Darke

by Matt Hilton

  He stood, slow and deliberate. He held up his cuffed wrist, and his lips twitched, curled up at one side and displayed an eyetooth. ‘This is what? A twenty-first century version of Jacob Marley’s chains?’

  Kerry didn’t have another explanation for him – the cuff was symbolic of his sins, the way Marley’s chains and locks were of his. It was better he come to that conclusion than be told.

  He grasped the rigid section of the cuffs with his other hand. Twisted, yanked. To him the cuffs were tangible. The steel bracelet nipped his flesh, blanched the colour from his skin. Discomfort wormed across his features. ‘You’d better have a handcuff key, Inspector Darke.’

  ‘You know I can’t release those cuffs from you. They’re your burden, for what you did.’

  ‘Yeah? Well there’s the supreme fucking irony, then. What’s the point of lying now? I’ve done wrong, Inspector. Worse shit than any copper knows about. But I don’t deserve this!’ Again he twisted the cuff, but it refused to open or move more than a fraction. ‘I’m not being a pussy. If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime, right? I was always willing to pay the price. But this—’ he yanked the cuff a third time ‘—this is fucking bollocks!’

  ‘You shot and killed a mother and child,’ Kerry reminded him. ‘You murdered them, Swain, an innocent little girl and her mum in cold blood. You deserve far worse than what you got.’

  He cocked his head on one side. ‘Is that what I did?’

  ‘You know fine well what you did, you bastard. What was it you just said; what’s the point of lying now? Accept that you’re a murderous piece of shit and maybe those cuffs will fall off your wrist, and then you can go to hell where you belong.’

  ‘I’m a murderer, am I?’ He gave a brief shrug, and his mouth twitched. ‘Well, yeah, I can’t deny it; I’ve killed more than once. But the mother and kid?’ He shook his head.

  ‘Liar.’ Involuntarily, Kerry stepped towards him. ‘We’ve got the murder weapon, and bullets with your fingerprints on them. We’ve got your burnt out car.’

  ‘You’ve got jack shit.’

  ‘You ran, and you tried to kill me. Tell me those weren’t the actions of a guilty man.’

  ‘Those were the actions of an innocent man unprepared to take the rap for somebody else’s crime.’

  Kerry was tempted to spit on him; if it would have any effect on him she would. ‘Liar.’

  ‘You keep calling me that. But am I really lying? Think about it, Inspector Darke. Tell me the truth now. Isn’t there something that doesn’t sit quite right with your detective’s intuition?’

  ‘If what you’re saying is true, help me out here,’ she said. ‘Who was your driver?’

  Swain wagged a finger at her. ‘It isn’t as easy as that.’

  ‘Why not? You’re pleading your innocence. If it wasn’t you, tell me who really fired those shots. It had to be the other person in the car if it wasn’t you.’

  ‘Disappointing.’

  She said nothing. If he was a figment of her subconscious mind, how could he tell her the identity of the driver if she didn’t already know it? She sighed into her cupped palms.

  But Swain wasn’t finished with her.

  ‘There are no secrets in the underworld,’ he said.

  She lowered her hands.

  ‘And by the underworld I’m not talking about fire and brimstone,’ he went on.

  ‘You mean the criminal underworld?’

  Swain eyed her with scorn. ‘For a detective, you take some catching on. The thing is, I know who shot the Ghedis, and it’s for you to find out.’

  ‘Tell me then.’

  ‘No. You need to find out for yourself, and when you do, you’ll realise you were wrong about me. When that happens, there’s something I want from you, and it isn’t a bloody apology.’

  ‘I don’t owe you a bloody thing.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What do mean by yet?’

  ‘You do something for me,’ he said, ‘and I’ll do something for you.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘You don’t know what I’m offering…’

  ‘I’m not religious,’ Kerry admitted, ‘but I know enough not to make bargains with the devil.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He laughed at the notion. ‘I’m not interested in your immortal soul. I want something else.’

  ‘I’m doing nothing for you.’

  ‘Not even if I tell you who the Fell Man is?’

  ‘What? How do you know about him?’ If she could she’d grab the front of his shirt and shake the answer from him.

