Текст книги "Time to Die"

Автор книги: Caroline Mitchell

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen

Bert

As Bert pushed through the fire exit doors of the hospital, he was resolute. Every step he took from the looming grey building helped clear the fog of confusion in his brain. Time did not travel in a straight line. For him it was curved, a free flow of squiggles, returning to the past, and occasionally darting to places he had long since forgotten. Some places were a dead end. Routine served to confuse him further, and slinking away unnoticed from his hospital bed was the safest thing to do. The feeling of incarceration was not unfamiliar, and not something his jumbled mind wanted to explore. But he was clear about one thing. He had to set things right. He had interfered with a prediction, and that was interfering with time itself.

The blue dress woman was named Emily Clarke. It was neatly printed on the bills piling up behind the narrow door of her two-bedroom bungalow. Gaining access through the bedroom window was easy. When the cards directed him, anything was possible. It was a sign he was on the right path, and as he scooted under the unmade double bed, his conviction grew strong. Emily was out thieving again, shoving food into her child’s pushchair as she strode through the aisles of the local One Stop, the only supermarket not to have installed CCTV. High-value items like batteries or meat could be traded for a drink and a packet of cigarettes if she was lucky. The extra few quid would help take the edge off when the bills mounted, bold red letters demanding her attention. All she wanted was a nice man, but she was not going to meet him down the Spread Eagle public house, where sawdust lined the floor and the landlord turned a blind eye. Bert had seen it all in the cards. Even if she had survived the prediction, she was destined to hook up with abusers who would shred her of every last ounce of dignity. And who would suffer? The poor kid with the haunted eyes. He was doing her a favour and saving the child a lifetime of pain. He would deliver a quick death for her sins. It seemed a fair exchange that her expiring life would replenish his.

His musings were cut short as the front door rattled open, rebounding off the front tyre of the pushchair as it squeezed through the narrow hall. Bert’s breathing grew shallow in the confines of her streetlit tumbledown room. His vision was blinkered by his narrow viewpoint, and for a fraction of a second he forgot where he was. His mind had wandered again, but returned as quickly as it left. He turned his head to the sliver of light under the bedroom door, watching the shadow of Emily’s footsteps pace back and forth, unburdening the pushchair her son had long since grown out of. A long-legged spider scuttled across the dusty bedroom carpet. Bert was not afraid of spiders, he had spent long hours with the creatures of the leafy forest floor. Thoughts of the forest enforced his determination further, and any doubts about killing Emily evaporated as he heard her telling the child to go to bed and not to answer the door to anyone. Minutes later, her instruction was followed by the front door slamming, then a rattling of keys on the other side.

The little boy pottered around the flat for a while, and the muffled sound of the television carried through the crack in the door. The bedside clock ticked incessantly as seconds and minutes dragged by. The television abruptly silenced, and Bert felt his heart freeze in his chest as the little boy entered the bedroom. He held his breath as the child’s bare feet padded to the bedroom window. Staring out into the darkness, he made little mewing sobs for his mummy. It felt like a well-practised routine. Anger ignited inside Bert, spreading until it reached every fibre of his body. He clenched his fists until his sharp fingernails pierced his woollen gloves into his palms. Dark wings stretched inside him, rising upwards with every hiccupped sob that left the child’s lips. With narrowed eyes, Bert watched the boy leave the room, sniffling and hiccupping. The thin blue striped pyjamas stretched only to the top of his ankles, doing little to protect him from the chill in the air.

The clock ticked onwards, marching to midnight when the streetlights were extinguished, plunging the bedroom into a murky gloom. The council’s money-saving efforts were of great value to him, as it guaranteed him an escape under the cover of darkness. The clatter of the front door announced Emily was home. Bert flexed his fingers and toes, bringing back life to his stiffened limbs.

