by Conrad Jones
Leo’s disappearance changed Len. His blatant disregard for human life had been tempered by the loss of his son. The lives he had ended with the swing of a hammer, pull of a trigger or the flash of a blade had no meaning to him until Leo vanished. Losing his son put things into perspective. The sense of loss he felt was matched only by his sense of guilt. The guilt weighed heavily on his mind and twisted his dark soul into knots. He wanted to say sorry to those families who grieved because he had murdered their son, husband, grandfather, uncle, cousin or friend. But he couldn’t. Not without being murdered himself or going to jail for what remained of his life and he wanted neither of those things. Karma brought the other option. The cancer spreading inside him was winning the race against the chemo and radiotherapy he had received. It had been sent into retreat for a while by the treatment he had received but it was back with a vengeance. He didn’t have long, which meant finding Leo’s killer was the most important thing he had left to do. If he did nothing else, that was all he had left to live for. Killing the culprit would be the last life he would take before he died.
He didn’t fear God. God hadn’t been there when he was slaughtering enemies as if they were diseased cattle who needed to be removed from the herd. Where was God when Leo was taken and stuffed into a barrel? Nowhere. When his time came, his light would be extinguished like the sparks of a cigarette in the darkness of the night and the darkness would become all-encompassing and infinite. And then there would be nothing. There would be no reckoning, no judgement and no atonement to make. He wouldn’t be sent into the infernal pit of hell because it didn’t exist. Hell was a place made up to control the masses, just like heaven. Be good and stick to rules and you will go to a good place. Become a killer for reward and burn in hell. Bullshit. He didn’t fear what would come after death, his hell had been on earth. Life had punished him while he was alive. When he was gone, the universe would continue as it always had, with no care that he had existed. It all seemed so pointless.
He lit another cigarette and overtook the lorry in front of him. The Matrix detectives were three cars ahead on the A55, heading into North Wales. Whatever they had found in that metal barrel, was leading them to someone and he intended to find out who it was and what they knew about the murder of his only son.
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Tiff was exhausted. The circus show had started and there was still no sign of Chelle. Wayne looked like he was losing the will to live but they walked around the fairground again and again, while announcements became more infrequent. The women in the lost children station were following their protocol but there were other announcements that needed to be made. Chelle’s whereabouts were not their priority. Tiff was running out of options. She couldn’t go home without her sister. Her mind and body were sapped of energy. She sat down on a bench and cried. Wayne watched her, unsure what to do.
‘Do you think we should call the police?’ Wayne asked. Tiff sobbed and shrugged. Calling the police felt like admitting something bad had happened to Chelle and she wasn’t ready to do that. It was like giving up. ‘It’s half past eight,’ he said. ‘She’s been missing for four hours.’
‘I don’t know what to do for the best,’ Tiff said, sniffling.
‘Do you think she might have met someone and gone to town?’ Wayne asked. Tiff glared at him. ‘I’m just trying to think of the possibilities the police will ask us, that’s all.’ He shrugged. ‘They will ask us if she might have gone to town, drinking with someone.’
‘I suppose it’s possible but she wouldn’t have left her bag and phone,’ Tiff said. ‘Even if she lost them and didn’t know she didn’t have them at first, she would have noticed and come back to look for them by now. A girl doesn’t leave her bag and phone behind without going back to look for it. It doesn’t happen.’
‘What if she’s gone home with a guy?’ Wayne asked.
‘She’s not a slag,’ Tiff said, shaking her head.
‘She’s not an angel either,’ Wayne said. Tiff glared at him again. ‘I’m not being horrible, Tiff. It’s possible. Where else can she be?’
‘Fuck off, Wayne,’ Tiff said.
‘Don’t be like that.’
‘You’re insinuating my sister has come to the fair with me, met some random guy and gone home with him on a whim without telling me where she was going?’ Tiff argued. ‘Seriously?’
‘What if she was so wasted, she didn’t know what was going on and she’s asleep on someone’s settee?’
