Текст книги "Time to Die"

Автор книги: Caroline Mitchell

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Bert stared with his mouth open, speechless for the first time. He didn’t believe him. He warned the fool and he didn’t believe him.

[#]

Bert had learned from Geoffrey that he lived alone, and like many people living alone, he was a creature of habit. Every night at five he popped out to the chip shop for his tea. He was home by half five, and in the tree house by a quarter to six, to watch Mandy trying on her wares. Perhaps she knew what was happening, or perhaps she was not expecting someone to be watching her from that height. As the cards had shown, the tree house provided a direct view through the curtainless windows of her bedroom. But there was no excuse for Geoffrey’s behaviour, and Bert would enjoy watching the fulfilling of the prophecy.

It was not difficult to slide into the unlocked back garden through the frail wooden gate. Geoffrey would be too busy waiting for Mandy to come home to notice Bert’s intrusion. Bert positioned himself behind the mossy garden shed, smiling to himself as he cast his eyes over the ladder reaching up to the tree. The wooden steps were as rotten as he had envisaged, and would not hold Geoffrey’s considerable bulk when he waddled down tonight. All he had to do was watch, if only to know his forthcoming reward was secure. Bert froze as he heard a rattling sound from the side of the house. The metallic rattling sound got closer and was followed by Geoffrey’s whistle as he walked towards the tree house carrying a stepladder over his shoulder. Bert dug his nails into the palms of his hands. Damn him! He must have taken in some of the reading after all.

The steps creaked as Geoffrey climbed, muttering to himself as the binoculars swung from around his neck. ‘C’mon girlie, let’s see what you’re wearing tonight … or rather not wearing,’ he giggled.

As time went on, Bert edged closer to the tree house, his mind in turmoil. With a short push of the stepladder Geoffrey would end up dead. Bert’s eyes followed the trajectory. It would come to rest on the glass house, which would make a hell of a crash as Geoffrey’s body made impact. Bert dug his long nails into the back of his neck as he scratched the growing itch. The rampant next-door neighbours were sure to be alerted by the noise. Would he get away on time? He mulled it over. He could force Geoffrey into climbing down the wooden steps by taking away the metal stepladder, but that would put him on his guard, and he was a big man. Bert thought of Geoffrey’s wide knuckles being slammed into his face, his gorilla hands wrapping around his neck, choking the life out of him.

‘Fuck! What’ll I do? What’ll I do?’ he rasped into the cool evening air, searching the skies for his beloved ravens. But the question was taken away as heavy footsteps creaked on the ladder above him.

‘Who’s there?’ Geoffrey asked, his feet clanking against the metal steps as he made his descent.

‘Shit shit shit!’ Bert tore into the back of his neck, violently scratching in fear and frustration. He would not get away on time now. Another couple of steps and Geoffrey would be upon him. There was only one thing to do.

If Bert had been able to think clearly he would have seen the comical expression on Geoffrey’s face as their eyes met. That in turn would have presented him with another option; one that suggested Bert himself had come for a viewing. Geoffrey’s back gate held no lock and as he had already given him an invite, he may have laughed and waved him up. But he never got the chance, as Bert rushed forward and pushed the stepladder back with all his might. As he turned to run, a mighty yell and a crash splintered the air, and Bert craned his neck to see Geoffrey feverishly gripping the ladder as he crashed on his greenhouse below. The glass, now dripping with blood, served as an efficient executioner. As Bert ran to the safety of his van, his thoughts were not for the man bleeding his last among the splintered glass, but the benefits he would receive from fulfilling another prophecy.

Chapter Forty-Five

As Jennifer hung her coat in the CID office her main priorities were firstly not to think about her father, and secondly to progress her case. Another body was going to turn up and it was going to be soon. She had felt it from the moment she woke up. The feeling of dread encompassed her, and though Will asked what was wrong, she found it impossible to put into words. Like a thick blanket of fog, it hung in the fibres of her clothes, in each strand of her hair. She scratched the nape of her neck with her pen as she read through her case file. It was hard to concentrate with the Raven in the back of her mind. Her case load was growing, but she had little time to dedicate to it. She was about to be dragged away from her paperwork yet again as Will grabbed the car keys from a hook on the wall and quickly scribbled his name on the log book to sign it out.

