by Wes Markin
‘If you’d like to take a seat on the bed, I’ll talk you through the process.’
‘All in good time, Caroline. I’d like to talk to you about something else on my mind first.’
With satisfaction, Lacey watched the colour drain from Caroline’s face. She knows she’s about to be rumbled …
‘Ever since you’ve come into my house,’ Caroline said, ‘you’ve been behaving oddly.’
Lacey smiled. ‘Yes, it’s often remarked on.’ I’m a malignant narcissist, don’t you know?
‘I’d like you to leave, please?’
‘For being different? Did your husband never teach you to be accepting of everyone – no matter their eccentricities?’ Lacey put her hand to her mouth. ‘Ah, sorry, my mistake, you’re not married, are you?’
The colour had well and truly disappeared from Caroline’s face now.
‘I’m going to guess what you’re thinking … You’re thinking that I am here because of Jake. You know I’m not his wife, Sheila, because you will have seen photographs of her, so you are assuming I’m a family friend here to put the shitters up you?’
Caroline didn’t respond.
‘Well, you’re wrong. I’m not really a family friend. I mean, me and Jake have history but not in the way that you’re thinking …’
‘Do you realise what my husband will do if he finds out about all of this?’ Caroline said. ‘Do you realise how dangerous he is?’
‘Yes, I do. I know all about David, and his boss, Simon.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I told you at the door. Unlike you, I didn’t lie today. Well … maybe about the soap star, but some embellishment never goes amiss. The fact of the matter is, Caroline, you are not going to die today because I made Jake a promise. However, this isn’t the case for David and Simon, I’m afraid.’
‘But they’re in Southampton,’ Caroline said.
Lacey noticed her glancing at the open door – she was preparing to make a run for it.
Lacey shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. They’re on their way to Salisbury and their first stop will be here. I have no doubt.’
Caroline ran. Lacey was quick. She hoisted the gangster’s wife backwards and curled an arm around her neck. She squeezed until the beautician went limp in her arms.
Yorke always thought that nursing homes tried so hard to look welcoming without actually being welcoming. This one was no exception.
The Orchard Care Home filled the outer garden with an orchard. Wandering in through a decorative display of apple, apricot, blueberry, hazelnut and fig trees did nothing to disguise the reality. An abundant garden of colour and life just seemed like an obvious trick to Yorke. People were not put here to thrive like this garden, they were put here to die.
After Yorke had received Gardner’s update and headed to the Orchard Care Home, he’d called ahead to say that he would like to speak to Hayley Willborough. The manager had sounded genuinely surprised. She hadn’t communicated in a long while. Yorke had said he still wanted to try.
So, after he’d signed himself in with the same manager, the nurse led him down a white corridor. It was ridiculously clean, and ridiculously long. But what unnerved Yorke about the corridor most was its sheer length. He tried to make small talk with the nurse, but she was uninterested, and the three-minute journey seemed painfully longer than it was.
Eventually, they entered a sterile white room, which was a far cry from the colourful and fruitful orchard.
Hayley Willborough, propped up on several pillows, was the size of a young child. She had a breathing tube in the centre of her neck. He noticed her eyes following him around the side of the bed.
He took her hand in his. Only afterwards, did he realise that he’d done this instinctually. There was no hidden agenda behind his display of sympathy for this poor woman. He suddenly felt immensely guilty over the fact that he was about to broach subjects that would be very painful to her.
The nurse came around the other side of the bed. She took Hayley’s other hand. ‘Hello, Ms Willborough, are you enjoying Deal or No Deal?’
There was no response from Hayley. During the initial phone call, the manager had informed Yorke that Hayley had stopped responding over a year ago. ‘She used to be able to use a computer programme where she could generate speech with different movements of her eyes but not anymore unfortunately.’
Yorke looked up at the television suspended from the ceiling. Noel Edmonds was on his black phone to the banker while a contestant sweated over a red box.
‘Is it okay if we turn the volume down for a moment please Ms Willborough?’ The nurse said.
No response again.
The nurse picked up the remote control and turned the volume down.
Earlier in the car, Yorke had asked the manager by telephone whether Hayley knew about Robert Bennett’s arrest. It had made it onto the news and was hard to avoid. Yorke had been informed that she was unaware and that the only things she watched on television were soap operas and quiz shows, and whether she understood them anymore was anybody’s guess.
Yorke sat beside Hayley still holding her hand. ‘Ms Willborough, my name is DI Michael Yorke and I’m so sorry to come to your home and disturb you like this. There is nothing I dislike more than having my viewing pleasure interrupted but it is very important.’ He paused to smile, and gently stroked her hand.
Yorke took a deep breath. He felt truly dreadful. ‘I’m here about Robert Bennett.’
He paused to see if she reacted. She didn’t.
‘Healthwise he is fine so please don’t worry about that. However,’ he took another deep breath, trying to frame this right, ‘he’s got himself into a spot of bother …’
Spot of bother? He thought, inwardly mocking himself.
‘… and he could do with some help getting out of it.’
He waited for any sign that she was listening to him. Nothing happened. He looked up at the nurse. She shrugged.
