Stone Cold

by J. D. Weston

  “Come on, Sergio, you had plenty to say a while ago.”

  “What? What do you want to know?”

  Harvey’s eyes narrowed.

  “What’s the worst thing you ever did?”

  “I never killed no-one.”

  Harvey stared, impassive.

  “I set fire to a dog once?”

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  “I was just a kid-”

  “Stop there, Sergio. Did you just hear what Shaun just told us? Did you hear the shame? The conviction is his voice?”

  Harvey paused and allowed the message to sink in. He watched Sergio, who saw the answer in Harvey’s own eyes. He wanted to hear about that night. Sergio glanced across at the broken man next to him.

  “Jack found her.”

  “And I found Jack didn’t I?”

  “He went first,” Sergio blubbered.

  “Sergio, come on. Tell me a story. I want the details. How did she get down here?”

  “She was getting a drink of water. It was late, or early. Night time.” Sergio closed his eyes and relived the night for the thousandth time. “We’d been playing cards in John’s study. Drinking. We heard someone on the stairs. The last step has always creaked.”

  “It still does.” Said Harvey.

  “We heard her footsteps. They were loud in the quiet of the night. Jack got up and looked around the door to make sure it wasn’t John’s wife.”

  “My foster mother?”

  “Yes, Barb. She didn’t approve of us gambling in the house. He waved us over. Jack did, from the door. We stepped out into the hallway. We were like naughty children, giggling. We were drunk. She only had a little night shirt on with little panties, and well.”

  “Well? Well, what?”

  Sergio looked up at Harvey.

  “She was a half-naked young woman. She was… beautiful.”

  “She was beautiful, Sergio.”

  “Jack led us into the kitchen. We followed, like sheep. He crept up behind her and grabbed her waist. She fought him off, but he was only playing. He kept going, tickling her and squeezing her.”

  Harvey listened intently. It was the one story he never wanted to hear, but it was the one story he had needed to hear since he’d been twelve years old.

  “He took it too far and felt her chest, so she slapped him. Hard. He slapped her back, and she fell down. She hit her head on the tiled floor. Something came over Jack. He was different. He bent down beside her and ran his hand along her leg. He… touched her.” Sergio’s eyes were closed once more. He was there, in his head. He was in the dream. “He called us over, ‘Sergio, get the door,’ he whispered. I opened the basement door. He lifted her, and carried her down the steps.” Sergio nodded his head to the steps into the basement. “He laid her on the bench that was there and stripped her naked. He was overcome with awe, and couldn’t stop touching her. Her skin was smooth and silky. He was taken by her. He always had been.”

  Shaun sat with his mouth open listening with horror at the story that destroyed Harvey's family. Harvey noticed him, he saw the expression on Shaun’s face. He wasn't evil. He needed teaching about humanity and acceptable behaviour, but he wasn’t evil. Harvey turned his attention back to Sergio.

  "He was on top of her when she woke. She tried to fight him, but he was a strong man. Too strong for a girl. Jack hit her a few times. She passed out again and woke up with all her courage and strength gone. She laid there crying and let him...do it."

  “And when he finished?”

  “Jack left.” Sergio nodded at the steps again.

  “And you?”

  Sergio looked up at Harvey, his mouth was turned down in disgrace and shame. He nodded.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Yes?” said Harvey.

  “I raped her.”

  Harvey took an inhale of air through his nose at the words. Shaun’s eyes widened.

  “Tell me, Sergio,” Harvey ordered.

  “I hit her again, I knocked her out.” Sergio paused. He’d gone too far to stop, “I raped her, your sister. It was me. The man you’ve been looking for.” He cast his head down. “I’m so sorry, Harvey, I’m so, so sorry.” He laid his head on the beam.

  “I think we have a winner.”

