He had his other arm around Leah’s throat, pinning her to his chest. Her eyes wide as she stared at me. Then he dipped his free hand into a pocket and came out with a four-inch kitchen knife. Pressed it against her throat. ‘Isn’t this fun, boys and girls?’
I let my head fall forward, tried to drag in something deeper than a thin tortured wheeze. More filthy water cascaded from my hair, running down my face, pooling at my feet as I hung there, rough rope around my wrists, more around my ankles, fixed to the same bars set into the breeze-blocks.
So much pain and struggling and all I’d managed to achieve was swapping places with Leah MacNeil. And that was hardly an improvement, was it?
What a bloody idiot.
Franklin was right, I was an old man. A stupid, useless, old man.
Who was about to die. Probably in screaming agony, going by what Gordon Smith had done to David Quinn in that Stirling warehouse.
Unless I could get him mad enough to lose control and make it quick. Or the cavalry arrived in the nick of time?
Now would be good.
Any minute now.
Please.
Smith raised his big bushy eyebrows and beamed, as if he was performing for a crowd of small children. ‘I understand from my dear friend, Leah, that you’re a police officer. Isn’t that interesting? Now, I wonder how we can turn that to our—’
‘GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU FUCKING PRICK!’ Helen.
Oh thank God.
She’d squeezed herself through the gap between the big door and the wall again. Standing there, holding a dirty-big dod of wood with a lump of rusted metal on the end. Not quite a pickaxe handle, but it’d been something similar before the years had got to it. Sledgehammer? Splitting maul? Whatever it was, in her hands it looked deadly.
Smith backed away a couple of paces, turning so he was facing Helen and me at the same time. Still with that kids’ TV presenter smile. Which turned into a pantomime frown. ‘Now, now, we shouldn’t use naughty language like that. Have to set a good example for the younger generation, don’t we?’ Tightening his arm around Leah’s throat.
‘Let her go, Gordon. Let her go and you and me can talk about this like adults.’
‘Oh no. Why would I abandon lovely Leah? She’s been such a good girl, haven’t you, Leah?’
‘I swear to God, Gordon, if you don’t let her go I’ll—’
‘Threats don’t help anything, do they, Leah?’
She made a high-pitched yelping noise as the knife twisted against her throat and a thin line of blood trickled its way down into her T-shirt where it spread like a poppy blooming.
‘All right! All right.’ Helen lowered her weapon. ‘Let her go. Take me, and let her go.’
‘Well, that doesn’t sound very—’ Smith’s face creased and his head drooped. A deep breath, hissed out between pursed lips. ‘I know, Caroline, but I’m dealing with it … Because I’m dealing with it! You can see me dealing with it!’ He raised his eyes to the corrugated roofing. ‘I know! Please, for once in your bloody life, can you—’ A pause, then Smith’s shoulders curled inwards. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re right: there’s no need for that kind of language.’ He glanced towards the corner of the barn. ‘I apologise.’
There was something there – lurking in the gap between the tractor bogey and the wall. Like a granite thermos flask with silver handles fixed to it. That’s what Gordon Smith was talking to. And apparently, it was answering back.
Helen stared at him, mouth hanging open. ‘What the hell are you on?’
Talking to his long-dead wife, presumably, because this whole situation wasn’t buggered up enough as it was.
‘Now, if you don’t mind, Caroline, I’m trying to— … Yes … I know … I know! For goodness’ sake, woman, can you not let me—’ A longsuffering sigh. ‘Fine. But for the record I think this is a terrible idea for everyone concerned, OK? But if you think you know best, we’ll do it your way, shall we? As usual.’
He lowered the knife and took his arm from around Leah’s throat. ‘Go on, then. Off you go and be with your granny.’
Surely it couldn’t be that easy, could it?
Now all we had to do was get Smith’s dead wife to put in a good word for me and we could all go home.
After Helen had bashed his brains in, of course …
37
Leah ran into her grandmother’s arms, burying herself in a fierce hug. Voice a muffled sob. ‘It’s all been so horrible!’
‘I know, sweetheart, but it’s over now.’ Stroking Leah’s hair. ‘Shhh … Shhh … It’ll be OK, I promise.’ Then Helen stepped back, breaking the embrace. ‘I need you to go wait outside for me.’ Kissing her forehead. ‘Granny has something she has to take care of.’
