Текст книги "The Doll's House"

Автор книги: M. J. Arlidge

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

135

Ben let out a roar and drove his fist into the glass. The mirror shattered and fell to the floor as the blood oozed from his lacerated knuckles. Without hesitation, he stamped on it, his heavy boots pounding it to oblivion.

How? How? How?

How had they found him so quickly? Those bodies were dug up less than a week ago and already they were staking out his shop. It was purely a matter of luck – and their incompetence – that they hadn’t caught him there and then. He let out an anguished howl and drove his head against the exposed brick wall. It couldn’t be happening, not when Summer had just come back into his life, when he was so close …

How long would it take them to find this place? The home that he had so lovingly constructed for their future happiness? It couldn’t be long now. Once they found out who owned the shop, they would talk to that old bitch. If he was lucky she might be barmy by now, but he couldn’t take that chance. There was nothing for him to do but disappear.

He still had the van. They wouldn’t know about that. And the fake plates would make it hard for them to find him. He could visit Summer tonight. He had never made such a direct approach before, but needs must. If they could be together before the evening news broke, then they might make it away completely.

Marching to the utility room, Ben picked up the squat glass bottle. The rubber bung was still firmly in place and he could see that there was enough clear liquid inside for his needs. He snatched up a couple of old rags and shoved them in his pocket. He turned to leave, then paused. This place would be like a treasure trove when the cops turned up. This distillation unit, his mementoes of Summer, not to mention that thing in the doll’s house downstairs. Bitterness gripped his heart as he thought of those faceless policemen and women passing judgement on him as they patiently fingered his possessions …

Suddenly Ben knew what he had to do. Throwing the cardboard boxes aside, rifling through the detritus of this small room, he found what he was looking for. A large can of turpentine. And nearby it on the shelf, an old lighter, a relic of his smoking days.

Picking them both up, he stalked over to the trap door and hauled it roughly open.

136

Ruby looked up hopefully as the door swung open. Was this it then? But as soon as she saw the look on his face, all hope died within her. He looked at her with ill-disguised contempt and, worse, with intent. Ruby scrabbled off the bed as he approached, bounding towards the other side of the table. But she wasn’t quick enough, his left fist slamming into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

As she doubled over, his knee connected sharply with her nose and for a moment she blacked out. When she came to, she found herself lying on the floor. Her wrists were pinched and hurting – when she turned she saw that he was securing her bound hands to the metal bedstead.

‘Please.’

He ignored her, instead producing a battered metal can, whose contents he now poured on to the floor around her. The smell of the clear liquid was overpowering. Suddenly Ruby had an inkling of what he was going to do – but it didn’t make any sense. This was his doll’s house. Why would he destroy something that he’d created? What had gone wrong?

‘Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything. Please don’t kill me.’

The can was now empty and he tossed it aside. Ruby’s pleas seemed to have no effect on him – he now produced a cigarette lighter from his pocket.

‘I’ll be your Summer. I am your Summer, please don’t hurt me.’

Still he refused to look at her, instead igniting the lighter. He looked at the dancing flame in his hands and as he did so a thin smile crept over his face. Finally he looked up, his eyes boring into her:

‘See you on the other side.’

And with that, he tossed the lighter towards her.

137

Helen wrenched the throttle towards her and the bike kicked forward. Cutting down Queen’s Drive, she cornered sharply on to the ring road, immediately upping her speed to 90 mph. Finally they had the lead they wanted – the breakthrough they had been searching for since Pippa’s body was discovered – and yet Helen suddenly felt with total conviction that every second counted. It was as if time had just sped up, pushing them towards some desperate and uncertain conclusion.

Six unmarked cars followed her. They would arrive silently – no sirens, no lights – and once the Firearms Unit arrived to support them, they would go in swift and hard. There was no telling how a psychopath like Ben Fraser would react to the realization that his carefully constructed universe was about to implode. Many serial predators killed their victims and then themselves. Others tried to take some police officers with them. You could never predict how they would react.

Suddenly Helen saw it and her heart skipped a beat. A thin plume of smoke rising up into the sky. He knew. Helen didn’t know how, couldn’t even say for sure yet that the smoke was coming from Alfreton Terrace – and yet what other explanation could there be for this sudden and unexpected sight in a lonely part of town?

