by Ray Clark
“I was dragged kicking and screaming, onto a kitchen table. I had one of your dirty, disgusting friends down my throat... another holding my head... another sodomising me. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I realized you... you... weren’t drunk at all. Because you were hovering in the background. Filming everything.
“Two hours of absolute torture. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. My life had ended. You stripped me of anything and everything I had. And then you dragged me onto my back. You broke my finger.” She held it aloft. “Then you, my very own father, raped me!”
Anei said something but the minister didn’t catch it: she wasn’t even sure it was a word.
Jacqueline desperately tried to hold it together. She was shaking with fear even now. Her eyes were red, swollen from the tears she could not contain. She ran her hands through her hair, wanting to leave, but knowing she couldn’t. She had to see it through.
“My own father! How could you?” she shouted, spittle flying from her mouth. “You really have no idea how much I hate you, have you?”
Chapter Eighty-one
“What kind of a monster are you? Two teenage girls? David Vickers? Why do you do it?”
Out of the corner of her eye Jacqueline noticed two pairs of feet had appeared at the top of the stairs leading into the film studio. One pair of legs had casual black shoes and grey trousers: the other, jeans and brogues. One had to be Gardener. Very slowly and very carefully they descended, one step at a time, until their heads almost came into view.
“I don’t have to answer to you,” said Summers.
Jacqueline knew her father’s anger had almost reached the point where he was likely to attack her. Luckily, she now had back-up, not that she felt she had ever needed it. She closed one hand around the syringe.
Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about Lesley Vickers peering into her son’s grave, what she must have gone through. To think that the monster responsible for all that heartache was her own pompous, self-centred father.
“No, maybe not, but you will have to answer for your actions to someone. I had to bury David Vickers. Do you know how that made me feel? I wondered whether or not you were still up to your sordid little games, even after all these years. So, I investigated. I checked you out, you and your friends. Imagine my horror when I found out you were all still molesting innocent children. And you had the perfect cover. All department store Santas. You, filthy pervert!”
“So, what are you going to do about it, Jacqueline?” Summers turned and glanced at Anei. “She’s hardly going to be much help to you.” He turned back to face Jacqueline. “I know why you’re here. You killed the others. Now you want me. But I’m neither old, fat, nor decrepit, like the others you’ve already taken. You’re no match for me, girl.”
She stared deep into her father’s evil eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m not the little girl you defiled all those years ago. When you raped me, you almost ended my life. You robbed me of my dignity, my self-respect, and my self-importance.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” shouted Anei. Jacqueline could see the hatred in her eyes. “You will go to hell for what you’ve done.”
“Shut up, old woman,” shouted Summers, without so much as a glance at her.
Gardener and Reilly had descended two more steps. Jacqueline noticed Gardener hugging his ribs. The pair whispered something to each other, but she couldn’t hear the exchange.
“Between God and my aunt, I managed to restore my dignity and build a new life for myself.”
“Doesn’t seem to have you got you very far.”
“Even your own mother hated you. Because she was your mother, though, she couldn’t find it in her heart to report your actions. She believed, as I did, God would deal with you. What she didn’t realize was how far your debauchery would take you. None of us did. I hope you burn in hell for what you did!”
Summers stepped forward. “I’ve had enough of this. If you were going to do anything to me, you would have done it by now. I don’t have time to waste bandying words on you so, take yourself and this wizened old crow,” Summers pointed to Anei, “out my house before I do something you’ll both regret. Like I’ve said, you’re no match for me.”
“Maybe not,” said Gardener, “but we are.”
Summers bristled, and an expression of such evil crossed his features as his eyes narrowed and his teeth bared, Jacqueline may as well have been dealing with the devil himself. Her stomach convulsed.
But her father didn’t even turn to see where the words had come from. Instead, with a speed that defied his age, he feinted to his left, slipped around the back of the chair, forced his left elbow around Aunt Anei’s neck and lifted her body out of the chair, holding the paper opener to her throat.
Chapter Eighty-two
The tension in the room was palpable.
Gardener and Reilly descended the steps in a hurry and the SIO stood between Summers and Jacqueline. Reilly remained at the bottom of the stairs.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Mr Summers.”
“It’s a bit too late for that, Mr Gardener.”
Jacqueline stood by Gardener’s side. “Let her go.”
“What would I gain by that?” asked Summers.
“You’ll gain nothing if you don’t, sunshine,” said Reilly.
“You’re really not making life any easier for yourself, Mr Summers. You’re facing charges of perverting the course of justice, kidnapping, abuse of a minor…”
“I’ve abused no one.”
Gardener glanced at Jacqueline and then back at Summers. “I believe this lady will say otherwise. Historical sex abuse, Mr Summers, not something you can get away with these days.”
“It’s her word against mine, and she’s a murderer; you heard her admit as much.”
“And she’ll no doubt face charges as well.” A burst of pain shot through Gardener’s ribcage, but he managed to hold it together.
“Doesn’t look like you’re much of a match for me, either.”
“He’s got me,” said Reilly, “and we both know how capable I am.”
