Bone Dancer

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “It’s okay, I was just checking the time.”

  “Eleven.”

  “Thanks.”

  A whistling came from the kitchen. “Oops, that’s me.” He left the room.

  Yvonne opened her bag. Cuffs and mace. She placed her hand around the mace and took several breaths to steady her hands and heart.

  “Here, you go.” Wyn placed a tray on the coffee table in the centre of the room. “Sugar?”

  “Er, no, thank you.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right? You seem tense.” He swirled the teapot before pouring into two mugs.

  “Do I? I’m just tired. Thank you for the tea,” she said, accepting her mug.

  He took a sip of his. “Mm, that’s good.” He smiled at her. “Hope you like it. It’s Assam.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She watched her hand shaking, as she brought the mug to her lips, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She blew across the top of the mug before taking a sip. In her mind she pleaded with Dewi to get there.

  “This is such a lovely surprise. I’d been thinking about you. I wanted to show you this.” He rose from his seat and reached past her, as though looking for something from the sideboard.

  She pulled the mace out of her purse too late. He held a noxious cloth to her nose and mouth, pushing her back in her seat, with his forearm to her throat. Her mace sprayed the air. She flailed at him and passed out.

  Dewi pulled up behind Yvonne’s car and got out to look for her.

  The DI was not in her vehicle. He tried the door and found it unlocked. Her keys were still in the ignition. She'd taken her bag.

  He ran to the door, banging it with a fist, placing his ear against it to listen. Nothing, save his own blood thudding in his ears.

  He ran round the back of the cottage. Wyn’s car was not there.

  He kicked at the door. “Yvonne? Yvonne?” He shouted down the lane. No respond.

  He pulled out his mobile and called the station. “Callum, I need armed back up. Now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Freesia Cottage, just off of Mount Road, outside Llanfair Caereinion.”

  “What’s the postcode?”

  “I don’t know the bloody postcode.” Dewi ran a hand through his hair. “It’s Wyn Sealander’s address. If Llanfair station is open today, ask an officer to come over, straight away. I’m on my own until the cavalry arrive. Yvonne is missing. Something about Sealander concerned her. She was going to wait for me in her car. Her car is empty and the keys are still in the ignition. And, Callum?”

  “Sir?”

  “It’s just possible she’s in Sealander’s vehicle, a black Nissan. Get the reg from Steven and get it broadcast to all units. Find out which cell towers have detected their mobile phones. Inform the DCI of what’s happening. This is serious. Yvonne’s life is in danger.”

  “Bloody hell… I’m on it.”

  20

  Girl in the hole

  Yvonne’s head throbbed. She blinked several times, to stop the world swimming. A moan escaped her. Shoulders on fire, she realised he'd secured her hands behind her back and she was naked. No, not naked, she was in her underwear.

  Pulling her hands was futile and it hurt. She leaned back, turning her head towards the rusty radiator, he'd fastened her to. Beneath her, a polythene sheet crackled when she moved. It covered most of the concrete floor.

  The room was lit by strip-lighting. That explained the background hum. Its light hurt her eyes.

  Workbenches ran along each side of what appeared to be a garage. To her left stood a tall clamp-and-stand with arms protruding at various angles. An electric drill lay next to it, plugged in.

  She closed her eyes, willing her head clear.

  Wyn strode into the room, wearing a wax jacket and holding a crossbow.

  She thought he would shoot her and strained against the ties.

  He took off his jacket and leaned the crossbow against the wall. “When did you realise it was me?”

  “What was you?”

  “Come on, Yvonne. You're not a child. That’s the reason you’re here, isn’t it? I knew, the moment I tapped on your car window. The question is, what happens now?”

  “Where am I?”

  “This is my other workshop. We’re in the woods. Miles from anyone, in case you're wondering.”

  "More officers are on their way... Armed response." Her eyes shone in defiance.

  “If your colleagues storm this building, another girl dies.” He stared at her, his eyes unblinking.

