by Vera Morris
There were three doors set in the wall. The farthest showed a rim of light.
He put his mouth over her ear. ‘We’ll go in. Let’s hope he doesn’t see us first; we can suss out where everyone is. Don’t do anything until I give the word.’
‘OK. What’s the signal?’
‘Go.’
He inched towards the door, Laurel close behind him. They mustn’t rush in. They needed to find out if Stephen and Sam were still alive. He prayed they weren’t too late. He moved the carjack to his left hand, took a deep breath, put his hand on the edge of the door, and started to push it inwards.
Chapter 22
Laurel gripped the handle of the scythe. She didn’t know why she’d chosen it and doubted if she’d have the guts to use it. Frank slowly opened the door wide enough for them to slide in. The main part of the building was hidden; there was a flickering yellow glow coming from around a corner. Mixed with the blood-chilling cold were foul odours of decay and death. Does evil have a smell?
Frank edged to the corner of the wall. She pressed close to him and looked over his shoulder. The space was immense, like a ruined and despoiled church. Several guttering oil lamps cast moving shadows over the concrete walls. Frank’s face was tense, body rigid. In front of an iron handrail was a rectangular, dark hole, from which came another yellow glow -the pit. Handcuffed to the rail by chains, staring down into the pit, his body rigid, his face white, was Sam Salter. To his right, a small table and chair.
Frank edged nearer, keeping close to the wall, out of Salter’s view. She followed him. This must be the pit Tommy had talked about, the size of an aeroplane’s bomb bay. The light suggested someone was down there. Hinney? The closer they got to the pit the stronger was the smell of dank decay; it crept into her nose and coated her mouth and throat. She glanced at Frank. The horror of the place was etched on his face, but his eyes seemed to burn with rage.
On the wall behind Sam were three horizontal metal bars, with a cross cut out at each end, and a wide groove running between the two crosses. They must have been used to fit hoists for dropping bombs from different heights. The crosses lent a grim ecclesiastical touch to the horror inside the pagoda.
‘Salter.’ A voice came from the pit. Hinney’s voice.
Salter’s shoulders hunched and he leant as far forward as the handcuffs would let him.
Was Stephen down there with Hinney?
‘I’ve waited long enough. I know what you did, but I want to hear it from your lips. Answer my questions or you’ll see your son cut to ribbons. Do you want to hear his screams? Do you want him to plead to you? To say “For God’s sake tell him!” I’m going to bring him round, it’s time for you to tell him and me the truth.’
Stephen was alive. Thank God! She looked at Frank. He nodded.
There was the sound of liquid being splashed about, as though Hinney had thrown a bucket of water over Stephen. Feeble groans came from the pit. Her stomach clenched and Frank’s body, close to hers, stiffened, his muscles as hard as the wall they leant against.
‘You bastard, Hinney. Leave him alone. Come up here and settle this like a man. Stephen’s never hurt anyone. Let him go,’ Salter shouted.
A laugh. The laugh of someone enjoying themselves, glorying in his power. ‘He’ll live if you tell the truth.’
Salter strained at his handcuffs, rattling the chains against the bar. ‘Bastard. Bastard.’ He was trying to get over the rail, ready to leap into the pit. He shook his imprisoned hands in frustration.
They must do something. They couldn’t let this go on. She started forward. Frank clamped a hand on her wrist. He shook his head. He tapped his ear and pointed to the pit. They needed to listen. She understood his reasoning, but it was unbearable.
Slap. Slap. Slap. The sounds of hand meeting flesh. ‘Hinney! Stop it. Leave him alone.’
The laugh again. ‘Just bringing him round. I want him to hear what you say.’
Louder groans. More slapping.
‘Stephen! Son! I’m here. I’ll get you out.’ His voice was desperate.
‘Dad? What’s happened? Dad?’ Stephen’s voice was weak, bewildered, frightened. There was a pause. ‘Hinney, is that you? What are you doing? Where am I?’ His voice seemed to gather strength, some control. He didn’t yet realise what was happening and the danger he and his father were in. ‘Dad? What are you doing up there? Please come down. Hinney’s tied me up.’
A stinging slap echoed round the chamber.
A roar of anger from Salter.
