by Craig McNish
“But even after you marry you will still visit the house, surely?”
“That might be so, but you will not be here to see that I do. My father has seen fit to ruin my life, so now I will pass on that favour and ruin yours. He intends to have you out of this house the day after the wedding – he told me so himself just a few hours ago. Because of the story I told he sees you as a bad influence and will hire another man to replace you. So maybe it would have been better if you had said nothing at all. Now please, speak to me no further.” Mills wanted so much to chase after Jane as she fled into the house, but could think of no words to say that might improve her mood. He stood and watched the door she had entered, now of the hope she might return and tell him she wished to change her mind, would gladly ride off with him into the night. It remained closed, and Mills scanned the horizon dismally. Never before had he been so severely chastised for telling the truth and speaking of his heart's desire.
It was a massive shock therefore when a huge amount of snow tumbled down onto Mills' head, going down the collar of his coat and his shirt, taking away his breath as he shook it from his clothes. A familiar sound of laughter made him look up, and there on the roof of the house was young John Brass; he had climbed out of his bedroom window and piled a large amount of snow at the roof's edge before pushing it over when his sister had left. It also meant in all likelihood he had heard their conversation, and would no doubt delight in Mills' misery.
“Seems you be out of favour with all now, Mills!” Master Brass called out gleefully. “They all be thinking the same as I. We don't want your sort around here, and you will not be much longer. How you would think you are good enough for my sister is a mystery I will never find the answer to – you have some nerve, I will give you that! But I cannot have everyone lavish their attentions more on a mere servant than they would on me.”
“Ah, so you are jealous of me, Master Brass! You cannot engage the ladies in conversation as well as I and loathe me for it! Well if you had asked I would have been happy to offer you my help. Instead you behave like a child who cannot have what he wants – not many females would appreciate such an attitude, especially in one of such standing as the son of Mister Brass. Don't expect such actions to win you friends, for you can be sure they will gain you enemies in far greater number.”
“If I were to tell my father you spoke to me like that...”
“Then he would without doubt tell you to be a man and not bother him with such trifling issues” Mills called back. “Or do you think he will coddle you your whole life? I would want any son of mine to stand his ground at the earliest age, not cry each time someone were to say an unkind word. I came to work for your father with the intent of having quarrel with no one, but you seem determined to make things otherwise. Your time would be far better served improving your manners than trying to make me become someone that I am not, I think.”
“A man can live his life any way he chooses, Mills! Do not feel you can tell me what to do!”
“I would not waste my time trying, Master Brass, but I do feel I ought to tell you one more thing before I retire to my room...”
“And what would that be?”
“You will have to find some other way down from that roof, for the maid has closed the window.” Mills did not even try to hold back the smile that was now on his face.
“A lie! And I will prove it!” Brass turned his body into such a position that would allow him to enter the house through his bedroom window. Mills noted that from the way he performed such actions, Brass must have done this on many an occasion. Mills laughed again when Brass moved his foot into what he expected to be an opening, only to find the toe of his boot come into contact with glass. He pulled himself back up onto the roof of the house.
“You tricked me, Mills! You kept me talking while getting someone to close the window!”
“The only person with whom I have talked is your sister; that much you have seen for yourself. So unless it is she who has closed the window of her own doing, then I have nothing more to do with it.”
“Then you must help me down at once! Fetch a ladder immediately!”
“You freely admit you dislike me and now you want my help? Well, how things change so quickly! I will fetch Mister Brass – he can see what a fool his son has been...”
“No, don't not fetch my father! I have already had a whipping for doing this a number of times before. Please, help me to get off this roof and I will speak to my father about keeping you your job.” Mills was stood shaking his head.
“You would do no such thing. All you wish to do is get down from that roof by any means possible, and you would gladly tell lies if it were to get you what you wanted. You have no intention of helping me, but I am a decent sort and so I will help you.” Mills wandered off to the stables, returning moments later with a shovel. Brass watched from the roof as Mills began to build a high stack of snow a short way out from the wall, becoming more alarmed when another visit to the stables resulted in his returning with two pails full of manure, which he spread across the top of the snow pile.
“Now you can jump without fear of breaking your neck!” Mills called out merrily. “I wouldn't wait too long; night is coming on and the snow will no doubt become like a rock during the hours of darkness.”
“You expect me to jump into a pile of manure? That's ridiculous!”
“Maybe so, but no more ridiculous than risking one's life to carry out a childish prank. Be glad you have your way and that I will soon be gone, but think a little longer before you act the same toward the next who would take my place, for maybe they will not react so kindly to your words.” Mills left. After a quarter of an hour, Brass knew he had no intention of returning to offer proper help. Left with the choice between freezing to death or getting covered in horse muck, Brass jumped. He sustained nothing worse than a slight twist to his ankle and a bruised ego.
Mills snuffed out the candle after dressing for bed and climbing underneath the covers. He had the use of a warming plate, and so the bed was of an agreeable temperature. He lay on his back, looked at the ceiling and pondered the day gone by. Much had happened, yet none of it had ended well.