‘Ethan’s asked us to attend a sudden death,’ Will said. ‘MIT are already on scene.’

Jennifer raised one eyebrow. ‘Lexton MIT? Why the sudden change of heart?’

‘I think they’re trying to build bridges. We may as well go over there and check it out. There’s mention of a tarot card reader.’

Jennifer didn’t need asking twice.

[#]

DC Hardwick took a bite from his Mars Bar and ambled over to Jennifer, giving Will a courteous nod. ‘We meet again. Sounds like your spooky fortune teller is getting around, doesn’t it?’

They were standing in the back garden of someone called Geoffrey Pike, and Jennifer was in no mood for jokes. ‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’

DC Hardwick scrunched up his wrapper and threw it on the ground. ‘Seems pretty straightforward to me. Middle-aged man, lives on his own. He’s got police history a mile long for sexual offences, flashing, and a regular peeping Tom. He seems to have been up in his tree house peeping on the new next-door neighbour.’ DC Hardwick looked at Will. ‘Oh man, if you’d seen her, you’d understand why. She is hot!’ he said, squeezing a pair of imaginary breasts in front of him.

Jennifer folded her arms. ‘How do you know he was spying on her?’

‘It doesn’t take a genius to work that out. Firstly he has a set of binoculars around his neck, secondly his trousers weren’t done up all the way, and thirdly he has a stash of porn and tissues up there. I reckon he was coming down the ladder, his trousers came loose, he lost his grip and it tipped all the way from there,’ he said, gesturing from the tree house to the greenhouse, ‘over to there. Shard of glass in his windpipe, goodnight Vienna.’

Jennifer wanted to quip that his detective training did not go to waste given he was able to count to three, but she was at the scene of a possible murder, and that was no laughing matter.

‘No signs of anyone else present, any foul play?’ she said, pushing her hands into her jacket pockets.

‘Nope. The back door of the house was unlocked, and there’s cash, a laptop and other things lying around. The crime scene investigators are doing their bit but as far as I’m concerned it’s non-suspicious.’

‘I thought you said there was a fortune teller involved,’ Will said.

DC Hardwick raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you read the incident?’

‘No, we came straight over.’

‘His sister found the body. She told the call taker that Geoffrey had come off his bike last week, and some bloke in a van gave him a lift home. But before he did, he read his fortune, said he was going to break his neck or something.’

Jennifer interjected. ‘Did his sister know what he was up to?’

‘If she did she never let on.’

‘What about the husband of this woman next door? Does he have an alibi?’

‘Yeah, he was shagging his missus,’ DC Hardwick broke into laughter.

Will joined in the laughter and Jennifer silenced him with a glare. This was the work of the Raven as far as Jennifer was concerned, but she had to explore all avenues. ‘This husband, he could have seen what Geoffrey was up to and knocked him off the ladder.’

DC Hardwick shook his head. ‘It’s unlikely. His father’s a super in the Met. They said they were in bed together when they heard a smash, but were so involved in what they were doing they didn’t bother to check. They didn’t seem to know they had a peeping Tom and we didn’t enlighten them.’

‘All the same …’

Hardwick sighed, giving her a withered look. ‘Look, the only reason I’m here and not at a proper job is because you’ve kicked up such a fuss with this Op Moonlight that I’ve got to attend all reports mentioning a tarot card reader. I’ve been here an hour now, and it’s fifty-five minutes more than I need to be.’

‘All right, mate, keep your hair on,’ Will said, folding his arms. ‘We’re all trying to do our jobs here.’

‘Yeah well you may be happy dealing with this crap but I’m not. I’ve missed out on a good suspect interview for this. You may think this fortune teller is responsible for half the deaths in Haven, but I don’t.’

