The Silent Pool

by Phil Kurthausen

  She gave him a mischievous look.

  Erasmus sat up. It was a mistake. His head began to swim and Jenna's face blurred and then there was darkness once again.

  The next time he woke up Jenna was sitting by the bed. She hadn't noticed he was awake. He looked at her, she was crying.

  He put out his hand. He was woozy from the drugs but he knew what he was doing. Slowly his hand squeezed hers and he pulled her towards the bed.

  She hesitated at first and then she succumbed, moving onto the bed. Slowly she moved on top of him, her body pressing hard against his. Erasmus pulled her face to his and began to kiss her. Jenna moaned softly.

  She pulled back.

  ‘Your heart?’ she said.

  Erasmus flung back the bed sheet.

  ‘There is nothing wrong with my heart,’ he said and pulled her back to him.

  She collapsed into him and he kissed her.

  He started to undress her slowly. She stopped kissing him and took over, speeding things up. She quickly unbuttoned her blouse. Erasmus ran his hands across her smooth, flat belly.

  ‘I need to tell you something,’ whispered Jenna.

  ‘Later,’ he said. His fingers drew patterns on the bare skin of her back.

  She sighed.

  Maybe it was the side effects of the drugs he had been given but their lovemaking was almost dreamlike. Their limbs locked and moved together in a sensual motion. Passionate urgency was filtered through a morphine haze, and when it was over Erasmus drifted into unconsciousness, unsure whether what had passed between them was dream or reality.

  Hours later he awoke. Jenna had gone and he could sense immediately that there was a man in the room from the heavier feel of the air and the faint scent of cologne.

  ‘Ah, you're awake, that's marvellous.’

  Erasmus looked in the direction from where the voice had come. He had to crawl up the pillows but this time there was no headache or faintness.

  The room had a bay window, which Erasmus hadn't noticed last time in his brief awakening. In the bay, sat in a wicker chair, was Theo.

  Theo got up, picked up the chair, walked across the room and put the chair to the side of the bed level with Erasmus’ head.

  He sat down.

  ‘I have been assured that you are in good health you'll, no doubt, be pleased to know. Your heart stopped because of massive electrical interference. Once it got started again, all things being equal, with a bit of rest you should be as right as rain.’

  Erasmus felt a twinge in his chest. He told himself to ignore it.

  ‘I suppose you are wondering why I have brought you here?’

  ‘It had crossed my mind, yes,’ said Erasmus.

  Theo looked at the floor for an instant. He seemed to be trying to find the words.

  “‘Look as long as you don't say, “‘Luke, I'm your father,”’ it will be fine,’ said Erasmus.

  Theo laughed. ‘You were baptised a Catholic, yes?’

  Erasmus nodded. ‘I was never confirmed though.’

  ‘No matter. You know the story, guilt, guilt and more guilt, sometimes it's so heavy you feel every step is a burden. Sometimes I think my whole life is an attempt to wash away that guilt and occasionally, very occasionally, I have had moments when the guilt seems to have lifted and oh the joy, Erasmus, the lightness of being,’

  Erasmus wasn't in the mood for theology and Theo seemed to be the kind of man who given an opportunity to talk would take it, and then some.

  ‘This is all very interesting, Theo, but what does it have to do with me?’

  ‘Because I feel guilty for what I have done to you. You died, Erasmus, and it's a miracle that you have returned.’

  ‘I don't believe in miracles so what do you have to tell me, Theo?’

  Theo looked out of the window. Erasmus noticed that he was picking at the skin on his right thumb. A speck of blood had appeared there.

  ‘I am the reason why Stephen has gone missing and why you are laying in that bed.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I lied to you or rather I didn't tell you the full truth last time we spoke.’

  Erasmus curled his fists into balls.

  Theo continued. ‘You told me that Bovind was being blackmailed by Stephen. He is being blackmailed. But Stephen didn't write the letters, it was Jenna.’

  Erasmus’ world turned upside down. She had lied to him and he hadn't picked up any signals. He had shown her the credit card statements and she had acted shocked. Had he had a blind spot from the start?