She grabbed Frank’s sleeve with her free hand. He put an arm round her and held her tight.
‘Shut up and listen to him, Stephen Salter. Your father is about to make a confession. If he doesn’t tell the truth, and I know what the truth is, you’ll pay. He’ll watch you being cut into pieces. With this!’
‘Dad, he’s mad. He’s got a razor and a knife. Help me! ‘ Sam screamed with rage and fear, once more impotently shaking the rails, his face reddening, saliva bursting from his mouth as he screamed at Hinney.
‘Right, Salter, let’s start with something easy, shall we?’ Hinney said. ‘Is it true you were in the RAF, stationed here, on Orford Ness during the war?’
There was no reply from Salter.
A scream came from the pit.
‘Stop it. Stop it! Yes, yes, I was here.’
‘That’s better. It’s only a small cut, but if you mess me around, the next one will be deeper.’
‘Dad, don’t tell him anything. Let him do his worse. Someone will come soon—’
His words were cut off by a scream of pain.
‘Shut up! Salter, did you know a man called Adrian Hovell? Answer NOW!’
‘Yes. I knew him,’ Sam spluttered. ‘I didn’t know him well; he was a bit of a loner.’
‘Did you know Audrey Coltman?’
Sam’s back went rigid. ‘Who? No, I don’t think so.’ There was a scream from the pit.
‘For God’s sake leave him alone. Yes, yes, I knew her. I spoke to her a couple of times.’
‘Was she beautiful?’
There was a pause. ‘Yes, she was beautiful.’ It was difficult to hear his words.
‘Speak up, Salter. What was she like? What colour was her hair?’
Sam’s shoulders slumped. ‘Dark, she had dark hair and blue eyes.’ His voice seemed resigned, as though he knew where this was leading. The fight was slipping from him.
‘Dad, why is he asking you these questions?’ Stephen cried.
‘Shut up, I’m in control here -not you. I want you to tell me, Salter, about the last time you saw Audrey Coltman. It was near Doctor’s Drift, wasn’t it? She had her son, John, with her, didn’t she?’
Salter hung his head.
‘Didn’t she?’ Hinney screamed. ‘Answer me or your son will start to lose more of his skin.’
‘Yes. That’s the last time I saw her.’ His voice was a whisper. Laurel strained to hear his words.
‘She was sitting in a field; the baby was in a pram. The sun was shining, it was a lovely day. She looked beautiful.’ He spoke like an automaton.
‘Dad! What’s this about? Are you talking about Mr Coltman’s wife? The one who was murdered?’ Stephen’s voice was hysterical.
‘Yes, that’s who he’s talking about. You didn’t know about him being there when it happened, did you, Stephen?’
There was no reply.
‘Go on, Salter. Tell us what happened next. Remember, the truth, or your son loses another piece of flesh.’
Sam grasped the handrail, his knuckle-bones shining through the skin, his chest heaving. ‘I... I went to her. I’d talked to her before. She’d always been pleasant, friendly, smiling, happy. I could see she was a good mother. The little boy was quiet. I think he was asleep,’ he said, sobs punctuating his words.
‘And then? What did you do then?’ Hinney hissed.
Frank’s grip on her shoulder tightened.
‘I didn’t mean to harm her.’ He choked,
then coughs racked his chest. He bent his head so he could wipe away tears and snot with a hand.
‘Go on. Spit it out, or my hand will slip.’
‘I wanted to kiss her. I thought she’d like to have a man’s arms round her. Her husband was abroad, she couldn’t have had sex for some time, unless she’d taken a lover, like most women do.’
Laurel’s throat tightened.
‘I sat down beside her. I could see she didn’t like that and she tried to get up.’
A hissing sound came from the pit.
What had Salter done? The foul air seemed to thicken and she couldn’t swallow -she was afraid she’d choke. She wanted to put her hands over her ears, not to hear what was coming. Now she knew why Frank had wanted Tommy out of the way. She took a deep breath, trying to control herself. What was Stephen feeling as he heard his father’s confession?
‘Go on,’ said the voice from the pit.
Salter sagged over the rail. ‘I grabbed her, tried to kiss her, but she struggled, pushing me away. She slapped me across the face. Said she’d report me. Her voice was cold, haughty, but mad with rage. I was angry. No one treats me like that.’ There was a pause. ‘I didn’t want to have her like that. I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t mean to... but she fought me. She made me.’
