by Conrad Jones
The next day, the moon was doing just that and Fabienne was causing all kinds of problems at the asylum. She was demanding to speak to Peter or myself and said it was a matter of life or death. Peter rang me, explained that his caseload was massive and asked me if I would go and see Fabienne as a visitor. I couldn’t get there quick enough. The story of her childhood and the abuse by the O9A was eating away at me and I didn’t need an excuse to want to speak to her.
I parked in my regular spot and scanned the car park for patrol cars. There was no sign of any policemen and no sign of Peter’s Citroën either. It was going dark when I walked into the reception area, and the same security guard booked me in. I signed in and waited for a flustered-looking nurse who took me into a visiting Wilder. They were similar to the interview rooms in size but for a Perspex screen between us. A male nurse stood behind her as she walked into the room and sat down. She didn’t look pleased to see me this time. She was not pleased at all.
‘Hi, Fabienne,’ I said. Her eyes looked into me and there was concern in them. She looked tired and sad as if she’d been crying.
‘Hi, Conrad; where is Sergeant Strachan?’ she asked abruptly, looking over my shoulder at the door as if she was hoping he would walk in. I was a little disappointed that she didn’t seem as glad to see me as the last time we met.
‘He’s on another case,’ I smiled, but she didn’t return it. She appeared cold and distant. ‘What is the matter?’ I asked.
‘Touch me,’ she mouthed. She sat down and placed her hands flat on the screen. I touched the Perspex on my side. There was a tingle of electricity, static maybe, but maybe it was something more. The nerves down my spine glowed warm and my mouth started to water. ‘Can you feel that?’
‘Yes,’ I answered honestly. Have you ever been close to someone that you really wanted to kiss but daren’t, that you desperately wanted to grab hold of and embrace? Multiply that feeling by a hundred and that’s how her touch felt. The tension was incredible.
‘If you can feel that then believe me when I tell you that you’re in danger, Conrad, and so is the Sergeant.’ She leaned closer to the screen. ‘I’ve seen it. They’re coming for you and they’re coming now. Do not go home to your loved ones; leave now or they’ll be hurt, too.’
The warning hit me like a freight train. I felt as if a giant hand had twisted my guts. I had researched the Order of Nine Angels for days and the more I learned, the more frightened I became. They were real and they were powerful. If Fabienne said they were coming for us, then I believed her. The night that Peter had been at my house, I found four incidents where journalists investigating them disappeared and another where a female reporter was found raped and murdered in a terrible manner. God knows what the poor woman suffered before they finally killed her. One of them was Malcolm Baines, and now that I’ve had the time to look into their deaths, there is no doubt in my mind that they’re connected to the Niners. There was no solid proof that they were real, but I knew they were.
‘What do you mean they’re coming now?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know, but how can you pretend your life is not in danger? ‘Have they contacted you?’
‘No, but I know they’re coming. I do not know who they’ll send or when it will be, but trust me, they’re coming.’ She spread her hands open and moved her lips closer to the screen. I wanted to touch her, kiss her, and a voice in my head wanted me to hurt her. My mind was spinning like a top. Hurt her? Where had that thought come from? ‘Do you have a crucifix?’ she whispered through the screen, shaking my thoughts into whispers.
‘Yes.’ I laughed. Believe me, it was a nervous laugh. I wear a silver cross from a holiday in Jerusalem. I’m not religious, but I liked it. As I explained, I like iconology. I also have a crucifix tattooed on the triceps of my right arm and another huge one on my back. I showed her the chain and the tattoos. ‘Will they protect me?’
‘No, Conrad, they won’t protect you.’ She looked at me as if I was stupid. ‘This is not a Dracula movie, it’s real.’
‘I know. It was a joke.’
‘Save your jokes. You are in danger.’
‘How can you know unless they’ve told you?’
