by Matt Drabble
“I’m guessing that was pretty simple to figure out?” she smiled sadly and Danny knew when to be quiet.
“Sometimes it’s tough you know. Have you ever been in a relationship with another person and you start to sync up? Start to finish each other’s sentences?”
Danny thought about Nathan and how close they currently were to having such a bond, and also how much it scared him.
“Imagine being inside their head,” she continued. “Imagine never having a moment’s surprise, always knowing what they were thinking about you, what annoys them, what they want for breakfast. It got to the point that I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began; every thought in my head was mingling with his and I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t touch anybody’s hand at that point without losing myself. Can you imagine what 1000 confused and over-excited student minds all going off at once is like?”
Danny could see that she was talking aloud now, but not really paying attention to who was listening.
“I took too many painkillers one night.” she continued. “I was having headaches all the time and the doctor thought that it was just stress related, you know? Overzealous student. I told everyone that it was an accident, that I’d taken too many without realising it, but it wasn’t an accident. I was just so sick of never being alone, of never being me; so many voices in my head it was too much, too overwhelming.”
Danny took her hand and held it gently.
“Shit, Doctor Phil! I didn’t mean to share that much!” she joked as she wiped a tear away. “I guess these drugs have got me a little messed up.”
Danny felt eyes on him from behind and turned around to see DS Landing hovering near the end of the bed; her face blushed a little as she spotted Danny holding Jane’s hand.
“Sorry, Boss,” Landing spluttered. “It’s just that we’ve got to go. Chalmers is on the warpath at the station looking for you.”
“I’ll be right there,” Danny said, letting go of Jane’s hand quickly.
“Don’t any of them know?” Jane asked quizzically as soon as Landing disappeared back into the corridor.
Danny only shook his head.
“Would it really be so bad?”
“It’s difficult.” He shrugged. “There was a time when I started in the job that it would have been held against me. However, it kind of gets to a point where it’s too late to bring it up in casual conversation. And besides, I don’t remember anybody having a coming-out-as-a-straight party. My personal business is my business; whether I’m gay or straight, I would still be a private man.”
“Fair enough, but how does Nathan feel about that?”
Those words echoed in his ears as he left the hospital and he let Landing drive back to the station so that he could send a text. It wasn’t the biggest gesture in the world, but at least it was a start.
CHAPTER TEN
THE PAST RISES
“Can I help you, Sir?”
Randall turned towards the voice, equally surprised at the man’s presence and being addressed as ‘Sir’. “I was just visiting,” he answered.
“No you ain’t. I reckon that I know every face in this place, both above and below ground, and yours don’t fit.”
Randall viewed the old guy, who looked almost worse than he did. The man was practically wearing rags - torn and worn faded dungarees that hung badly on his frame, so much so that it was difficult to gauge the man’s physique, but Randall assumed that it was skinny and frail. The man’s accent was thick and seemed Eastern European of some denomination, but his English was excellent.
“My aunt died recently...,” Randall began, but trailed off at the man’s smug mocking expression.
“You wanna try again?” The man grinned.
“How about if I put a little sugar on it?” Randall said, taking out his wallet.
“How about you piss off?” the man replied, still smiling, but without much warmth.
“Hey man, I’m just trying to do a job here,” Randall pleaded.
“Ain’t we all, and mine is to keep folks like you out. Don’t think that I don’t why you’re here. Every now and then some bloody vulture comes sniffing around, poking their nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“You know why I’m here?”
“It’s been more than 8 years now, but we still get the occasional visitor, those determined enough to track down such evil men.”
“So he’s here then?”
“Now I didn’t say that, now did I?” the man said with a twinkle in his eye.
“I work for a paper - a paper with deep pockets … deep and generous pockets,” Randall said, trying a little white lie. While he no longer worked for The Globe, he was sure that he could sell the story to any one of a number of papers as well as the book rights for a fortune.
“What would I want with money? Can’t you see that I have everything that I could possibly want here?” the man said, stretching his arms out wide. “I get free room and board to keep the place, not to mention a retirement property,” he added, pointing to the nearest gravestone.
“Everyone wants something.”
“What I want you sure as hell can’t give me,” the man said, turning and walking away.
“I wouldn’t be so sure on that,” Randall said, hurrying after him. “You ever hear of Alfonso Ramsey?”
The man stopped in his tracks. “Maybe.”
“Well, I’m working for Mr Ramsey and if you’ve heard of him then you know that he’s a powerful enough man to make anything happen,” Randall said, deciding to swap the little white lies for very large black ones. “I’m very close to Alfonso and I have his ear; you help me and I’ll bet that we can help you.”
The man stopped walking and turned back to face him. His eyes bore down furiously as though trying to decide if Randall was telling the truth or not. “My name is Alexandru and I have a sister, Kazia. She lives in Baja in Hungary. She is married to a very bad man and she should be here with me where I can take care of her.”
“You want Mr Ramsey to bring her over?”
The man shook his head. “I want Mr Ramsey to get her a British passport.”
