Witness X: ‘Silence of the Lambs meets Blade Runner’ Stephen Baxter

by SE Moorhead

  Kyra felt her stomach drop. Was there no one else they could interview to get to the truth of the matter? She looked back up at the digital timeline; the maps, the photographs, the notes. Under ‘witnesses’ there was too much white space – one name only, Ray Clarke. He was a homeless alcoholic who claimed he knew something about Jennifer Bosanquet’s abduction, but his confused ramblings had only served to waste time.

  There might as well have been no witnesses at all.

  She couldn’t avoid thinking about Lomax anymore.

  She was going to have to meet him.

  Face to face.

  1.17 p.m.

  ISABEL

  ‘Don’t struggle.’ She freezes at the sinister whisper.

  She feels her arms being strapped to the bindings at her waist.

  Then a moment of silence.

  Suddenly, a strong, dry hand that smells of bleach grabs her face. She struggles against it, trying to move her head, afraid she will be suffocated.

  The grasp tightens and the air supply to her nostrils is cut off by fingers gripping her nose, the palm pushing down on her forehead, as though her head is in a vice. The lack of oxygen immediately sharpens her focus and she looks up.

  She can’t make sense of his face – there seems to be a translucent shine to it, the eyes behind cut-out circles, one a strange pale blue, the bone structure hidden by a semi-transparent film. She finally realises he is wearing a mask.

  ‘If you struggle, it will hurt more.’

  Her chest is juddering for air now, her brain panicking in response to the lack of oxygen, and she opens her mouth. He forces the end of a tube into her throat and presses down on her so she can’t resist. She gags as the plastic tube is pushed further, choking her as he keeps forcing it down, scraping her oesophagus, all while her mind is screaming NO! NO!

  Once the tube is in place, he releases her nose and she stops struggling, snorting in the oxygen, taking in terrified snippets of precious air. Her eyes wide and terrified, she watches unable to move as he attaches a funnel to the tube and holds it above her. He pours a liquid into it using a yellowing plastic jug, which stupidly makes her think of the one in the kitchen at home. She eyes it, horrified, as the liquid slowly trickles down the tube right in front of her eyes, into her body.

  The second it hits her stomach it begins to burn, but she can’t even cry out. After a few moments, when the jug is empty, he pulls the tube out slowly, and then all she can manage is a whimper, her throat already raw from screaming.

  He presses a dry finger over her lips, crushing them. ‘Shhhh! It won’t be long now.’

  She waits with him, seconds stretching out into torturous despair. Her father’s face comes to her mind. How will he cope without her? She doesn’t even know where she is. The horrifying thought passes through her mind: how will they even find my body?

  A painful spasm grabs her guts. Her intestines coil and uncoil, and spikes of agony shoot through her body. She retches hard and, as she does so, he loosens the straps holding her wrist, and then the waist, leaving only her legs still buckled.

  Her body convulses, curling with the growing pain in her stomach. A grinding ache starts somewhere at the back of her neck where her spine crunches into her skull as he comes up behind her and forces her up into a sitting position.

  ‘There, there, won’t be long,’ he soothed. ‘You do want to be pure, don’t you?’

  The rumbling, growling pain in her stomach suddenly produces violent vomiting. It pours out of her, splattering across her thinly covered lap as he holds her beneath her arms so that she is upright and it splashes on the trolley and all over her legs. It keeps coming, wave after wave of yellow bile, until she feels completely spent, sweating, her heart pounding and her mouth bitter.

  Collapsing backwards, she slumps against him, exhausted. He slowly lies her back down on the trolley and, for a brief moment, there is respite, until the spasms begin again, this time lower down, in her guts. The pressure continues to build, and then her bowels evacuate, the foetid, acrid smell making her want to vomit again, but her stomach is empty.

  She lies still, sweat cooling on her face, shocked that she is lying in her own mess, and all the while he stands by watching with his odd mismatched eyes, the rest of his face hidden behind the creepy shiny plastic. Her intestines spasm and twitch one last time and then, as quickly as it had started, it is done.