  Shaun gave an audible sigh and watched with horrified joy, as Harvey untied Sergio and attached his bound wrists to a rope that hung from the beam above the tub. The rope stretched across the room to Sergio's crippled position on the floor. Harvey pulled on the other end, and Sergio began to slide across the hard concrete floor. He pulled again and again. Each time Sergio was dragged closer to the tub. Sergio was powerless to fight back. His leg was ruined. Pain shot through him but was overshadowed by fear. He reached the bath and lay face to face with the evil-looking cast iron claw foot before he was yanked upwards. Harvey pulled again, and Sergio's torso raised high enough for him to see into the tub. Large bubbles burst on the misty surface, the water was boiling. A soft steam lay on the hot water. A fine mist grew thicker each minute. Sergio felt the steam on his face.

  Harvey pulled again, and Sergio’s leg straightened as it left the floor. Sergio yelled and cursed with the pain.

  “Don’t do this, Harvey. I told you what you wanted to hear.”

  Harvey pulled again, and Sergio's feet rose above the bath. He swung over the tub, his feet were just a few inches away from the boiling water.

  “Are you watching, Shaun?”

  “Yes, sir.” He was transfixed.

  “I want you to watch, Shaun. I want you to think about what he did.”

  Harvey tied the rope off.

  “Are you thinking, Shaun?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “About what he said he did.”

  “Tell me what he did, Shaun.”

  Shaun swallowed. Paused. Then, “He raped your sister.”

  “Do you know what she did after, Shaun?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Harvey stop this! It’s stupid,” Sergio begged.

  “Tell Shaun what Hannah did after you raped her, Sergio.”

  “Harvey come on, it’s hot.”

  “Tell him, Sergio.” Harvey was calm, he spoke quietly.

  “She killed herself. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “But what did she do? Sergio?”

  “She cut herself. Let me go, Harvey.”

  “She cut herself, Shaun. Sergio, tell Shaun where she cut herself.”

  “Ahhh, Harvey no, stop.”

  “Tell him, Sergio. You remember, don’t you? Of course you do.”

  Sergio hung from his wrists, inches from the boiling water. His skin was wet from the hot steam and his own sweat; his wrists slipped through the rope until only the friction of his skin held his slender hand in the knot.

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere,” Sergio shouted, “Everywhere we’d been. She cut herself to ribbons. Now let me go, Harvey. Please.”

  “I’ll put an end to it soon, Sergio.”

  Sergio gasped as his hands slipped further through the rope. His toes touched the boiling water, and he lifted his left leg, his right would not move. He screamed at the frustration. The helplessness.

  “I need one more answer, Sergio, then it’s bath time.”

  “What? Tell me what you what to know. Just let me go.”

  “You said we.”

  “What?” replied Sergio. “When?”

  “In the study, Sergio. It was quite clear. Jack called us over. And then in the kitchen again, Jack called us over.”

  Sergio slipped lower. His entire right foot sat in the boiling water and turned red with anger, then white as the blood moved away from his skin.

  “It was a mistake, Harvey. I was stressed, I don’t know what I was-”

  “If you tell me, I’ll end it now.” Harvey’s cold tone cut through the heat of the boiling steam, “Who was the third man, Sergio?”

  Sergio didn’t reply.
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  “I can end this now, Sergio. Or I can make it a whole lot worse for you.” Harvey withdrew his knife from the sheave on his belt and ran it across Sergio’s groin, which hung at head height.

  “Ah, I can’t,” sobbed Sergio.

  Harvey turned the blade and put the point between his legs. He jabbed up lightly. But hard enough to remind Sergio of his predicament.

  “Ah, no!”

  “Sergio.”

  “No.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sergio!” He pushed the knife harder.

  “Donny, it was Donny. He was the third man. He went after me, it was his first time.”

  Harvey stepped back, dropped the knife to his side, and breathed out like he’d been winded.

  “Thank you, Sergio.” He paused, for the longest fraction of time, then swiped the rope with the blade. Sergio dropped into the boiling water.

