The DCI Yorke Series 2: Books 4-6 Kindle Edition (DCI Yorke Boxsets)

by Wes Markin

  ‘Not spotting something clear and obvious in front of me before people died is considered wrong in my book.’

  ‘You were in love.’

  ‘Not an excuse.’

  Gardner leaned over the table and put her hand on his. ‘You were also a kid. Does Patricia know?’

  ‘Yes. No secrets. We work in a world of secrets … we don’t want them at home.’

  Having lied, he looked away. Patricia had kept secrets from him, after all. Her father, Douglas Firth, had been mixed up with organised crime, and she’d almost died in a car accident as a result of that. It was a secret that had come to light earlier this year. A bloody revelation that had wreaked brutal havoc on their lives. But that was it now. No more secrets. She’d promised him, and he believed her.

  Yorke pulled his hand away from Gardner’s. ‘This is long in the past. Over half my life ago. I’m a different person now. Also, it’s not relevant to our current situation.’

  Gardner nodded. Her expression was full of sympathy.

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ Yorke said. ‘And need an early night. Me and you start early. We need to find Mayers before he gets wind of the manhunt Rosset is leading. Are you in?’

  ‘You need to ask?’

  ‘So, no distractions?’

  ‘No distractions.’

  Lacey always dreamed vividly, and often woke up disorientated. It took her a few moments to realise that she was still in her cell, or her ‘Convalescence Room’ as the founders of Princeholm hospital termed it, and that something was wrong.

  Very wrong indeed.

  When she tried to lift her head from her pillow, and couldn’t, it dawned on her that she was paralysed. Not one to hit the panic button, Lacey simply considered why this might be. She’d heard of sleep paralysis, so it could potentially be this, which meant movement could be restored any second. Of course, there was the more serious possibility of a stroke, and if the damage was permanent, locked-in syndrome. But there was still no panic. If necessary, she possessed the capabilities to retreat inside herself, and live out the rest of her natural life in her Blue Room.

  Her eyes were working, so she scanned her Convalescence Room. The lights were dimmed in the evening, and only a slight glow slithered through a strip above her door—

  Her eyes fell to the man sitting in the corner of her room.

  Again, no panic. It wasn’t in her nature. But knowing that this predicament couldn’t be good, she did try to move again.

  Nothing.

  She wasn’t able to speak, but did manage to produce a groaning sound, which at least gave her some indication that some parts of her were still working.

  ‘You are conscious then, Lacey?’ It was Dr Stewart Holden. ‘I’m sure you’re not panicking, but if you are, I’d like to reassure you that this condition is temporary. I’ve given you a combination of drugs, one of which is a neuromuscular-blocking agent. It prevents nerve impulse transmission. There’s a risk of respiratory failure, which is why I’ve been keeping an eye on you and have brought some equipment.’ He pointed down at the duffel bag at his feet. ‘I’d like you to know that you’ll not die tonight because I don’t fear you reporting me.’ He rose to his feet. ‘There’d be no fun in that for you, Lacey. No fun at all. You’ve already told me of your intentions to trap me in your Blue Room. So, I see no reason why you’d deviate from your original plan regardless of what comes to pass in this room tonight.’

  He walked over to the bed. The ration of light from the corridor outside accentuated the sharp, bony angles of his face. He looked down at her. Lacey expected him to smile, to revel in his new-found dominance. Instead, he stroked her face.

  She felt it and tried to move away but remained frozen.

  ‘You’ll realise now that some sensation remains.’ His hand moved into her hair.

  She considered retreating into her Blue Room, but then she would miss out on Holden’s play. She wanted to know his intentions, because that would fuel what would come later. And there would be a later. Of that, Dr Holden, you can be sure.