  “What do you mean?” She levered herself onto her knees, wincing as the cable ties chaffed her wrist.

  “This.” He took out his mobile phone, tapping and flicking, until he found what he was looking for. He held it in front of her face.

  Yvonne’s breath caught in her throat. A young woman peered up from a hole in the ground, up to her thighs in water and smeared with mud. Although the footage was silent, the contorted face made it obvious the girl was in pain.

  “Who is that? What have you done to her?”

  “She’s insurance.” His eyes were black.

  Yvonne groaned. “Let her go, Wyn. Let her go, please. You've got me.”

  He shook his head.

  She bowed hers. “They won’t storm this building while I’m in here. They’ll negotiate with you. Let the girl go.”

  He turned away.

  “She’ll die of hypothermia. Who would that benefit? Haven't you destroyed enough lives?” She pulled hard against the plastic ties. They bit into her wrists.

  “Your friends may find us, but they won’t find her. If they kill me, she’s a goner. You and your colleagues would have to live with that.”

  He picked up the crossbow and put it under her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. “We could have been great together.”

  “Is that with me alive or dead?” Mucous dribbled from her nose. It itched her upper lip. She tried wiping it on her shoulder, but couldn’t quite reach. The crossbow chamber was empty, a small comfort.

  He wiped her lip with his thumb. “There's work to do.” He pointed to the clamp. “That is where I’ll process your bones.”

  “There won’t be time for that.” She spat.

  “You think?” He moved his face close to hers. “I took the sim card out of your mobile phone before I left the cottage.” He turned back to his workbench, taking hold of a cloth and a bottle.

  “No. Wyn, you don’t need to drug me again,” Yvonne stuttered, wide-eyed.

  “Wyn, please…”

  When Yvonne didn’t arrive at Bank Cottage Tea Rooms, where they'd agreed to have lunch, Tasha tried her mobile.

  No answer.

  This wasn’t like her friend. The psychologist’s gut told her something was off.

  She called the station, just in case the Yvonne had forgotten lunch and become embroiled in work.

  Callum answered. “CID.”

  “Hi, sorry to bother you. It’s Tasha. I was expecting Yvonne to meet me for lunch. She hasn’t arrived. Is she there?”

  Callum's voice cracked. “We’re concerned about her, Tasha. She went up to Wyn Sealander’s place and we haven't heard from her, since. She told Dewi she had concerns. Now, she's missing and so is Sealander's car. Dewi had agreed to meet her up there. He’s still up there.”

  A tight knot welled in Tasha’s stomach, legs threatening to give way. “Oh, my god. Callum, let me help.”

  “I’m sorry, Tasha, I don’t see what you can do. We’re running a trace on her mobile and armed response units are en route to the Llanfair area. The DCI has gone up there.”

  “I could talk to Llewellyn. Can I have the address?”

  “I’m not sure I can give you the address,” Callum paused. “You could go to Llanfair police station. Dewi is meeting armed units there. The DCI will also be at the station until they decide where they need to go. If go now, you may get to them before they move elsewhere. If not, I’ll check with Dewi and find out where they’r
e heading. I'll ask whether I can let you know where they are. Ring me if they’re not in Llanfair.”

  Tasha put the phone down in a daze, wondering why Yvonne hadn’t talked to her about her suspicions. It wasn’t like her, to not canvas the psychologist's opinion. Tasha ran to her car and set off to Llanfair.

  DCI Llewellyn’s shoulders hunched, as he paced up and down, shouting orders into his mobile phone. His hair jutted at various angles as he ran his hand through it, sighing.

  Tasha waited for him to take a break. "Chris?"

  He turned round, dark patches under his eyes. "Dr. Phillips…" He flicked his head back in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

  “I’m sorry, I found out Yvonne was missing and came to see if I could help.”

  “I see.” He flicked his eyes from side-to-side, thinking.

  “I'd like to mediate. I'm fully trained.”

