had done all those times when the sun awakened the day.
He saw her hospital wristband. It was rather sloppy of him not to have noticed it last night. He reached into his pocket for the penknife on his key ring, and as he started to cut the band, he read her name—
His hands started to shake and the penknife fell. He staggered back and felt every muscle in his body twitch. This was an unusual situation, certainly not one he was used to. His legs weakened and he slumped down to the floor. He managed to drag himself to the side of the van, so that his quivering back rested against the metal bar. After closing his eyes, he willed his entire body to be still, but it felt like he was melting just like that snowman they’d built all those years ago …
… The air stank of sweat.
His eyes flicked open and he saw that the ends of his fingers bled from scratching
. The gap in the wooden door was now the size of a letterbox. He heard his father shouting and peered out the gap.
Tears immediately filled his eyes; it was getting worse.
His mother’s yellow silk dress was ripped and blood stained. The bastard gnashed his teeth and sucked air in through his nostrils like a hound scenting blood. His mother’s face turned to the door under the stairs. Her nose was crooked and one of her cheeks seemed to reach further up her face than the other one. He couldn’t help but think of that snowman and how its face looked peculiar as it melted away.
Tomorrow, while his father, or Douglas — because he no longer wished to think of him as his father — slept with an empty bottle of whisky, he would sketch a line across his throat with a kitchen knife, which would open and bloom like a glorious new rose.
He stared into his mother’s eyes; they looked like dead animals buried and fossilized in the mud. Emotions flooded him: anger, love, guilt, sympathy. Too many to count. His father kept him locked inside, forced him to submit, to watch. He cursed these emotions. Every single one of them. He would one day be rid of them.
After taking a deep breath, his mother smiled. It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. If he hadn’t have been frozen, he would have smiled back.
When she breathed out, she smiled and her expression solidified. He could tell that she was no longer looking out through those eyes. All he had left was that smile. She had left it for him. Everything else could go to hell, including Douglas. He took hold of this feeling, let it liberate and unleash him. He dug his fingernails into the wood and scraped; he bashed the door with his fists; and he pounced to his feet to bury his shoulder into the door until his body could take no more. Then he lay back on the floor with his fingernails hanging lose, his fingers crushed, and his shoulder hanging out of its socket …
… Tezcacoatl rubbed his eyes and glanced around the van. He held his hand up to his face. It was still again. ‘What is happening to me?’
He stood up, grateful that his legs were strong again.
So much preparation and training! Why, now, was he experiencing these debilitating flashbacks?