Randall pretended to consider the offer. He only had to pretend, as he certainly did not work for Ramsey or have his ear. In fact, if Ramsey found him still working on this, the man would most likely take Randall’s ears clean off. “And what exactly would you be putting up?”
“I can give you what you seek. I can give you the truth about Arthur Durage and what really happened to him.”
----------
Jane propped herself up on her pillows as she shook the sleep from her eyes. The ward’s visiting hours were over and the corridors were now the exclusive domain of the overworked staff as they hurried and scurried with purpose and dedication.
She had been told that they were going to keep her in for a 24 hour observation period. Her head still ached monstrously from the blow that she’d taken in the crash but her mind at least was clearing fast.
Despite how their pursuit had ended - in crushed metal and broken glass - she still saw the event as a victory. The killer had been playing around with her mind like he had a remote control tuned exclusively to her frequency. He had been able to project himself into her at will despite her attempted barricade. He had shown her his warped desires and bloodlust, taking her along on his murderous expedition. On the beach and at the rest stop, he had twisted her reality even when she’d been awake. But at Marion Ramsey’s apartment building, she had seen him waiting and watching outside. She had felt his shock and anger at her intrusion as the tables had turned with mind-blowing speed and then he’d run from her. That small victory had given her hope that this battle wasn’t going to be a one-way street; she’d found him once and she could do it again. She was stronger now, stronger than before when she’d worked with Karl Meyers and caught the original Crucifier. She owed it to Danny’s father and she owed it to Danny to finish this thing.
The rattle of the tea trolley making its way
down the corridor pulled her from her thoughts. Jane had found that there were many untrue stereotypes about the British, but one that was true was their adherence in the power of a cup of tea, so much so that it was practically prescribed on the NHS.
The tea trolley came around every few hours, rattling its way through the hallways, waking the dozing and breaking up the day’s long dull hours. Heads stirred from bedbound positions and welcomed the distraction.
Jane found herself on an empty ward as she looked around. The other three beds in the small ward at the end of the hallway were empty and she wondered how long she had been sleeping. The wheels on the trolley squeaked louder and louder the closer that they got, accompanied by the bone-shaking rattle of china crockery. She couldn’t help but question where the vast amounts of money disappeared to within the health system. Despite popular belief around the rest of the world, the UK service might be free at the point of contact but it was funded by large taxpayer contributions. While the staff on the front lines were superb, the facilities were often sparse and insufficient; apparently, they couldn’t afford a tea trolley that wasn’t 100 years old.
She leaned out of bed as the trolley rounded the corner and saw an elderly man, presumably a volunteer, pushing it. He was stooped over as he pushed the cart; his face was kind and open, wrinkled and creased.
He shuffled in, smiling as he spotted her and raising a hand in greeting. She was sure that she had never seen the man before, but he did seem oddly familiar; there was something about his demeanour that touched her somewhere deep inside.
She sat up fully as he approached the bed, still without speaking. The wheels emitted a high-pitched groan with each rotation and the man’s slight tremble in his hands only shook the trolley further.
As he reached the foot of the bed, he opened his mouth to speak, only the hole in his face started to gape wider and wider until it was a screaming black pit of darkness. His eyes blacked and his hands became talons as he reached for her. The flesh started to melt from his face exposing pure white bone beneath as globules of skin landed on the linoleum floor with loud wet splats.
“Oh, give it a rest,” Jane smiled pleasantly.
The old man’s face was almost all skull by now. Only a few patches of skin and hair remained. He paused quizzically, with his mouth still stretched absurdly wide as his lower jaw had unhinged like a python swallowing its prey. He put his hands on his hips and looked around as if not sure what to do next.
“I know it’s you, sunshine,” Jane said, still smiling. “An NHS hospital ward with empty beds? Please.”
“You’ve grown so much stronger in such a short space of time,” an admiring voice said, emanating from out of the old man’s skull.
“Why don’t you show me your real face and we can talk.”
“Don’t push your luck,” the voice responded good-naturedly.
“I’m guessing that this isn’t a social call?”
“This is our business, Jane … our private business. You have no right to involve outsiders, and you should know better,” the voice echoed.
“I think that you might be on shaky grounds discussing just who has the right to do what, you know, considering that you’re butchering people.” She was trying very hard to keep the conversation light, but given the circumstances it wasn’t easy.
“You will see in time, Jane, that everything I do, I do it for you.”
“Wasn’t that a cheesy Bryan Adams’ song?”
Her attempt at humour was met with a stony silence.
“You shouldn’t be aligning yourself with the police, Jane. It only makes things more difficult. I mean, how are you going to feel with another dead Meyers detective on your conscience?”
“Fuck you!” she spat.
“Ah, there’s my girl. So much pain in there, Jane - you reek of doubt and cowardice. But I’m going to change all of that, Jane. I’m going to watch the caterpillar blossom again into the beautiful butterfly and every time that you flap your wings you will think of me.”
“I don’t know who you are or why you’re doing this, I can only think that you’re nuts.” She felt him bristle at the insult. “But I can promise you that I will find you and I will catch you.”
