Hinton Hollow Death Trip

by Will Carver

  Nate stepped to the right and saw the bodies. He kept running, pumping his arms and lifting his knees to give himself more power. Anderson looked as though he was going to try to stop him. He was large, strong, but not especially nimble on those flat feet. Nate sidestepped him with ease and bolted towards his wife.

  He dropped to his knees between the two female victims, scuffing them like his dead son had at lunchtime tackling a bully, like his wife had as she knelt on the tiled floor of the barbershop office.

  And then a howl.

  Unlike Mrs Blake, Pace did not wait. He left the headmistress mid-interview and ran outside where there was wind and shadow and black flames lapping at everything that was good.

  I FEEL SAD

  Here’s something: if you read a story, hear a story, or someone tells you a story where somebody dies, if you find that you don’t really care because you haven’t built up enough knowledge of that character and can’t feel sympathetic towards them, that is on you.

  Not just you, obviously. The storyteller has to take part of the blame for not creating some of the magic that you need in order to emote. But, as a human, not to care about the death of another person – whether you know them or not – to rejoice in the death of someone you deem to be bad or evil or a wrongdoer, that is on you. And, from what I see in the world, that is what people do.

  When Dorothy Reilly keeled over in her flat, on her own, with a bone in her throat, did it hit you differently to the death of Darren’s cat? If you felt no sadness at her solitude or the way that she had given up on herself, a part of you is missing. Your soul will be lighter.

  If you felt some just cause that Faith Brady took her own life after failing to protect her children, yet feel heartbroken when a celebrity you do not know does the same thing because they did not have the appropriate support mechanism in place to deal with their fame and the things that come with being under constant public scrutiny, it is a mirror that you require, not a voice, when searching for the real evil in the world.

  You felt awful when Jacob was taken because he was a child. Because he was innocent. Because he was good. Because his mother should have saved him.

  That’s easy to feel that way.

  Perhaps you were also angry.

  Even easier.

  It takes so much to shock now, which means it takes too much to make you care.

  Do you understand what I am saying? You keep pushing and pushing. Wanting more and more. Listening less and less. You are tearing your planet apart, refusing to see the destruction man has caused. You deny global warming. You fight over differing religious beliefs. You consume your information in bitesize chunks and don’t have the capability to even consider why your attention span has dwindled.

  Humankind has created evil at a rate that even I cannot keep up with. So, in order to be heard, in order for me to make you understand how awful your race has become, I have to be deliberately shocking. I have to always go beyond what you can do.

  Evil will always exist, but the better you are, the quieter I can be.

  You see?

  I don’t feel sad for the people in this story, I’m not supposed to, I am Evil. I am here for balance. As a necessity.

  It is you that I feel sad for.

  A SECRET

  There are days when I do not want to do my job.

  Day three was not one of them.

  QUIET IS THE NEW LOUD

  Pace saw the man disturbing his crime scene and howling into the wind. He had pulled his wife up into his arms and was reaching out to pull his daughter closer when Pace charged at him.

  Nate never saw him coming.

  He was scooped up and away from his wife before he fell to the floor with Pace on top of him. The barber struggled a little but all strength had left him and anguish blocked adrenaline. He gave up and lay face down in the road, weeping. The cries started low then raised in pitch and volume like the engine of a sports car accelerating. Pace flipped him over and held on tightly. The wreck of a man, sitting between the detective’s legs, his weak body flopping backward against Pace’s chest. Pace gripped Nate’s arms. He looked up at Anderson for some help. Nate stared forward at the carnage of his life.

  Detective Sergeant Pace is a blight on your crops.

  Detective Sergeant Pace is black mould.

  Detective Sergeant Pace is the metastasis you prayed against.

  Mrs Blake appeared in the background at the school gates.

  The six men from the blue sofas emerged around the corner with three barbers, two of whom had abandoned their coffee breaks.

  The large grey bear known as RD stepped out of his diner with a tea towel in his giant right paw. Two of his customers followed.

  Mrs Beaufort was banging her feeble, translucent, bony hand against the inside of the car window – Pace had locked the back doors in case he picked up a suspect – she was yelling ‘let me out’, but the wind took her muffled words.

  The photographer stood motionless, his camera dangling by his side. He was used to the quiet serenity of a murder scene.

  And Nathan Hadley stared, wondering who could have done such a thing. He thought about that animal Charles Ablett, probably angry that he couldn’t get what he wanted from Rachel. He started kicking his legs and lashing out.

  Pace had to restrain him. The scene was about to become a circus. He had to handcuff the man who had lost his entire family in one gloomy afternoon. There were locals watching as he slapped the cuffs on, it was going to do his reputation no good. Add to that the fact that he had imprisoned the town elder in his car, this was shaping up to be a long fucking night.

  Roger Ablett hoisted his considerable weight up into his Range Rover, pushing with his foot on the step while gaining leverage with his arms on the doorframe. He was out of breath by the time his fat arse hit the heated leather seat.

  He turned the key and grinned.

  That went quite well.

  Easier than he’d expected.

  It was still light outside. But the darkness was moving in fast.