  ‘I know stuff.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Secrets.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ How could Swain know about her obsession with catching the Fell Man, unless he was a manifestation of her subconscious mind? ‘You have no idea who he is or what he did to—’

  ‘To Sally,’ he finished for her. ‘Yes. I can tell you what happened to your sister, too.’

  Knowing her name didn’t change a thing if she were the one subconsciously feeding the information to him. But was that a chance she was willing to take?

  ‘Tell me then,’ she said, on the verge of pleading.

  ‘Steady on, Inspector. There’s the small matter of you delivering on your side of the bargain first. Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.’

  Her fists clenched, and she stood shivering. ‘You have to give me something first. You have to convince me you know about him.’

  ‘No. You need to think. You have to decide if helping me is worth getting what you want most.’

  ‘Tell me and I’ll do—’

  ‘Anything?’

  Her mouth nipped down on a false pledge. Instead she said, ‘There are boundaries I’ll never cross.’

  Swain rocked his head. ‘Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. I’ll tell you what, Inspector Darke. You think I’m a despicable man, a right bastard, and you’re correct. I make no apologies for my nature. But I’m not unreasonable. I will give you time to think about my offer. When you come to the only decision I’m interested in hearing, give me a shout.’

  ‘No. Wait I’ll—’

  Swain was gone.

  ‘Come back!’ Kerry rushed forward into the vacated space, again swiping at air, as if she could claw him back into existence.

  ‘Come back. I’ll give you my decision right now!’

  She waited, breathless.

  Swain was a no show.

  ‘Come back, you bastard,’ she hollered. ‘Where are you? You’ve haunted me all day and now…’ She was shouting at thin air. She sank to her knees, hands fisted against her sternum. ‘Come back. Please?’

  There was movement to her left, a brief darkening of the doorway to the entrance hall.

  ‘Swain?’

  But it wasn’t Swain.

  Girl wouldn’t be viewed directly. She swept to the right, and Kerry tried to follow her. Girl darted. Kerry understood the rules. She forced herself to stare dead ahead, and in her peripheral vision Girl took on more solidity. She stood, as grey and morose as ever, hair hanging lank across her undefined features, and shook her head.

  If Girl’s display was one of reproach, warning or regret, Kerry couldn’t tell. And when she couldn’t resist checking for clarity, Girl disappeared as resolutely as Swain had a minute ago.

  23

  There was a long, drunken, rambling voicemail message on his mobile phone when Adam finished his shift. Because of the strict security procedures he worked under at HMP Belmarsh, prison officers weren’t permitted to carry their personal phones while on duty. Once he’d checked in his radio and other kit, and returned to the locker room beyond the security barriers to change out of his uniform, he found the message from Kerry. He waited until he was seated in his car before listening to it, rather than while fielding goodbyes and banter from other officers going off duty. He couldn’t believe the sheer insanity she was talking.

  Ghosts. Hallucinations. Making deals with the devil.
>
  She’d bloody lost it!

  He drove home at speed, but the closer he got to their house the less enthusiastic he grew for a confrontation. He circled the block twice before finding a parking spot for his Ford, and it wasn’t due to there being no closer spot — some of the residents had already left home for morning shifts — more that he was using the excuse to think. He trudged to the house, and let himself in. The place was silent. After getting pissed, Kerry must have passed out. His instinct was to leave her to it, let her sleep it off: maybe when she woke she’d be less inclined to babbling about supernatural nonsense.

  He took off his jacket and hung it over the end of the banister. Wan early morning light leaked onto the upper landing through the open bathroom door. Their bedroom door was shut. He sucked in a steadying breath. Moved along the vestibule for the kitchen. A strong coffee or two, maybe something stronger, wouldn’t go amiss. But he’d the feeling Kerry had wiped out their stock of alcohol last night. As he passed the living room he glanced inside. Saw an upturned basin, a scrubbing brush, some cloths and other cleaning items scattered on the carpet. He saw Kerry.