  He was completely submerged for an agonising moment before he sat bolt upright and clawed hopelessly at the rolled sides of the tub with bound wrists.His skin stuck fast to the hot copper sides as he tried to escape. The water slowly brought the blood to boil inside him. His skin turned red, as the body fought the attack, then gradually softened. He tried in vain to pull himself out with bound hands, but the hot sides scorched his arms, and he slipped back into the water. Small chunks of skin began to float to the surface and his eyes clouded over from being submerged, Sergio was boiling from the inside. He wiped his eyes with his wrists and frantically kicked out in a blind panic, until his heart and organs cooked, and eventually failed.

  23

  Two Sided Coin

  Frank sped along the winding lanes as fast as he could safely drive. When he saw the one mile marker for Theydon Bois, he called Melody.

  “Sir?”

  “I’m two minutes out, can you pass the phone to Reg?”

  “Already on, sir, I’m watching you on-screen,” said Reg. “The road you’re on will take you into the village, stay on that road and drive straight through. You’re looking for a lane on the left at the top of the hill called Lambourne End.”

  “Straight through the village, top of the hill, lane on the left?”

  “That’s right, sir. The grounds of the house are about one hundred yards down the lane on the left.”

  “I’m going up the hill now.”

  “That’s right, sir, I can see you, the turning is coming up in two hundred yards.”

  Frank slowed and made the turn. “What’s your ETA?”

  “Two minutes, sir, we’re just coming through the village now, right behind you.”

  “Good, are you armed, Melody?”

  “I am sir, I have my vest on, and I’m loaded.”

  “Good, I’m in the grounds now driving up to the house. What the..?

  A grey motorbike pulled out of the grounds as Frank reached the house. It looked to have come from the small groundsman’s house near the gate.

  “Sir?”

  “Grey motorbike, single rider, exiting the property now, do not lose him. I repeat, grey motorbike.”

  “Sir, you’re on your own.”

  “Do not lose that motorbike, Mills. I’m going in, I’ll call if I need back up.”

  “Okay, be careful, sir.”

  Frank disconnected the phone, shut the engine off, and listened to the silence, it was like the tall trees that bordered the vast grounds of the property kept the noise of the outside world at bay. He climbed out, slipped his gun from the holster on his belt, and walked towards the large entrance to the house.

  He stepped inside the open front door that led into the silent house. A large double staircase was the central feature of the grand hallway, each staircase ascended up to the first floor either side of the corridor that led through the house into the kitchen.

  Frank saw the open door of John's office on the right. To his left was a mirror of the office room, but it was furnished as a lounge. Frank checked them, but both were empty. He walked through to the kitchen, listening but hearing no noise at all. The large kitchen was immaculate, old but immaculate with terracotta tiles on the floor.

  A doorway to the right was open, and steep stairs led down into what looked like the basement; the dim light at the bottom of the stairs cast shadows on the hard stone floor.

  He took a tentative step down. The stairs were bare concrete, so he didn't worry about creaks. He raised his gun and held it up, ready to aim and fire.

  He stepped down slowly and was hit by the smell of human waste and something else, something familiar, but he couldn't place it.

  An old bathtub began to appear directly in front of the stairs as he descended. The tub’s claw feet supported a large copper base and then a bright red swollen hand, which led to the puffy remains of a boiled man.

  Frank placed the smell. He walked wide-eyed towards the bath, half expecting the body to jump into life, but it didn't.

  "He's gone," said the voice from the corner of the room.

  Frank startled and aimed his gun at the source of the voice.

  “Don't shoot. Don't shoot.” Shaun cowered behind the solid wooden beam.

  Frank looked around him, checking all corners, it was clear.

  “Who are you?” he asked the young man in his underwear, “what happened here?” Frank was cautious. It felt like a trap.

  Shaun didn’t reply.

  Frank saw the audio recorder on the unit by the wall. It looked cleaner and newer than its surroundings, and out of place. It seemed too clean. Beside the recorder was a note in an envelope. Frank found the last recording, it was fifty-eight minutes long. He hit play and set it down while he opened the envelope and read the note inside.