  He brings a syringe close to her and she is too weak to even lift her hands in protest. There is a sharp jab and then she feels the liquid spreading through her bloodstream, relaxing the muscles as it travels through her body, taking the edge off the fear and pain. She watches in a disembodied, mesmerised way as he starts to undress. He folds his clothes slowly and carefully and places them on a chair. Nearby, she can see the mortuary fridge and even with the drugs, she feels herself shiver.

  What more is he going to do to her?

  He removes his simple white T-shirt. From where she is he appears fairly short but strong, and dark hairs cover tight muscles in his arms and chest.

  A single tear runs from her eye.

  As the concoction he had given her reaches her brain, she hears singing, beautiful, unearthly harmonies. She looks up to the glowing lights floating above her and is entranced by the prisms and rainbows. She hardly notices as he takes a sponge which he dips into a bucket of hot water and he begins to wash her down, slowly, gently, throwing away the sponge as it becomes soiled and using a new one to dip back into the hot, clean water. He clears up her mess thoroughly and carefully, then he turns his attention to drying her and dressing her, as a child might dress a doll. He struggles against the deadweight of her body as he puts a white garment on her, then covers her with a clean sheet and pushes the trolley back into the mortuary fridge.

  This time she welcomes the darkness.

  Chapter Sixteen

  SATURDAY 3 FEBRUARY 2035

  2.43 p.m.

  Two inmates in coarse grey cotton sweats, not unlike the colour of the sky above them, downed their gardening tools and gawped at Kyra. She pulled her coat tighter around her and hung back so that she was walking behind Tom. She had endured a thorough security check at the hands of the over-eager female prison guard before she had left the main entrance block, but the men’s eyes made her feel more violated still.

  ‘Men, resume your work,’ barked Governor Bennett, louder, in Kyra’s opinion, than should come from such a petite woman in her expensive navy suit. Both men immediately turned back to their gardening, eyes down. They worked in a large allotment, bars running three metres high all around them, and even across the top, forming a cage. On either side of the cage was an armed guard. There were a few hovering drones patrolling the high perimeter wall. Were they weaponised? She tried not to look up at the observation tower which loomed over them menacingly. Rockwell Prison was a grim, terrifying place, however much the governor seemed proud of it.

  ‘Our inmates tend small winter crops at this time of year: potatoes, sweet potatoes, sprouts, cabbages, turnips, carrots and onions, all of which are sold and the money reinvested in Rockwell.’ Kyra could hear the pride in her voice. ‘We believe giving our inmates plants to care for gives them a sense of responsibility and achievement. It all helps in their reformation.’

  This didn’t surprise Kyra. With a huge emphasis on recycling and rehabilitation in society, convicted criminals were seen by some in government departments as commodities to be re-educated and, if they couldn’t be fixed, to be re-purposed and at least live useful and productive lives behind bars.

  ‘How does Lomax take to the gardening?’ Kyra asked, hardly imagining he could nurture anything.

  ‘We call it agriculture, not gardening,’ the governor corrected. ‘Lomax does not have the status for agriculture. He remains in the A Wing on the far side, the most serious offenders are housed there. There is no agriculture in A Wing.’ She marched along the path, commenting to Kyra and Tom as they moved through the prison complex. She was arrogant
considering Lomax had escaped under her watch. Was she trying to brazen it out?

  ‘We bought the land from the education authority; with the continuing fall in the national birth rate, the school wasn’t needed.’ A heavy metal security door was opened by an armed guard and the governor led them into a highly fortified building, the corridors painted pale grey, the floor buffed to a gleam. The guards inside bobbed their heads towards her as she swept past. ‘It looks as though society has less schoolchildren and more prisoners these days.’ Governor Bennett gave an odd giggle and Tom’s eyes flicked to Kyra. ‘We knocked the whole thing down and rebuilt for our purposes, but the tennis courts are still there. We don’t use them of course. We did, however, manage to retain plenty of the books from the library. Many of the prisoners had never even seen a book in its non-digital form.’

  The governor had already used the word ‘empathy’ three times since she had met them at the main entrance, but Kyra suspected there was also a granite-strong disciplinarian underneath judging from her rigid back and disdainful glances at some of the inmates. There was certainly a hint of narcissism about her as she showed off her miniature kingdom.