‘It’s not your soul that I’m trying to save. It’s you.’ She pointed a finger to her heart and smiled. Her smile made me melt to the middle. ‘Tell the world my story before they come for you. You don’t have long, Conrad. Tell the world about them. They’ll take me, too, so tell them now. Make people look for them. Make them scurry for the dark corners where they deserve to be, Conrad. Slow them down. Stopping them is impossible, but you can slow them down for a while …’ She closed her eyes and tears spilled from them and ran down her cheeks. Her chest shook with sobs and she kissed her right hand. She blew the kiss through the Perspex screen and then stood up and walked out of the room without looking back. I called out to her to come back several times, but she was gone. I was completely numb.
CHAPTER 14
Sergeant Strachan
As soon as I got out of there, I ran to the truck in a panic. My head was all over the place. What exactly did she mean? Who was coming for me? Was she a total basket case? As I said, I’m a sceptic, and I was panicking about the ramblings of a murder suspect who was being held in a high-security mental hospital. I smoked three menthols one after the other to stop my hands shaking, but it didn’t work. I was a mess. I was questioning everything that I put value in. It wouldn’t be the first time my head was turned by a pretty face, and my late father always joked that my brains were in my pants. He was pretty much spot on, to be honest. Would I be listening to her if she was a fat bloke in his fifties? The answer is no. I was letting my mind run away with me because I was so attracted to her, and that was the truth.
I called Peter and he sounded harassed when he answered. A babbling phone call from me was the last thing he needed when he was working. ‘Can you talk?’ I tried to calm myself down, but it wasn’t easy.
‘Make it quick, I’m working on a case on the outskirts of town near the power station.’ Workers from Wylva Power Station had found a body near Cemaes Bay; water from the sea supplies the giant cooling system and one of the inlets became blocked. Anyway, I needed to warn him about what she’d said.
‘Look, I’ve just seen Fabienne and she’s really upset because she thinks the Niners are coming after us.’ I sounded ridiculous and I knew it. There wasn’t a shred of proof for anything that this mysterious woman had told us from day one, but I believed her. I was behaving like an adolescent with a crush.
‘What makes her think they’re coming after us?’ Peter sounded disinterested at best.
‘She’s seen it.’ I thought about what I’d said and how feeble it sounded. ‘Well, she said that she knows that they’re coming for me and you and probably her, too, but she’s absolutely convinced that we’re all in danger.’
‘She’s seen it?’ Peter exaggerated the word ‘seen’ to let me know that he thought I was talking rubbish and panicking for no reason. He worked in the real world where evidence talked and facts were currency, whereas I was standing in a dark fantasy land – in more ways than one. ‘Seen it in a dream, I suppose?’
‘That’s what she said.’ I swallowed, feeling a bit silly as I analysed my own words. It’s almost impossible to relay a conversation as powerful as the one I’d had with her, and I failed miserably. I wish now that I could have found the right words to convince him, but my mind was awash with emotions, not facts.
‘Has anyone from the Niners contacted her?’
‘No.’
‘Did she have anything of substance to say?’ Peter wanted to get off the telephone and get on with his work.
‘I know it sounds weak, but if you’d seen her, you would understand. She was terrified and really upset.’ I reached for another menthol and tossed the empty packet across the truck. Now was not the best time to run out of cigarettes. ‘I think she’s telling the truth,’ I added feebly.
‘She’s a mur
derer clutching at straws, and the only person that’s swallowing any of this is you.’ There was a tortured silence – I couldn’t think of anything to back up what she’d said. There was nothing to back it up with. He was right. ‘If you’re worried about her devil-worshipping friends coming to drink your blood, then go home and put plenty of garlic in your tea, mate.’ Peter laughed bitterly. I couldn’t understand why he’d want to belittle me like that, but I guess he was trying to shock me back to reality. He wasn’t having any of it. ‘Listen, I’m snowed under here, but I’ll give you a call in a couple of days when we know if she’s to be charged or not. Take it easy, Conrad. It’ll be something to laugh about the next time we have a few beers. Just wait until I tell the lads that you fell for a nutter in the loony bin. She’s not the first bunny-boiler you’ve fallen for, and she won’t be the last. I have to go. Speak to you soon, mate.’