Counting to ten, Jennifer resisted the urge to tell DC Hardwick exactly what she thought of him, and left Will to argue it out. Signing her name on the scene log, she took some PVC gloves and placed overshoes on her heels, treading lightly to prevent puncture holes in the soft earth. Picking her way through the garden path, she tried to imagine the scene as the man fell to his death. She cast her eyes over the wooden ladder leading up to the weather-worn tree house. Why was he using two? She wanted to climb up and have a look at the view, but scenes of crime were already there taking photos, and would not appreciate the intrusion. She glanced over at Will and DC Hardwick, their heads bowed in heated discussion. She had muscled in on DC Hardwick’s territory enough for one day. She stepped through the billowy grasses onto the broken paving stones to see the remains of the greenhouse. A light rain had diluted the blood clinging to the shards of glass, and Jennifer felt her stomach lurch as she inspected the grisly scene. Wide-eyed with shock, the man lay on his back among the debris, a shard of glass protruding from his thick neck. The metal ladder lay over his chest, his legs spread-eagled as he took the fall. Judging by the blood loss, Jennifer guessed he died upon impact. His heavy frame had demolished the roof, bringing it with him as he hit the plantless greenhouse floor. Jennifer looked back up at the tree house and frowned. His death may not have been exactly as the fortune teller described, but she had no doubt he was in some way involved. She stepped back to allow the crime scene investigators past, who were discussing covering the greenhouse with tarpaulin to preserve the scene.

Will made her jump as he crept up behind her, whispering so no one else could hear. ‘Are you picking anything up?’

Jennifer clutched his arm as the paving stone wobbled under his weight. ‘Oh, you gave me a fright. No, the only thing I’m picking up is that Hardwick can’t get rid of us quick enough. He just wants to tie this up and get on with the rest of his work.’

‘He’s a knob. But from what I’ve seen, there’s not a lot to go on, is there?’

Jennifer turned to Will. ‘It’s not over until the fat lady sings. Let’s speak to his sister, see what she has to say.’

Geoffrey’s sister Miss Pike lived just four doors down. A light mist of rain descended as they walked to the address, and Jennifer patted down the newly formed frizz in her hair. She had zoned out from Will moaning about DC Hardwick, grateful they had not far to walk. She didn’t like him either, but she couldn’t see the point in complaining all day long. People like DC Hardwick would never change, and it was best not to let them get under your skin. The doorbell of the two-storey house rang a cheery tune rang from inside the hall. A thickset woman answered the door. Jennifer’s eyes were drawn to her short, permed, vibrant bottle-red hair.

‘Hello, I’m DC Knight and this is my colleague DC Dunston. And you are Linda Pike, I take it?’ Checking the identity of the homeowner was a given in their line of work. The last thing they wanted to do was to turn up to someone else’s address to discuss a sudden death and discover they had the wrong person. The woman nodded, her red-rimmed eyes brimming over with tears.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, but could we speak to you for a few minutes?’ Jennifer said, holding up her warrant card for reassurance. Linda nodded solemnly, waving them inside. Her skirt billowed as she walked, her wide hips waddling from side to side in an effort to carry her weight. A faint smell of chip fat hung in the air of the narrow hall, which was panelled with family photos either side. A freckle-faced girl stared back, teeth crooked, hands clasped awkwardly on her lap. Jennifer viewed the progression as the school photos evolved, another of the girl wearing braces, staring up from underneath her fringe. The last picture was the most magnificent. The young girl had bloomed into a swan; her eyes alight, displaying a perfect smile. Jennifer returned her attention to Linda as she showed them into a small living room, cluttered with newspapers and cabinets full of Wade collectables. A pair of budgies chattered and whistled in a gold-barred cage hung next to the window. Linda jabbed at the remote control until the television was silenced, and only spoke when Jennifer and Will were seated on the floral patterned sofa.

‘Can I get you a drink? A cuppa perhaps?’

Jennifer raised her hands, detecting a slight accent, and she strained to pin down the origin.

‘Oh no, not at all. I should be making one for you, it must have been a terrible shock, finding your brother like that.’ It may have seemed a comical suggestion, offering to make someone tea the first time you stepped into their house, but both Jennifer and Will had done it many times when it came to sudden deaths. Shell-shocked relatives unable to comprehend the sudden loss of a loved one. Handing them a sweet cup of tea seemed the traditional British thing to do, and she had never been shooed out of anyone’s kitchen yet.

Linda pulled a balled-up tissue from under her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. ‘It was such a shock finding him like that. The police – are they finished now? I mean, have they taken him?’