  She wasn’t on the settee or easy chair, but seated at the small table they used for dinner on special occasions. She’d discarded her jacket, and shoes, but was otherwise dressed in the clothing she’d gone to work in yesterday. Her ankles were crossed under the straight-backed chair, her upper body slumped over the table, head nestled on her folded arms. Her hair concealed her features, but a single lock rose and fell with each exhalation. She was asleep, or had fallen unconscious. He’d bet on the latter judging by how drunk she’d sounded on the phone. Directly in front of her was her laptop computer. A screen saver danced on the screen, since it had defaulted to sleep mode. He didn’t have to be a detective like Kerry to figure she’d fallen asleep while surfing the net.

  He moved tentatively towards her. Spotted a fan of wet carpet, an empty Scotch bottle, some crumpled lager tins, even a depleted bottle of dark rum, although she normally loathed the stuff. The room stank worse than it had after the spillage the other day. He checked his wristwatch. She was supposed to be at work in less than two hours. She was in no fit state, and that was before he considered her manic rambling of last night. He would phone her in sick if it came to it.

  He was tempted to leave her be, but the longer he put off the inevitable, the worse things could get. He reached to touch her shoulder. The computer screen caught his attention. He checked his partner wasn’t about to wake suddenly, and instead touched the track pad on the laptop. The screen came alive, but demanded a four-digit password. Adam knew it, Kerry’s collar number from when she first joined Cumbria Constabulary. By sheer coincidence it was the month and year in which her sister Sally was born: 1187. Adam gently tapped it in and the computer reverted to the last website she’d perused.

  Adam exhaled in disappointment.

  Displayed on-screen was the contact page to a bullshitter claiming to be a paranormal sleuth and demonologist. The man’s name was enough to tell he was a charlatan — Elias Tiberius Price was a theatrical nom de plume if ever Adam had heard one — and that was without the posed photo caught in dramatic night vision, vivid greens and shades of grey, and reflective eyes, and not to mention an archaic wooden cross studded with iron nail heads that Price wielded directly at the camera.

  Adam read the legend on screen, written in a typically eerie font that dripped green ectoplasm. To book your consultation or spiritual house clearance, contact Britain’s pre-eminent multi-faith exorcist via the form below. All major credit cards and PayPal accepted.

  ‘For God’s sake, Kerry,’ he whispered. Adam was agnostic to the belief in ghosts, the supernatural, and things that went bump in the night. But he believed in crooks and con men, and could recognise a scam when he saw one. ‘Tell me you didn’t contact this dick-head?’

  He wasn’t computer literate enough to tell if she’d emailed Price or not, but he wasn’t having any ghost buster coming around their place splashing holy water and talking gibberish. Pulling the computer around, he began typing.

  His message was short and sweet.

  Ignore any previous emails you’ve got from this account i’ve realised your a scumbag fraudster who prays on vunnerable people.

  He didn’t bother signing off, just hit send and hoped that would be the last of it.

  He’d stabbed the send key too hard, because Kerry flinched at the sharp noise, murmured, and pushed upright with a groan of self-pity. She stared through bleary eyes as he repositioned the laptop in front of her. Her sclera was red, and her right eyelid drooped. Dried tears had left scum in the corners of both eyes and formed salty patches on her cheeks. She didn’t immediately comprehend what, never mind who, she was looking at. She reared away and had to catch herself on her left elbow to avoid spilling off the chair. She righted herself, placed a hand on her forehead, and smacked her lips to work up some moisture. ‘Uh…Adam,’ she croaked, ‘you’re home.’

  ‘Yeah. Look at you. What a bloody state to get yourself in!’

  ‘Please don’t start with me,’ she moaned, and cradled her head in her arms again.

  ‘So you don’t want my help? That isn’t what you said when you phoned last night.’

  She snorted into the table.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ Adam snapped.

  She pushed up again, and this time managed to focus on him. ‘I said you took your time getting here.’

  ‘You rang my personal mobile. You know if you need me you have to go through the proper channels. I didn’t get your bloody message till this morning.’ He snatched up the empty lager tins off the floor. ‘Maybe it’s a good job. I wouldn’t have been pleased if I’d come home early and found you pissed up.’

  ‘What? I’m not allowed a drink?’