  ‘It’s not exactly what I’d expected,’ Tom said, looking up at a poster – Everyone can be reformed at Rockwell.

  ‘Yes, we’re very proud of what we have achieved here. My office is full of certificates and awards. Here at Rockwell we have always led the way since the full privatisation of the Prison Service.’

  ‘Have you ever had a prisoner escape before?’ asked Kyra steadily, irked by the fact their host had taken Tom’s comment as a compliment.

  The governor stopped still and turned to Kyra, her eyes challenging.

  ‘Whatever happens under my roof is my responsibility. Prisoner Lomax escaped whilst under the watch of Tartarus Security. Believe me,’ the governor spoke quietly, pulling herself up to her full diminutive height, ‘there will be questions asked, and contracts broken over this fiasco.’

  She turned swiftly on her heels until they reached a guard standing by a sign that read REFECTORY.

  ‘Good afternoon, Danielsson.’

  Danielsson regarded her from beneath his cap with his sky-blue eyes. He seemed younger than Kyra, but his skin was rough and lined. His face was closed, giving nothing away, a mask of loyalty. He towered over the governor and stooped as she spoke.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he replied.

  ‘You’ve reminded the prisoner about his manners, to prepare him for his visitors?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The governor turned to Tom. ‘I have to warn you, Lomax recently lost his latest appeal against his conviction. He is not in the best mood. I’m going to leave you to it, Detective Inspector, Doctor Sullivan,’ she said with a nod of her head. ‘You’ll get more out of Lomax without me there but do let me know how it goes.’ She gave an odd, dry little smile. Kyra imagined she hated not being in control.

  ‘Could I request that Officer Danielsson might wait outside, Governor?’ Kyra asked.

  Danielsson’s blue eyes slid to the governor, awaiting direction.

  ‘I know it isn’t protocol, but I am sure you can bend the rules a little in such a case?’ Kyra asked, hoping to appeal to her ego.

  The governor glanced at Danielsson and gave a slight nod. ‘If there’s any sign of anything … untoward, Danielsson here will be in like a shot.’

  She stood still for a moment and Tom said, ‘Thank you, Governor Bennett.’

  Then she turned on her heels and marched away.

  Lomax sat with his back to them at one of the long tables. The wide windows opposite were made of opaque armoured plastic, the metal food bar in front of it cleared at this time of day, but the air was still musty with the smell of mass-produced meals.

  He didn’t turn around when they approached him but sat hunched over the table top. Even from this angle Kyra could see that he had bulked up in the prison gym, his deltoids and triceps straining against his grey sweat top, his neck muscles thick and powerful. She thought about the last time she had seen him, the damage he had done. Was it such a good idea to leave Danielsson outside after all? Was Lomax cuffed? When they got closer, Lomax turned his head slightly but waited until they came around to face him. He focused his dark eyes on Tom.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you walking, Tommy, after your little accident last time we met.’ He bared his tombstone teeth, one or two now missing, but then his face fell. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  If Tom felt anything about the last time they had met he didn’t show it.

  ‘Hello, Lomax,’ Tom said pleasantly. ‘How are they treating you here? I heard the food’s okay.’

  Lomax took his time looking Kyra up and down and then his eyes finally settled on hers. She couldn’t decide if his expression was one of lust or disgust. Her stomach turned to water, but she was determined not to show fear. She threw her leg over the bench and sat down nearly opposite him. Tom remained standing.

  Lomax reached his hand up to scratch his face and Kyra flinched, but the sound of chains reassured her he was secured. She could see there were manacles around his thick wrists attached with the chains through a metal loop on the rim of table. His arms, though, seemed huge to her, the swell of his biceps covered in veins that looked like rivulets running down a mountainside.

  ‘Miss Sullivan,’ Lomax leered.

  ‘Doctor,’ Kyra parried.

  ‘Doctor Sullivan,’ Lomax mocked. ‘Long time no see.’

  Through the window, she could see Danielsson’s profile.