‘It won’t be much longer. Linda, I know officers have already spoken to you, but do you mind me asking you a couple of questions? I just want to make sure we have covered everything.’

‘Of course, but I don’t see why the police are involved. It was his own fault, the daft bugger. I told him to stop going out spying on people, because it got him in so much trouble. I didn’t mean he should take it up in his own back garden.’ Linda sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping with the weight of her loss. ‘He wasn’t a bad man really. He told me he wanted to change, but he just couldn’t help himself.’

Jennifer flipped back the pages of her pocket notebook and poised it on her lap. ‘Was there anyone who held a grudge against your brother?’

‘He never used to go out much, just to the chip shop for his tea, and sometimes a pint in the pub. Then he joined some online group, he used to go out every now and again to meet them, never said where it was.’

Jennifer’s ears pricked up at the mention of an online group, and the pieces began clicking into place. Zoe had mentioned speaking to a Geoff in her report. He regularly flirted during their online messages, and had promised to invite her to the next meeting. But Linda was unable to come up with any satisfactory information on the group, and could only recall recent events.

‘We hadn’t seen each other in years, I left home at a young age while he stayed in Liverpool. He moved here so we could look out for each other in our old age.’

Jennifer nodded, her curiosity about Linda’s underlying accent satisfied. ‘You didn’t see anyone suspicious hanging around?’

‘No. I popped over most mornings.’ Her face crumpled as a sob hit the back of her throat. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead.’

Jennifer handed her a fresh tissue from the box on the coffee table. ‘I’m sorry, I won’t keep you much longer.’ She waited a few seconds for Linda to compose herself before moving on. She hated questioning the recently bereaved, but it had to be done. The sooner she could end her questioning, the sooner she could leave the woman alone to grieve in peace. ‘You mentioned when you called the police that your brother had a reading,’ Jennifer said.

‘Yeah, it was weird. He thought I knew the man through the spiritualist church. When I told him I didn’t, Geoffrey was a bit shaken.’

‘Shaken? Why?’

Linda sniffed loudly. ‘The fortune teller said he would break his neck climbing down the tree house ladder. It was there when Geoff bought the place, left over from the last family. But it was falling apart, and the boards were loose. The man said that Geoffrey would come a cropper.’

Jennifer paused. ‘So he climbed the tree using the wooden steps?’

‘Usually, yes. But after the reading he said he would use the metal ladder. Of course he told me he was using it because he liked bird watching. The silly bugger, bird watching indeed!’

Jennifer turned it over in her mind. Geoffrey scuppered the prediction, but it happened another way. Had fate alone ensured his demise or had it received a helping hand?

With some disappointment, Jennifer realised her sense of foreboding had led to this moment. The tarot card reader had to be responsible, but why? Even if Geoffrey was connected to The Reborners, just what was the Raven getting out of these deaths? Was he a member? Acting purely as their judge, jury and executioner? Whatever the reason, people were dying, and the Raven was never far away.

Chapter Forty-Six

What his sergeant called psychic instinct, Will called a gut feeling. He was proud of the fact he was the levelheaded one, with his feet planted firmly on the ground. But the more time he spent with Jennifer, the better a detective he became. Her passion for protecting the people of Haven had rubbed off on him, and the Raven played heavily on his mind. Today his investigative skills rewarded him richly.

Will slowed his car to a crawl down the narrow laneway, as his eyes fell on the orange VW van. Led by nothing but old fashioned detective work, Will allowed himself some pride in his achievement. And on his own too. Jennifer would kill him for keeping it from her, but he couldn’t put her in the face of danger after her stunt in the woods. He pressed the side button of his radio to call for backup, before realising the battery was dead. He slid his mobile from his pocket and stared at the blank screen. Jennifer had warned him about this; close links to powerful psychic connection could zap batteries, give you headaches, blow light bulbs and shorten CCTV footage. It was all part of the strangeness he was being fed on a daily basis. But today she had been right. Will parked his car discreetly in the ditch. He should return to the nick and get backup, but if he left, the owner of the van would be free to drive away. That’s if anyone was in it.

He rubbed his beard as he mulled it over. If the man was as old and frail as witnesses described, then he had nothing to worry about. As long as he didn’t allow him to read his fortune, that was.