  “Tasha, we don’t even know where they are. Her phone hasn't pinged a tower for over an hour. We think he either destroyed the phone or took the sim card out. His, too.”

  “They can’t have gotten far, can they?”

  “It looks like he took her in his car. We’ve got armed officers combing the area around the cottage and we’re carrying out door-to-door enquiries in and around the Llanfair area. The problem is, they could be anywhere. We’ve sent out a countrywide alert. That hasn't yielded anything, yet.”

  “Have you searched the house?”

  “It’s being searched, as we speak. I’ve just spoken to Dai. They've found nothing out of the ordinary, except a nasty smell.”

  “Can I wait with you?”

  If he heard her, the DCI didn’t show it. He had his phone to his ear once more. “Callum, find out who Wyn banks with. Ask payroll for his account details. Speak to the bank and get a hold of statements, covering the last few months. It’s just possible he’s rented a room, a garage or a lockup somewhere. If so, the regular payments will show in his statements. Trace anything that looks relevant. Thanks.”

  He turned back to the psychologist. “He has to process the bodies somewhere. I’ll bet that’s where he’s taken Yvonne.”

  Tasha swallowed hard.

  Amanda Selby screamed. Racked with pain, her contorted body and shivered. She had lost the feeling in her lower limbs and fell into the muddy water, now two feet deep. Each time she dropped, she hoisted herself up again, refusing to die in that hellhole.

  Rain tumbled from the sky in heavy, thunderous droplets. Clay-rich soil prevented the water from draining. The level continued to rise. She sobbed, calling out to somebody. Anybody. Her hoarse cry didn't carry far.

  Not knowing where she was, she fought the sleepiness overtaking her. Listening to the stream nearby, she raised her feet, one at a time, to keep warm. Dark thoughts pervaded her head. She might not make it.

  21

  Fathers

  He sat with his side to her, working at the bench. She lifted her head, fighting to focus drug-addled eyes. He didn’t appear to notice her coming round.

  Movements slow and deliberate, he filed and polished drill bits, blowing dust from the ends, before placing them on the bench next to him.

  It surprised her to hear him humming. She listened for the tune, hoping to make conversation. Her thoughts were on the desperate girl in the ditch. She had to save her.

  “That looks painstaking,” she began. “I admire your patience.”

  He didn’t turn though he paused filing. “My father was an engineer.” He blew on a drill bit.

  “Was an engineer? What does he do now?” Though difficult, she kept her voice as steady as she could.

  “Now?” He pushed back from the bench, not looking in her direction. “He grows grass and flowers.”

  She frowned. “Retired, then?”

  “My father’s dead.” He turned to face her. “Gave up, when I was ten. My mother drove him to an early grave. You won't understand what that’s like. He was everything.” He twisted back to his drill bits.

  “I could surprise you.” She shifted on the floor, easing the ache in her right thigh. “My father killed himself, too. I was a teenager.”

  “Oh, I see. I get it.” Wyn snorted. “You're about to tell me you know what I’ve been through. You'll try to get into my head. I hate liars. Telling me your father killed himself is low.”

  “I’m not lying. It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me. It’s true. My dad killed himself after my mother had an affair.”

  His chair shot round. “Stop with the crap. I’ve had it with women who try to manipulate me.” He spat saliva, his mouth twisted in anger.

  She looked for the right words. “Wait, I tell you what, why don’t go into my bag. Get my purse. See for yourself.”

  He stared at her for several seconds before leaving the room. He returned a minute later with her bag.

  “What am I looking for?” he asked, his eyes unblinking.

  “Open the zip. There’s a folded newspaper cutting. Please be careful, it’s old and fragile.” She held her breath.

  After reading it, he clicked his tongue against his teeth. “So, you were telling the truth…”

  She nodded. "It took me a long time to forgive my mother. I needed the anger because to let go of it was like letting go of my father. But I was only hurting my family and myself. My dad’s death had not been my mother’s intention. She'd fallen out of love with him and into love with someone else. My dad couldn’t accept it and, for a long time, neither could I. It’s not that it doesn’t hurt anymore, just that I see it differently... and feel better for it."