‘She wasn’t drunk,’ Tiff said.
‘You weren’t drunk. You were spiked.’
‘You’re scaring me,’ Tiff said, standing up. ‘I’ve had enough of guessing games. I’m calling the police.’
Chapter 15
Jane Orange was exhausted. The doctors had sent her home to get some decent food and rest. The stress of Malcolm being so ill had taken a toll on her. He was sedated and recovering from surgery and there was nothing she could do to ease his situation. The surgeon said he wasn’t out of the woods but she was happy with his progress. He would be heavily sedated for the next twenty-four hours and then they would access his situation. Remaining at the hospital was pointless. He was not aware of what was happening to him, so she may as well be at home, sleeping in her own bed. She had tried to eat a bowl of Heinz tomato soup and some crusty bread. It was her go to comfort food. Whenever she was poorly as a child, her mother made it for her. In tandem with watching Fingerbobs and a glass of Lucozade, it was the cure for all evils. The soup filled a gap but she had no appetite. She tried to listen to music. The best of Abba, ABC, Prince and Kings of Leon failed to settle her nerves so, she self-medicated with a half-bottle of Bells and some paracetamol. That slowed down her mind, which had been racing all day. What a nightmare day it had been. The worst for a long time.
Possibly the worst day ever, since she’d found out she was pregnant with their first child. As soon as she saw the results, she knew that her future would be with Malcolm Orange. She had cried for a week. As time went by, the hopes and aspirations she had nurtured since being a child, faded into the mists of time and she took on the role of wife and mother. In time, she actually began to love him in a sibling type of way. They were companions for life. Such a waste of what she could have been if she’d been more selfish. She couldn’t terminate their child and so her choice had been made in a brief moment of passion when all sense and sensibility was lost. Malcolm was her husband and she was a good wife.
Malcolm had looked so poorly. She couldn’t get his face out of her mind. Part of her was so angry at him. The bloody fool wouldn’t listen sometimes. When he got a bee in his bonnet, nothing could stop him until he got stung. This time he had been stung good and proper. She could only hope they would have the opportunity to laugh about it one day in the future when the effing circus had effed off and they could recall the time he was punched in the head by a clown. What a story for the grandchildren that would be, when she finally got to see them again. They hadn’t seen the grandchildren for over twelve months. Partly because of that dreadful virus and partly because their daughter-in-law couldn’t stand Malcolm. He had a habit of telling her how to do things, then arguing with their son, Mark when he asked him to shut up. That would lead to another six-month cooling off period before they would visit again. Things were going to be different in the future. She was going to put her foot down when he got home. It was time to stop letting him run around like a bull in a china shop, pissing everyone off. It was always her that had to clean up after him, while he went on oblivious to who he had offended. Maybe the bang on the head would be the catalyst to make him think twice before jumping in with both feet. She could only hope so.
It wasn’t late when she went to bed, probably before ten o’clock. She looked through the bedroom window at the fairground. The lights looked beautiful in the darkness but the noise carried on the cold night air. The beam from the lighthouse at the end of the breakwater pierced the night, turning
relentlessly. The view seemed unfamiliar and surreal. She couldn’t sleep so she went into the spare bedroom at the other side of the house and climbed into bed. It was quieter there. The sheets were clean and cool and sleep found her quickly. Whisky numbed her senses and allowed her to drift off.
Her dreams were plagued with thoughts of her long dead parents, their illnesses, deaths and funerals. She saw their grandchildren and shouted to them but they couldn’t hear her. The images were all jumbled up in space and time with faces and people she didn’t know. Somewhere in her dream she felt a draft on her face. It was gentle at first, tickling her skin. Gentle and warm. The draft touched her skin again, this time it carried the odour of food and peppermint mingled with cigars. Her subconscious mind told her it wasn’t a breeze at all. It told her it was someone’s breath. Then she felt someone lick her cheek.