Leah scrubbed a hand across her eyes. ‘You’re going to hurt Grandad.’
‘He’s not your grandad. He never was.’ She raised the rusted sledgehammer / splitting maul again. ‘Now go wait outside.’
‘No.’ Leah retreated towards us, feet scuffing through the dust. ‘You can’t hurt him.’
‘Please, sweetheart, you don’t—’
‘He’s my grandad!’
‘HE KILLED YOUR MOTHER!’ Helen’s eyes shone in the dim light, face darkening as she followed Leah further into the barn. ‘He tied her to the wall in his basement and he tortured her to death!’
Still backing away. ‘That isn’t—’
‘HE TOOK PHOTOGRAPHS! I’ve seen them.’ A sniff and Helen shook her head. Pulled out her phone and held it up. ‘I’ve seen what he did to her.’
‘What he did to her? How about what you did to her? You never loved her!’
‘Of course I loved her!’ Tears glistening on Helen’s cheeks now. ‘She was my baby, and—’
‘Then why were you never there for her?’ Voice sharp and cruel, circling Helen, spitting it out. ‘If you loved Mum you wouldn’t have spent half her life in prison! And even when you weren’t, Caroline told me all about the drinking and the drugs and your dodgy criminal mates coming to the house at all hours. Police kicking down the door every other day.’
Gordon Smith stepped towards them.
But when I opened my mouth to warn Helen, all that came out was a barbed-wire wheeze.
‘Leah, that’s not … I made some mistakes, but—’
‘Mum hated you. You poison everything you touch. She was better off dead than being with you.’
Helen wiped the tears away, but more spilled down her cheeks. ‘I didn’t—’
‘Granny and Grandad looked after me, because you weren’t there! You weren’t there for Mum and you weren’t there for me, because you’re a selfish cow!
‘Leah, it’s not—’
‘I HATE YOU!’ Leah’s hand flashed out, the slap ringing in the barn’s cold air.
Helen’s phone flew, bounced once off the concrete floor, then skittered over the edge of the pit and disappeared. She turned back to face Leah, a scarlet weal already starting to swell up on her cheek. Muscles cording in her neck like guy ropes. Empty hand clenched tight into a fist. Body trembling.
Deep breath. Force it out. Warn her. A barely audible, ‘Look out!’ crackled from my ruined throat. Ropes biting into my wrists and ankles as I thrashed against the restraints. Getting nowhere.
And Helen didn’t move. She stood there staring at Leah’s twisted flushed face.
Gordon was behind Helen now, the kitchen knife clutched in his right hand as he snatched his left arm around her throat, just like he had Leah. Helen stiffened, but the blade was already streaking down towards her stomach.
A thunk, a grunt, then another and another and another, the knife punching its way into Helen’s T-shirt, over and over. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk …
The rusty splitting maul / sledgehammer clattered to the barn floor and Helen’s knees gave way. Then Gordon Smith let go and she slumped beside it. Dark red spreading out into the grey concrete.
He stepped ba
ck, arms outstretched, standing perfectly still for a moment. ‘And: scene.’ He gave Leah a deep bow. Turned and did the same to me.
Leah bit her lips together. Then wiped a hand across her tear-stained cheeks. Shuddered out a breath. Raised her eyes from her murdered grandmother, to Smith. Voice small and hesitant. ‘Did I … Did I do it right?’
‘You did it perfectly, Pickle Pudding Pie!’ He swept her up in a hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning around a couple of times, before depositing her back on her feet again. ‘You’re the best granddaughter an old man could ever have. Yes you are.’ Booping her on the nose. ‘I’m proud of you.’
Oh, for God’s sake …
Looked as if we knew what happened when a couple-that-kills loses one half. It recruits another.
‘You pair of bastards.’ A sandpaper whisper, that probably didn’t travel more than a couple of feet.
Leah skipped over, grinning. ‘I can’t believe you fell for all that text nonsense. “Oh, I’m so scared!”, “I don’t know where I am!”, “Please come rescue me, because I’m a weak and feeble woman and you’re a big strong man!”’ A mocking pout. ‘Bit of a sexist bastard, aren’t you?’
‘Language!’ Smith glowered at her. ‘We’ve talked about this, Leah.’