  “Well, good for you. We can’t all be so magnanimous.”

  “Tell me about your father.”

  He snorted.

  “I gave you my story, please give me yours. If you intend killing me, you can at least do that?”

  He turned his eyes from her. “I was ten years old. My mother had taken to drink. She would swear and curse and smash stuff. I’d hide under the bed. My father took it all, the abuse, the drinking, and bringing back other men to the house. He took it until he could take it no longer.” A tear escaped down his cheek.

  “I’m sorry…” She meant it. She meant it for the little boy that Wyn had been. The little boy who’d hidden under the bed.

  Wyn let out a groan from deep within. An anguished, animal sound. “I found him. He’d slit his wrists, along the veins. There was so much blood. It was everywhere, all over the walls, the floor, the furniture. He’d cut through to the bone. I saw white beneath the severed flesh.”

  He continued, “He was still alive, when I found him. I didn’t know what to do. I grabbed towels and wrapped them around his arms. I watched those towels fill with creeping, red blood.” He took a deep breath, exhaling through his teeth. “I ran to a neighbour and banged on their door until they answered. By the time we got to back to him, his lights had gone out forever. His eyes just stared at the ceiling.”

  “Wyn, I…”

  “I ran and ran. I kept running. I stayed out all night. When I got home, my mother was there with her sister. I ran into the kitchen and took the largest knife I could find from the drawer. If they hadn’t stopped me, I’d have taken her life, right there. Instead, social services took me into a secure children's home. It was a prison. Every night, I dreamed about my father, and his lifeblood ebbing from him. Every night, I tried to save him all over again.”

  Yvonne’s cheeks and chin were wet with tears and mucous. “Is that why you kill women, Wyn? Are you killing your mother? Are you taking revenge for your father’s suicide?”

  He strode over to her and slapped her hard to the side of her head. “Don’t psychoanalyse me.”

  She cried out, pain coursing through her temple, her ears ringing. “The girl out there, the one you put in a hole, is not your mother. She’s an innocent who hasn’t had the chance to make a family of her own. That girl has harmed no-one.”

  He sneered. “She won’t get the chance to hurt anyone, now, will she?”
/>
  “She might lead a fulfilled life with a good husband and well-adjusted children. But, you’re playing god. What are you? A saviour of men? What? You think your crimes justified? What about the women hurt or killed by their partners? Do you think their daughters should become killers of men? Let me tell you, there's a far higher percentage of female victims.”

  He raised his hand, and she turned her face away, expecting a blow to come.

  Instead, he backed away from her, returning with a cloth to dry her face.

  “Dance with me.” He threw the cloth to the floor, kneeling to slide an arm around her waist.

  She looked into his eyes. “If I dance with you, will you release the girl?”

  He matched her gaze with his own, his pupils so large, his eyes were black.

  “I will release you from the radiator.” His voice was low, threatening. “If you fight me, the girl dies.”

  He crossed to a bench, returning with scissors.

  He released her left wrist. For one moment, Yvonne contemplated punching him and running for her life. What stopped her was the girl. She might live, but the girl would die. She was calm as he freed her right arm from the radiator.

  At last, she could stand, relieving the ache in her thighs and lower back. Her shoulders throbbed, her hands having been so long behind her back.

  “What’s your favourite music?” he asked, sliding an arm around her; pulling her against him.

  She didn’t know. At that precise moment, she couldn’t recall any. That part of her brain wouldn’t work. She shook her head.

  "Ever watched, 'The English Patient'?"

  Her expression was blank.

  “It’s a film by Anthony Minghella.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  He was humming again. Placing a hand at the back of her head, and one around her waist, he whirled her round the room, polythene crackling beneath their feet. It was awkward. She tripped on his feet.