by Lauren Algeo
Connors was in most of the press shots with him; it seemed as though the boy was allowed to travel with him a lot. There were photos of them in France and Germany, where Connors was attending meetings, as well as numerous locations in the UK. In a couple of the pictures, Daniel’s head was cocked to the side and Brewer wondered if he spent much time listening to Connors’ thoughts and whispering his own suggestions.
Ellen had joined him in his research as soon as they’d cleared the lunch plates away but it was now 5pm and they didn’t have anything concrete yet. They’d considered trying to get to Daniel at school however it turned out he was home schooled and usually under the watchful eye of his mother. The family currently lived at the Dorneywood estate in Buckinghamshire but they would be moving to Downing Street imminently now that Connors was Prime Minister. It was far too risky for them to go there, and definitely not a location they could break in to.
Ellen had suggested targeting Daniel when the family were on a trip or out for an occasion. She hadn’t fired a gun for years but thought she’d still be accurate enough to shoot Daniel with an insulin-loaded dart from a fair distance. Brewer had dismissed that idea immediately – Daniel wasn’t likely to be anywhere on his own so someone would notice if he got hit by a mystery tranquiliser dart. He’d receive prompt medical attention and likely be treated before the insulin could take effect.
If they failed with an attempt, the family’s security would be ramped up even more and they wouldn’t get a decent opportunity again. Their course of action had to be perfect. Brewer thought his idea of getting into Downing Street on the pretence of a case was most likely to succeed so far, although it was still full of holes and risks. There had to be something else.
The pressure had settled firmly on his shoulders like a lead weight. It was hard to remember how happy and carefree he’d been at dinner last night. Now the familiar knot of panic was twisting in his gut. They had to come up with something fast; before Daniel had time to act on whatever sadistic desire he had planned.
‘I still think shooting him from a distance is our best bet,’ Ellen insisted. ‘It would remove us from the situation so there’s no risk of us getting caught. Enough insulin will kill him, regardless of how soon he gets medical attention.’
Brewer pushed the laptop away in frustration. They were going round in circles. Sitting down at the dining table wasn’t helping either. He stood up abruptly and began to pace the room.
Ellen could see the tension in his posture. She knew how much this was affecting him but she also knew that he was too stubborn to show it to her. She’d hoped he would have managed to work out some of his anger before she’d gotten home from tutoring. Getting through several hours of English with Tim had been torture but at least it had given her time to clear her head. They would need to be rational if they were to succeed with this. Killing the new Prime Minister’s son wasn’t exactly going to be easy.
Brewer halted his pacing suddenly then strode out of the room. Ellen remained at the table and listened to him march up the stairs and begin hunting for something in their bedroom. She could faintly hear the drawers creaking open and objects banging about. A minute later, Brewer’s footsteps made their way back to the stairs. There was a loud thud and grunt of pain as he struck his head on the low beam at the top of the staircase. Ellen shook her head as he came back downstairs, how many times had she told him to be careful of that beam?
There was a wide, red mark on the top of his forehead when he appeared in the doorway but he seemed oblivious to it. Ellen glanced down and realised why.
In his hand, he was clutching a black notepad. He gazed at the battered leather cover and stroked his fingers over the familiar cracked spine. It was his old journal.
‘I thought there might be something in here that can help us,’ he said quietly.
He sat down at the table again and put the journal in front of him but didn’t open it. He hadn’t seen the notepad in a very long time – not since they’d moved to the cottage. It held every painful memory of his past and each horrific encounter with a hiker. He’d let Ellen read it once so she could understand everything he’d been through but he hadn’t read it back himself in nearly ten years. He hadn’t wanted to re-live any of the nightmares.
‘The two child hikers you… encountered are in there, aren’t they?’ Ellen asked.
Brewer gave a brief nod. Two children he’d faced before and lost out to – the girl on the cliff top in Cornwall who’d nearly killed him, and the boy in the snow in Bath who’d tried to kill Georgie. The child hikers were always the strongest; who knew what skills Daniel possessed.