John Brass wants me gone, but only after I have helped him marry off his daughter, he thought. Miss Jane thinks less of me than she does of William Cutter, and she loathes the man. And Master Brass has harried me out of a job for no other reason than he is jealous of me. Mills did think for a minute that maybe his guess Bancks had conspired with Jane Brass might be a true one, but he doubted the apprentice would have the audacity to do such a thing, make an adversary of Mister Brass. But that didn't stop Mills from loathing Bancks all the same for what he saw as stealing the woman that he loved. Jealousy abounded in all directions.
What all of this did was make Mills hateful of everyone around him. How could they treat a man in such a way, with no thought to how he would feel? What did Bancks have that he himself did not? There seemed to be no sense in the choices that Jane Brass was making. Mills thought that maybe it was time he opened their eyes, made them see the truth, who he really was. It was into Monday morning now, and Mister and Mrs Brass would be visiting the Cutters on Thursday. That's when he would act.
*
EIGHT
Ferryhill, County Durham, 2016
It was an emotional moment when the South Yorkshire Police Department vehicle came to a stop outside Church Lane Police Station. Parkes was sat in the back; she looked drawn and stared out of the window blankly, the smallest of smiles appearing on her lips when Ford approached the car door that had been opened by a WPC and taking a hold of her friend's hand to help her out.
“I'm sorry, Anna” was all she could manage to say. The two embraced. Parkes saw Harper standing a few metres away and indicated for him to come over. Now all three hugged one another on the pavement, stopping only when Parkes' Volkswagen, driven by another WPC, pulled in behind the police vehicle.
“Hey, you did great” said Harper, offering
words of encouragement. “If it wasn't for that text we could have took ages finding you. You have Detective Hawkins to thank for helping these guys track you down so fast.”
“Who's Detective Hawkins?”
“That would be me” he replied, exiting the Police Station. “I'm glad you made it back in one piece, Jane. I know you must be exhausted after everything that's happened but it's vital I interview you right away; we have a serial killer on the loose and he's got to be stopped ASAP. If you just give me a minute, I need to speak to my colleagues here.” Hawkins went over to the WPCs, shook hands and chatted with them briefly. They handed over a file and assured him every courtesy would be extended in the hunt for Mills. Declining the offer of coffee, the officer who had driven Parkes' car handed her the keys and patted her shoulder sympathetically before she and her colleague climbed into their patrol car for the journey back south.
“No doubt you want to spend time catching up but I'm afraid that'll have to wait, guys. I'll drop Jane off at home when we're done, or she can call you to come and pick her up. I don't think there's anything more I have to ask either of you at this point, so I'd appreciate your cooperation.” Ford looked like she was about to say something but Parkes gave her a look that made her think better of it.
“Give me a call when you're done” she said, giving Parkes a quick hug before leaving with Harper.
Parkes opened her eyes with a jolt, instantly trying to think of where she was and how long she'd been asleep. It was quickly ascertained she was in the police station, but as for how long she'd slept it was impossible to tell.
“How long have...”
“About twenty minutes” Hawkins said, anticipating the question. “I was going to give it an hour or so before I woke you up. So how do you feel?”
“Well, a bit more refreshed than I did a few hours ago. But this whole thing has got me terrified, and also incredibly guilty.”
“Why guilty?”
“Because it's my fault all of this even started. If I hadn't done that stupid ritual that Michael...” Hawkins held up a hand.
“Okay, stop right there. First off, you weren't the only one involved in this. In fact, as I understand it, you were the only one of your group who had reservations about the whole thing. Matt and Anna gave me a very detailed account of how all this came together; it seems the ringleader was the first one Mills disposed of. I don't know if you've been made aware by your friends or the other police officers, but Graham Hunter is currently in the ICU at the RVI in Newcastle, a fractured skull being the worst of his numerous injuries.
“But he'll live, right?”
“The doctors are optimistic he'll pull through, but there have been one or two scares. I'm sure you and your friends will be calling at the hospital soon enough and the doctors will be able to explain it all a lot better than I can. For now just be grateful that you made it out alive and do what you can to help me catch Mills before he goes on a killing spree.” To Parkes, Hawkins almost made the task sound mundane, but it shook her to the core. She'd resurrected a serial killer, been held against her will by the same and now had her own part to play in making sure he was caught. What had started out as a stupid joke had gone horribly wrong, but no one could ever have foreseen what would happen.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Tell me everything you can remember from the last four days” said Hawkins, grabbing a notebook and pen. “Even the smallest detail could prove vital, so try not to leave anything out.” For the mentally shattered Parkes, it was a big ask.
“Michael had been researching the legend of Robert Mills for part of his uni course” she began. Over the course of the next three hours, Parkes talked as Hawkins made reams of notes and asked her questions. He'd even had a sketch artist sit in and make up a composite drawing, which must have been a very good likeness because Parkes visibly shook when she looked at it.
“So what happens now, Detective Hawkins?”