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Kelly was soaking in the bath. Her daughter was staying with her nan for the night. She had kept the details of the day to herself, simply saying they had witnessed a horrible accident at Rhosneiger beach. There was no need to frighten Elle. She was a sensitive girl, easily disturbed. Jack had been sullen and moody all the way back to Holyhead. He behaved like a sulky teenager, driving her further away. Her mind was made up and there was no going back. The news about his mother was devastating and she felt his pain but what they had witnessed was horrific. It wasn’t the time to lose their dignity by being childish and sulking. The incident had shocked her and she wanted to go home and be alone. Self-preservation had kicked in. It had always been her self-defence mechanism. Kelly coped with whatever came along but she did it her way and alone. She didn’t need a man in her life but that didn’t mean she didn’t want one. The fact was Jack wasn’t the man she wanted to spend her life with. If she chose to share her life with someone, she would choose carefully for Elle’s sake and her own. It was a tough ask but that was the way it was. She had seen her friends introducing one boyfriend after another to their kids without thinking it through. It always ended in tears. She had tried with Jack but it wasn’t to be.
Jack had some dreadful times ahead of him but she couldn’t be there because of pity for him. She needed to end the relationship despite his awful family news. His future didn’t include Kelly and there was no point in dragging things out and pretending otherwise, only to hurt him further down the line. He didn’t say goodbye when she got out of the van, which added to her contempt of how he had dealt with the situation. He had texted her a few times, asking to talk but she didn’t want to talk to him or anyone else. Her walls had come up and they wouldn’t come down for a while. That was just the way things were. She was a complex human being and she recognised she could be difficult to be around sometimes but that was the way she was made. For now, it was better for everyone if she had her own space.
The bath water was cooling and the skin on her fingers was beginning to ripple. She had topped up the hot water three times already. It was time to brave the cool air and get dried and dressed. There was a bottle of wine and a movie waiting for her downstairs. She climbed out, the water running from her skin. The cooler air touched her and goosebumps appeared on her arms. Wrapping herself in her favourite towel, she stepped out of the bath and patted her face dry. The mirror was steamed up and she couldn’t see her reflection. Her dressing gown was in the bedroom. She dried herself off quickly and opened the bathroom door. Suddenly, she was plunged into total darkness.
Chapter 16
The crowd was hushed as Lottie introduced the next act. A troop of clowns pushed the set into position. A huge wooden wheel stood vertically on a platform; four shackles fixed at the centre. A second wheel was brought on. This one horizontal to the ground. The performers arrived and the clowns faded into the darkness behind them. The Great Arturo, a direct descendent of Greek royalty, who fought against the mighty Trojans, apparently. No one questioned the veracity of that claim. He appeared alongside his raven-haired beauty, Helen. Lottie said it was an act of incredible skill and coordination, timed to perfection and unrivalled by other performers of a similar ilk. The drums beat and trumpets blared, lasers cut the darkness. The music reached its crescendo and the clowns appeared again, fastening Helen to the wheel. Arturo grabbed the heavy wheel and released a lever. The wheel began to turn, Helen at its centre. Silence reigned.