  Footsteps caught his attention as he finished the note and looked up to see Melody's gun pointed at him. She dropped it immediately, "Sir?"

  "It's okay, it's clear. Cuff him and get him a blanket or something." He pointed at Shaun in disgust then took the recorder up the stairs to get fresh air.

  The sound of police cars welcomed him as he walked down onto the grass. Three diesel Vauxhalls sped into the grounds and skidded in the gravel beside his Volvo; they were followed by an armed response unit which took pride of place at the front of the steps.

  Four sturdy armed policemen stepped from the rear of the large van and gave instructions for the local police to cover the entrance and perimeter.

  The regular thud of an approaching helicopter grew louder in the sky.

  Frank showed his ID and said, “Basement.”

  The armed police ran past him clutching their heavy and cumbersome belts as they did.

  Melody joined him a few minutes later, “Known sex offender, sir? I recognise him from the news."

  “Shaun Tyson, been missing for two weeks. He skipped his court appearance and hasn't been seen since.”

  “It’s not quite what we were looking for, sir, but it’s still a win.”

  Frank looked at Melody with his eyebrows raised, “Follow me.” He paused, “I presume Denver and Reg are tailing the bike?”

  "That's correct, sir. I jumped out at the top of the lane as the bike took off. Denver has done something to that van, I doubt he'll lose him."

  Frank strode around to the side of the house and headed across the grass to a handful of small buildings at the far end of the property.

  They both forced the garage door open enough for Melody to slip under. She found the switch and the doors mechanism powered into life. The doors opened to reveal a huge garage big enough for five or six cars.

  There between an immaculate E-type Jaguar and a Triumph Spitfire was the van that Frank had seen at Thomson’s house. He stepped forward.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  He opened the rear doors and smiled.

  The journey took more than a day. Fuel stops for the bike's small tank caused frequent but welcome breaks. The fatigue that crept up on Harvey was overwhelming, and he stopped at a little bed and breakfast for one night.
He paid in full for the three-star service, which offered him a single bed in a dingy room, which he shared with spiders that occupied the low-beamed ceiling.

  The house was situated adjacent to a large lake in the national forest. People picnicked until late. But Harvey enjoyed sitting by himself, watching the fish surface for the evening flies, and the birds cutting through the sky. There was a freedom they possessed that he envied.

  Small and ever-expanding ringlets formed in the water and widened until they faded away, or were broken by another.

  The low evening sun did not shine a beautiful sunset, it wasn’t a movie. But the fading twilight accentuated the features in the water. Harvey could see more detail. He could see further.

  He checked out early the following day and climbed back on his bike with his pack resting as a passenger might behind him, clinging to his shoulders.

  He rode all day again, and cruised into Argeles late afternoon. He rode straight to the coast and breathed the fresh air. He admired the old farmhouses, the sparsity of shops and endless green. It was freedom.

  He found the house he'd seen on the website with ease and drove past, then stopped to walk around and made a decision on the spot. The ride to the beach from the house took less than five minutes, it would be a twenty-minute walk or a ten-minute run. It was perfect.

  He sat in the sand with a bottle of water and watched the sunset for the second time in two days. A habit, he told himself, that he should maintain in his new found freedom.

  Harvey woke on the beach in the dark and freshened himself up with the remains of the water that was stored in the panniers on his bike. It was early morning, and he took the ride into town. Old fifteenth-century buildings stood between modern looking houses, like a grandparent in old clothes and a young teenager in fashionable garb.

  In France, the coffee is served early. Harvey took a cup at a cafe that looked as though it had been built at the dawn of time. It was a new beginning. He would try new things; he enjoyed the hot drink and thanked the lady who in turn looked at him with a terrified look of distaste. Harvey wasn’t sure if it was because of the infamously loathed English language, or the fact that he looked like he slept on the beach.