“Not while I have the old woman in my grasp.”
“Let’s be honest here, Mr Summers,” said Gardener, “once you’ve played your ace what are you going to do? Let’s say you stab Anei, what are you going to do next? You won’t be quick enough to do anything else, and there is no way out of here. You may as well put the knife down and give yourself up now.”
On cue, Gardener heard the sound of sirens pulling up outside.
“Game’s up, sunshine,” said Reilly.
With a sudden scream that took everyone by surprise, which no one saw coming, Anei lurched backwards pushing Summers into the wall behind. Shock made him drop the paper opener. Even before it clattered to the floor, Anei brought her right arm up, forcing the syringe she had concealed in her pocket straight into Summers’ neck.
Chapter Eighty-three
Summers immediately let go of Anei and slid down the wall. He brought his right hand to his neck.
“What the hell have you done to me?”
Neatly sidestepping Gardener, Jacqueline stepped over to her father as an expression of mortal fear crossed his features.
“I’m afraid you underestimated us, Father, dear.” She pressed the plunger in her left hand. The clear liquid caught Summers in the face. “Pure water in mine. Looks like you chose to attack the wrong person.”
Shouts and footsteps throughout the house meant that more of Gardener’s team had arrived.
“My aunt had the syringe that will do the damage. Merry Christmas… Daddy.”
Jacqueline turned and faced Gardener with her hands outstretched, as if waiting for handcuffs.
“Jacqueline,” said Anei, standing near the stairs with Reilly, “don’t admit anything.”
“What have you given him?” Gardener asked the minister.
“Same as the others,” she replied, without remorse.
“Is there an anti
dote?”
“No.”
Gardener pushed her out of the way and bent down to Summers, whose hand still covered the syringe dangling from his neck. He was hyperventilating and perhaps going into shock.
Gardener glanced at his partner, but Reilly was already on the phone. He’d asked for an ambulance, but Gardener didn’t hold out much hope of it arriving in time, nor being able to do anything when the medics arrived.
Frank Thornton and Bob Anderson appeared in the film studio. Behind them, Colin Sharp.
Thornton asked if there was anything he could do.
“Can you take these two upstairs and keep them in the study?” Gardener asked of him, pointing to the two women.
At that moment, Summers let out an ear-piercing scream and the foul odour of blocked drains permeated the room.
Gardener turned to face Summers, knowing he wouldn’t have long now. His face had puffed up and his eyes were reddening. A stain had appeared around his genital area. The next step would be hideous, and he was most anxious not to watch it, having already seen what it did to Harry Clayton.
“You two,” shouted Gardener to Jacqueline and Anei, “I’d like you upstairs and out of the way, now.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Sharp.
“There’s not much we can do, Colin. If you go with Frank and Bob, Sean and I will stay with Summers till the ambulance arrives.”
By the time Reilly had ushered everyone back up the stairs to the study, Gardener heard the sirens accompanying the ambulance. The vehicle pulled to a halt. Within seconds, two medics appeared and bolted down the stairs. Gardener instructed them on what he knew and headed up to the study to meet his partner.
Everyone was seated. The minister straightened in hers. For the first time, he noticed how she was dressed: in a black two-piece trouser suit with a white blouse and a lilac silk scarf around her neck – no doubt ready for a trip to the airport. The sheen on her hair reflected the overhead lights. Her expression was one of defeat. He wondered what was going through her mind.
He actually felt sorry for her. A thirteen-year-old girl against the world. Raped and defiled by a bunch of bastards. But despite the fact she had every right to see the men who had violated her punished, she had gone about it the wrong way. Having gone through the ordeal she had, it would have been hard to trust any adult. But it would have been her only hope. As a mature woman of the cloth, she should have known better. There would have been channels she could have gone through. Maybe she thought the church would protect her from what was about to happen.
Her only hope would be a sympathetic jury.
Despite every thought invading his mind, she had given him absolutely no choice. He raised his warrant card.
“Jacqueline Bâlcescu, I’m arresting you on suspicion of six murders. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Jacqueline did not reply. She simply stood up, waiting for him to make the next move.
The expression in her eyes was paralyzing. He realized at that moment what her feelings were toward him: what she thought of him. She would probably have traded everything she had to be with him. He wondered briefly what would have happened had her feelings been reciprocated.
“Sean, take her away.”
“Stop!” shouted Anei.
Startled, Gardener stared at the old woman.
“Don’t say anything.” Jacqueline reprimanded her aunt.
Reilly stepped back.
Anei stood up. “It wasn’t her. It was me!”
Gardener wondered whether or not she was speaking the truth, or merely protecting her niece as she had always done.
“She did not murder those men. I did. Even if she had, who would care? People like that don’t deserve to live in our society.”
“Stop it, Auntie, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
Gardener stepped forward to face the old lady. Even if she didn’t kill the others, she had killed Summers only minutes ago in front of his very eyes. She would no doubt argue it was self-defence and, with a decent lawyer, not to mention a sympathetic jury, she too, may well escape any severe punishment.