A terrible groan from the pit. ‘No. Dad! Dad! No. Please say it isn’t true.’
‘Yes, it’s true, Stephen Salter. Your father raped and strangled Audrey Coltman. Deny it, Salter. You can’t, can you?’ Hinney’s voice was triumphant.
Salter remained slumped over the rail. Silent.
Heart-rending sobs came from the pit. ‘Dad, what happened to the baby? To John Coltman? What happened to him?’
She strained to hear the answer.
‘I threw him in the river,’ he whispered.
A cry of anguish.
‘Shut up, Stephen. I’ve not finished yet.’
Salter straightened up, gripping the rail. ‘What more do you want?’ he shouted. ‘You’ve ruined my life. You’ve made my son hate me. Whatever happens now I don’t care what you do to me. Let him go. He’s innocent. He’s done nothing wrong. I’m the guilty one.’
‘Do you think I care if your son hates you? This isn’t the end of the story, is it? I’ve not finished with either of you yet. Let’s go back to Adrian Hovell. You saw him that day, didn’t you?’ There was silence. ‘Didn’t you?’ Hinney screamed. He was losing control, his voice full of venom, hysterically high. She imagined him shaking with rage and hate, the razor in his clenched hand.
Frank’s grip on her arm tightened; she turned -he shook his head. No, not yet.
They must save Stephen. He was worth saving. She didn’t want to risk her life for Salter: a rapist and murderer, a man who’d thrown a child into a river. He hadn’t needed to do that; the baby was too young to recognise him. Her blood was boiling, frustration mounting. They must wait until Hinney came up from the pit. Unless he attacked Stephen again. Then they’d have to jump down on him. Risky. For Stephen, for themselves. The top of a ladder protruded a foot above the rim of the pit. One of them could jump down onto Hinney, and the other go down by the ladder. Better if she jumped. She’d have to do it before Frank realised.
Salter shoulders were heaving. He mumbled something.
‘What did you say, Salter? Speak up or your son gets another cut.’
‘Yes, I saw him.’
‘When?’
‘Before I saw Audrey Coltman. He was walking towards the river, and stopped and looked at some birds through his binoculars.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘I don’t know. He may have done.’
‘You took something from Audrey after you strangled her, didn’t you?’
‘I don’t remember—’
A terrible scream came from the pit. ‘Help me, please help me. I’m bleeding. It won’t stop!’ Stephen’s terrified voice was full of pain.
Salter’s chains rattled against the rails. ‘Don’t hurt my boy. For God’s sake stop cutting him.’ He clasped the rails and shook them, as though trying to loosen them from their concrete sockets. ‘I took her knickers, I wiped them between her legs. I put them in Hovell’s locker.’
Laurel squeezed her eyes tight, sickened, furious. He’d deliberately sent Hovell to his death. He’d put the vital evidence into Hovell’s locker. He’d let him hang.
A great roar of rage bellowed from the pit. ‘Murderer! You murdered my brother!’ There was the sound of metal against concrete. Had he thrown away the razor, or the knife?
Salter’s body collapsed and he dropped to his knees, his chained hands above his head as though he was a supplicant at the altar asking forgiveness
There was a clanking of metal, the top of the ladder vibrating against the wall of the pit. Hinney was coming up. Frank pulled her back into deeper shadows. He placed his mouth over her ear. ‘Wait for the word.’ She nodded.
Hinney’s head appeared above the rim, and he clambered out and rushed towards Salter, a knife in his hand, its long narrow blade glinting in the light of the oil lamps.
Hinney kicked Salter in the side. ‘Bastard. Bastard.’ He spat on him. ‘Filthy, lying murderer.’ He turned away from him and pulled the table and the chair towards Salter, hauled him to his feet and shoved him onto the chair. He pointed at the top of the desk. On it were paper and a biro.
