The Child Taker to Criminally Insane Box Set, Crime Books 1, 2 and 3 Detective Alec Ramsay Mystery Series (Detective Alec Ramsay Crime Mystery Suspense Series)

by Conrad Jones

  “Patrick Lloyd, Patrick Lloyd, let me see, because that name rings a bell.” Zamir scanned one of the newspapers. “Ah yes, here it is. Patrick Lloyd. ‘It is alleged that Howarth lived for several years under the guise of an ex-soldier, Patrick Lloyd.’”

  “They made it up!” Jack’s lip quivered. He looked at the Turks, pleading with his eyes. “It was the other bloke, what’s his name?”

  “I’ve heard enough, make him admit it,” Zamir said to his minder. The big Turk dragged a wooden crate over to Jack and picked up a claw hammer. “The sooner you admit what you have done, the sooner you can say sorry and begin to pay for it. Everything has a price, you see?”

  “That would make a nice coffee table.” Jack nodded toward the crate. He spoke as if they were friends chatting in Ikea. “It’s not my cup of tea, but a bit of dark wood stain would do it.” He removed his thoughts from the painful reality he faced. Something came into his head, and he looked like he had had an idea. “Nate something, the guy’s name was!”

  The Turks ignored his jabbering. Sami bent down and grabbed Jack’s ankles. He lifted his feet from the floor as if they were straws and dropped them roughly onto the crate. His body bent at the waist as if he were sitting in mid air. Jack heard a nail ping onto the floor.

  “Clumsy muffin,” Jack laughed, but it was the laugh of a nervous frightened boy. It was the laugh of a boy who knew that he was about to spend the next few hours at the mercy of a drunken priest. “You’d better pick that up, or it will ruin the Hoover when you tidy up.”

  “I know you killed my family, and we will kill you in return, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” The old man smiled. “What people are telling me is that you killed Salim because you wanted to know where he kept my drugs, it that right?”

  “No,” Jack shook his head. “I didn’t kill him, but I know who took your drugs, and I know where they are. Let me go and I’ll take you there.”

  “You are going to die, Mr Howarth,” Zamir said seriously. “Have no doubt in your mind about that. All that concerns you is how long it will take for you to die. You can tell me what I need to know, or we can make you tell us the hard way.”

  “There’s not much incentive for me in that package, really, is there?” Jack chuckled. “If you let me go, we could discuss a cash bonus for the return of your drugs, maybe?”

  “You are a funny man, Mr Howarth.” Zamir didn’t smile. His eyes looked into Jack’s soul. “Make sure he can’t move them.”

  Sami took a four-inch nail and pinned it through the leather ankle restraints. He hammered it into the crate and then pulled the straps. “He’s going nowhere, left or right first, funny man?” The big man sneered. His accent was much thicker than Zamir’s.

  “Left for love, right for spite,” Jack whispered. “Nate something, what was his name? Where did he put all the drugs? I can’t remember!”

  Sami held his left ankle and pressed his foot flat against the wood. He smiled at Jack as he aimed the claw hammer. Jack closed his eyes and waited for the pain. The hammer came down and splattered his little toe across the crate. The nail clung to the hammerhead along with a lump of pink skin. Bone turned to pulp beneath the force of the blow.

  “Nate Bradley did it!” Jack screamed in a high-pitched whine. His body twitched and convulsed with the pain. The anticipation had been as bad as he had expected, but the pain was far worse. “Please don’t hurt me. His name is Nate Bradley!”

  “Do all of that foot.” Zamir was losing patience.

  “No, no, no, please!” Jack screamed. He heard Louise Parker’s screams in his head. She had used the same words he had. ‚Please don’t hurt me again!‘ The cries rebounded in his brain, ‚please, no! ‘ The voices of Salim Oguzhan and his children joined his own screams, and their faces twisted in agony flashed through his mind. The screaming reached earth-shattering volumes as the cacophony of their voices deafened him. Their suffering mingled with his own. The hammer fell again and again, smashing nails and splintering bones against the wood. Each blow sent a violent jolt through his body, and he felt as if his joints would rip apart. Blood and flesh splattered the big Turk’s face, but he carried on hammering Jack’s toes until they were nothing but a bloody mush with no recognisable shape remaining. The screams that Jack could hear were his own. Tears streamed from his eyes and snot dribbled from his nose. The tendons in his neck looked like they would snap at any second. Saliva hung from his chin and he babbled incoherently even after the hammering had stopped. His body shivered visibly and blood flowed across the crate, soaking into the wood.