  ‘I’m a narcissist just like you, and I wish to dominate, as I’m doing right now. But you knew that, didn’t you? It’s easy to recognise kindred spirits. One of your suggestions riled me, and it brought me to your door this evening. What did you call me? A rat scurrying in the dirt, feeding and shitting, and waiting for vulnerability?’ He pointed at his belt. ‘Didn’t you describe me undoing this? Preparing myself to fuck you? You think I would soil myself with your juices, Lacey?’ He took his hand from her hair and stepped back. ‘And then, what came next? A cockroach, I believe? Scuttling in the corner, kept alive to endure your sadistic ways?’ He smiled for the first time. ‘You said I underestimated you. Do you think it’s now possible that you underestimated me?

  ‘You planned to offer me free will in your Blue Room, so in the interests of fairness, I’m going to offer you the same. As you cannot speak, I’ll ask you to move your eyes. Tonight, I prepared my resignation letter, effective immediately. I am financially secure enough to walk away from this job. Your choice is this. Blink once if you want me to resign. Then, you’ll never have to see me again. Sounds like a dream come true for a victim, doesn’t it? I’m offering to walk out of your life forever. Never to be seen again, never to be taken into your Blue Room. Now for the second choice. Blink twice, if you want to endure what I’ve brought with me tonight.’ He pointed at the door. ‘Outside this room.’

  Lacey knew that what awaited her behind that door would be particularly nasty, but the prospect of her losing her grip on Holden and never having her special time with him? That was something she could never endure. She blinked twice.

  ‘Predictable,’ Holden said.

  She wanted to say, ‘Predictable will be the first word I carve into your chest.’ Instead, she moved her eyes to the door to see where the decision had taken her.

  Holden left her bedside and went to open the door.

  The tall guard who’d escorted her to the office yesterday for her meeting with DCI Yorke came into the room. This hulking meat sack usually swaggered around the hospital full of confidence. In this moment, he looked nervous. As he came into the room, he looked back and forth between Holden and Lacey several times. Holden closed the door behind the guard and sat back in his seat in the corner.

  The guard approached Lacey’s bed and then looked back at Holden again. ‘Do you have to stay?’

  ‘Would I really put you off?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Judging by your red face, Stan, you’ve taken the tablet I gave you. There’ll be no problems.’

  Stan turned back, took Lacey’s blanket and pulled it off. She felt the cold air settle on her. It would be nice if that was a sign that the paralysis was going to rapidly alleviate and allow her movement, but she knew that was wishful thinking.

  As Stan slipped her pyjama bottoms off, she realised that she still had an option. The Blue Room had always been a good place to retreat when she was having sex with repulsive clients back in her days as an escort, and tonight, it could offer the same sanctuary. She could easily disappear, and when she came back, Stan would be long gone. But there was a cost. Not experiencing what Dr Holden was subjecting her to would be a wasted opportunity to fuel the fire, and the more intensely that fire burned, the more pleasure she would derive when her turn finally came with the doctor.

  Seeing Stan take off his trousers, slide on a condom, and then lubricate himself with Vaseline, was particularly disgusting, but it only served to make her more resolute. Her eyes moved to Dr Holden’s. He sat in the corner with his arms folded, smiling. She thought about the choice she would offer him between his eyes and fingers, and how much joy would come from his decisions. Then, Holden was blocked from view as Stan clumsily mounted her.

  She made eye-contact with the pulpy mass of filth as he drove inside her. She hoped the creature could read the intentions in her eyes as he raped her and see the fate that awaited him too. The sweat running into his eyes
made him blink, and he broke eye-contact, lowered his face, and increased his tempo. She turned her eyes to Holden’s smiling face. He would know that despite incapacitating her, he’d left her capable of some sensation. He knew she would be feeling every single one of this pig’s vicious thrusts. As the pain intensified, she made the only noise she was capable of. A deep, hollow groan.

  She fought a growing urge to take a break in her Blue Room. She’d chosen blue because she was a fan of Chinese methods. They use blue light to soothe illnesses and treat pain.

  Another Chinese method she was a fan of was Lingchi. One day, she would subject the meat sack on top of her to death by a thousand cuts. She tried to smile; whether it actually materialised on her paralysed face, she wasn’t sure. After ejaculating, Stan climbed from her. Now empty of his sexual drive, he looked apologetic. Without removing the condom, he hoisted his trousers up.