‘Hello, can you open up?’ Will said, tapping on the back doors of the van. A scuffling sound ensued within, rusted springs creaking as the occupant shifted their weight from one end of the van to the other.

‘What do you want?’ a frail scratchy voice said from within.

Will grew confident in his abilities to apprehend the owner of the voice. But he would need more than an old man in an ancient orange van to justify an arrest at this stage. He needed an identity.

‘I’d like to have my fortune told,’ Will said, hoping to pander to the man to effect an easy arrest. He slid a twenty-pound note from the folds of his wallet and held it out to the frail figure as he cautiously opened the back doors.

He was taller than Will, with gaunt features and dry flaky skin resting on the shoulders of his coat. His beady black eyes darted from side to side as he eyed Will suspiciously.

Will relaxed, finding it hard to believe that the man before him was capable of hurting anyone, let alone murder.

‘I don’t call them readings any more, they’re prophecies, Mr …?’ the man spoke, bent over as he shuffled out of his van and onto the dirt track of the isolated laneway.

Will slipped his warrant card from his jacket pocket and flashed it at the man as he spoke. ‘Dunston. DC Dunston. And you are Bertram Bishop, I take it? Or should I call you “the Raven”?’

‘Bertram means Raven,’ the man said quietly, loosening his necktie.

‘This is an informal visit,’ Will said, hoping to put him at ease so he could persuade him to go for a ride in the police car.

‘In that case you won’t mind taking off your jacket and turning around. I don’t wish to hear my own voice played in a court of law.’

‘I’m not wearing any recorders. It’s not CSI, you know,’ Will said, removing his jacket and folding it over his arm.

‘Turn around please.’ Bert raised his hand and pointed his finger in a circular motion.

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Will said, raising his hands palms upwards and turning around.

He did not have time to register shock as the shovel came down on his head. He only experienced a flash of white-hot light, before his knees gave way and he hit the ground.

[#]

The floorboards of the darkened room pressed unforgivingly against Will’s face as consciousness flooded in. Blinking to accustom his eyes, he emitted a moan of pain and confusion. Bound tightly, he lay on his side, fighting the sour taste from the oil-stained rag wound tightly against his mouth. Pain sliced through him as he jerked against his bindings. He was ensnared. Warm, sticky blood trickled from puncture wounds in his wrists and ankles, and he tried to breathe through the haze. The pain from his bindings competed only with the pounding of his head. With building dread, Will realised he was bound not with rope, but something much more vicious – spiked wire, which punctured his flesh every time he fought against it.

He strained to listen to the sounds around him as he tried to find his bearings. The muffled noise of a car engine revved in the distance, but the sign of life brought a little relief as hammer blows of pain rained through his skull. He groaned, feeling as if he was on a revolving floor. The room began to spin, searing pain bringing him to the edge of passing out. Nausea swept over him, and he fought to keep it down. Control. He needed to take control. Choking on his own vomit would kill him in seconds. He blinked furiously in the dim light. All he could smell was the oil from the damn rag tied around his mouth, and wherever he was, it was as black as the night. If it was night. There was no way of telling what time it was. Just how long had he been here? Fear cranked up his heart, skipping beats as he tried to remember what happened.

The air was stifling, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he choked a restricted cough. His head was pounding harder now, and he held his breath as a rasping noise broke out behind him. In the depths of darkness, he was not alone. Will stiffened for fear of further attack, his last memory turning around for the old man. He had become complacent, and dropped his guard. Stupid … stupid … what a fucking stupid thing to do. A crack of a match made him jerk, and he bit into his gag as the barbs cut further.

Bert sat before him, cross-legged on the floor. Will blinked as Bert’s face danced before him, his button eyes black with intent, just like his namesake.

Shaking his fingers violently, his captor extinguished the match as it burnt the tips of his fingers. Another crack as a fresh match struck the edge of the box, and the smell of sulphur invaded Will’s nostrils.

Bert dipped the match to the wick of the small candle, giving little light to the gloomy space. ‘You shouldn’t have turned your back. Appearances can be deceiving.’

Will tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He blinked at Bert, echoing his sentiments. How could he have been so stupid? The only comfort was that it was him, and not Jennifer. As if reading his mind, Bert spoke.