  “Is that funny, Mr Howarth?” Zamir tilted his head and smiled properly for the first time. “Can you see the funny side of that? Maybe your coffee table idea wasn’t such a good one, what do you think. This is very messy.” Zamir pointed to the bloody mush that had once been Jack’s foot. “Have we got anything to clean up this mess, Sami?”

  Sami laughed and walked past Jack. He heard the big man chuckling and the sound of wood creaking. Jack opened his eyes and looked at the old man. “Kill me, please?” How many times had he heard that? How many times had Louise Parker begged him for death, how many? The names and faces of his victims flashed onto the big screen in his mind. How many were there? He remembered telling the bishop that he wanted to die because Father Thomas had repeatedly abused him. When he had finally plucked up the courage to tell someone about his ordeals at the hands of the priest, he had chosen the bishop. The bishop had listened intently and pretended that the story concerned him, but instead of offering words of sympathy and helping him, he had scolded him and called the priest immediately. They had explained that the priest was teaching him humility and punishing him for his evil behaviour. They had warned Jack that if he repeated his wicked allegations to anyone, the police would throw him into an asylum for the remainder of his life. After caning his bare backside, the men of the cloth had then taken it in turns to bugger him over the desk. Jack had never mentioned his abuse again, what was the point? It just made things worse. He must be evil because the bishop had told him he was and punished him for it. As the years went by, the lack of humanity shown by the men who had educated him had rubbed off on him. Brutality made the strong stronger, and the weak weaker. Jack had become the abuser, not wanting to be the abused ever again. “Just kill me,” he wailed. Had he he shouted that here in the present, or was it a scream from his past life? He didn’t know.

  Sami returned with a bottle. “This will clean up the mess, and then we can see how your coffee table looks, eh, funny man?” He poured the sulphuric acid over the ruined foot, and the liquid hissed and bubbled frantically as it dissolved flesh and bones. “We use this stuff especially for cleaning, funny man.” The Turk stood back and put his hand over his nose as the noxious fumes hit him.

  Jack’s screams reached a new pitch, which he had not known was possible. He could not have imagined that such pain was physically possible to endure without the body switching off. His head felt like it was going to explode. He wondered if any of his victims had screamed as loud or as long. His mind tried desperately to reach that place where he went to avoid pain and strife, but he couldn’t find it. It was gone. The door was closed and the key thrown away. The agony in his foot seemed to be spreading through his entire body. His muscles began to twitch involuntarily.

  “Was that funny, Mr Howarth?”

  Jack shook his head from side to side, dribbling spittle from his chin onto his chest. “No more, please!” He whimpered. “The drugs are in a lockup at the back of Smithdown Road. It’s the one with the brown door. Just kill me, please.”

  “We haven’t started yet,” Zamir laughed. “When you admit that you killed my grandson and his family, then we can begin, simple.”

  “I didn’t kill them,” Jack whined. He sobbed like a baby. “Please believe me.”

  “Do the other foot,” Zamir shrugged to Sami. Sami picked up the hammer.

  “No, no, no, please, no!” Jack wailed. The hammer crashed down onto t
he remaining toes repeatedly. Blood and bone sprayed into the air like a pink mist rising. Sami seemed to enjoy the torture as much as Jack once had. He could see that glimmer in his eyes. Only his big toe remained intact when Jack broke. “Okay, okay, I did it!” His words were barely audible. “Please stop, please stop it!”

  “What a shame to stop now!” Sami laughed. “Fuck it! I’m not leaving just one toe. That is just sloppy.” He slammed the claw hammer down five times more until the big toe was goo. Jack’s screams became a howl of anguish and saliva globules shot high into the air. He thought his heart would explode through his chest.

  “Good,” Zamir said, shaking his head. “Now we can begin. Did you rape my grandson’s wife?”