Arturo took his position standing on the second wheel and the clowns pushed it until it was spinning quickly. Each time Arturo faced Helen, he threw a long dagger, which stuck into the wood between her limbs. The crowd whooped as each knife struck home. Six blades landed safely on the wheel, missing the smiling Helen. The crowd were impressed and Arturo took the applause. Enter Hugo, the giant clown. The crowd quietened. Hugo wagged a finger and looked unimpressed. He pulled the daggers from the wheel and handed them to Arturo along with a blindfold, miming that he should put it on. Arturo put the blindfold on, reluctantly. He looked nervous. Hugo pulled the lever on the big wheel. Helen began to turn faster. Her expression turned to concern. She was shouting for it to be stopped. It was too fast. The timing would be wrong. It was too dangerous. Hugo ignored her and pushed Arturo’s wheel faster, so he was spinning full circle every second. The crowd was silent as Arturo settled and adjusted to the increased speed. He released three daggers one at a time and they missed Helen but Arturo lost his balance on the fourth attempt. The next three blades tumbled wildly. The first wayward blade somersaulted through the air and severed Helen’s left arm at the wrist. Her hand fell onto the floor; the fingers opening and closing. Then it crawled away into the shadows like a wounded animal. A scream pierced the tense silence and Lottie staggered into the light, the second wayward dagger in her guts. A sharp intake of breath filled the air as the crowd reacted. A split second later, the sixth blade tumbled through the air into the audience. The lights came on and a young man with shoulder length hair was slumped in his seat, the knife in his chest. People around him were sprayed with blood. Several of the audience screamed, others ran from their seats, to help, others ran away. The lights went out and the medical team responded in the darkness. An ambulance entered the arena. The audience could only see shadows and people rushing around in the strobing blue lights. Lottie and the injured male were put on stretchers and put into the back of the ambulance. The ambulance crew climbed in after them and closed the doors but the engine wouldn’t start. A troop of clowns pushed it out of the big top and the murmur of voices filled the circus. No one was quite sure what to do. It was several long minutes before the lights came on and everything but the blood was gone.
The lights dimmed again and a spotlight illuminated Lottie at the other side of the arena, in perfectly good health. The crowd applauded, convinced it had all been part of the show. Lottie introduced the next act and the clowns changed the set.
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Bob Dewhurst and April Byfelt were back at the fairground sooner than they expected to be. They met Tiffany at the entrance. Wayne had been to get coffees and burgers while they waited for the police to arrive. He was worried Tiff would appear drunk and wouldn’t be taken seriously. Tiff manged a few bites of food and the coffee perked her up a bit. When she’d made the missing person call, she was directed to the correct station and told the report was classed as urgent and would be dealt with by the FDO. She had no idea what that meant but was told where to wait for officers to arrive. The Force Duty Officer was there to coordinate resources in the event of a serious event. A missing female in close proximity to the sea was classed as such. Within minutes, officers were deployed to the Newry Beach. Bob and April were the closest, being in the Holyhead station when the call came in. They were to set the ball rolling while senior officers were dispatched along with backup. A call was put into Alan as the closest detective inspector.
‘Are you Tiffany Branning?’ April asked as they approached. Tiff looked washed out. Her eyes were red from crying and her mascara had smudged. She look
ed like a frightened little girl dressed up as an adult.
‘Yes,’ Tiff said, nervously.
‘Your sister is missing, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Since what time?’
‘About half-past-four.’
‘Tell me what happened,’ April asked, wondering why it had taken so long to report it. She heard the slur in Tiff’s words.
‘I don’t know where to begin,’ Tiff said.
‘Take a deep breath,’ April said. ‘Her name is Michelle Branning but she’s known as Chelle, correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s twenty-one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a picture of her on your phone?’ April asked. ‘If you have one taken today with what she was wearing visible, it would be perfect.’
‘I have one here from earlier,’ Tiff said. ‘We took it in the Albert Vaults.’
‘Great. That’s perfect. I need your permission to upload this to our site on Facebook. We’ll get her face out there immediately,’ April said. ‘If anyone has seen her, we’ll know quickly.’
‘I’m not sure about Facebook. My mum will see it,’ Tiff said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t want to worry her. She worries about us all the time. If she thinks Chelle is missing, she’ll have a heart attack.’
‘Okay, Tiffany,’ April said. ‘Your sister is missing and your mother needs to know that. We can’t disguise the situation to be anything but what it is. So, while I understand your concerns, we need to get this picture on Facebook.’
‘Okay. If you think it’s best,’ Tiff said, reluctantly.
‘Your mother will appreciate hearing this from you, before someone sees Chelle on Facebook and tells her,’ April said. ‘You must call her once we’re done with the details, okay.’ Tiff nodded that she understood. ‘You have her bag and her phone, yes?’