‘You’re going to write down everything you’ve confessed to. You are going to clear my brother’s name. The world will know you are the man who killed Audrey Coltman and her son, that you are the man who framed my brother and sent him to the gallows to have his neck broken. You are the man who condemned my parents to the agony of losing their oldest son in the worst way possible. Each day they went to his trial, and on the last day had to watch the judge place the black cap on his wig and sentence Adrian to death. He waited in a cell for the hangman to come and weigh and measure him, to tell him he’d try to give him a quick death. You sentenced them to grief and despair. You sentenced me to the loss of my brother’s love and kindness. You made me the man I am today.’
Salter slumped over the table, like an old scarecrow, full of rotten straw. A defeated man.
Hinney kicked him again. ‘Everyone hated us. Most of my friends deserted me, their parents wouldn’t let them see me. I was bullied and beaten up at school. Mum and Dad said we had to move away. I didn’t want to go. Why should we give in to them? Adrian was innocent. I knew he was. If we left we’d be admitting his guilt. Mum couldn’t stand it: the neighbours’ looks, the silence when she went into a shop, the bruises she found on my legs and arms. We moved. I had to leave my school and the few friends I had, those who’d stuck with me. He’d been found guilty, but I never believed it. He wasn’t interested in girls. I’m sure he was a virgin when he died. I loved him. He was always kind to me, looked out for me, helped me with school work, he loved me,’ Hinney said, his voice thick with emotion.
Salter was a murderer, a rapist, but Hinney was using this as an excuse for his appalling crimes. They were both vile, but Hinney was unhinged, a dangerous sadist.
Salter didn’t move.
There were faint groans from the pit. She looked at Frank. His eyes were narrow, nostrils wide, jaw clenched. He shook his head. They must do something. Stephen could bleed to death.
Hinney poked Salter in the ribs with his knife. ‘Wake up, you bastard. Listen to my story. You wrote this story when you framed my brother, you cowardly piece of shit.’
Salter lifted his head. ‘Please help Stephen. I’ve told you everything. He’ll bleed to death if you don’t get help for him.’
‘He’ll get help when you’ve listened to me. I want you to realise what you’ve done to me. My father died ten years ago, and my mother followed six years later. I went home to clear out the house. I found letters from Adrian, written from his prison cell.’ Hinney reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper.
‘This is the last letter he wrote. The prison cha
plain brought it to them. He’d written to my parents before he came to see them, he thought basically Adrian was a good man, but it was a great pity he never confessed and saved his soul. Idiot! Want to hear it, Salter?’ His voice had risen to a scream, the paper quivering in his clenched fist.
Salter’s didn’t move.
Hinney prodded him with the knife. ‘Want me to go down the pit again? Do a bit more damage?’
Salter’s head shot up. ‘No. No. Let him go. He needs a doctor.’
‘He’ll be all right. If you want him alive do as I tell you.’ He waved the letter in front of Salter’s nose. ‘Shall I read what Adrian wrote to my mum and dad? They never showed me his letters. But, if they didn’t want me to read them, why didn’t they burn them? They knew when I saw what he’d written I’d do something about it. They knew I’d get Adrian justice, whatever the cost, whatever the method.’
He held up the yellowing sheet of paper; so thin it looked as though it might disintegrate into the freezing air. ‘After you’ve listened to this you’re going to write your confession. You’ll write down everything you’ve told me. When you’ve done that I’ll help your son, Stephen. The sooner you listen and then write, the sooner I’ll stop his bleeding.’
‘“Dear Mum and Dad.”‘ His voice was raw, he held the letter with both hands, but his right hand was still holding the dagger.
Laurel gripped Frank’s arm. He frowned and shook his head again.
‘“This will be the last letter I will write to you. Tomorrow I will die. When you read this, it will all be over. The past few months have been horrible I am glad the time has come, although I’m scared of what’s going to happen.”‘
As Hinney read his brother’s last words his voice cracked and heaving sobs shook his stocky frame. Salter turned his head, staring at him as though he saw him for the first time, as though this was a stranger he’d never seen before. Was he realizing the consequences of his actions?
‘“I tell you again, I did not kill Audrey Coltman and her child. I knew her and her son John. I met her several times when I went bird-watching near the river. We spoke. Not for long, but she was a nice woman. She’d ask me about the birds I’d seen and she told me how worried she was about her husband; he’s called Thomas, he’s away in the Far East somewhere. John was a lovely baby, always smiling and she was a good mother, she loved that baby.”‘