“Didn’t you try that once before?” The voice laughed.
“Rather successfully, if I remember correctly.”
“Oh, really? Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing, or indeed where a new bunch of families are grieving.”
“Arthur Durage is dead.”
The voice stayed silent at that.
“What is it that you want from me?” she asked wearily.
“I want you in tiptop shape, Jane. I want you playing in the majors, going pro, and breaking all records.”
“Why?”
“Oh, now … where’s the fun if I just give you all the answers?”
“I will find you,” she stated with firm conviction.
“Janey, my dear, I’m counting on it.”
The voice left as quickly as it had arrived and Jane found herself sitting upright. A nurse hurried over with concern in her eyes after spying her through the room’s window and Jane wondered what she must look like to the woman. She could feel her forehead caked in sweat and her armpits were sticky, making her pyjama top cling to her skin.
“Are you okay, dear?” the woman asked, worriedly.
Jane nodded and smiled broadly. “Just a bad dream,” she said, knowing that it was nothing of the sort. “Just a bad dream.”
----------
“Holy shit, is that him?” DC Selleck said, in awed, hushed tones. “This is just like the movies.”
Danny grimaced inwardly as Superintendent Chalmers trotted the FBI profiler around the office like a prized pony. “Button it, Magnum,” he said out of the corner of his mouth and the young DC visibly wilted.
The office had been sealed off from the rest of the station as the smartly dressed American agent would have attracted too much attention. The man was tall at around six foot two or so, and he exuded supreme health and vitality. His hair was shortish with a sprinkling of silver amongst the chestnut brown and a side-parting sweep. Danny pegged him somewhere in his early forties and he carried himself with a natural air of confidence and authority. Even Landing had become uncharacteristically tongue-tied around the American, which was saying something. He had long labelled his sergeant as asexual when it came to affairs of the heart as he had never known her to be in a relationship of any denomination.
“I’d like to introduce you all to Special Agent Tom Bradshaw,” Chalmers announced grandly to the room. “He has graciously agreed to help us in the…, um Crucifier case.” The superintendant whispered the last bit as though afraid of being overheard.
Danny watched on as the agent remained impassive.
“Agent Bradshaw has a wealth of experience in such matters, and we are very lucky to have him here. I expect you all to afford him every courtesy and take advantage of his knowledge.”
“Thank you, Superintendant,” Bradshaw said when he was sure that Chalmers had finished. “I do find it helpful to speak to the team in private,” he said to the senior officer in a quiet voice. “I find that a superior officer such as yourself can often overshadow and dominate a room.”
Chalmers took the compliment as a genuine one and swaggered out of the room with a supercilious grin etched across his face. Bradshaw watched and waited until the superintendant had left the room. “It would appear that assholes are assholes the world over,” he said, shaking his head to a rumbling of subdued laughter.
The man’s accent was pure southern cowboy and Danny couldn’t help but look for a Stetson and shiny badge. His suspicious mind couldn’t help but wonder if the line was a well-used one to gain an ‘in’ with rooms such as this one, but it worked regardless and the rest of the team seemed to warm to him in that instant.
“First off, folks, apologies all round,” Bradshaw started. “I am fully aware of the territorial nature of investiga
tions and the last thing that I want to do is step on any toes. Regardless of why I’m here, I’m here now. In my experience, most suits like your boss are about as useful as tits on a bull, but one thing that your Superintendant Chalmers was right about is that I do have a lot of familiarity in cases such as this one. I am a resource to be used by you however you see fit.”
“Well, we are happy to have you aboard,” Danny offered pleasantly. “I’m sure that you can only be an asset. This is DC Bryan Wilson,” he pointed. “He’ll bring you up to speed on the investigation and where we are now.”
“And the older case?” Bradshaw asked.
Danny baulked a bit at that. The last thing that he wanted to do at the moment was to give any credence to a link between the cases, especially to an outsider. Both Barrett and Chalmers had made it crystal clear that the “Crucifier” angle was to be buried by order of Alfonso Ramsey. He still found it hard to fathom just how a private citizen seemed able to dictate police procedure, but here they were dancing on strings. “Perhaps a word in private, Agent Bradshaw?”
Danny led the man into his office and closed the door behind him. “Have Chalmers or Barrett spoken to you about this case?”
“I have received instructions,” Bradshaw replied, which wasn’t exactly a straight answer.
“Look. I don’t know what you think your job is here, or who exactly you’re working for, but this is my case, Bradshaw. Mine,” Danny growled.
“Danny, buddy, you’ve got me all wrong,” Bradshaw said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m here to do my job, not yours. You’ve got a maniac on the loose and I can help you catch him. I don’t give a damn about the credit or the glory.”
“And where does Mr Ramsey figure in your presence here?”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, Danny, Mr Ramsey is an influential man. I was lecturing at a conference in Amsterdam. By the way, did you know that they sell pot out in the open? You can just head into a café and no one bats an eyelid … craziest damn thing I ever saw.”