‘There might be a clue or something that I wrote down that could give us an idea for a plan,’ he shrugged.
He couldn’t think what but it did no harm to look. He finally opened the journal and let the memories wash over him. He’d hoped to never have to read it again – in fact, he’d almost thrown it out when they’d moved, but some internal instinct had made him keep it. Now he needed it.
Seeing all of his old entries in black and white made everything real. He skimmed over his words, ones that were full of fear, confusion and grief. He could picture in his mind where he’d been when he wrote each entry, whether he’d been cold or tired or hungry. Petrified that a hiker was hunting him. A chill crept through his bones and he tried to suppress an involuntary shiver.
His fingers found the page with the entry about the little girl hiker and he forced himself to read it. Giving himself fully to the shadows while Ellen watched quietly.
‘Scott!’
Brewer jolted at the sound of Ellen’s voice calling him from the living room.
‘The evening news is coming on.’
He blinked in surprise at the clock on the wall and saw that he’d been reading for nearly an hour. How time flew when you were reliving past nightmares.
‘Coming,’ he shouted back.
He put the journal down and tried to clear his head. He’d been reading about Georgie coming into his life and there was an acute ache in his heart. She’d been so young; he never should have agreed to let her hunt with him.
As if she’d have listened to you, a small part of him pointed out. Georgie had been stubborn and headstrong – she would have hunted hikers whether he wanted her to or not.
Brewer pushed aside the image of her youthful face and headed for the living room. There would be time to grieve again when this new chapter of horror was over. He could take the annual trip to the Yorkshire Dales a little early to honour her memory.
‘Quick, something’s happening!’ Ellen was perched on the edge of the sofa and staring fixatedly at the TV when Brewer entered the room.
She gestured towards the screen. ‘Connors is going to make another statement.’
Brewer’s brow furrowed instantly. That didn’t sound good. Why would Connors need to make another live broadcast after last night? He would have spent the day putting things in order with his party… unless this was about confirming Davenport’s funeral or some kind of memorial?
He sat down next to Ellen on the two-seater as the camera cut once again to Downing Street. He quickly scoured the screen but Daniel was nowhere in sight. There was only Connors, standing in the glare of a dozen cameras. The man looked more stressed than he had done the night before. It was obvious he hadn’t gotten much sleep and he cleared his throat loudly before beginning his rehearsed speech. Brewer noted the slight tremble in the hands that were holding tightly onto a pack of white prompt cards.
‘Good evening ladies and gentlemen,’ Connors said. ‘Thank you for your kind words and tributes to Peter Davenport, and for respecting his family’s privacy while they grieve. He was an incredible man who is very sorely missed.’
There was a brief pause as Connors took a breath and glanced down at his cards.
‘I don’t understand…’ Ellen started.
‘Shh!’ Brewer cut her off abruptly. This was important; he could feel it.
‘I want
ed to address you all tonight in order to give you the full story,’ Connors continued. ‘We owe it to the nation to be completely honest before rumours begin to circulate.’
Brewer could feel each pulse of his heart and his breathing had slowed right down in anticipation.
Connors stared directly out at him from the screen. ‘Unfortunately Peter’s death was not caused by a heart attack, as the media have led the public to believe. It saddens me greatly to inform you that Peter took his own life.’
There were audible gasps from the gathered crowd and the flash of more cameras illuminated Connors’ face. Ellen inhaled sharply beside him but Brewer didn’t react. He had known this wasn’t a natural death and that the truth would come out eventually. He just hadn’t expected that Connors would be brave enough to inform the public directly. He’d imagined leaked interviews in the tabloids followed by a hasty cover up statement from the government. Connors was approaching the situation head on to prevent all that.
