by Ken Preston
“It’s not just that,” Coffin said.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Tom. I think he might be involved, somehow.”
Craggs leaned back in his chair, scrutinised Coffin, thoughtfully. His eyes, set in his lined, creased face, were still sharp and clear. “What, you think he killed Steffanie and Michael, and then kidnapped his own son?”
Coffin shook his head. “No, but when the Marsden kid appeared on Laura’s doorstep, Tom took off like he had the hounds of hell on his tail. He told me he’d had a sudden inspiration, that he knew where to find Jacob, but then he crashed his car on the way over.”
“That’s right.” Craggs nodded, thoughtfully. “That’s what he told me. Did you see his chest? Black and blue, I’m surprised he didn’t crack a rib.”
“But why did he run off on his own, Mort? I was right there, we could’ve both gone, got Jacob together. And this woman who was at the house when I got there, Emma, the reporter. She wouldn’t tell me why she was there.”
“What are you saying, Joe?”
“When I went to see Laura, Emma was sat in her car a couple of houses further down the estate. And when Tom tore off, I saw her pull out and follow him. I think she followed him to the house.”
Craggs sighed and took another sip of whisky, emptying the glass. “Joe, I know you two have got history, and you’ve had a fucking hard on for him ever since he took his fists to Laura, but this is a stretch. I sent Dave out to pick Tom’s car up, he came back, he said there was no point, Tom fucking totalled the thing. Seriously Joe, I mean, what the fuck?”
Coffin said nothing, watched the dancers on the stage.
Craggs took Coffin’s hand, squeezed it in an oddly intimate gesture between two men. “All right, Joe, maybe you got something. Tell you what, I’ll get one of the men to tail Tom for a while, see where he goes, what he gets up to for the next few days. All right?”
Coffin nodded. “Thanks, Mort.”
what's with this leroy
Emma snapped awake, her heart pounding. She sucked in a deep breath, holding back the scream at the last moment. The darkness enveloped her, suffocated her. Where was she? She had been back in the house, looking down the steps into the cellar. Why had she gone back? Had there been something there that she had missed?
That was it, the cellar. When she had regained consciousness at 99 Forde Road, after the fight between Coffin and that monster, she had been too scared to go down into the cellar and explore.
Stupid!
And so she had come back for another look.
But what had happened then? Had she hit her head on something? Passed out? Or was there someone else in the house? Had she been knocked out again and thrown down the cellar steps?
Emma ran her hand across her scalp, searching for another lump. She winced when she touched the spot where she had hit the wall, when that maniac threw her against it.
This is so fucked up. I can’t remember what happened! I need to get the fuck out of here!
But she was trapped. The cellar door was locked, and she was imprisoned down here, like an animal in a cage. That crazy fucking maniac was still alive, and he’d locked Emma in the cellar. That was what had woken her up, when he had slammed the bolt into place across the door.
“Oh God, oh shit, what the fuck am I going to do?” she muttered.
She flinched as she heard a deep buzzing noise, and a sudden glow illuminated her bedside table. For a moment, Emma’s brain struggled to make sense of what was happening. How had her bedside cabinet ended up in the cellar at the house on Forde Road? The buzzing happened again.
Emma reached out and picked up her mobile from her bedside cabinet, the fog of confusion slowly clearing from her mind.
“Hey, Emma, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Nick said.
“No, I mean yes, but that’s okay.” Emma twisted around, looked at the glowing display on the digital clock. The display read 6:47 a.m. “Didn’t you come home last night?”
She heard Nick sigh. “We’ve got a situation at the moment. We found this body, earlier yesterday, looked like a victim of a gangland killing. He was all beaten up, and somebody had stuck his head in one of those old-fashioned mantraps, and snapped the jaws shut. He was a mess.”
Cold fear prickled at Emma’s skin, that fear of being trapped in the cellar returning.
“Is this the house where Jacob Mills had been kept prisoner?”
“That’s right, yeah.”
“And this man you found, was he dead?”
“Absolutely. His head and face were all bashed in, and the jaws on this thing had bitten right into his neck. He was pronounced dead on the scene, no signs of life at all.”
Nick fell silent. Emma didn’t like the silence, not in the dark. It reminded her of the cellar she had never been into.
“What’s going on, Nick?”
“There were these two SOCOs, tasked with getting the body out. They went into the house, down into the cellar where the body had been found. They never came out again.”
“What are you saying?”
“One of the constables left behind on the scene went down to see what was taking so long. He found the two SOCOs with their throats ripped open, and no sign of the dead body.”
“Oh, God,” Emma groaned.
“Yeah, I know. Thing is, we’ve had a major manhunt on all night, trying to find this psychotic bastard. I just wanted to let you know what was going on.”
“All right, thanks,” Emma said. “When do you think you’ll be home? You must be exhausted.”
“I’m pretty tired, that’s for sure, but we’ve got to get this sicko. We think he’s the one who murdered Joe Coffin’s family, and that homeless man. He’s dangerous, Emma, you be careful today, all right?”