  Again, Lacey wanted to smile. For putting yourself inside me, you will apologise after each and every cut. Your last words on this earth will be a thousand apologies. She watched Dr Holden stand. Whereas you, Doctor, won’t be able to apologise, because I’m going to reach down your throat and tear out your vocal cords.

  Holden opened the door. ‘You can leave now, Stan.’

  Stan skulked towards the door, still fastening his belt. Lacey noticed him duck slightly as he exited to avoid clipping the top of his head.

  Holden closed the door and laughed. ‘He feels guilt now, Lacey, but give him a day to recharge, and his uncontrollable and dysfunctional drives will return. But hey, who are we to judge? Aren’t we all victims of our drives? In your fantasy, you were going to offer me the same painful choice every day. I, now, will repay your graciousness. Every night, I’ll come back to your room with Stan and offer you the same choice I gave you today.’

  He opened the door to leave. He paused in the doorway for a moment and then turned back. ‘Every night until you beg me for death.’

  He left and closed the door.

  How nice of you, Doctor, Lacey thought, to take time out of your busy schedule to play a little game with me …

  19

  DECEMBER 30th

  CHARLOTTE WHISPERED HER goodbyes, took a step out into the empty air, seemingly hovered for a moment as if to defy gravity, and then disappeared. Yorke, who had reached out merely a moment ago, closed his fist around emptiness, shut his eyes, and listened for the final sound of her existence. He heard nothing. Maybe he was too high up to hear anything? Maybe he was in shock? He took a deep breath, tried to recover control of himself, and then the screaming from below began. He could hear that alright. The sound of those poor people stumbling across the incomprehensible. He clamped his hands to his ears; he bit his bottom lip to hold in his own screams and he ran back over the rooftop to the fire door. How could you do that? How could anyone do that? Of course he knew the answers to these questions already, and all the subsequent questions which came like swift bee-stings. He knew because he’d seen the answers in those eyes. In the emptiness, in the blackness, in the hollowness of those eyes. But how had I not seen those answers before this moment? They always tell me how sharp I am. How keen my eye is for detail. Detail. The devil is in the detail. Below the animal-like screams intensified. They were looking for their own answers through a guttural cry of distress and disgust. Finally, away from the screams and through the fire door, Yorke slid to the floor. He fought back tears. Gone. A brief candle. A mere flicker of eighteen years. Extinguished forever. He couldn’t fight back the tears much longer. They came in full force and he bled his heart out at the top of the stairwell …

  … Yorke sat up in the hotel bed, and let the duvet fall away from his damp body. He reached over to his bedside table for his glass of water and drank it all. Naked, he climbed out of bed, and went into the bathroom. His eyes were puffy, and he wondered if he’d been crying in his sleep. Tracing his damaged face in his reflection, he thought of Borya with his boxcutter. He thought of Lewis, Terrence, Christian and all the other monsters who’d crawled out from the heart of darkness.

  He thought of Charlotte.

  Thought of their intimacy, their bond, their love.

  A lie. She’d felt nothing. She hadn’t been capable. She’d told him so before she’d left this world.

  He loved Patricia, but never had he loved so passionately, so devastatingly, as he’d loved Charlotte.

  And she’d been another monster like all those other monsters. Reginald, Mayers, Lacey.

  Yet, he still wanted to see her again. Look on her beautiful face. Those feelings never went away. Ah, just to see her, just the once …

  He went through to the desk, logged on to his laptop, and typed her full name into the search bar. The first hit …

  Killer student falls four floors to her death. Suspected suicide.

  He clicked. There was a picture of the building on the university campus. The building he’d been standing on in his dream, minutes ago, and for real in 1994.

  There was a picture of her in a cocktail dress at their halls of residence for the Boddington Hall Valentine ball. It had been one of their first dates. They’d kissed all night.

  He traced her face. Young, beautiful, seemingly innocent. Then he closed the laptop. He’d just wanted to see her. Just remember her for a moment. Now, he could feel himself coming back to reality. Patricia was the person he loved now. Charlotte was a different time, and he’d been a very different person…

  Lacey Ray. ‘My son … Tobias … I just want to see Tobias again.’