Emily tiptoed to her son’s room, then returned to her own, swaying slightly as she opened the door, her shadow cast long in the light flooding from the hall. Kicking off her shoes, she stepped out of her denim skirt and left it in a puddle on the floor. The bed bounced as she climbed in, the sagging mattress almost touching Bert’s long nose, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. As he inhaled the shifting dust, a tickle formed in his throat, and he clamped his gloved hands over his mouth as he fought the urge to cough. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed it back, and he reined in his accelerating breath. He could not afford to mess this up again. Every second seemed like an eternity as he waited, his body spiked with adrenalin to prepare for what lay ahead. Soon the air was filled with soft drunken snores. Gathering his nerve, he rolled out from under the bed. He stood over the sleeping woman, his long black coat encased in a layer of dust. He should not have interfered in the prophecy. He could see that now. He could never move forward until it was done. He summoned all of the darkness from within to assist with the kill, and clenched his fists as he felt the power surge through his body. Releasing the salivating monster, he reached for her tights on the floor.

[#]

The next morning Bert tentatively touched his face. It had returned to normal size. He rolled off his low cot bed, rubbing the crusts from his eyes. Slouched in the cramped space, he picked up his mirror and gasped at his reflection. It was as if his beating had never taken place.

‘And so shall her passing soul nourish mine,’ he whispered, as his stomach rumbled. ‘But I need money,’ he said. Like a chick in a nest, he cast his face upwards, waiting for sustenance, but all he could see was the yellowed roof lining of his dingy van. Bert cast his mind back to Emily Clarke. He staged the body, as if she were sleeping, her red hair framing her face, her mouth pursed in a silent ‘O’ of surprise. Locking the bedroom door from the inside, he had wandered around her poky room. The blue dress had hung limply in her wardrobe. It was a testament to her efforts to get her life back on track. But it had not been enough. She, like many, had laid their secrets bare and did not deserve to live. He picked up the phone handset and lay it on the table, the curled cord recoiling like a snake as he jabbed 999. He didn’t need to speak. Police were obliged to respond to abandoned calls regardless of whether they heard a voice or not. He had been careful to cover his tracks. The tights were too embedded in her neck to bring with him, but he knew enough of police investigations to ensure he had left no sign of his presence.

Bert scratched the back of his neck as he felt his skin flare. He continued with the raking, scratching his arms, and then, pulling up his trouser legs, he dug his nails into his flesh and moaned in short-lived relief. The loss of Emily’s life had healed his injuries, but only eased the skin condition that drove him to the edge. It would take the death of a very special person to provide him with such power. Jennifer Knight. She carried an aura that drew him in like a magnet. He imagined her visiting the scene of Emily’s murder, her slim graceful fingers touching the places he had been. She would not be able to resist the shadow of his presence, even if she did not understand why.

‘Please, Bertram, don’t …’ Mother’s voice echoed faintly in the recesses of his mind. He rubbed his forehead as his thoughts became jumbled. It felt as if there was too much packed behind the small space, and his skull was unable to accommodate it. But soon it would clear. Soon everything would be better. So much of his life was spent in the past, and there was no getting away from the memories that weighed heavily on his mind. He climbed into the front of the van. He would have to visit mother, if only to silence her pleading and get on with the task in hand. Sighing heavily, he climbed onto the driver’s seat to make the journey home.

Chapter Sixteen

Bert

As Bert grew, so did his love of the outdoors, which was sorely stifled by his mother in daylight hours. A cold virus left him unable to leave his room in the unguarded night, and too weak to chase the raven that cawed outside his window. Globules of Vicks smothered his chest, and screwed-up tissues dotted the old comics. Callum had read them to him until he knew the stories off by heart. The stifling room smelt of cleaning fluid and watered-down chicken soup, and mother hummed a nursery rhyme as she pottered around the kitchen.

Callum did everything he could to ease Bert's confinement, and his latest visit was accompanied with gifts. As he laid the shiny conkers on the bed, Bert masked his resentment with snuffled ‘thanks’, and raised them to his nose. He breathed in the woodland smell. It tainted him. Just like every breath Callum took.

Bert didn’t choose to hate his brother. Hate got him all angry and stirred the black nest of creatures inside. They told him to do things his body didn’t have the strength to facilitate. He knew Callum kept things from him because he didn’t want him to feel bad. It didn’t make any difference; his mother had a knack of announcing it on the front porch as Callum left.