‘I know this will come as a shock to everyone, especially those who knew Peter well.’ There were tears shining in Connors’ eyes now but Brewer knew he wouldn’t allow them to fall during the broadcast. ‘I’d like to take this opportunity to encourage anyone who is suffering from depression or contemplating suicide to please phone the helpline number on the screen. There are people who can listen and help you. We have extra staff available tonight so please consider calling them. Mental health is an issue that needs to be discussed openly and we’re here to help. I just wish we could have helped Peter in time.’
Connors bowed his head for a moment before continuing. ‘We would greatly appreciate no coverage of the method Peter used, out of respect for his young family. Thank you for listening. I hope bringing this tragic news to light will save some lives.’
Connors turned abruptly away from the microphone and headed towards his security team, ignoring the barrage of questions that rose from the gathered reporters.
‘I thought Daniel might have used a vessel to poison Davenport or something.’ Ellen sat back and exhaled loudly. ‘I didn’t imagine that it would have been suicide. His poor family; they’ll never know the truth.’
Brewer finally tore his eyes away from the screen, where a news reporter was now speaking gravely to the camera. ‘It was a clever piece of PR,’ he said. ‘Connors didn’t really give the public anything of note. He skimmed over the details then distracted people with a helpline. He didn’t confirm if Davenport had depression, only eluded to it, and encouraging the press not to print a suicide method that they don’t yet know is sneaky. Any paper or website that does dig further and reveal it will be chastised now by the public and other media companies. He cleverly covered over any real details about the suicide.’
‘Do we really need to know?’ Ellen asked. ‘We know Daniel killed him and this just confirms how. Do we have to find out any more?’
‘I do,’ Brewer nodded. ‘I need to know exactly what we’re up against and how brutal Davenport’s suicide really was. Daniel could be even more sadistic than we’re imagining.’
Ellen’s face paled considerably. ‘I don’t think I want to know all the gory details,’ she whispered. ‘If you do find out then please don’t tell me.’
Brewer wondered if she was thinking of Lucy’s cruel death at the hands of that hiker back in Connecticut although he didn’t ask.
‘I’ll keep it to myself,’ he agreed.
He would shield her but he was determined to find out the full truth. He just had to work out how he was going to get those answers.
Chapter 7
Brewer’s phone chirped insistently on the coffee table and pulled him out of his research. He’d spent the hour following Connors’ latest bombshell trawling through websites on the laptop, looking for any hint that the suicide method had been revealed.
He reached for his mobile and saw Marcus’s name on the screen. Everything suddenly clicked into place – Marcus still worked at Lewisham police station, surely he would have a contact who’d know about Davenport’s death.
‘Hi, mate,’ he answered on the fourth ring.
‘Scott, have you seen the news?’ Marcus sounded flustered.
‘I watched it with Ellen,’ he replied, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. ‘Did you hear about it before the broadcast?’
‘No, but I just found out all the details. My friend Tony was one of the detectives called to the scene last night and he just confessed to me what he saw.’ Marcus paused. ‘Mate, it’s worse than that Miller suicide we handled years ago.’
Brewer remembered the case well. Catherine Miller had been a very troubled young woman who’d stabbed her dog to death before hanging herself. They’d been called in to confirm that it wasn’t related to a similar murder case they were working on at the time, where the female victim had been hanged by an apparent burglar. He could still recall her lifeless, bulging eyes and the dog’s blood staining her dress.
‘Worse than that?’ he asked as casually as he could.
Marcus often spoke to him about confidential cases, in the knowledge that Brewer could be trusted and would offer advice wherever he could. He didn’t want to press Marcus for information now and jeopardise that.
‘If I tell you this then you can’t breathe a word to anyone, not even Ellen,’ Marcus said. ‘I’m not even supposed to know about this.’
‘I promise I’ll keep it secret,’ Brewer agreed. Marcus didn’t have to know that Ellen wanted to stay in the dark about this anyway.
‘Davenport did commit suicide, no doubt about it,’ Marcus said. ‘He was locked in his study, completely alone. They had to break down the door to get to him.’