‘It’s barbed wire. I thought it was fitting, given that the police have been a thorn in my side. You should see what I have planned for Miss Knight. She is a special one, isn’t she?’

Will responded with a muffled growl, chewing on the rag in an attempt to loosen it. The taste of engine oil, and the thoughts of being imprisoned by the madman before him made him retch.

‘Shush, calm yourself, otherwise I’ll have to put you asleep again. Your fate has not yet been sealed. Maybe you’ll be lucky and the cards will set you free.’

Will thought that was unlikely, judging by the other victims who had met their grisly ends. He had to get himself out of this situation before he ended up like them. But how? Bert’s yellowed teeth flashed in a manic smile, making Will’s heart sink. He could not even reason with the lunatic before him. He wriggled his injured wrists, trying to work himself free from his bindings. His eyes danced around the room, seeing nothing but darkness. The tiny circular glow from the melted candle lit only inches before him. He could be anywhere. Will wriggled again, kicking out in an attempt to sit upwards. Like a dying fish he flopped around on the wooden floor, until Bert produced something from behind his back. The twelve-inch blade glinted against the flickering candlelight as he made his intentions clear.

‘It would be a shame to kill you before the reading, but I will if I have to.’

The whites of Will’s eyes widened with terror, and his nostrils flared to accommodate the breaths entering his body. Adrenalin flooded his system as his body fought for survival. All he could do was bite down on the gag.

‘Sorry I couldn’t find a clean cloth for you. I’ve had to be very inventive. Now let’s get started. I’m so excited about your reading today I’m even doing it for free.’

It was only then that Will noticed the tarot cards spread out face down on the floor next to him. Three cards. This was not going to take very long. Will thought of Jennifer, his family, and all the things he wished he had said to them.

Bert turned over the first card, his eyes glazing over as he revealed Will’s past. His happy childhood, his marriage, joining the police and meeting Jennifer. Bert shook his head in disgust as he conveyed how Will had made little effort to save his marriage.

‘DC Knight turned your head, didn’t she? If you’d minded your own business you wouldn’t be here now. I had no quarrel with you, but you forced my hand.’ Bert turned over the second card, revealing his present. His position in his job, his affair with Jennifer, everything was brought in front of him. Will wondered just how long the killer had been watching them to know so much. He was clearly insane, and his motive for the murders made him all the more unhinged.

‘The prophecy cannot be stopped once it has commenced. As soon as I read your future, it will happen. Maybe now, maybe tomorrow. Who knows?’ Bert cackled, his face set in a deadening grin.

Will conveyed his anger by shaking his head. But it was pointless. In the mind of a cold-blooded killer, everything is justified.

He blinked away his blurred vision. The shaking had subsided, and the only plan he could think of was to launch his body at the man if he came towards him. Slowly, he tried to wriggle out of the barbed wire, each movement bringing intense pain.

‘I’ve wasted enough time. Now it is time for your future.’ Bert rubbed his hands together before slowly turning the last card over, nodding and mumbling as he responded to the voices in his head. ‘I am to do you a great service,’ he said.

Will’s heart leapt. Was he going to release him after all?

‘You are to become acquainted with the blade of my knife, but it won’t be a quick death. You have a whole day to make your peace with it, before your body expires.’

Will bellowed through the cloth in frustration, making Bert jump and topple the candle to its side, spilling hot wax on the dusty floorboards. Bert swore, patting his pockets for his matches. He shook the half-empty box before striking another, making it kiss the extinguished wick.

Bert’s face darkened like thunder as he grabbed Will by the jawbone, his long nails digging into his skin. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

Unable to raise himself from the ground, Will bellowed for help, but was silenced by the tip of cold steel piercing his stomach. A trickle of warm blood ran down his side, and a fresh wave of nausea passed over him as he realised he had just been stabbed.

‘The prophecy has been set in motion,’ Bert said, transfixed by the bloody blade. ‘Your body will sustain you until tomorrow, then you will die here, drained of blood.’ Bert laid the bloodied knife on the floorboards behind him before stretching his limbs to walk away. ‘So it will be done. You have twenty-four hours to live.’

Will sank into dark oblivion.