‘But listen.’ The line was already dead. He was right, though. My track record for meeting anorexics, bulimics or psychologically disturbed females was legendary, and the sad fact is that I usually fell head over heels in love with them a week before their true colours showed. I’m a sucker for a pretty face, and I can’t see past that until it’s too late. I suppose that makes me shallow, but my feelings are what they are, and you can’t change that, can you?
I didn’t expect Peter to drop everything and come running to protect me, but I didn’t expect him to be so candid either. The truth hurts, I suppose. I was worried sick that another Constable Knowles would be on my case, and more than a little perturbed that Peter had bummed me off the phone as if I was selling timeshares or guttering. I redialled his number and it flicked straight to answering machine. ‘Bollocks.’ I punched the dashboard and started the engine, gunning the revs much further round the dial than was necessary.
I drove home feeling drained and empty. I knew then from Peter’s reaction that Fabienne was gone. It occurred to me that all they’d wanted was an insight into my research, and now that they’d decided that Fabienne was a crackpot, I was a hindrance. He wouldn’t let me anywhere near the investigation if he thought that my judgement was impaired. The brief time that she’d been in my life, she’d turned my world upside down. I wasn’t sure if I was on my head or my arse, but I knew something bad had entered my mind. The strength of the desire I’d felt in that one visit to Wilder was abnormal. I’d wanted to help her more than I’d wanted to help any woman before.
When I got home, the evening news carried the story of the murder that Peter was working on. Engineers at the power station had investigated a blockage in one of the cooling vents. When they checked the outlet, they discovered a body. The victim was male, but decomposition was so advanced they couldn’t identify him.
At least Evie Jones was pleased to see me, and she sat with her head on my lap as we watched the news. My partner was working late again, and I opened a bottle of red wine while I waited for her to get home. I remember finishing the wine and drinking half a bottle of a second before conking out drunk and exhausted, both mentally and physically.
I dreamt that Peter and his team had finished with the basics at the scene, then went for a quick beer in town after work to discuss their next steps. It had been a testing few days for the murder squad and they needed to unwind. A few beers turned into ten beers and tequila slammers, and then they went for a kebab. I wasn’t there with them in the dream, I was an observer. I knew something bad was going to happen.
A big man approached them outside a kebab shop. He had wild dreadlocks and a bushy beard. He was wearing a denim bomber jacket and leather jeans and there was a motorcycle club emblem on the back of his jacket. As he neared them, they figured he was drunk, and they parted to let him pass. The man seemed high on something and he was looking around as if someone was chasing him. He was breathing heavily and sweat ran down his brow. He reached inside his jacket and looked at the group of men. When he removed his hand, a blade flashed in the street lights.
Peter shouted a warning to the others, ‘He’s got a knife.’ He dropped his kebab and grabbed for the man’s arm. He swore and pulled it away and then slashed it across Peter’s arm. It was razor sharp and it sliced through the sleeve and into the flesh. The blood on the blade seemed to glow in the dark. He drew back and then plunged the knife towards Peter’s chest. Peter moved away from the thrust and the knife hit the wall. There was a metallic grating sound and sparks glinted like tiny fireworks. Four police officers pounced on the big man as he waved the knife blindly.
They grappled him to the ground, despite his incredible strength. They managed to restrain and handcuff him and held him down until a team of uniformed officers arrived and carted him off to the station in the back of a white van. Peter and his colleagues talked briefly to the arresting officers and then drifted off in separate directions to get taxis home. I watched them all leave, one by one. As the last taxi drove out of sight, the street lights flickered and fizzled out, leaving me in darkness.
In my dream, I was left alone in town. Time had moved forwards. It was pitch-black and raining heavily, and everywhere was boarded up and derelict. The kebab shop sign was hanging loose and swinging noisily in the wind. It had been closed for years and the writing on the sign was hardly readable. When I looked around, I was huddled in a doorway, wrapped up in a stinking sleeping bag, which I instinctively knew belonged to me. I could smell my body odour and it was clear that I hadn’t washed for months. My bones ached and my joints were painful when I moved. The cardboard beneath me was the only mattress that I owned, and there was a deep sense of loss and longing in my heart. I knew that decades had passed, and I’d lost everything and all that I had to my name was the bottle of cheap vodka in my hand.