  Jack was barely lucid. The pain was warping his mind. He was shaking and gibbering. He couldn’t take it anymore, and he nodded in the affirmative, indicating that he had raped the woman. He didn’t remember much of it because he had been in a rage when he had killed her, but he usually raped them before he killed them, didn’t he? Yes, his mind answered, of course you did. He listened to his brain and muttered, “Yes.”

  “You did?” Zamir took the hammer and grabbed Jack’s knees. He forced his trembling legs apart and handed the hammer to Sami. “Nail his bollocks to the wood.” Jack’s eyes widened as this new terror threatened. He kicked against the restraints and tried to twist his body away from the danger, but the straps held him fast.

  “No, don’t do that, no please don’t do that, I beg you, please!” Jack bucked and writhed, but he couldn’t escape their grip. He gritted his teeth, and the veins in his arms swelled to bursting.

  Sami laughed as he picked up a nail. He pressed the point against the wrinkly scrotum and then hammered the nail through the skin into the wood. Blood and plasma splattered over Sami’s fingers. Jack wailed in agony, his body thrashing in the air. “Another one,” Zamir ordered. Sami put a nail between his teeth for safekeeping and knocked a second nail through Jacks right testicle. Jack thrust his pelvis forward so hard that his scrotum ripped away from his body. Sami hammered the third nail through the purple head of his flaccid penis, stapling it to the crate. Jack couldn’t believe that he was still alive. The pain from his broken feet seemed to dissipate as this new agony erupted from his groin. His breath was nothing more than short gasps and his eyes rolled back into his head as his body convulsed in agony. He felt his skin blistering and popping as the acid burnt through each layer with increasing intensity. Zamir snatched the bottle of acid from the floor and tipped the burning liquid over Jack’s genitals. The skin began to blister and liquefy immediately. Jack’s head rocked back and his mouth lolled open, a dreadful screaming rasp echoing around the lorry. Zamir tipped the sulphuric acid into his open mouth, and the scream turned into a gurgle as his tongue melted and dissolved. The acid blistered his windpipe and burnt his larynx. His oesophagus ruptured, and the old Turk held his head back, pouring the contents of the bottle into his mouth and then into his eyes. Jack’s body writhed, convulsions racking him. The Child Taker twitched for at least three minutes before his heart finally gave up the struggle. Zamir watched him die with a sense of justice for his slaughtered family. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth was the code he lived by.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Two Weeks Later

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” The vicar scattered freshly dug soil into the grave. Six feet below him lay the body of Detective Inspector William Naylor. Police uniforms filled the graveyard as far as the eye could see. Alec threw a handful of soil from the vicar’s box onto his friend’s coffin, and then he turned and walked away without speaking to anyone. His emotions were spinning. Will had been his friend and colleague for years, yet he had betrayed him in the worst way possible. He had taken his wife. There didn’t seem to be any sense or reason to it. He was angry and terribly sad at the same time. He didn’t want to get involved in any chitchat until he was sure that his eyes wouldn’t give away the pain that he felt inside. He felt the eyes of fellow officers on him, and he could see the whispers on their lips as he neared them. The news that they had found his wife dead next Will Naylor had fuelled the gossip merchants for hours. Alec was struggling to cope with Gail’s death, but the manner in which she had died was inconceivable to him. It all seemed like a surreal nightmare.

  “Funerals, eh?” Chief Carlton appeared on his shoulder. “They don’t get any easier, do they?” He added. Alec didn’t reply. He just smiled weakly. “Are you going to the Griffin for the wake?”

  “No,” Alec shook his head. “If I have a drink now, I’ll never stop. I want to get back to the station. I’m better off keeping my mind occupied.”

  “The commissioner wants you to oversee the case, Alec. I think it’s best that you are seen to be removed from leading the investigation, without actually being so,” the chief gave a knowing wink.

  “I understand.” Alec knew the fact that his wife was now a victim meant that he couldn’t be seen to be investigating her murder. The senior hierarchy followed protocol but left him some room to be involved indirectly. “I spoke to him last week. He thinks the Bradley side of the case is far enough removed not to break protocol. It’s keeping me busy.”