‘Sorry, Grandad.’ She lowered her eyes, all scrunched up with deference. Then reached for my jacket. ‘And speaking of phones.’ Going through my pockets till she pulled mine free.
Leah gave it a quick once-over, then turned and handed it to Gordon Smith. ‘Here you go.’
‘Thank you kindly.’ He flipped the case open and poked at the screen. ‘What’s the passcode?’
Wasn’t easy, with my throat like scorched gravel, but I managed to force it out: ‘Go fuck yourself.’
‘What did I say about bad language? Leah?’
She curled a hand into a fist and slammed it into my stomach. Only she wasn’t used to punching people, and I was far too used to being punched. She’d telegraphed it badly enough I had plenty of time to clench all the muscles and be ready for it.
‘Now, Mr …?’ he looked at Leah, eyebrows raised.
She smiled back. ‘Henderson.’
‘Ah yes, Mr Henderson, don’t you think it’d be fun if we sent your “guvnor” a series of texts saying you’ve searched the family farm and moved on to greener pastures? Maybe you’re having a long dark night of the soul? After all, there’s lots of places a poor depressed policeman can throw himself off the cliffs and into the sea around here.’
‘It won’t work.’ Starting to get a hint of my old voice back.
‘It did with Leah’s mum, Sophie. I was particularly proud of that suicide note; six pages of tortured angst, and they believed every single word. Took sixteen years for you to come sniffing about like Dixon of Dock Green. Now can I please have the passcode for your phone, or would you rather play Spanish Inquisition? I have lots of lovely toys in the car: all sharp and spikey and so full of screams.’
‘You can’t trust him, Leah. You were right – sooner or later he’s going to turn on you.’
‘No, he won’t.’ She took his hand. ‘Grandad’s been there for me my entire life. We’re family.’
‘He’s insane! He’s talking to his dead wife, Leah! You can’t trust …’
Wait a minute.
Her grin was huge, eyebrows up. ‘That was my idea. We rehearsed it all the way up in the car.’
‘Isn’t she clever?’ Smith pursed his lips together, nodding as if he was accepting an award. ‘People like a compelling narrative, Mr Henderson. The dotty old man talking to his dead wife. It’s a standard enough trope – so far, so pedestrian – but what if she answers back? Oooh, he must be dangerous and deranged! A wild and crazy man!’
‘And you fell for that too.’ Leah gazed up at him. ‘Grandad won’t hurt me, because he loves me and I love him.’
Time to start on plan B.
I stared at Smith. ‘You’re shagging her? What, your real wife dies of bowel cancer and you take up with the girl who thinks you’re her grandfather?’
The smile slipped from his face. ‘You watch your mouth.’
‘Moved her right into the bedroom and let her take your dead wife’s place, didn’t you?’
‘I’m warning you, Mr Henderson.’ Teeth bared, knife clutched in his blood-dripping hand.
‘Did you bother waiting till she was sixteen, or did you come back from the funeral and screw her on the kitchen counter? What was she, fourteen? Because we know you like them young, don’t we?’
‘YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH!’ Moving fast, knife flashing upwards.
‘No!’ Leah got in between us, arms out, blocking the way. ‘He’s doing it on purpose, Grandad! Trying to get you mad. Shh … It’s OK. Shh …’ Sounding exactly like her grandmother. ‘He wants you to kill him quickly. And we want access to his phone, right?’
Gordon Smith lowered the knife. ‘You’re right, you’re right.’ And the smile was back. ‘You’re a good girl, Leah.’ He placed the blade’s tip against my chest, Helen MacNeil’s blood seeping into my shirt. ‘I don’t know what sort of perversions you get up to in your family, Mr Henderson, but Leah is my granddaughter. We don’t do that sort of thing.’ He put a bit of pressure on the knife.
It was like being scalded, waves of burning heat radiating out across my chest. Breath hissing out between my clenched teeth. Fresh scarlet joining Helen’s blood on my shirt.
‘Now, I’m going to ask you very nicely for the passcode to your phone, and you’re going to give it to me, or we won’t be friends any more. And you really won’t like that.’
‘Go – to – Hell.’
‘Think this is bad?’ Twisting the knife, sending a fresh wave searing through the skin. ‘Not even gone in a half-inch, yet. Now, give me the passcode.’