  ‘Stephen didn't run up the debts, she did. She was the gambler,’ said Erasmus.

  ‘That's right. Stephen would never gamble but for Jenna I think it became a distraction from what she would call a humdrum, suburban existence that I don't think she was ever meant to live. She maxed out their credit cards, placed them in debt. When Stephen found out he went to Purple Ahmed for a loan. As is the case with such people the exorbitant interest soon crippled them financially. They couldn't keep up the repayments and Stephen was beaten up pretty badly by one of Ahmed's thugs. Guilt can cause you to do things you thought you were incapable of. It was after that that Jenna wrote the first blackmail letter. She knew that Stephen was racked with guilt about something that happened at the beach all those years ago and she gambled Bovind wouldn't want it bringing up. She figured what was worth £50,000 to a billionaire, and she was right, Bovind paid up straightaway.’

  ‘Why didn't they just ask you for the money?’

  Theo flushed. ‘They did. Stephen never would have asked but Jenna did and, to my shame, I said no. I told Jenna that I would only help if Stephen asked me. I wanted him to come back into the fold. Part of me knew he would never do ask me for money. Yet I still said no. So Jenna did what she had to do. I caused all of this.’

  Theo stood up and began to pace back and forth.

  ‘When Jenna called me and told me that Stephen had gone missing the guilt was crushing. If I had just lent them the money Stephen would still be here. I realised, of course, that it must be Bovind. For him to kidnap or kill Stephen it suggested to me that my suspicion that he was involved in Tomas’ death was probably true. If Stephen was still alive I needed Bovind to think he had nothing to gain by killing him. I needed him to think the problem was bigger than just Stephen. So I sent him letters purporting to be from each of the boys, one after the other.’

  ‘And now those boys are being killed one after another,’ said Erasmus.

  ‘Yes. I am to blame.’

  ‘I don't fucking believe it. You're responsible for all of this. Does Jenna know?’

  Theo nodded. ‘Don't blame her, Erasmus. When Stephen went missing we couldn't tell the police that she had been blackmailing Bovind. That's why we turned to you. I knew a bit about your past and I told Jenna to specifically ask for you on the case. We just wanted you to get Stephen back from Bovind.’

  Erasmus felt sick to his stomach. Jenna had lied to him. She'd known all along why Stephen had gone missing.

  Suddenly something struck Erasmus. The men who had come to Jenna's house had wanted to know whether she knew where Stephen was. And they were Bovind's men, he'd admitted that, so why would they need to know? Something wasn't quite right.

  ‘If you think that Bovind has killed those boys and maybe Stephen then you have to take this to the police.’

  Theo glared defiantly at Erasmus. ‘Take what? The only physical evidence of a crime is my blackmail. Stephen is missing and the other deaths have no link to Bovind that you have been able to establish. Where is the proof?’

  Proof. Erasmus had seen men killed who were certain of something without proof: a patch of ground they knew to be safe, an informer they knew could be trusted, a suicide bomber certain he was about to receive an eternal reward. Erasmus liked proof.

  Theo began to speak quietly. ‘I have a theory and nothing more, but I know it's the truth and I think you do as well. That's why Bovind had you beaten up and tortured; he wanted to find ou
t what you knew.’

  Again, something didn't fit but Erasmus kept his own counsel.

  ‘But I think we can get the evidence we need,’ continued Theo.

  ‘We?’

  ‘I think you want to help. I'll pay you, of course, but I have read your file, Erasmus, you are one of the good guys.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, are you for real? What evidence? Everybody who knew what happened is dead or missing!’

  Theo got up and walked across the room and opened the door. Rachel hurried in.

  ‘Don't be upset, I'm fine,’ said Erasmus.

  ‘Oh, I'm not. You will be right as rain,’ Rachel said.

  Erasmus couldn't but help feel a little deflated.

  ‘Rachel has come up with a rather interesting fact, haven't you?’ said Theo.