  “I know, I’m snowed under, too,” Carlton frowned. “This case has created a shit storm that is unprecedented in my lifetime. I’m chasing my arse around in circles with the press.”

  “I know the feeling, you and me both,” Alec sighed. He took his mobile from his inside pocket and switched it off silent mode. “Do you know which idiot left his phone on in the church?”

  “Not yet, but when I do find out, I will kick him up the back entry for you!” The chief took his phone out and checked the screen. “Graham Libby has called me and left a voicemail.” He frowned. “He never has any good news lately.”

  “He’s called me, too.” Alec raised his eyebrows and showed the chief the screen. “Will you call him, or shall I?”

  “You do it, Alec, let me know if it’s important.” The chief veered away toward his car. “If it is, tell me tomorrow. If it isn’t, tell me tomorrow!”

  Alec waived and jogged through a gap in the low wall which encircled the graveyard. The roads would be gridlocked with mourners if he didn’t beat people to his car. He pulled his coat tightly around him to stop the cutting wind from reaching inside, but it had little effect. His fingers felt numb from the cold. A row of sycamore trees bent dangerously in the wind, and a Primark bag floated past him at speed. Alec remembered waiting for nearly an hour while Gail had shopped at the Primark on Lord Street. A semicircle of husbands and boyfriends had waited impatiently on the pedestrianised road outside while their partners hunted for bargains. Alec had gone inside the massive store once, but once was enough. It had reminded him of pigs feeding at a trough, pushing and shoving each other out of the way to get to the rails. Everywhere he had looked, garments had lain on the floor. The bag bounced off a Mini and took off high into the air. Alec watched it, part of him wishing he could float away from his shattered life. Maybe it was time to retire and take his pension. He could live cheaply in the sun somewhere and lick his wounds. His phone rang as he reached his car. Alec unlocked it and answered the call as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Alec?” Dr Libby wasn’t sure if it was him or his voicemail. “Is that you or that bloody machine?”

  “It’s me.” Alec tucked the phone under his chin and pulled the seat belt around him.

  “How are you?”

  “Fine,” Alec replied. He was far from feeling fine. What was he supposed to say when people asked? Gail’s death had turned his world inside out. How did you cope with such a shock to your system and still feel fine? “I was about to call you.”

  “I didn’t know if you were working yet, so I left a message. Have you had some time off?”

  “No.” Alec was finding it hard to indulge in small talk. Everyone talked to him differently now, as if he would shatter into a thousand pieces if they said the wrong t
hing. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Well, it’s good news, I think, depends on how you look at it,” the doctor began.

  “Well, if you tell me what it is, I can make my own mind up.” Alec started the engine and drove slowly toward the exit. The car park was filling up with mourners returning for their vehicles. He waved at a group of detectives from the robbery squad. He hadn’t seen them at the graveside. “Look, I’m driving, so if you could get to the point, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Yes, sorry.” Dr Libby sounded irritated. “I’ve had a call from our guys in London, Hammersmith, to be precise. They found human remains in bin bags last week. The body was dismembered and there was no head or hands to get dental records or prints from, but their DNA tests have come back with a hit on the system.”

  Alec waited as the pregnant pause dragged on. “Do I have to ask who it is, or are you going to tell me?”

  “It’s Jack Howarth,” the doctor said flatly. He was disappointed that Alec wasn’t as enthusiastic as he had expected him to be. “I thought you would want to know straight away.”

  “I’ll let the chief know, thanks for that.” Alec cut the call off and pulled the car onto the main road. The traffic was light as he drove away from the churchyard. Jack Howarth was dead. The world would be a safer place without him, but Alec felt nothing. There was no elation, no relief, just numbness. He turned on the wipers as a deluge of rain fell. The wind rocked the car as he drove through a tree-lined stretch of road. He thought about calling the chief but decided to wait. His hands were shaking and his bottom lip began to quiver. Hot tears ran from his eyes, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “Zamir Oguzhan did that,” he muttered to himself. “He killed Jack Howarth and he murdered my wife.” Alec had a feeling in his guts that he hadn’t felt for a while. There was a fire burning there and it felt good. Clarity returned to his thoughts. Zamir Oguzhan had killed Gail.