Anei Bâlcescu glared at Gardener. “Can you blame me?”
Whatever her plan had been, it was beginning to unfold. Whether he could or not was immaterial. “Are you admitting to the murders of Herbert Plum, Bernard Thornwell, Frank Myers, and Harry Clayton?”
Jacqueline turned and pointed a warning finger. “I’ve told you, Auntie, don’t be stupid. Do not throw away your one chance of going home.”
“What kind of a home would it be without you?” replied the old woman.
“She’s lying, Stewart,” said Jacqueline, turning back to Gardener. “She’s trying to protect me. I killed all of those men, and I may as well have killed my father, and I have no regrets.”
“I am not lying,” said Anei. “I killed those men. And you have just seen me kill another. What kind of a policeman are you? I have knowledge. I have plants. I have expertise.” She was counting the reasons off on her fingers, her hand held close to Gardener’s face. “You have all the evidence you need.”
Gardener’s head was a mess. Who the hell had killed the men? The butler, Summers, Anei, Jaqueline?
Gardener had no choice. He held his warrant card in the air once again.
“Anei Bâlcescu, I’m also arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Jacqueline almost sank to her knees. “No, Stewart. You can’t. She’s lying.”
She turned to her aunt. “Please, tell him. You’re only trying to protect me.”
Tears poured down her cheeks. She addressed her aunt, who had now sat back down. They were holding hands.
“I know what you’re doing,” said Jacqueline. “You think that these people are going to hurt me, send me to prison. It doesn’t matter. No one can hurt me anymore. Can’t you see? The only people who can hurt me are now dead. I’ve gotten rid of them. No one else can hurt me.”
She glanced at Gardener, and then back at her aunt. “I won’t face this alone. The Lord will be with me. He will look after me.”
Anei Bâlcescu did not answer her niece. Instead, she addressed Gardener. “I stand by my words.”
After a short silence, Gardener replied. “So do I.”
Epilogue
Christmas Day
“Merry Christmas, my darling,” said Sarah, reaching towards him.
She was beautiful, dressed in a black two-piece suit, with a white blouse and a peach-coloured silk scarf he had bought her from Marks & Spencer. They were standing by the fireplace, in front of the Christmas tree that she had decorated. She was holding a present, reaching out to him.
He wanted to take it. When he did, she disappeared.
Gardener gasped and sat bolt upright in bed, bathed in sweat, his head pounding. The sudden movement jolted his ribs, taking his breath away.
He placed his head in his hands, going over the events of the previous evening. Both women had been arrested, detained in separate cells. The legal wheels would start turning tomorrow. It was no way to spend Christmas Day, but it was out of his hands.
He’d returned in the early hours of the morning. Chris had been in bed, but his father was still up, watching an old black and white movie on the TV.
Gardener had joined him. The pair of them had a whiskey, then another, and the rest was history.
He felt bad. He struggled down the stairs. Despite the rude awakening, the soreness in his ribs was slightly milder than it had been yesterday. In the living room, Malcolm, Chris, and Spook were all seated around the fire, listening to Christmas carols. A smell of pine filled the air.
Underneath the tree, the few presents reflected the
kind of run-up to Christmas they’d had – a pretty horrendous week. He was, however, pleased with the effort his father had made with a last-minute dash to the shops.
Each of them exchanged cards, presents, and Christmas greetings. Before Gardener attempted to open any of his, he stood up. “I’ll make us a cup of tea first, I think.”
“I’ll do it,” offered Malcolm.
“No, you’ve done enough. Let me.”
Gardener ruffled Chris’s hair and stroked Spook before entering the kitchen. As he did, a box on the kitchen table was the only thing he noticed, as if he had tunnel vision. Next to the box was a card. The writing was Jacqueline’s.
After making the tea, he stood at the kitchen table, smelled the perfumed card, and read the inscription. “Ma daruri si ma dragoste pentru voi. Se cu ma intotdeauna.”
Carefully, he opened the box. Inside was a perfectly carved replica of the Kiss Gate. A Romanian gift, signifying true love.
“Dad! Dad! Look what I’ve got.” Gardener raised his head to see Chris in his striped pyjamas, holding two smartphones. “Two phones! There’s certainly no excuse not to keep in touch now.” Gardener smiled, realizing how alike he and his father were.
Chris walked over to the table. “I want you to have one.”
“I can’t do that, Chris. They’re yours.”
“Please. You wouldn’t have lost yours if you hadn’t come looking for me. And besides, I haven’t had the time to buy you a present myself.”
He hesitated, but then took it. “Thanks, son.”
Malcolm appeared at the doorway with a magazine in his hand. Gardener glanced at his father, who merely nodded and smiled. Chris ran back into the living room.
Gardener showed Malcolm the card. “Any idea what it says?”
Malcolm took his time before answering. “I’m not too sure, I’m not very fluent.”
He held the card closer. “My gift and my love for you. Be with me always.”
Gardener said nothing. Inside, he felt empty. His father put the card back on the table, next to the Kiss Gate. He held out a brochure for him to see.