There were no school mums or passers-by round here, so Helen upped her speed still further, hurtling down Constance Avenue and into Alfreton Terrace. There it was – number 14 – a horrible, decaying impression of a Victorian home. Lifeless, rotting and nondescript – apart from the smoke that now seeped from the ill-fitting windows.

Helen leapt off her Kawasaki while it was still moving, the discarded bike sliding awkwardly to a stop in the yard. Sanderson was only a minute or two behind in the car, so Helen squeezed her radio, as she ran towards the house.

‘Call the fire service. I’m going in.’

There was a shout of protest from Sanderson, but Helen didn’t respond, ramming the radio into her leather jacket, as she sprinted towards the door. Without stopping, she launched herself at it. Pain seared through her shoulder as it connected with the heavy wooden door. The door buckled but stood firm, denying her entry. A bolt at the bottom was drawn, barring her way. It suggested that their killer was safety-conscious – and, more than that, that he was within.

Helen drew her baton and kicked at the stubborn bolt. Her steel-capped boots connected aggressively and, after a couple of kicks, the bolt flew off its hinges. The door fell crashing to the ground behind, sending up a huge plume of dust. Helen hurried inside, Sanderson and McAndrew pulling up outside just in time to see her disappear into the burning house.

Helen scanned the front room for signs of life, but there were none. Her only thought was to find a way down. His victims had been kept in darkness, so if there was a basement …

She darted her head into the living room, alive to the danger of ambush, but it was empty. She hauled the dirty rug off the floor, but finding nothing, headed straight into the kitchen. It was covered with heavily soiled lino, which looked secure enough, so ignoring it, Helen headed to the back of the house.

And there it was. A trap-door. It had two bolts on its upper surface to secure it from above, but they had been left unsecured. It was like an open invitation. For the first time, Helen paused. Smoke was billowing out of it and who knew what lay within – was Ruby even there? Was it an ambush – one last stand against those who would deny Ben Fraser his fantasy?

Then a cry. Faint, but urgent. And unquestionably female. Now Helen didn’t hesitate, opening the trapdoor and plunging down into the abyss. The metal rungs of the ladder were already heating up, but Helen’s leather gloves gave her some protection and she made it to the bottom swiftly.

She lifted the tinted visor of her helmet and looked around. It was an amazing sight – a warren of little corridors leading God knows where. At intervals, bare bulbs covered in plastic casings were attached to the wall, illuminating the path. It was so well manufactured it was almost like being in a mine, a shocking testimony to the concerted, precise nature of Ben Fraser’s madness. The thought made Helen shiver and she gripped her baton a little harder.

Another cry, closer this time. Helen plunged forward, hopelessly waving her arm in front of her to clear the smoke that surrounded her. It was filling her nostrils, creeping into her eyes, it was completely intolerable. A fire in these damp conditions would create great swathes of smoke. Helen slammed her visor down again – it would make her vision darker, but with it up she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

She navigated by sound now, using Ruby’s plaintive cries to guide her. Instinctively she wanted to call out to her, to reassure her that help was on its way, but he was down here somewhere. And she dare not announce her presence.

Helen cannoned off a rough dirt wall, her forward momentum suddenly and brutally checked. Using her free hand she felt her way round the corner, moving carefully but purposefully forward. She had the sense that there was someone with her in the smoke, right behind her, and turning, she swung her baton in wild self-defence. But it connected with nothing, and in the deep gloom Helen could just about make out that she was still alone.

Helen moved forward again. She just wanted to find Ruby and get out of this place. It was getting hotter all the time and harder and harder to breathe. Helen suddenly found herself plunging to the floor, her foot having caught on something solid. In the clear air near the ground, Helen could see she had tripped over the lip of a doorway.

Turning she could make out another open doorway a few yards ahead of her. The heat was less intense lower down, her vision slightly better, so in spite of the obvious dangers, Helen crawled forward, through the threshold and into the room beyond.

The sight that greeted Helen took her breath away. The room was ablaze. A wooden table and chair had already been consumed by the flames and the other fixtures – an old cooker, an iron bedstead – were next in line. Secured to the heavy bedframe and writhing in agony was the thin frame of Ruby Sprackling. A precise ring of fire encircled her, the killer’s sadistic and deliberate method of execution, but Helen was damned if this poor girl was going to die in this hole, so hurdling the flames she sprinted over to her. As she did so, another wave of heat hit her. The fire was freshly made, but fierce and they had only seconds before they would be overcome.