Good luck at the football today, score one for me! Be careful on those rides now, sweetheart! And Bert's favourite: Have a great time at the party, dear, shame I’ve got to stay at home and look after your brother.

It was always followed by that little sigh, her martyrdom a touching sight. But it was all a lie. She loved the attention from her church friends when they came to visit, speaking in sympathetic whispers as they peeped in on her bedridden child. He was called such because nobody knew what was wrong with him, and nobody had the heart to ask. Sitting around her kitchen table with their gifts of freshly made scones, his devoted mother was almost nominated for sainthood. And when the sympathy waned, she’d cut his hair into a concentration camp style, restricting his food to complete the look. Clutching their hands to their chest, the women promised a mention in every mass before returning to town to spread the word.

It would have been enough to drive him to the edge of his sanity, had it not been for his moonlit excursions. School had interfered with his sleeping pattern, but it was easy to feign sickness then sleep all day and wake at midnight to visit his special place. The forest felt like another world, a place where he belonged and his presence was welcomed. The only birds that lived in the forest were the magnificent black ravens that nested in the branches of the tall domineering trees. They were attracted by the energy of the land, just as he was, and while it bolstered their spirit, to others it created a feeling of unease. His special raven was always at his side, his blue-purple iridescent feathers cloaking his body and bringing colour to the night. Bert set traps in the forest, and then hung the corpses of the gutted rodents from tree branches as offerings. The raven repaid him in loyalty and guardianship, something his life had been lacking up until now.

Chapter Seventeen

Jennifer had taken on the role of mature adult long before she reached her teens. The stress of losing her mother at such an early age, combined with taking responsibility for her sister, had left its mark. She was fully aware of her failings, and they took up many pages of the journals kept neatly hidden in her bedside locker. Having little knowledge of a normal loving relationship, she usually hoped for the best and expected the worst. Such thinking had lived up to her expectations so far. That was, until she met Will. Although he held a rugged charm, he was the complete flip side to everything she went for in a man. Her usual boyfriends were self-assured, selfish and often unpredictable men, not dissimilar to her DI, Ethan Cole. But there was something about Will that warmed her, a caring, protective nature that told her this was the way it was meant to be. Slowly he had grown on her, and in recent months she found herself looking at him in a different light. She even found herself welcoming Will’s company, since the discovery of the envelope in her car.

It was fortunate their rest days coincided. Jennifer knew of married police officers working opposite shifts, who crossed over in the night, barely seeing each other. It was another promising spring day, and Jennifer had decided to wear one of her summer dresses to celebrate the arrival of the sun. The pub breakfast had been delicious, and she had enjoyed the view of the river as the fresh morning sunlight danced on the water. Will sat across from her, looking relaxed in his white t-shirt and faded Diesel jeans. She wanted to tell him he looked good, but she couldn’t find the words.

Nervousness bubbled up inside her as he followed her into her home. It was no secret that they liked each other, but they had been friends for so long, taking things to the next level was a welcome but daunting prospect.

She groaned as she picked up the yellow padded envelope nestling under a fresh crop of junk mail. ‘I wish they’d stop sending this crap through the post. Last week I got a pack about a retirement home.’

‘Hang on, that’s not junk mail,’ Will said, securing the door behind them.

Jennifer gave Will a wilted look as she walked through to the kitchen, ripping the envelope open.

If it were anything suspicious she would risk a telling-off from forensics to find out what it was.

‘It’s very light …’ She paused, dipping her hand inside. Peering into the envelope, her fingers found a thin-strapped satin camisole top. ‘What the…?’ she said, passing the envelope to Will as she held it up by its straps. For a fleeting second she wondered if it was some sort of joke Will had orchestrated, until she realised one side was slightly heavier than the other. She spun it around to see a plastic security tag attached. ‘It’s still got the tag on.’

Will took a corner of the envelope and turned it upside down. A shiny black feather lightly touched the black granite counter.

‘It’s from him,’ Jennifer whispered, dropping the camisole on the counter like it was hot.

‘I’m not having this,’ Will growled, tense and muscled as he headed for the stairs.