‘Ok.’ Brewer saw Ellen appear in the doorway.
She’d been making dinner in the kitchen and had a plate of lasagne in her hand. She raised an eyebrow questioningly and he mouthed that it was Marcus. She could guess from his expression what the call was about and quickly retreated back to the kitchen.
‘When they got into the room, it was a bloodbath,’ Marcus told him. ‘Tony said it was everywhere, all over Davenport and soaked into the carpet. He didn’t just commit suicide – he mutilated himself! He cut both his wrists, straight and deep so there was no messing about, and he slit his throat.’
‘God, that’s awful.’ Brewer squeezed his eyes closed. Daniel hadn’t just killed Davenport quietly then, he’d made a horrific scene out of it.
‘That’s not the worst part of it,’ Marcus said. ‘You’ll never guess what he used to do it… not a knife or anything – a bloody cheese cutter!’
Brewer felt his blood run cold. A cheese cutter only had a blunt blade so the pain Davenport suffered would have been incredible. Daniel was as evil and sadistic as he’d feared.
‘I mean, seriously!’ Marcus continued, mistaking his silence for shock. ‘You’ve got to be extremely determined to end your life using a blade like that. It would have been agony – I’m surprised he didn’t pass out during the wrist slicing.’
Brewer would bet that Daniel had something to do with that. The boy would have wanted Davenport to remain conscious during his ordeal. The hikers he’d encountered in the past loved to see their victims suffer, and actually enjoyed their pain. Daniel must have got a lot of pleasure from the way Davenport died.
‘That poor man,’ Brewer said. ‘His depression must have been really bad.’
‘That’s the funny thing,’ Marcus said. ‘No one had any clue that he suffered from depression. Tony didn’t speak to a single witness who thought he had mental health problems. They had no clue why Davenport had done it. There was no note or anything.’
‘I guess we’ll never know,’ Brewer said. ‘I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut. Let me know if you hear anything else.’
‘Will do. I’ll talk to you later, bye.’ Marcus hung up the phone.
Brewer stared at his hands and tried to process what he’d just heard. How powerful must Daniel be if he’d managed to get a stable man like Dave
nport to do that to himself? He probably hadn’t spent much time whispering to him beforehand to break him down – the PM would have been too busy, and he moved around too much for Daniel to stay on him. He’d caused a brutal death with minimal effort. No one would ever suspect what he was.
Brewer wondered if he’d hidden in the room then slipped out during the commotion. A locked study didn’t raise any red flags – Davenport was clearly alone and inflicted the wounds on himself. Brewer’s hands balled into fists. This boy was as bad as the other two child hikers he’d faced… worse, in fact. The other two had been testing their power to see what they were capable of whereas Daniel had already established how strong he was. A cliff dive or choking on snow was nothing compared to cutting your wrists and throat with a blunt blade. Daniel must have been enhancing his power for a while.
‘Scott, are you off the phone?’ Ellen called from the dining room. ‘Your dinner’s getting cold.’
Brewer hoisted himself to his feet and trudged towards the dining room. Ellen had laid the table while he’d been talking to Marcus and he sat down in front of a heaped plate of lasagne and salad. He picked up his fork but didn’t move it towards his plate. His appetite was gone and the last thing he felt like doing was eating.
Ellen took in his pale face and the tight grip he had on his empty fork. ‘Did Marcus tell you what happened?’ she asked.
Brewer nodded, finally meeting her gaze. ‘It’s bad,’ he said bluntly. ‘Daniel is brutal. We need to put a stop to this now, before anyone else gets hurt.’
‘We will,’ Ellen said gently. ‘But first you’re going to eat that to keep your strength up. You barely touched your breakfast or lunch.’
She didn’t mention the alcohol he’d drunk that morning. She’d smelt the Jack Daniels as soon as she’d got back from tutoring but hadn’t brought it up; she knew it took the edge off for him. A lack of food and sleep wasn’t going to get them anywhere; they needed to be at their strongest.