  Could this have been all Lacey wanted?

  To see?

  Would a photograph suffice?

  It took several phone calls, but Yorke was able to get the phone details for Jane Young. The first part of their conversation was predictably explosive. She recognised Yorke’s name and, even though he was not at fault, she associated him with the darkest times in her life. The kidnapping of her son by Lacey Ray, and the murder of her husband, Simon Young, by the same person. She wasn’t impressed by Yorke’s request for a recent photograph.

  ‘He’s still broken, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Young.’

  ‘Do you have children?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do they respond when you talk to them? Do they look you in the eyes?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Young, they do.’

  ‘Do they become excited when they’re happy? Do they cry when they’re sad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, can you even begin to understand how insulting this request is. You want me to give something sentimental to the person who ruined Tobias, and ruined my life?’

  ‘I won’t pretend to understand the pain that you’re in, Mrs Young. What you’ve experienced, what you’re still experiencing, is unacceptable. We tried our best to stop all of those things happening—’

  ‘Not hard enough.’

  ‘—and we’re there for you in any way we can be in the future.’

  ‘I’m all alone, Detective. Do you know that? All alone with a boy who can no longer function in society.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘She killed my husband.’

  Who was a very bad man, and the main cause of your suffering. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Occasionally, Simon’s colleagues give me money. Why do they do that? Do they care?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Yorke said.

  ‘Are they trying to buy my silence?’

  Yorke saw this crack in the veneer of the organised crime outfit, Young Properties. It was a crack which Yorke should, as a law enforcement officer, be peering into. But it was also a crack he had no time for right now. He made a mental note to report it back to SEROCU, the South East Regional Organised Crime Unit. Would she turn against those her husband used to lead?

  ‘I believe that if you send a recent photograph, Mrs Young, you’ll save lives. For that, you’ll not only have my gratitude, but the silent gratitude of all those families who won’t be torn apart
by this criminal’s future actions.’

  ‘And that’s all you can offer me?’

  It sounds like a remarkable offer for the average moral individual, Yorke thought, but then I guess that anybody who was married to Simon Young, and clearly aware of his moral bankruptcy, would probably be in deficit herself.

  She sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll send it. She can see how hollow my boy looks. If she claims to love him as much as she does, it will hopefully bring her much discomfort. I’ll take the photograph on my phone and email it. Give me an email address, please?’

  As Yorke gave her his secure police-issued email address, he felt the juices in his stomach start to boil.

  After several exhausting morning sessions with Alan, the Conduit took some time out to sit with Saskia. He noticed that her facial bandages were damp with blood, and in dire need of change, but he needed a moment’s rest before doing that.

  Saskia wept and muttered to herself, and the Conduit acknowledged her state of extreme shock. She would require some extensive work, but at least she’d survived the night, and had now acclimatised to a safer dosage of painkillers. He sat beside her with her head on his lap. He stroked her hair as he’d done with Alan the previous day.

  ‘Aristotle once said friendship is a help “in performing noble actions, for two going together are better able to think and act”. Tomorrow, is a big day for my friend, Alan. His actions will be noble and, although I won’t be physically there, I’ll be mentally with him to help him better think and act.’ He paused. ‘But then he will be gone.’ He looked at the fire he’d built earlier raging in the fireplace. He was succumbing to a rare moment of extreme emotion. He fought and choked it back. ‘But I’ll still have you, Saskia. And I hope that we two can go together into a new chapter. My ideas, my philosophies, continually evolve, and I believe that you’re exactly what I’m am looking for.’ He pointed over to the desk in the corner of the room. ‘Those books over there, Saskia, contain everything. Every moment since my rebirth as the Conduit. Experiences, learnings, hopes, dreams … everything. One day those works will inspire a generation. Rather than fear my discoveries, they will embrace them. They will learn from them, and everything will change. In the same way Freud, Kraepelin, Bleuler did …’