Ruby’s hands were tied tight with nylon cord, secured to the bedframe with a constrictor knot. Ruby’s wrists were already red-raw. There was no way she could wriggle out of the cord’s grip and the bedframe was too strong and too thick to cut through.

Searching desperately for some means of liberation, Helen spotted a small patch of crumbling brickwork in the far wall. Without hesitating, she plunged towards it. Within seconds she was back by Ruby’s side, clutching the loose brick in her hand, hammering at the metal bedframe. The strut that Ruby was tethered to protested, then bent before finally snapping in two. Pulling Ruby to her feet, Helen tugged the securing knot up, up, and eventually off the severed end of the strut. Immediately Ruby collapsed into Helen’s arms, but Helen propped her up, slapping her gently but firmly in the face.

‘Stay with me, Ruby.’

She half dragged, half walked her through the flames and to the doorway.

‘Keep going.’

Ruby’s eyes rolled in their sockets, the smoke filling her lungs, clouding her brain. Helen could tell she wanted to blank out, to sleep, but they had to keep moving. She pinched her hard – eliciting a small reaction – and they moved on once more.

‘Not far to go n—’

Helen froze, the words stillborn in her mouth. The lights had suddenly flicked off, plunging them into darkness.

He was down here after all.

138

‘Get out of my way.’

‘You’re not going in there.’

‘For the last time, stand aside or I will arrest you.’

DC Sanderson was bellowing now, eyeball to eyeball with the fire sergeant who blocked her path. Behind them, black smoke belched from the interior of Ben Fraser’s house.

‘This is my scene now,’ he replied, shouting to be heard above the sirens and activity. ‘This is my fire. And until it is under control, you have no authority here. So I would encourage you to step back –’

But Sanderson had already rounded him and was sprinting towards the burning house. There was no way she was leaving Helen alone in there. Her boss had been gone over ten minutes already. The smoke fumes were bad enough out here, what must they be like inside, near the seat of the fire? Helen wouldn’t have stayed down there all this time unless something had gone badly wrong.

Sanderson crested the threshold of the house, but even as she did so she felt herself flying backwards again, away from the house. A pair of rough hands had her by the shoulders. She lashed out, trying to force her way back into the house, but the heavy, gloved hands of a firefighter dragged her back, pinning her arms by her sides, forcing her to the ground. She continued to thrash but his knee was now pressed into the small of her back, rendering further resistance futile.

As she lay there pinioned and breathless, the enraged face of the fire sergeant lowered itself to her level.

‘If you so much as move a muscle, I will order your colleagues to arrest you, do I make myself clear?’

Sanderson stared at him, refusing to acknowledge his ultimatum. He was only doing his job, but in her eyes he was condemning Helen to a gruesome death. So when she did finally speak, her response was terse and bitter.

‘Go to Hell.’

139

The darkness clung to them. Smoke filled their lungs. The searing heat was becoming unbearable. Any movement risked announcing their location to the man who was now hunting them. But they had no choice – they had to get out of here.

Switching Ruby to her left side, Helen readied her baton once more. She moved forward, stumbling slightly on the lip of the second doorway. But she didn’t hesitate. On and on they went, expecting Ben Fraser to come charging at them at any moment. A change in the heat level made Helen pause. She reached out her hand. She felt a solid dirt wall with space on either side. They were obviously at a junction of some kind. She hadn’t spotted one on the way down. Had she taken a wrong turn somehow?

Ruby was now a dead weight, lolling in Helen’s aching arm. Reaching down to grasp her ankles, Helen hauled her up and over her shoulder into a fireman’s lift. She stumbled slightly with the extra weight, pain ripping through her already damaged shoulder, then making a split-second decision, she plunged to the left, stumbling forward.

The blow sent her reeling sideways. It was so sudden and savage that she slammed into the side wall, spilling Ruby from her grasp. A second blow to her side landed immediately after, robbing her of breath and cracking her ribs. Now Helen saw him coming at her, a hammer raised, fierce intent in his expression. She raised her baton – but too late – the hammer came crashing down on to her head, sending her reeling backwards and shattering her visor. Another blow and she was on the floor, her helmet split.