  ALL THIS HAPPENED

  Liv Dunham was restless. Again. Her upbeat mood from the morning had given way to solemnity once more.

  She was in-between.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave the house in case Oz came back and she wasn’t there to let him back into their lives. What if he called again?

  That morning she had been certain that it was Oz on the other end of the line the night before but her solitary confinement had encouraged her to think and rationalise the events. It couldn’t have been him. He wouldn’t tease her like that. He wouldn’t purposely scare her, his Liv, his love, his wife-to-be.

  The suicide of Faith Brady had not filtered through the Hinton Hollow gossip mill at that point otherwise Liv may have been tempted to call the police back. But she felt so foolish doing that again. She didn’t want to be condescended to. She was feeling the same way that Pace had felt many years before when Julee had just vanished. He’d had the silent calls, too, convinced it was her at the other end. He’d gained some peace from that, but Liv was growing more frantic.

  She’d left three more messages on May Tambor’s answering machine, the tape was almost filled with her concern. And now she was worried that she had given up information to a psychopath. Her voice sounded needy, she had spoken her fiancé’s name indicating that she was not with her man.

  She was alone. Unprotected. And stir crazy.

  The television set was black. A few fingerprints were making fun of her but not enough for her to turn the set on and hear more bad news. Her legs wobbled up and down as she sat on the edge of the sofa, yet again, doing nothing to help anybody. Remaining in the one place a killer knew she would be on her own.

  The telephone rang and she yelped.

  Liv let it ring seven times.

  What if it’s May? What do I say to her? She trembled.

  Then she dived off the sofa and ran towards the phone, the pain in her hip vanishing momentarily. She
slid the last metre across the laminate floor in her socks but the phone stopped ringing.

  ‘Fuck.’

  Liv dialled 1471.

  You were called today at 16:41. The caller withheld their number.

  As she replaced the receiver, the phone buzzed to life again. She left it, not wanting to look anxious, and picked it up after four rings.

  ‘Hello?’ She tried to sound as casual as she could but her heart was punching the inside of her chest.

  Silence.

  ‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ She tried again.

  Liv knew it was the same person who had called her the night before, the feeling she got in those silences was exactly the same. She felt terrified but ultra-alert. Not the way she would feel if she was talking to Oz. He was the only one that could calm her. He was the only one who could get things back to normal. She felt so stupid for saying his name.

  Another silence.

  The wind in the back garden was pushing the trees towards the south.

  As before, Liv’s fear seemed to hone her focus.

  ‘What do you want, huh? You want to talk to me, then talk to me. You want to breathe down the phone, then take that crazy somewhere else.’

  Still, there was nothing from the caller. Nothing to say whether the breath was male or female, nothing to indicate who on Earth it could be. So she took a guess.

  ‘Tommy, you’re in big trouble if I find out it’s you.’

  Tommy was a kid from school who had displayed crush-like symptoms towards his teacher.

  Miss.

  ‘Father Salis?’ She tried this name again.

  Strike.

  She desperately wanted to call Oz’s name but didn’t want to give things away as she had the previous evening. So she threw one more name into the mix, hushing it into the silence at the other end.

  ‘Charles?’

  Another short silence.

  Then.

  ‘I…’

  DAY FOUR

  Where you will consider:

  An old lady who won’t give up

  A priest asking for forgiveness

  The Raymond family

  A pig stealer

  Sibling rivalry

  The importance of biscuits

  and the need for a little time.

  SHADOWS AND IMPULSE

  Then it got worse.

  ‘That has to be just about the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard.’

  Pace was furious. It was one in the morning and he hadn’t stopped moving since the afternoon of day three.

  He’d detained Nathan Hadley, who had become increasingly violent, and quizzed him for possible leads in the murder enquiry, but the barber had nothing to give, nothing he wanted to give, and was released with some leaflets on grief counselling.

  Mrs Beaufort was hysterical at her treatment. She felt she had been left in the car like a neglected dog. Pace had to enlist the help of RD, who took Mrs Beaufort to Dr Green to be checked over before dropping her home.

  He was also avoiding the media, both local and national, who were now fully aware of the small town of Hinton Hollow. The Berkshire haven that had managed to exist for so long as a road sign that people read on their way to somewhere bigger, better. He couldn’t afford to be in the spotlight so soon after leaving London. He couldn’t afford to have that last case dragged up again. Not now.

  Stanhope Road had been closed for hours while the scene was picked at and photographed. The three bodies were bagged and taken away for further examination. The cause of death seemed pretty obvious to Pace, it was the motive behind the murder that was evading him. It would be confirmed that Rachel Hadley had sexual intercourse the day she died and would declare that it had not been forced in any way. There were no other marks to suggest the attack was sexual.

  It was the first nugget of information that Pace felt could lead somewhere worthwhile. He’d tried to get hold of Nathan Hadley. As uncomfortable as it was, Pace needed to confirm whether Nathan and Rachel had been together on Wednesday. If they hadn’t, the case could hinge on the identity of the secret lover. But Pace hadn’t been able to find Nathan Hadley. He wasn’t at home. There were reports that he had been at The Arboreal drinking, but even at midnight, the Hadley residence was empty, a ghost.