  ‘Not if it sends you off your bloody rocker, Kerry. For God’s sake, do you even remember what you were raving about on the phone?’ He coughed in disbelief. He made a quick trip to the kitchen, dumping the empty cans in a wastebin. He bustled back into the room as if there’d been no break in their conversation. ‘I doubt you even remember making the call.’

  ‘I remember.’ While he was out the room she’d somehow righted herself in the chair. She rubbed some life into her features. Her hands flopped down on the table, suddenly stricken. ‘If you’d suffered what I did yesterday, you wouldn’t be as judgmental.’

  ‘I hardly think I’m being judgmental.’ He grabbed the empty scotch bottle, grasped for the rum. He shook the half-empty bottle at her. ‘I just don’t think getting sloshed as bad as this can be any good for you. Have you seen the time?’

  ‘Oh, shit!’

  ‘Well, there’s no way you can go to work in this state, is there?’

  ‘I have to.’ Pushing up, her knees betrayed her. She sat down hard again.

  ‘Yeah. Sit down and stay put. You’re not going anywhere, Kerry.’

  She glared. ‘So first I’m not allowed a drink, now you’re telling me where I can or can’t go. Stuff you, Adam.’

  ‘You’re not fit to go to work. Look at you. You’re still drunk.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just hung-over. A shower—’

  ‘Would be a great idea,’ he agreed. ‘You’re bloody stinking. If you walk in the nick smelling like that, you’ll be out on your ear in two seconds flat. Oh, and by the way, you can forget about driving there. Do you want to lose your licence, or worse still, kill somebody? Then you’ll know all about it, when you’ve got another bloody vengeful spirit haunting you!’

  She gawped. ‘I told you about Swain?’

  ‘See! I knew you wouldn’t remember the message you left me.’ He hoisted a bottle in each hand. ‘I’m not talking about these kind of spirits, am I? Yes, you frigging mentioned Swain. You said he’s following you around, tormenting you, offering deals to tell you where to find the Fell Man. Have you any idea how insane that sounds, Kerry? Jesus! Then when I get home, I find you’ve been contacting some dick-head claiming
to be an exorcist! How bloody gullible can you get?’

  Kerry peered at the laptop. It had only occurred to her that the screen was uncharacteristically lit when it should have fallen into sleep mode hours ago. ‘You snooped on me?’

  ‘I didn’t need to snoop. You left the last page up that you were looking at.’

  ‘But my password…’

  ‘Like I don’t know it?’ He used the neck of the Scotch bottle as a pointer. ‘As if you don’t know mine?’

  ‘I don’t snoop around your computer; you’ve no right to spy on me, Adam.’ She stood, and tried to force past him. Adam stood his ground.

  ‘I wasn’t spying. Just seeing what the hell’s been giving you these stupid ideas about ghosts.’

  She jabbed a finger at the computer. ‘I went on there after I saw Swain, not before. I was only looking for some kind of explanation for what I’m experiencing.’

  ‘Well you sure as hell won’t get it from Elias-fucking-Price! Bloody hell, Kerry, you’re supposed to be a detective! I’d’ve thought you’d be able to spot a bloody scammer when you see one. What do you expect to get from him? I’ll tell you what. He’ll come in, roll his eyes, speak a few words in Latin and proclaim your house haunted by demons or some such bollocks. Then he’ll hit you with how much it’s going to cost you to get rid of them. Jesus wept!’

  On the face of it, in the cold light of day, she had to accept how ridiculous the notion of vengeful spirits sounded. And if she admitted how crazy it was then those proclaiming to be experts in the occult had to be as equally stupid. ‘You don’t need a witch doctor,’ he snapped, ‘you need to see a real one.’

  ‘I don’t need a doctor.’

  ‘Really? So this all strikes you as the behaviour of a sane person?’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Kerry was growing strident, but Adam was prepared to match her.

  ‘I know that you aren’t being haunted, Kerry. Not by Swain and not by your imaginary friend.’ He slammed down the bottles on the table, jabbed a finger at the side of his shaven head. ‘It’s all up here. You’re stressed out, not well. I’ve told you before. Your bloody job is going to do your head in. In fact, forget I said that. It has done your head in. Now sit down, and don’t move. I’m going to phone your boss and let him know you won’t be in until you’ve sorted yourself out.’