“To be honest, I'm not one hundred percent sure” he admitted freely. “This is like no other murder case I've ever handled so there's only so much we can establish. The rest will have to rely on guesswork and gut instinct. We've got a fair bit going for us; Mills is probably still trying to find his bearings so will be slowed by his confusion. The country is much more densely populated now than it was three centuries ago so there's more chance he'll be spotted sooner because he's going to stick out like a sore thumb. His options at getting around are limited; no way can he drive a car and maybe not even ride a bike so either he'll be on foot or possibly on a horse. And he'll have no idea of the strength of resources we have at our disposal to find him; he might just think we'll give up after a couple of days if he lies low. Well he's never been more wrong.
“But the lad has stuff in his favour as well, like his ability to live off the land. He's used to being outdoors so it'll be far easier for him to travel across fields and wooded areas. We can't have choppers in the air searching for him twenty-four seven so we have to constantly narrow the search to an area we can only predict he might be in. I have no idea at his sense of direction but from what you tell me, I'd say he has every intention of coming back to Ferryhill. One thing that does interest me was that you said he seemed 'obsessed' by many things...”
“Especially when it came to stuff like counting his footsteps” said Parkes, furrowing her brow. “He has this fascination about doing certain things in an exact order – it's like he's got OCD or something.”
“And didn't you say also that he talked about the cycles of the moon?”
“Whenever he mentioned some day or other he would always make a reference to what the moon was like that night. I just guessed he had an interest in astronomy or something. You think that could be important?”
“Well I found this on Google” said Hawkins, turning his laptop round slightly so Parkes could see the screen. It was a website to do with space or something, she noted. Hawkins clicked on a link for the moon and pulled up on screen the lunar cycles for the current year of two thousand and sixteen.
“Mills isn't completely stupid; he knows he doesn't belong in this era and will want to blend into the background as much as he can. If I was him I'd be lying low during the day and doing most of my walking at night. Now the full moon cycle started on the twenty-fourth, which means he has two days of potentially decent light to navigate by at night. I've checked the seven-day forecast and it's supposed to be clear skies so he's going to have the moon but it's going to be damn cold out there, which poses another question...”
“What's that?”
“If this guy already died once, is he even alive?” Parkes felt her stomach twist into a knot.
“What? What!”
“I realise this sounds like something out of a Hollywood film, but I'm serious. I have to try and cover every conceivable angle and the last time I checked you could only die the once. Tell me about Mills; how he moved, spoke, general demeanour. Did he breathe, for instance?” Parkes almost felt bad for not being able to give the question an immediate answer.
“I...I'm not sure...”
“It was a cold night, right?”
“Very...”
“And you were fairly close by on at least one occasion when Mills spoke?” Parkes nodded her head in confirmation. “So can you remember seeing a cloud of breath as he was speaking?” She closed her eyes, screwed up her face in concentration. It all began to play back in Parkes' head; she tried concentrating solely on Parkes. Had she seen his breath in the cold night air?
No, she didn't think that she had. Oh, crap...
“Best I can remember? I don't think I did.” She was surprised at how calm Hawkins remained as he jotted a note down on his pad and circled it.
“So that leaves the question of how we might be able to capture him. The arresting officer at the time – a PC...Crawford – fired his taser at Mills, is that right?”
“Yes. I looked through the windscreen of his car for a second and saw the wires going i
nto Mills' stomach.”
“And according to the details given to me by my South Yorkshire colleagues, he just pulled them out of his body like nothing had happened” said Hawkins, glancing over the report. “I've had one of those things fired at me and believe it when I say it hurts like an absolute bitch. They can take down guys twice my size, no problem. So Mills seems to be impervious to its effects, or maybe even finding it beneficial in some way. Guns could only be used if we hit crisis point and there's no other option but if the guy just laughs at a taser he's not likely to be too upset if we use a beanbag gun or rubber bullets, I would have thought. That leaves tear gas or maybe stun grenades at a push but for those to be effective he needs to be in a confined space, and we need him out in the open air to find him. Damn it!” Hawkins threw down his pen, looking totally pissed off. “This is going to be a needle in a fucking haystack.”
*
Mills couldn't help but laugh when he saw the sign at the roadside welcoming him to the small town of Selby. He wasn't sure how far he'd covered since he'd killed that man at the side of the road, but it had meant a change in plan and for that he was not amused at all.
“Fancy naming a township after a drunken vagrant” Mills sneered, staying inside the field and keeping himself concealed behind the hedge along its border. “Why, the old fool would have been delighted at such a thing!” And so Mills continued to chat away to himself as he walked. It had crossed his mind a few times that he hadn't eaten since arriving quite unexpectedly back in Ferryhill a few days earlier, and only had a small amount to drink, but he'd always been of the belief that his stomach would tell him when such things were necessary and so he'd ignored it. His navigating was rudimentary, but effective; head back in the direction travelled from and avoid confrontation as much as possible. He knew that there was always consequences for killing a man and was amazed by the amount of people he had passed, even in what he had thought were remote areas. So many strange buildings, which he guessed must have been houses. Large structures into which many others came and went, often carrying items when they left. Mills thought it must be some kind of market, but had the good sense not to go and investigate further. He felt suspicious of everything and everyone. But most of all, he felt alone. That was why he planned to return to Ferryhill, for he was sure Jane would do the same.