“Sure, you take care, too.”
There was a pause, Nick on the other end of the phone, obviously collecting his thoughts, working out how to say what he wanted to tell her. Emma knew what was coming.
“Emma? You think maybe you should stay at home today?”
“Why would I do that, Nick?”
“I think it would be best, that’s all. I don’t like the idea of you being outside, if you don’t need to be. This man, he’s dangerous.”
“You already told me that. Are the police recommending everybody stay indoors today?”
Nick sighed. “No, the advice is to be careful, and not approach this man if you see him.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do, Nick. I’ll follow the official police line.”
“Oh, come on, Emma! I know what you’re like. One sniff of a story like this, and you go looking for trouble!”
“Is that right?”
“Shit, yes that’s right, and you know it.”
“Well, for your information, Mr high and mighty DCI Archer, it’s not trouble I go looking for, it’s a news story. You know why I do that? Because it’s my fucking job!”
“Yeah, it’s your job to report the news, not go headlining it by appearing on the front page as the latest victim of the Birmingham Vampire!”
“Go do your job, Nick, and let me do mine. If you wanted a docile little housewife to cook and clean for you, I’m afraid you moved in with the wrong girl.”
Emma disconnected, put the phone back on the bedside cabinet. She switched on her lamp, squinting at the sudden, bright light. Her hands were shaking.
Yesterday, the Birmingham Vampire had tried to rape and kill her, and she’d seen Joe Coffin struggling to hold his own in a brutal, bloody fight. Emma had thought he was dead, but apparently not.
Emma pulled the duvet back and climbed out of bed.
She pulled open the curtains. The low, heavy cloud cover was like a ceiling of black drapes. No wonder it had been so dark in the bedroom.
At least it wasn’t raining.
Emma pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater.
Hopefully Tom Mills would be at the hospital, sitting with Jacob. If Emma could get to him, confront
him with the knowledge that she knew he had been at the house yesterday, maybe she could get him to tell her what was going on. Then they might have a chance of finding ‘Nature Boy’.
Scooping her keys off the bedside cabinet, Emma headed for the bedroom door. She paused with her hand on the handle.
You do know you’re withholding evidence, don’t you? If Nick ever finds out, you’ll be in a shitload of trouble.
No. She needed this story. As soon as she found out where the Birmingham Vampire was hiding out, she would phone it in. But Emma would be the one to break this story, nobody else.
* * *
Joe Coffin stared up at the list of hospital departments and wards on the display board, his brow furrowed. Where would Jacob be?
Children’s wards? Intensive Care? High Dependency Unit? Rehabilitation?
No, that was for stroke victims, wasn’t it?
If only he had a mobile phone he could call Laura, find out where she was. Not that any of the hospital staff were likely to let him in to see her, but at least she could come outside to talk.
Shit! I used to have a mobile before I went inside. What the hell happened to all my stuff?
Coffin was still reluctant to return to the house he shared with Steffanie and Michael, believing it would be too painful an experience. But maybe now was the time. He needed to find out what had happened to all their belongings, sort out storage, or something.
And he needed his Harley-Davidson, although he doubted he could ride it at the moment, what with his shoulder all chewed up the way it was.
Standing in the hospital concourse, Coffin was surrounded by small shop units, including a mobile phone shop. But the shutters were down, it was too early yet. The only place opening up was a newsagent, and they were still rolling the metal shutter up, sorting out the piles of newspapers dumped on the floor by the delivery van driver.
There was no other choice but to hang around and wait. Tom Mills might be on the ward with his wife and son, or he might be out and about, up to whatever it was he had going on. But, whichever it was, he would have to come through here sometime. Didn’t matter if he was coming or going, Coffin would be waiting.
And Coffin would lean on him hard this time. That fucking psychotic monster that Coffin thought he had killed was out there somewhere. The police might be recommending that the public keep their distance, but Coffin wasn’t part of the general public. Coffin intended to find that bastard and kill him again. And this time he would make sure he stayed dead.
Tom was in deep, somehow, Coffin was sure. Coffin didn’t really care what was going on, what the scam was, what Tom thought he had happening.
All Coffin wanted was to find the psychopath who murdered his family and then kidnapped Jacob.
Coffin had no idea how that sick monster had survived. This time, when he found him, maybe he would cut the fucking bastard’s head off, douse it in petrol and barbecue it.
Fucker wouldn’t get up again after that.
A hospital security guard wandered past, looking at Coffin. Surely a hospital should be the one place Coffin could go and not stand out with his face covered in dressings? Apparently not. Coffin walked outside, sat on one of the benches by the entrance, and lit up a cigarette. He watched as cars queued up to get into the staff car park, their headlights on. A raw wind blew across the empty visitors’ car park, cutting through Coffin’s leather jacket.
Except the visitors’ car park wasn’t completely empty, there were a few cars dotted around. And one of them was Laura’s.
That settled it. Tom’s car was totalled, so he would have to be using Laura’s if he wanted to get around. Which meant he was here, and at some point he would come outside, head for his car.