  ‘I haven’t got time to mess about, Lomax,’ Tom said flatly. ‘We’re here because we want some more information about the murders you’ve been convicted of.’

  Lomax took his time looking Tom over. ‘Did your accident leave you brain-damaged? It must have done if you think I’m gonna talk willingly to you lot.’

  Tom blinked slowly.

  Lomax suddenly slammed his fist on the table in front of him. Kyra jumped. He leaned forward, face serious now. ‘I always said you stitched me up. When are you going to get me out of this shithole?’

  Tom put his hands in his pockets but didn’t reply.

  Kyra could see that the length of the chains meant he couldn’t reach her, but even sitting so close to him, she could feel anger and violence radiating from him. She kept her hands hidden so Lomax couldn’t see them shaking.

  ‘What do you want, bitch?’

  ‘Lomax—’ Tom began, threat in his voice.

  ‘I’ve got this, Tom.’ Kyra tried to sound as confident as possible.

  ‘Watch your manners, Lomax—’ Tom said.

  ‘Tom!’ Kyra turned sharply to look at him. ‘I said I’ve got this.’

  ‘She’s a feisty one, Tommy. Not sure you’re man enough for her,’ Lomax mocked.

  Tom moved away over to the door, hands in pockets still, looking down at the floor. Kyra knew he would be taking every word in.

  She put both hands flat on the table in front of her and locked eyes with Lomax, who crossed his arms and leaned back a little. ‘So then, Doctor Sullivan. What’s all this about? You missed me?’ he sneered.

  ‘Apparently you wanted to talk to me.’ She leaned back and crossed her arms, mirroring him.

  ‘Thought we could chat about old times.’ He licked his lips. ‘Don’t get much of a chance to see a pretty woman round here. The female guards are all dogs.’

  She ignored this. ‘If you’ve got nothing to say that’s fine, but I want to talk to you. Your DNA was found on some of the bodies in the Mizpah Murders. The court considered it was an open-and-shut case.’

  Lomax’s smiled faded. ‘Circumstantial.’ He looked away, bored.

  ‘Possibly. But something’s come up, which might cast some doubt on your conviction.’

  Lomax uncrossed his arms and leaned over the table towards her now. She resisted moving backwards.

  ‘Another body has turned up, a woman, same type of victim, same MO, looks very similar to
the crimes that you were convicted of, while you were out. Looks like you’ve been bad again.’ She searched his face for minute reactions before his eyes narrowed and he growled slowly.

  ‘Someone is fucking stitching me up.’

  She leaned into him now, drawing on all her courage to face him.

  ‘It might appear that someone else committed those murders,’ she said quietly. ‘Your tracker …’ she indicated his leg with a slight nod, ‘says you weren’t near the body deposition site.’

  Lomax threw his arms wide and roared, ‘I told everyone I was innocent!’ His face was triumphant.

  Danielsson’s rugged face appeared at the window of the door. Tom put his thumbs up and the guard took a long look at Lomax and disappeared again.

  ‘I told you I never done it, Tommy Boy!’ he grinned maniacally. He slapped his hands together and the chains on his wrists jangled. ‘It looks like you fucked up. I’m an innocent man. I’ll be out of here before you can say “miscarriage of justice”. Tick tock, Tommy.’

  ‘Take it easy,’ Kyra began steadily. ‘It’s not as simple as that, Lomax, but maybe we can help each other out. Two bodies have your DNA is all over them, makes it look like you did it. So you need to think hard who might have put that DNA on there because, at the moment, it’s a toss-up between you being framed or you having an accomplice. The latter doesn’t get you out of here. But if you can help us find whoever it is who might want you banged up for some reason …’

  ‘You should have helped me fourteen years ago. You were the only one who thought I never done it … and what did you do?’ he spat furiously.

  ‘I had my doubts, but—’

  ‘Fuck all – that’s what you did to help me back then.’ He moved toward her. ‘You knew I was innocent and you didn’t do nothing about it. You should have fought harder for me, bitch. I’ve been here in Disneyland for fourteen … fucking … years … Who do you think I blame the most?’ He gritted his teeth and let out a low growl.