  Rachel's expression switched to excitement. ‘Yes, while you've been resting here, I reviewed Tomas Radzinski's CPS file again. I wanted to read the psychiatric sentencing reports on Burns.’

  ‘Did you find anything in there?’ asked Erasmus.

  ‘Absolutely nothing. Don't you see?’

  Erasmus had no idea what she was talking about. He shook his head.

  ‘The reports weren't in there. Nothing excites me more as a journalist then finding out something isn't where it should be.’

  ‘And that's it?’

  Rachel looked a little crestfallen. ‘Someone had removed it on purpose.’

  ‘It could have fallen out, got lost over the years,’ said Erasmus.

  ‘Yes, it could, but it wasn't. There is a record sheet and date stamp on the front of the file, it shows who signed it out. Here, take a look.’ She passed the file to Erasmus.

  It was an ordinary blue cardboard folder. On the front was a large white sticker divided into columns and rows. It was in date order and there were about ten names of people who had signed the folder out of CPS custody. The last name on the list, who had signed the folder out two days before, was one Melvin Turnbull.

  ‘Melvin Turnbull?’ said Erasmus.

  ‘He's my contact in the CPS. I had to agree to a dinner date to get this file. Look at the name above his.’

  And there above Turnbull's scrawled signature was a name he recognised.

  ‘Officer Cooper. Father Michael's pet cop. Jesus.’

  Erasmus looked at the date. Cooper had taken the file out four weeks previously. Stephen had disappeared four weeks ago.

  ‘Why do you think the Third Wave would take out the psychiatric report on Frank Burns?’ said Rachel.

  ‘It's Bovind's doing, that's for sure,’ said Theo.

  ‘Someone needs to speak to Burns,’ said Erasmus.

  Rachel smiled. ‘That's exactly what we thought too.’

  Theo was looking intently at Erasmus. ‘Frank Burns is Strangeways but I have taken the liberty of speaking to his lawyer and arranging an interview for you later this evening if you agree to help and if you feel up to it?’

  ‘And if I don't?’

  ‘Then nothing. You are free to leave and forget about this whole thing.’

  ‘Where is Jenna?’ asked Erasmus.

  ‘She is waiting outside with the doctor. She wants to apologise to you.’

  Erasmus took a deep breath, it felt warming and there were no crackles from his lungs. He searched for feelings of panic, there were none. For some reason, he didn't feel afraid any more. He knew what he had to do and it felt right.

  ‘Just send in the doctor. I don't want to see her. And Theo?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you lie to me again I'll kill you.’

  CHAPTER 46

  The day was beginning to die when Erasmus arrived at Strangeways. Crisp late November sunshine was giving way to a murky purple sky that hung heavy over the black brick of the jail's tower.

  Theo had made some calls and Erasmus proceeded smoothly through the security checks and parked the car lent to him by Theo in an assigned visitor's bay. He had never been in an old Victorian prison before and had half hoped to enter through the mighty blue steel doors at the front of the prison. Instead he was led by a bored looking prison guard through a door into a portakabin®. There, in an antechamber, he was searched by another bored looking guard who confiscated a blue ballpoint pen and his mobile phone.

  The guard held up the pen between his forefinger and thumb as though it were a weapon of mass destruction. ‘We can't be too careful, not with this one.’

  ‘I thought he was a reformed character?’ said Erasmus.

  The guard chuckled. ‘They all say that, don't they, especially when it's time for the parole board to sit.’

  Theo had provided Erasmus with a dossier on Frank Burns. It hadn't made for pleasant reading but it filled in some of the gaps.

  Frank Burns had been a Maths teacher and a good one at that. He had a young wife and a baby boy. He seemed to have the perfect life but then one night after going for a drink after work he had accepted a lift from a friend and been involved in a car accident. Seemingly he had walked away with only a mild concussion. But something, so at least his defence team at the trial tried to argue, had changed.

  What was inescapably true was that from having no history of violence or abuse from that day onwards Frank Burns became a violent, destructive child abuser.