‘Wait, where are you going?’

‘To check upstairs. This joker’s playing with us.’

Jennifer groaned. Three objects sent to taunt her. How many more were there to come? And if each one represented a death, then who was connected to the camisole? Or was it meant for her? She shuddered. They had to catch the killer before he moved on to someone else. Opening her handbag, she pulled out a clear evidence bag and popped the letter in one. A supply of PVC gloves and evidence bags may have seemed like an unusual assortment among her lipstick, antiseptic wipes and car keys, but Jennifer was detective through and through, and always prepared. As she opened the bag for the camisole, Jennifer’s heart quickened. She had been given her first proper clue.

‘I recognise this label,’ she said, before dropping the cami inside. She sighed. Their alone time would have to wait.

She grabbed her car keys and shouted up the stairs to Will. ‘Fancy a trip into town?’

[#]

‘Good morning, my lovely, what can I do for you?’ the tall blonde woman behind the smooth backlit counter said.

‘Hi Jacqui, I’m here on police business I’m afraid.’

Jennifer had known Jacqui since school. After her modelling career failed, she set up a lingerie shop in Haven, which had since grown to a chain. Jacqui divided her time between each store, but always returned to her hometown. The spacious store was a shoplifter’s dream, and it would have been easy to get lost in the rows of padded hangers displaying various brands of elegant lingerie, nightwear, and dressing gowns.

Jennifer pulled out the camisole top, still in its clear plastic bag. ‘I was wondering if you could trace this. It appears to have come from your store.’

Jacqui pulled the glasses from the top of her blonde bouffant and pushed them onto the bridge of her nose. Her heavily made-up eyes widened as she peered through the bag.

‘Ah yes, I recognise that label.’ She scanned the item into her till software. ‘There it is. That’s a brand new line. We only put it on display a couple of days ago. Damn thieves, they always go for the most expensive products.’

Jennifer felt a flicker of excitement. ‘A couple of days ago? That narrows it down.’ Her face tilted up as she looked for cameras. ‘Do you have CCTV?’

Jacqui nodded. ‘Of course, for all the good it does. And as for these tags … I spent a fortune installing them, but they always find new ways of getting past the scanners. I should shut this store down and concentrate on the others, but I like being in Haven.’ Jacqui pushed her glasses back onto her head and handed back the evidence bag.

Jennifer completely understood the hold Haven had over its inhabitants. ‘Could I have a look at the CCTV?’

‘Babe, I’d like nothing better, but I’m a technophobe. I’ll get one of the staff to download it and call you when it’s ready.’

Jennifer pushed the object back into her black leather bag. ‘Thanks. I’ll submit this for fingerprint testing, they use a special oil to test the material. I’m afraid it won’t be any use to you afterwards.’

Jacqui grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t want it back anyway, now someone’s mucky paws have been all over it. Anyway, my lovely, what about you? Any men on the scene? All those hot cops in your station, there must be someone.’

Jennifer shrugged, relieved that she had asked Will to wait outside. Jacqui would have eaten him alive. ‘No, they’re in short supply and I’m too busy with work for all that.’

Jacqui raised her finger in the air, the nail painted her signature siren red. ‘I have just the thing. Why don’t you come to mine next weekend? I’m having a Botox party. I’ll give you the first jab on the house.’

The first one? How many do I need? Jennifer thought, the prospect filling her with horror. ‘Sorry, I’m working, some other time maybe. Oh, can I get you to sign this disclaimer form before I go?’ She swiftly changed the subject, remembering why she did not spend much time with her old friend.

[#]

A tall hazelnut latte awaited Jennifer as she joined Will at Costa Coffee three doors down. Closing her eyes, she savoured the long, slow mouthful.

‘I fancied something sweet, do you want some?’ he said, shoving an almond croissant towards her.

Jennifer smiled, before sliding out a mirror from her bag. ‘Do I need Botox?’ she asked, frowning at her reflection in the compact mirror.

‘Botox? Don’t be daft,’ Will said. ‘Where’s that come from?’

