by mark mctighe
Four senses removed, that left touch, Marc must have decided that it was the easiest to self inflict, a smartly brought down axe would do the trick. I waited and watched. ‘What on earth are you up to now?’ I thought.
He knelt amongst the bodies; his robe now drenched in blood, the smell evident even where I stood. Systematically he cleaved the heads off the pile of bodies; removed watches and rings pushing them all into a black plastic bin bag, a mishmash of bloody heads and belongings. He tied the top of the bag and lifted it into a huge rucksack. The kind a professional skier uses to get all his race kit up the mountain. It was black and heavily branded. He stoked up the fire, and then once he was sure all the logs had caught he dragged a carefully selected headless body onto the fire. He let it burn for half an hour before dumping the other three bodies on the top and throwing in plastic bottles of petrol from a safe distance. I backed away from the entrance certain that he would reappear for air.
Heavy rain started to fall. I zipped up and pulled the hood over my head; no waterproof trousers, I was going to get wet and cold. The light from the cave was intense, the smell of cooking meats drifted into the damp atmosphere. Whatever he was doing in there was keeping him busy; shadows darting back and forth.
As I waited, the puzzle started to fit together. This was supposed to happen to Gustav; killing two birds with one stone; religious craziness and removing an outsider .... Preventing the marriage to Dom; their woman. Well having had their guinea pig taken away from them and with the police homing in on multiple murders, Marc had convinced them that there was only one way to go. To carry out the ritual on themselves, doubtlessly ingratiating themselves with some higher being; win eternal life or some such nonsense....And If that’s what had happened he must have been bloody persuasive. The part of the plan he failed to tell everyone was that he was going to use this opportunity to disappear. Why else would he be packing up and with a bag of severed heads, shit? There was no doubt that he was crazy, but to be able to do this to your own son, that I just couldn’t comprehend. It would have made far more sense if he’d killed himself along with the others in some twisted belief, but now he was turning his back on his religion to save his own neck.
The rain had settled in for a few hours at least; large saturating drops. The rivers started to bubble more noisily, a race to get to the bottom of the valley.
One of the men had been closer in age and build to Marc; that must have been the first body on the fire; he was hoping to do sufficient damage to avoid positive identification; for assumptions to be made. ‘Jurgen was going to have his work cut out with this lot’.
The rain increased further in intensity, some hail mixed in with it, this was turning into a mountain storm. I continued to check the phone. No signal and now the battery bars were starting to disappear. From experience I knew that once the first bar disappeared I had about 20 minutes left. ‘Don’t desert me now silver brick’. I turned it off, ‘save the battery for when you really need it’. It was like the fuel tank on the Defender. The first half of the gauge gave me 250 miles, the second half 100miles at best. I’d always start looking for a petrol station at the half way point.
I was sitting, my mind full of nonsense and disbelief; trance like; three in the morning; when Marc finally appeared.
TWENTY ONE
Marc was a couple of years younger than my mother; his physical prowess belied his age; nonetheless it was late, he was carrying a bag of heads and the rain made every step more difficult. He was forced to stop and recover his composure every ten minutes. His bleeding back could only exacerbate his difficulties, and only god knew what was going through his head.
The darkness is both friend and foe to the follower. Sure I was more difficult to spot, but so was he. On two occasions I nearly walked right up to him as he had a break from the trek. He was lightening his load fast; losing the first head after ten minutes and two more heads ten minutes later. The forth he kept hold of, the head of the body that was supposed to be him I surmised.
The rain had dampened any noise so I started to drop back as the skies lightened. The morning was nearly upon us; the storm had passed and I needed a map; I’d not had the opportunity to venture this way before and I didn’t have a clue where I was. All I knew was that we were heading west, into the next valley; Evolene way. Marc paused again, ‘he must be knackered, he only stopped a few minutes ago’ I thought. He pulled out the last head; it disappeared from sight, the rucksack too. He started to move more quickly, the route now largely downhill and he was only carrying a small pack. I waited until he’d walked a further five minutes before I investigated his disposal site. A hole in the ground, deep, Pascal’s team would have fun recovering anything from here. I marked the site with a cross of stones and continued.
He followed the river down, stopping for a few minutes to wash his arms and face. I drew up alongside a yellow sign, ‘St Martin 25 mins, so that’s where we were going.’ Routing through my jacket pocket I pulled out the silver brick and press the on button; it asked for my pin number and I duly obliged; as I pressed enter the phone died; “bastard” I said.