I heard footsteps walking down the street towards me and I heard voices and laughter. I recognised my partner’s voice and her laugh. I could smell her perfume on the breeze, and I looked out of my makeshift home to see if it was really her. She was older, much older, but she was still beautiful. I didn’t recognise the man that she linked with her arm, but she looked happy as they approached. I called out her name, but she glanced into the doorway and walked on as if I were just a voice on the wind. She hadn’t seen me or heard me. I saw the wedding ring glinting on her finger. It wasn’t one I’d bought her. Tears ran down my filthy skin into my matted beard. I felt my heart being torn from my chest as she walked on with her new husband, and I knew that I was damned to a future which didn’t include her.
‘Conrad.’ My partner’s voice woke me from my nightmare. ‘I’m going to work and the dog needs walking.’ She sounded mad. ‘I’m getting a bit sick of waking you up from a drunken stupor, if I’m honest.’
‘What time is it?’ I mumbled. I sat up and my head felt like lead, but the pain of loss was still inside me. ‘God am I glad to see you. I must have drunk too much wine and fallen asleep.’
‘There’s nothing new there then, is there?’ I watched her walk out of the living room towards the kitchen. I knew that I’d better make an effort, or I was in trouble. ‘At least you weren’t in the cells this time, so I suppose I should be grateful.’ She picked up her work bag which contained her laptop and auditing equipment. Her business suit looked immaculate as usual. ‘We need to talk. I’m the only one who’s pulling my weight around here. I don’t know what planet you’re on anymore.’
‘I’m sorry but things have been a bit weird lately.’ I reached out to her for a hug; the memory of my nightmare was still fresh in my mind and I needed her to hold me tightly. I needed her touch to reassure me that everything would be all right, but she recoiled and the look on her face made me feel sick inside. I knew then that I may have pushed her too far. When you know that someone you love has lost their feelings towards you, the world’s a desolate, hopeless place. Once those feelings have gone, they never come back.
‘Like I said, I think we need to talk, Conrad,’ she said in her business voice. Her voice changed when she was talking to her subordinates on the telephone, and when
she used that tone with me it really pissed me off. ‘You’re too drunk to get upstairs most nights and I’m getting a bit tired of your excuses, to be honest.’
‘I’ll make tea for us tonight and we can talk.’ I smiled and tried to think of the words to make things right, but they escaped me. ‘I know I’ve been preoccupied with work, but I’ll take a few days off and we can spend some time together.’
‘I’ll be home about eight o’clock.’ She marched towards the front door knowing full well she was in control of the situation. Aren’t they always? Weaker sex, my arse. ‘I think you need to move out and get your own flat for a while; that way you can drink yourself stupid and not get on my nerves.’ The door opened and I heard her stop for a moment. ‘Evie needs to go out, don’t forget.’
I wanted to tell her about my dream and how I felt about her, but I missed the chance. Something inside me told me I never would get the chance again.
CHAPTER 15
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I was dehydrated and feeling peaky. The residue of the red wine was making me sluggish and I had a sickly sensation in my guts. My relationship with my girlfriend was precariously balanced and looking back it had been that way for a long time. There was no one to blame but myself. Although I loved her, we’d become like brother and sister instead of lovers, and that’s when you take people for granted. It’s easy to take people for granted when you think they’ll always be there, but take it from me, nothing lasts forever in love unless you’re prepared to make an effort every day, and I didn’t. Getting drunk with my friends in the pub after work was becoming the norm, and my excuse that working at home all day meant that I needed a break in the evening was wearing thin. I was going out earlier and coming home later. Socialising to relax was my excuse, but the truth was, drink had a hold on me. Your friends at the bar are not really your friends. They’re just like-minded men that want to drink every day. Life through the bottom of a pint glass looks fun until the money runs out or your liver packs in then it’s last orders for good. Once your glass is empty and you have to go back to the real world, reality can be stark.