Coffin settled down to wait.
“Hey, I heard cigarettes, like, they might not be so good for your long-term health, you know.”
Coffin looked up. “Why am I not surprised you’re here?”
“Why am I not surprised you’re here?” Emma said and grinned. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, with an over-sized denim jacket on top. She was holding a can of Coca-Cola.
“Do you always answer a question with a question?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
Coffin grinned back. “I only met you yesterday, but already I find myself incredibly irritated by your company.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I thought you were leading up to, I don’t know, like saying something complimentary. You know, like, ‘I only met you yesterday, but already I feel like we are soul mates, and your beauty eclipses all else in life’.”
“That’s good, really nice line. You ever thought about writing for a living? Like maybe those shitty verses inside greetings cards? You’d be good at that.”
“Fuck you, Coffin.” Emma sat down next to him. “I guess you’re here to see Tom Mills, right?”
“You guessed right. And you?”
“Same here. You hear the news that Nature Boy’s on the prowl again? No doubt with his tickling stick in his hand.”
“Yep. And when you heard the news, the first thing you thought was, I bet Tom Mills might know where he is.”
“Great minds think alike.”
Coffin grunted, took a drag on his cigarette. “More like desperate minds think alike.”
Emma popped the tab on her coke, and took a long swig, tipping her head back.
“I hope that’s not your breakfast,” Coffin said.
“Sure it is. Us hotshot reporters are too busy for breakfast, you know. Besides, breakfast is for wimps.”
Coffin laughed. “Breakfast happens to be the most important meal of the day. You’re going to give yourself diabetes, or some crap like that, you have a coke for breakfast every morning.”
Emma looked up at him, her eyes alive with amusement. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m serious. You can’t expect to drink crap like that and stay healthy.”
“Says the guy next to me smoking a cigarette.”
Coffin dropped the cigarette on the tarmac, and ground it out beneath the heel of his boot. “You’re right. I managed to give up the damn things while I was in prison, but I seem to have picked up the habit again on the outside.”
“We all have our sins,” Emma said. “Although I suspect smoking is the least of yours.”
“Ooh, was that a dig?” Coffin said.
“You said yourself, you just got out of prison. What was that for? Aggravated assault?”
“He had it coming.” Coffin stared straight ahead, the humour gone from his expression.
“He had it coming,” Emma repeated, softly. “What, the broken nose? The dislocated jaw? The concussion? What did he do, Coffin? Fuck your wife?”
Coffin stood up, walked away from the bench. Why did she have to do this, keep getting under his skin like this? Needling him all the time? He had to walk away before he lost his temper. He’d never hit a woman in his life, despised men who did that. But all of a sudden, the idea didn’t seem so repugnant anymore.
Emma scooted around in front of him. “Wait, I’m sorry!” She held her hands up. “I’m a complete and utter fucking idiot. I’ve got shit for brains and a bad fucking attitude, I know. I totally forgot about Steffanie, about what happened to her.”
Coffin stared at her. Small, slim, blond hair roughly tied back in a ponytail.
She was nice to look at. He was tempted to forgive her.
But she could be irritating as hell.
“Really, I am so fucking sorry,” she said, clasping her hands out in front of her, begging his forgiveness. “What if I told you how I found my way to Ninety-nine Forde Road? Would you accept my apology then?”
Coffin nodded at the bench. “Let’s go sit down.”
They made their way back to the bench. Emma picked up her coke and drained the can and burped.
Coffin raised his eyebrows.
“What? Aren’t women allowed to burp?”
Coffin shook his head, a
half smile hovering on his lips. “Why am I surprised?”
Emma looked down at the empty can. “You know, I really am sorry about Steffanie, and your little boy. You must be going through hell.”
“It isn’t easy,” Coffin said.
“You think the man who kidnapped Jacob killed your family?”
“Seems likely.” Coffin slowed his breathing down, focused on the traffic passing by on the main road. Focused on keeping his emotions in check.
“I don’t know how I would cope, in your situation.”
“I cope by keeping them at a distance,” Coffin replied.
Emma looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, right now I am focusing on killing the bastard who murdered my family, and kept Jacob captive in the cellar, and killed that homeless man. I cope by thinking of my family as people from a different lifetime, and by not surrounding myself with reminders of their existence.” Coffin turned and looked at Emma. “I’m currently living in a crappy little flat over a pub, because I can’t go back home, back to all those familiar things that remind me of Steffanie and Michael. Because it would be too painful. That’s how I cope. Now, is there anything else you would like to know?”
“Sorry,” Emma said. “That’s the reporter in me, always asking questions.”
“Tell me about the house, how you got there.”
Emma threw the empty can in a wastebasket. “It was easy. I followed Tom Mills.”
“Tom crashed his car on the way. He never got there, drove right into a brick wall.”
Emma shook her head. “Nope. Maybe he crashed his car after, but not while I was watching him. He pulled up on the drive and ran inside. A few minutes later he came out with a woman, and then he ran back inside and came out carrying someone.”