‘Many years ago, you were a maid to Elysia Bennett and her husband. Is that correct?’
Nothing. It was frustrating but he didn’t let it show. He owed this poor lady more than that.
‘I know you are very close to Robert, Hayley. People we have spoken to suggested he was like a son to you.’
And then Yorke detected some movement. The tiniest flicker across her eyes. Maybe he was mistaken?
‘Was he like a son to you, Hayley?’
No, he wasn’t mistaken! There it was again.
He looked up at the nurse. She suddenly looked interested for the first time since he’d walked into the Orchard Care Home.
‘People have told me that you practically raised Robert. That he was home schooled, and his parents kept him as a virtual reclusive.’
More movement. She was responding. He was getting somewhere.
‘Is this true, Ms Willborough?’
She blinked once.
‘Yes!’ the nurse said, and her eyes widened. ‘That means yes!’
Yorke felt adrenaline whipping through him. ‘Did you love him?’
Another blink.
‘Do you still love him?’
Blink.
‘Ms Willborough, are you Robert’s mother?’
Nothing.
‘Ms Willborough, are you his mother?’
Still nothing.
Yorke felt like sighing but held back. He looked up at the nurse, showed her a disappointed face and then looked down again.
He wasn’t sure if this was worth it. Damn it, he wasn’t sure if this was even ethical!
Maybe he should call it a day?
And then Hayley blinked.
Sheila watched from the lounge door as Frank attempted to play with Tobias.
God, she loved Jake despite everything. She’d spent years getting past the fact that he was consumed by his job and had little time for her and Frank. She’d even got past the fact that his sociopathic ex-girlfriend had threatened to kill her in the street several years ago.
>
But this? This was a whole new level!
Tobias sat at a little desk that had been set up for Frank. He didn’t move. Just stared. Not unlike yesterday when she’d first come across him and his annoying mother, Millie. If anything, he’d appeared to grow paler and stiller overnight.
He watched Frank rustling around in a box of Duplo before wandering over with handfuls of the plastic bricks. Her son was ever so kind. He was laying the Duplo in front of the older child, trying to help him, engage him. But he was failing. And it was concerning for Sheila.
She felt sympathy for the boy, she really did, but she couldn’t help wondering what Jake had brought into her house.
It was at this point that she decided that, as soon as this boy had been returned to his mother, she would leave Jake once and for all.
‘Frank,’ she said.
Her son looked up at her.
‘Come and help Mummy get lunch ready for everyone.’
Frank, her good little boy, toddled from the room, leaving Tobias to stare, vacantly, at the Duplo bricks.
Yorke pressed on with his questions but only some were answered. Anything that related to Robert stimulated a response. Questions revolving around her caring for him, educating him and wanting him with her now were all met with a solitary blink. Yorke was yet to see a double blink.
‘When he left to be with his wife, did you miss Robert?’
Blink.
‘Were you happy for him though?’
Blink.
‘Did you give permission to the Bennetts to adopt your son?’
No response.
‘Did you like the Bennetts?’
No response.
‘Would you like to see Robert again?’
Blink.
‘Did you know, before today, that Robert was in trouble?’
Her first double blink.
Yorke rustled in his pocket and brought out a photograph taken of the Rays in 1944. He slid it out of its small plastic bag. ‘Do you know who these people are, Ms Willborough?’
She didn’t blink, but Yorke was certain that he could see something in her eyes. Something that resembled fear.
‘Do you want to help Robert?’
Blink.
‘Then, you must help me. Do you know these people?’
Blink.
Yorke pointed to the young girl cleaning the pig pen. The one that he’d examined earlier with Wendy’s magnifying glass. ‘I don’t know if you can see this clearly, Ms Willborough, but there is a young girl, maybe thirteen years old, cleaning up the pig pen behind the Ray family. Is that you, Ms Willborough?’
Pause. Nothing.
‘Please, Ms Willborough ... is that you?’
Blink.
Yorke’s heart thrashed in his chest. Pieces were coming together.
‘Is Robert’s father on that picture?’
Pause. Come on, come on, Yorke thought.
Blink.
Yorke pointed at the young man holding the toddler Thomas Ray in the air. ‘Was it Richie Ray?’
Double blink.
Thomas was too young, so that left … ‘Was it Andrew Ray?’
Nothing.
‘Andrew Ray is Robert’s father, isn’t he?’
She blinked and a tear ran down her face.
‘Does Robert know?’
Double blink.
‘Did you have twins, Ms Willborough? Does Robert have a twin brother?’
Blink.
Yorke stood up. He couldn’t help it. His adrenaline was sky-high. ‘Just to confirm, he had a twin brother?’
Blink.
Yorke ran a hand over head, down over his forehead and over his beard. This is it, he thought. She has all the answers. She may know the location of Robert’s brother. Yet, she cannot communicate … unless …
‘Ms Willborough, you used to communicate with a computer. Can you still do that if I get you the equipment?’
Double blink.
Shit … shit …
‘Ms Willborough, have you ever recorded these events? A diary perhaps? Some information which will help us find your other son, and help us end a situation that is out of control?’
Blink.