St Martin was small, tiny, and possibly uninhabited. It was only 6.30 in the morning, so if anyone lived here they were almost certainly asleep. Marc approached a farm shed and went inside. A door was opened, a boot lid slammed shut. I crept up and peered through a hole in the old wood; I could see quite clearly, perhaps only 5 metres away. The car was red, small, a Fiat 500. He stood by the open door and changed; his gun, within striking distance, placed on the car seat. He was a particular man; he shaved, and dressed carefully; combed his hair and squirted aftershave on. The transformation complete he started the engine and pulled away. The number plate started A1, the signature of a rental car. I memorised the number and went in search of a phone. Pascal needed to close the access to this valley fast.
I jogged through the collection of buildings looking for an inhabitant. A battered Toyota pick-up sat outside a stone roofed chalet, a half eaten vegetable patch alongside. I knocked on the wooden door, it moved inwards with every tap.
“Hello, emergency, I need to call the police” I croaked out. I hadn’t used my voice since the boot in the face. My nasal passages had been altered and my mouth refused to form the words properly. I tried again; clearer this time, but more Quasimodo than Leo.
A small old woman came to the door. She wore black, a white pressed apron tied around her waist. She looked at me carefully, fearlessly.
“If it’s a phone you’re wanting you’ll need to go to Madame Virginie, my son’s got one but he’s with the cows.” She paused. “Follow me I’ll take you”. She changed her small black shoes for a half wellington boot and set off down a damp path, through a shallow stream and to the end of the village.
“Virginie” she called, “emergency, this man needs to use your phone”. The upstairs window opened and a sleepy woman looked down at us.
“I’ll be straight down mother” she replied, careful not to stare too intently at my face.
‘It can’t be that bad’ I thought. Another two painkillers and a swig from the Sigg and Virginie appeared in a dressing gown with a mobile phone.
“I’ve lost my numbers, can you call the police in Sion, give them your number and ask for Pascal Vianni to call back immediately.”
Virginie dialled and spoke, pressed end and passed me the phone. We all waited.
“Offer the man a coffee, some breakfast, an aspirin” the mother said.
“Sorry, how thoughtless, can I get you something?”
“Just a seat, I don’t think I can drink anything hot at the moment”. The phone started to ring, mooing cows the ring tone.
“Pascal?” The two women stared and listened. “Pascal, shut the fuck up and listen.” They withdrew a little and continued to listen. “You’re looking for Marc Von Arx, he’s driving a red Fiat 500, registration A1 95679, and he’s armed and psychotic.” He tried to interrupt but I kept talking. “I’m in the next valley, St Mar
tin, to be precise. He left here fifteen minutes ago;” Pascal hung up.
“Is that it?” Virginie enquired.
“For now, he’ll call me back when he’s set up the road blocks.”
“Would you like to clean up a little” the old woman said.
“I’ll just sit, Leo Dix” I put out my hand as way of introduction.
“Emily” my hand enveloped hers as I tried to smile.
“My son has a car, we can run you to the hospital” she looked concerned.
“It’s lukewarm” Virginie approached with a herbal looking tea, “and very sweet, I’ve brought a straw if that’s any easier”; the kindness was absolute.
I turned to Emily, “I’ll just sit for a minute”.
The tea was magnificent, Virginie replenishing it as soon as I’d finished.
“We don’t get too much excitement here, the Grand Raid once a year, otherwise you’re the most exciting thing in ages, isn’t he Virginie?” Emily said.
“There was that paraponter who fell 2000 metres to his death in Evolene, but I guess that’s not technically here” she replied.
As I sat in the chair I slumped lower and lower, my body feeling heavy and lethargic, the painkillers doing their work.
“Moo, moo the phone rang in my hand” bringing me out of the recesses of the chair; I searched for the answer button.
“Leo, what’s happened to your voice?”
“I’m pretty swollen, took another hit to my face, if I start slurring it’s probably the painkillers.”
“I’m coming to get you, take it you’re still in St Martin; look to the skies we’ll be there in twenty five minutes tops.”
“I’m still here, I’m not going anywhere in a hurry.”
“Do you have an angle on where the other two are?” Pascal asked innocently.
“First of all there are four others, Pascal, and do you want to know where their bodies are or their heads?” The line went silent; Emily and Virginie looked visibly shocked.
“You better go and get your brother” I heard Emily instructing her daughter.
“Are you fucking with me Dix?”
“I wish I was Pascal, but right now I think I need to get to the hospital, I seem to have lost my sight in one eye.” I handed the phone back to Emily who searched for the button to end the call.
“My mother was called Emily” I said.
The old lady looked closely at my eye, and with the calmness of a farmer’s wife said; “it’s just blood in your eye, nothing to worry about”.
Pascal was true to his word and so 25 minutes later a helicopter landed in the field behind Emily’s house.
“I thought they’d got you this time” his bear’s paw shook me roughly on the shoulder. “The plastics guy isn’t going to be too please with the way you’ve been treating that repair of his.”
“Her’s” I replied.