Snapping the mirror shut, she threw it in her bag and shook her head. ‘Nothing, it’s just Jacqui being her normal self.’ It had only been a couple of hours since breakfast, but the smell of fresh pastry wafted towards her and she tore off a corner.

‘Any joy with the camisole?’

Jennifer covered her mouth to shield any offending pastry flakes. ‘It’s been nicked in the last forty-eight hours. She’s going to burn off the CCTV.’

Will rubbed his soft blond whiskers. ‘It has to be Raven. He could be watching us right now.’ He glanced around at the passers-by.

Jennifer took a sip of her coffee. ‘Or that could be a smokescreen. But why send stuff to me?’

‘Why not? You’re a police officer. He wants us sitting here trying to work it out. Otherwise why bother sending clues to the same person every time?’

‘I’d just like to know their end game,’ Jennifer said. ‘I thought I was getting a connection with Alan Price’s death and The Reborners cult, but Felicity Baron? It makes no sense.’

Will tilted his head to one side as he considered the prospect. ‘Unless they’re random killings. I mean, does there have to be an end game?’

‘There’s always an end game. It’s our job to find out what it is, before anyone else gets hurt,’ Jennifer said. But it did not appear to comfort Will, whose face was still knotted in a frown.

‘My main concern is that they’ve been in your car and know where you live.’

‘I know. But the important thing for now is to work out the connections then try to predict what he’s going to do next,’ Jennifer said. ‘Ethan has spoken to the DI on the Murder Investigation Team and presented them with our evidence. Don’t be surprised if you get a call to check your statement about finding the evidence in my car. They’ve got teams of people swarming all over this guy, and yet there’s no trace. Another predicted death is on its way. I can feel it.’

Will laid his hand over hers, his honey brown eyes full of concern. ‘I know we’re in Operation Moonlight, but it’s important to look at this rationally. The way I see it, this Raven guy is some loon making up predictions and following them through. He probably believes they’re real but they’re all in his head. That’s what makes him dangerous. He’s on some kind of mission, and for some reason it involves you.’

Jennifer knew Will’s scepticism was healthy, and tried not to feel let down. ‘But he accurately predicted Felicity dying in the woods. He may have tampered with the car but how would he have known that? It could have happened anywhere.’

Will gave a non-committal shrug. ‘Coincidence. First he got Price to unburden himself over a drink. He watched you visit his sudden death and that’s where he came up with the idea to send you a letter. Then he saw you deal with Christian and when he couldn’t get near him, he targeted his girlfriend Felicity. He’s probably after infamy, or revenge for the fact Christian blanked him. Who knows, maybe it was Felicity who said he couldn’t stay at their house.’

‘Mmm.’ Jennifer dropped her gaze. It was a tired and worn-out argument that got her nowhere. She didn’t tell Will her sense of foreboding was growing, as black as the wings of the ravens now perched on the rooftops of her home. She steadied her breath to push down the worry fluttering inside her. This man wanted more than infamy. He wanted people to die.

She painted a smile on her face. ‘This is meant to be our day off. Why don’t I book this into the property system and we can talk about it back at mine? I’ve got beer.’

Will’s face lit up like the sun breaking through the clouds. ‘That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.’

[#]

It took Jennifer just an hour to book the camisole into the property system and write up a quick statement before speaking to the DI on duty.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she picked it up, expecting to see Will’s name flash up on screen. But the voice on the other end belonged to Jacqui, the shop owner.

‘Hi babes, I just wanted to let you know one of my staff has come in and helped me view the CCTV on fast forward. We’ve found the shoplifter. One of our usuals I’m afraid.’

Jennifer sat bolt upright as she clung to her phone for the answer. Could she be closing in on the suspect?

‘Really? You know them?’

‘Oh yes, she’s been arrested before. She’s banned from the shop but I had new staff working for me that day and the little cow came in and robbed me blind.’

‘It’s a girl? Who is it?’ Jennifer said, hastily barging out of the cubicle while balancing the phone to her ear.

‘Emily Clarke. She came in with her little boy and shoved things in his buggy. You can’t miss her, with her long auburn hair.’