Okay … okay … think … Mike, think!
‘Will it be at the Bennett farm?’
Double blink.
‘Is it here? In the hospital?’
Blink.
‘Okay … did you record your story using the computer when you were stronger?’
Blink.
He looked up at the nurse. She shrugged.
‘So, who has this information?’ Yorke said.
‘I have it,’ someone said from the door.
Yorke turned. It was the manager he’d signed in with. ‘She recorded her story three years ago and asked me to take care of it for her.’
The nurse backed away and allowed the manager to take her position at Hayley’s bedside.
She stroked Hayley’s head. ‘Hayley, you told me that you never wanted it to see the light of day. You said you only shared it with me because you didn’t want to die with the story untold. I’ll ask you now, and I’ll only ask you once.’ She paused to look up at Yorke. ‘Only once, detective.’
Yorke nodded.
She looked back down. ‘Do you want me to share the story with the police, Hayley?’
The wait for the response was agonising. Yorke chewed his bottom lip. He stared down at Hayley, pleading with his eyes.
She blinked.
12
NOW THE EXISTENCE of the twin brother had been confirmed, Yorke contacted HQ to initiate a trawl through Wiltshire’s medical records. It felt like the most obvious route. It stood to reason that Robert’s identical twin would also have the rare disorder of PVS. He was confident they could draw up a list of potential suspects.
Hayley Willborough’s story, provided by the manager of the nursing home, wasn’t long. It had, after all, been told by the eye movements of an elderly woman. But the short length did not reflect the depth of the tragedy, which was bottomless.
Yorke ate fast food as he read. At times, the tale was so engrossing, he forgot to eat. It wasn’t long before he was shovelling cold fries into his mouth.
Hayley had worked on the Ray family farm in 1944. The picture of her shovelling pig shit in the background was taken when she was fifteen. It would have been fortunate that she didn’t live with the Rays and only worked for them, if it wasn’t for the fact that her own family, the Willboroughs, were abusive bastards too.
Because of this, indoctrination was a simple task. Andrew Ray’s cult seemed to offer the promise of a far safer and more secure life.
Unfortunately, as is the case with many cults, this promise was broken.
In 1952, when Hayley was 23, Andrew Ray made his claim that he’d been abducted by aliens. The only evidence that this had happened was a large bloody cross carved into his chest. A wound which everyone, apart from members of his growing cult, believed he’d inflicted on himself. ‘It’s where they cut me open. It’s where they went in to explore my insides.’
The philosophy behind Andrew’s cult was a simple one. The aliens were investigating human bodies, working them out, so when they returned in fifty years (apparently, the aliens had told him this), they could wipe them out with relative ease.
Andrew found people, such as Hayley, from all around the local area. He looked for troubled individuals. Individuals who could not find solace in religion in this god-fearing time and were drawn to sanctuary on his farm.
Andrew formed an army of twenty people to listen to him preach about the coming of aliens and the only requirement for entry was to have a cross carved into your chest by him.
Perks of the job? Thought Yorke. You twisted bastard …
His members soon began to look dishevelled. They had given all their finances to Andrew and nothing was left over for clothes and haircuts. He started to lead them in rallies outside churches and in town centres, warning about the coming of al
iens.
But most people spat in their direction and many others muttered, ‘Say a prayer for the Rays,’ as they passed these beleaguered individuals.
Eventually, the group dropped to nineteen when one of Andrew’s flock, Alan, broke a fundamental rule. Hayley was lucky because she’d also broken the same rule, but it seemed Andrew had a soft spot for her.
The rule was simple. All women, of which there were twelve, could only copulate with Andrew. The men, of which there were seven, had to practise abstinence. It was necessary, Andrew said, to keep their strength at a maximum should the aliens make an early appearance. These creatures may have been aware of a rising army and would be keen, at an unexpected moment, to descend and put a stop to it. Therefore, there could be no forging of sexual relationships, and the army would grow only through Andrew impregnating his flock.
Despite Hayley claiming that it was only actually her who became pregnant, Yorke felt a sudden surge of panic. Please God! Don’t let there be more of this vile offspring out wandering Devizes!
On more than one occasion, Hayley and Alan had found real hope in one another that things could be better, rather than the false hope offered by Andrew and his cult. They’d planned to run away together.
At this point, in Hayley’s account, she’d focused long and hard on her regret that it hadn’t been Alan who had fathered her children. For many years, she had forced herself to believe that he had, until the skin rashes had appeared on Robert’s face and shattered her illusions. Her offspring were the true descendants of Reginald Ray.
The day that Andrew discovered the illicit affair, he imprisoned Hayley in an old barn for three nights. During these nights, Alan was left outside, tied to a tree with the cross on his chest carved back open.
Hayley didn’t know how long it had taken Alan to die but the animals had almost picked him clean on the day she emerged from that old barn. In her story, she recalled this as the worst moment of her life. Down on her knees, she screamed at anyone who would listen that this was the death of all hope. Andrew responded to these screams by dragging her away to his room and raping her.
When Hayley discovered that she was pregnant a month later, she fled the farm and found safety in a church she’d once picketed outside.