‘Actually,’ Leah put a hand on his arm, ‘there might be a better way. Can I have his phone back?’
‘Of course you can, sweetie.’
She turned the thing over. Held it up so he could see the back. ‘See this round thing here? It’s a fingerprint reader, so you don’t have to keep putting your code in to unlock the phone.’ Leah reached up and grabbed my left wrist. ‘Open your hand.’
‘Get stuffed.’
Smith twisted the knife again. ‘Let’s not be rude to the young lady.’
‘ARRRRGH!’ Couldn’t help it. My fingers uncurled on their own, going from a fist to a claw as a fresh wave blistered out.
She grabbed the middle finger – yanked it back hard enough to make a dull pop sound deep inside my hand and red-hot glass exploded all the way up my arm.
‘Jesus …’
Leah pressed my dislocated finger’s tip to the phone’s sensor. ‘This little piggy isn’t working.’
Arthritis screamed through the twisted joint. Then she grabbed my index finger and hauled that one back too. More broken glass, lancing deep into the flesh.
The phone buzzed in her hands as she stuck the finger against the sensor. ‘And we’re in!’ Leaning back against the tractor bogey. ‘Now, texts, texts, text, texts …’ Poking at the screen while my hand burned. ‘Here we go. Oh, look, you’ve got a new one from someone called “Dr McFruitLoop”. Let’s see … “Ash, Mother has shown me some of Leah’s messages. They worry me. Something about them seems staged. As if she’s faking speaking like someone else.”’ Leah nodded. ‘You see, men aren’t bright enough to spot that kind of thing. Do you have any idea how much of a hassle it is to jump from the text keyboard to the numerical one and back again to write “into” with a number two instead of “T.O.”? Anyway, let’s see … What shall we say, Grandad?’
Smith pulled the knifepoint out of my chest. ‘How about we text whoever’s in charge first?’
‘Erm …’ Creases bloomed between her eyebrows as she prodded the screen. ‘We’ve got a DI Malcolmson and a DCI Jacobson. Ha! Henderson, Malcolmson, Jacobson – looks like Oldcastle Police hire a lot of wannabe Vikings, doesn’t it?’ More
prodding. ‘He’s got lots more recent texts from the Malcolmson number.’
‘Then let’s start there. “I have searched the farm and there is no one there. No signs of habitation at all.”’
‘Good. Then, how about … “I don’t know what to do next. I’m sorry. I’ve failed you all.” Send.’
‘Do another one: “I am going to drive down the coast and try to think. There has to be a way I can make it up to everyone. I do not think I can live with myself if there is not.”
‘Hold on.’ Head down over the phone, fingers going. ‘Have to trim nine characters off, so it’ll fit … And: send.’ A grin. ‘This is fun.’
Gordon Smith turned to me. ‘Aren’t you going to say, “You’ll never get away with this?”’
‘You’re going to kill Leah, and she knows it. Sooner or later, whatever the hell is wrong with your twisted bastard brain will snap, and you’ll carve her up into little pieces.’
‘Dear, oh dear, your language really is atrocious. And you’re missing your cue.’ He stuck his feet together, arms outstretched, chin up, like a circus ringmaster about to announce the next act. ‘This is the part of the pantomime when Evil Uncle Abanazar explains his wicked plan to poor hapless Aladdin. You’re a police officer, surely you’re dying to know what my motivation is? When did Caroline and I start killing people and why? How did we ensnare darling Leah in our web of depravity? What we’re going to do next?’ Smith gave a lopsided shrug. ‘To be honest, I never really like those Bond villain moments. Always seem rather staged, don’t they? Best to leave some things to the audience’s imagination.’
Shoulders back, Ash. Chin up. ‘The police are on their way. I called them before we came in here.’
‘Good job we’re not doing Pinocchio, or your nose would be three-foot long.’ He pulled a length of white electrical cable from his pocket. ‘Did you like being garrotted? I’ve never tried it before, but it was all over the papers this weekend, wasn’t it? “The Oldcastle Child-Strangler strikes again”, and I do so like to be “down with the cool kids”.’ That indulgent Santa smile spread across his face. ‘Apparently it’s all the rage.’
The Coffinmaker's Garden Page 35