  And now this.

  Pace was stood in Anderson’s office, the inspector behind his sorry excuse for a desk, Councilwoman Hayes leaning against a filing cabinet to his left, both of them wide-eyed in anticipation of Pace’s response to their idea.

  It was the worst fucking idea he’d ever heard.

  CLEARLY CONFUSED

  Anderson and Hayes had contrived the concept together before Pace had even entered the room.

  Anderson and Hayes. An unlikely duo. They didn’t seem to go together.

  SOME OTHER OXYMORONS

  Act naturally.

  Bittersweet.

  Farewell reception.

  Humankind.

  When the detective had his sudden, honest outburst, his inspector stood up from his chair to defend the decision.

  ‘Now hold on a minute there, Pace.’ His moustache jumped up and down. Pace watched it move with intrigue. He noticed the inspector’s cheeks flush slightly. He perused the councilwoman’s body language, her arms unfolding, one hand pushing her hair back behind her right ear, the direction her pelvis was pointed.

  ‘How long have you been sleeping together?’ Pace spoke clearly, seemingly pulling the information from nowhere.

  A NOTE ON THE HOLD OF EVIL

  At that point, the entire town was in my grasp. Everybody in that room.

  Some were being choked while others were merely caressed.

  From then until the end, I did not let go of Detective Sergeant Pace.

  The children could only be hurt by humankind.

  Councilwoman Hayes’ chest flared up in red blotches and her gasp was almost as comical as her lover’s ridiculous facial hair.

  ‘What did you say?’ Anderson raised his voice.

  Pace remained calm, triumphant even. This was his fourth day back home in the perfect village of Hinton Hollow and he had already uncovered as much seediness as he would expect in the capital.

  ‘Would you like me to repeat the question, sir?’

  There was a short silence while the alleged couple took a moment to gaze at one another.

  ‘The murder investigation should be your primary concern, detective. What the councilwoman does or does not do in her own time is really none of your business.’ Anderson had calmed himself, thinking he was taking the higher ground.

  ‘I don’t care that the councilwoman is married. And I don’t care if she is stepping out of that marriage to be with you. But it is my business if stupid decisions are being made to save someone’s arse because the last stupid decision that was made by the pair of you ended up getting a young mother and her two children shot in the face and heart.’ Pace raised his voice slightly when he said ‘face and heart’, to punctuate his point.

  The unlikely couple of Anderson and Hayes had concocted an idea to draw out the killer and trap him. In what they perceived as wise deduction, it was clear that the murderer was targeting mothers with small children. He was waiting outside schools for an opportunity, picking off stragglers who left themselves vulnerable. The Bradys had left school late because of a misplaced pair of shoes and the Hadleys had a meeting with the headmistress.

  He must be waiting near the schools, they agreed.

  There is a pattern, they had said.

  ‘You have to close the schools,’ Pace warned them. ‘It sounds to me like you are using innocent children as live bait, Mrs Hayes. I really don’t think your constituents are going to go along with that.’

  POLITICS

  Will get people killed.

  *When nobody is thinking about the people.

  ‘It’s fifty-fifty at the moment,’ the councilwoman finally weighed in. ‘I know this community, detective, and I have spoken with them. There is still a
general feeling that we should not let this man win, we should not bow down in fear. Now, I know that was the reason for keeping the schools open after the unfortunate incident with Jacob Brady, and that decision rests on my shoulders and the shoulders of the people of Hinton Hollow who supported me. They still have faith that this police station, small as it may be, can apprehend the figure causing such disruption.’ She was eloquent. Pace could understand why she had been voted in, he wanted to listen to the words she was speaking. But some of those words – unfortunate incident, disruption – jarred with him as emotionless.

  ‘You want us to stake out the schools and grab anyone who looks unsavoury? Is that the plan?’

  ‘You make it sound rather crude when you put it like that, but that is it in essence, yes. There will be parents keeping their children off school either way, until this all blows over.’

  She wasn’t using the word bait, but that’s what it was.

  Pace looked at her. She was in her mid-forties, her hair was a greying blonde that suited her. She was short, petite even, but she had a presence that made her appear bigger than she was. It was that matter-of-factness – until this all blows over – that meant she was a perfect fit for Anderson.

  The councilwoman was defending herself by going on the attack. Yes, she was taking a risk but this plan would definitely work, the people of Hinton Hollow had nothing to fear, the police and the local government were in control and nobody else had to die. Her decision to keep the schools open after Jacob Brady was shot was the right call because it had led to the capture of the man with the gun.

  She was panicking. Thinking about herself.

  She was pinning her hopes on two incidents of horrific violence having some kind of pattern. Pace knew that there was no ritual here. The killer was not performing in the same way with each attack. He believed that the Hadley shooting was a panic. The gunshots were too close together, according to Mrs Blake’s testimony – he had gone back on Wednesday evening to finish his interview after detaining Nathan Hadley and palming off Mrs Beaufort into RD’s capable hands. The killer had meant to shoot one person but something happened. There was no pause between shots to evaluate, he simply took out any chance of there being a witness.