  It started with his own son, two years old and previously the apple of his father's eye. His wife returned home one afternoon a couple of weeks after the crash and she found Frank watching a DVD and eating a takeaway while their son, Robert, screamed in agony from the kitchen floor where he lay with two broken arms and a broken leg.

  Frank had been arrested and various neurological tests run on him. There were clearly psychological issues and strong indicators that he had a psychopathic personality disorder that had never been indicated at any time before the car accident.

  Burns gave no explanation nor showed any remorse.

  He was sentenced to three years for that first crime. When he came out he was thirty and within a week of release he had murdered the first boy, David Whitmore, a thirteen-year-old paperboy whom he kidnapped, took back to his flat, killed and then dismembered. The real kicker, the piece that the tabloids seized upon with relish, was the fact that Burns had removed the child's eyes and these were never found. Burns never admitted to it, but the strong suggestion was that Burns had eaten the eyes.

  Two further killings, both young boys, followed in quick succession before he was arrested. The killings were remarkably similar. In both cases boys in their early teens and in both cases they were cut up and their eyes removed. Again, the eyes were never found.

  Burns’ capture had been inevitable given the complete lack of care and thought that went into covering up his crimes. He had taken the bodies to a local landfill site one at a time. On the last occasion a site worker had noticed that Burns was depositing green waste into the container marked for household and vegetable waste and had told him to take the bag to the correct container. Burns had refused to move and the council worker had grabbed hold of the bag. A tug of war had ensued resulting in pieces of Colin McAteer, a twelve-year-old boy scout, had ended up scattered across the gangway.

  Burns had fled but the worker had taken a note of his license plate and the police smashed down his front door less than two hours later, discovering Burns sitting in an armchair watching the TV with the sound turned down.

  Burns had told them nothing about his crimes: no explanation, no reason. He said nothing for three months, and then, while on remand one afternoon, he asked to see the governor and handed him a written statement explaining that he had killed a young boy in Formby Woods and then thrown his body into the sea. Tomas had been missing for six weeks at that point. The murder investigation unit were informed and Tomas’ case closed.

  ‘So you don't believe him?’

  ‘You can get your pen back when you come back out and, no, I don't believe him. I think he's pure evil. I've seen a lot who have done terrible things that I thought weren't, but Burns, w
ell, you'll see.’

  Erasmus had read the updated information and press clippings that Rachel had given him. Burns was currently being evaluated by a groundbreaking American neuro-psychologist who specialised in studying the effect of low impact trauma and brain injuries. She had identified that despite only causing a mild trauma to the brain such everyday concussions could cause serious damage to the pre-frontal cortex and, using the latest brain imaging software and MRIs, she had shown the development of microscopic lesions in the personality forming areas of the brain. Her initial studies had focused on American football players and she had shown good evidence for a high percentage of soft concussion victims suffering mild to serious personality changes, both temporary and permanent, in a significant number of cases. Significantly, she had worked with a neuro-surgeon to remove, where possible, with keyhole surgery, these nano-lesions from an initial volunteer group.

  Two years previously Burns had volunteered and been accepted for this group. There had been legal and regulatory hurdles to overcome, but the fact that a classified psychopath had volunteered was so rare and unusual that solutions had been found. The surgery had been carried out and in evaluation after evaluation since, Burns had been classified as normal on every scale used to measure personality disorders.

  It was beyond the wildest dreams of the medical teams. They had identified and removed the lesion that had developed as a consequence of the car accident all those years ago. Now, for the first time, Burns was remorseful and his lawyers claimed he was cured. At the last parole hearing they had argued, unsuccessfully, that his crimes should be looked at in the context of his undiagnosed injury and that there was a good case, objected to strenuously by the families of his victims, that Burns should be released.

  Erasmus followed the guard down a windowless, fluorescently lit corridor. It led into the main prison, woodchip walls giving way to brick.

  The guard seemed to read his mind. ‘If you were expecting iron grilles and gangways you are going to be disappointed. We had to move Burns away from the main prison when the Sun ran a campaign against his release. Some of our guests wanted to make a name for themselves. You know he lost an eye a few years back?’