He raised his hammer again, intent on crushing her skull, but this time Helen lashed out, her baton connecting forcefully with his Adam’s apple. For a moment, he appeared stunned, so Helen swung her free arm with all her might, battering the hammer from his grasp. It fell to the ground with a dull thud.

She pulled herself up quickly, but moved straight into his fist, descending upon her with crushing speed. Her head hit the ground hard, the shattered helmet falling apart like a cracked walnut, rendering her defenceless.

Now his hot hands sought out her throat, encircling it and squeezing hard. The smoke was so thick now they could no longer see each other, but at such close quarters it made no odds. They had a hold of one another and were locked in a fight to the death.

Helen rammed the baton against his elbow, trying desperately to break his grip, but he squeezed harder still. At any moment he would crush her larynx and that would be it. Helen thrashed at the side of his head with her baton, but it seemed to have no effect. Her killer would not be denied.

In desperation, Helen rolled sideways as hard as she could, crashing Ben into the wall. His grip loosened slightly, and pressing her foot against the wall, she swung back forcefully in the opposite direction. This had the desired effect and Ben toppled off on to the floor. Helen scrabbled on top of him, before he could rise, holding her baton at both ends, pushing the thin steel bar down on to his throat with as much strength as she could muster.

She pushed hard, but his fist lashed out, catching her above the left eye. She held firm, increasing the pressure. He was choking now, but Helen didn’t let up. His fingers sought out her face, scratching at her eyes, trying to dig into her eye sockets. Helen twisted her head to escape his reach, but he caught her hair, yanking her head down sharply towards his face.

She felt his teeth sink into her left ear and she howled in agony, drinking in plumes of smoke. He was biting so hard – any second now he would bite it clean off. Helen could feel the blood pouring down the side of her face and neck.

Then suddenly his grip weakened. Only slightly, but it was enough to tell Helen she was winning. Pushing down harder on his neck, Helen now felt his mouth open and a small gasp escape, as he released his grip on her ear. The fight was over.

Jerking her head up, Helen stumbled away from his corpse, but immediately the tunnel spun around her. She felt faint, nauseous, the smoke filling her mouth and her lungs, rendering her victory meaningless.

She crashed to the floor. Ruby was only a foot from her, but suddenly Helen had no energy to move. The darkness spun around her and for a moment she didn’t know where she was. Her face hit the cold earth on the ground and didn’t move again.

Helen’s eyelids began to droop. Ruby’s innocent face would be the last thing she saw. The last thing she would ever see.

140

DC Sanderson stood by the safety barrier, starring daggers at the fire sergeant, who avoided her gaze as he marshalled the activities of the fire teams who had now entered the burning house. Sanderson cursed herself for her stupidity and cowardice. Why had she let Helen go in alone? She knew her boss – she knew that she would plunge inside the house without any fear for her own safety. Why hadn’t she spoken up earlier – insisting her boss ride with them – instead of swallowing her concerns? Was it out of respect for her superior, as she’d told herself at the time, or just that she was weak?

She shot a look at McAndrew to see if she looked as guilt-ridden as she did, but suddenly she caught sight of movement by the front door. Vaulting the barrier, she sprinted over to see a fire crew emerging with Ruby in their arms, and moments later, Helen too. Ignoring their repeated warnings to stay back, Sanderson kept pace, desperately searching for signs of life. Ruby had sustained some nasty burns and was clearly unconscious. But what about Helen?

Her boss was covered in soot and dirt. A thick coating of blood clung to the left-hand side of her face, oozing from a deep wound to her ear. Her eyes rolled back in her head – she was unconscious and didn’t appear to be breathing.

‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’

The paramedics ignored her questions as they took charge. Sanderson watched on helplessly as they administered oxygen, chest-pumped and searched for a pulse. Why the hell weren’t they doing more? Why were they being so measured? Then a brief look from one paramedic to the other – sober and serious. What the hell did that mean?

Oxygen masks were now attached to both women and they were levered up on to the ambulance stretchers and hurried into the respective vehicles. Both ambulances took off at speed and as Sanderson watched them disappear into the distance, she felt tears prick her eyes. This was it then. Helen’s life now hung in the balance. Why hadn’t she done more?