I climbed up into the chopper and Pascal spread the map out on my knee. “Can you see ok, or do you want to do this later?”
“Vision’s bad in my left eye, let’s see.” I stroked the map flat.
Pascal on one side, Gerard a mountain guide on the other; “here you’ll find four bodies, one; Raphy, two; the bloke that tried to assault me with Pierre when I first arrived, three and four; unknown. My guess is that the body at the bottom of the pile is supposed to be mistaken for Marc” I swallowed painfully. “Here abouts you’ll find one head, two more here. I traced my finger along, the last one here; I tapped the map, with a ski rucksack. I left a marker; a cross of stones, it’s been pushed down the hole next to the stones.”
“Any questions Gerard?” Gerard shook his head, already planning the search parties.
“Did he know you were following?” Pascal had to shout to be heard over the noise.
“No, he even had time to comb his hair”, now it was my turn to shake my head. I couldn’t raise my voice any longer; I waved Pascal down. “When we’re down” gesturing with my hand.
It was the third time I’d landed at the hospital in two weeks, Rufus, Gustav, and now just for me. The hospital silence was nectar to my swollen head. “It was a ritual killing, each man stood still whilst he either slit their throats or stabbed them in their heart; then he cut out or off the relevant body parts and put them in cups, you had the chalices, it was an abattoir. When it came to his turn he ran.”
“Well it’s probably made one man’s day” Pascal smirked.
“Jurgen; by any chance?”
“Pig in fucking shit” a nurse gave Pascal a filthy look as she passed by.
“Shouldn’t you have Marc by now?”
“He’s not surfaced yet. I’ve got all my men out there, even drafted in the military for this search. It’s eight dead now, including your father, we’ve never had anything this big.”
“Leo Dix” a perfectly turned out nurse glanced around the room, her eyes resting on me the second she saw my face.
“I’ve got a briefing to give, and a couple of interviews, I’ll call back for you in a few hours.” Pascal raised his yellow fist triumphantly; it was nearly all over now.
TWENTY TWO
The loss of sight was only temporary, the retina had not detached. One eye was blood red, the other surrounded by a black, yellow, and blue bruise, the size of a desert plate. The nose was easy; they re-broke it and set it straight, under the strict guidance of the plastic surgeon.
“You’re getting quite a reputation around here” she said. Her face pushed up inches from mine as she examined the old cut. I inhaled her minty freshness. “It’s held up well, considering, umph, need to do some work here” she pointed at the area just below the eye for the benefit of her assistant. “Caroline will prep you, I need to do some repair work now, and some in a few days, when the swelling subsides.” She looked at me hard; “just stay put and do as Caroline tells you, I’ll see you in half an hour”.
“Thanks,” I lay still whilst Caroline prepped my face.
After assurances that I would be resting, ‘the case is finished I can only rest now’ I’d said, I walked down to the hospital restaurant. Dominique saw me first and came over. She put her arms around me and hugged.
“You look, you look.....”
“Different” I said.
“Gustav’s out of the coma, last night, he’s complaining and wittering on about missing the climb with you and Rufus; you must come and see him.”
“I’d love to Dom, let’s go.” We retraced my steps and climbed an additional two flights of stairs, past a hospital chapel and on to Gustav’s room. He lay in bed, asleep, attached to a multitude of monitors.
“He’s pale and thinner” I whispered. His muscle looked wasted, his face hollow and bruised; bandages still covered his wrists and neck; the injuries had cut deep into his flesh. I glanced at Dom, she waited in anticipation for the words of encouragement, “he’s looking good”.
“He is, isn’t he” her smile radiated, its warmth seeming to cast a light on the bed, Gustav awoke.
“Shit Leo” he blinked a couple of times to clear the scuz from his eyes.
“What the fuck happened to you?” He started to chuckle, he couldn’t stop. “Has Rufus seen this, ha, ha” it had turned into a comedy moment, hysterical laughter followed for two minutes, Gustav was crying with laughter. Every time he tried to stop himself to talk he collapsed into a heaving mess. The laughter was contagious and Dom and I soon caught it.
“You both need to stop..” A nurse poked her head around the door. She looked like she meant business. “It’s not good for either of you”. She held the look a little longer, and then went. In reality it was exactly what our souls needed.
“That feels better” Gustav chuckled. “But really Leo, you look like shit”.
“Don’t I know it.”
“I bet Rufus tries to send Fran a pic of you, ‘dad’s made friends with the locals’, it’s really too much” he started to belly laugh again.
“You better go, come back when his constitution�
��s a little stronger; we can’t have him bursting a blood vessel.” Dom was right; at this rate I’d give him an aneurism.
He pointed at me, the cables in his arm rising off the bed like the strings of a puppet, and just kept giggling.