‘DC Knight turned your head, didn’t she? If you’d minded your own business you wouldn’t be here now. I had no quarrel with you, but you forced my hand.’ Bert turned over the second card, revealing his present. His position in his job, his affair with Jennifer, everything was brought in front of him. Will wondered just how long the killer had been watching them to know so much. He was clearly insane, and his motive for the murders made him all the more unhinged.
‘The prophecy cannot be stopped once it has commenced. As soon as I read your future, it will happen. Maybe now, maybe tomorrow. Who knows?’ Bert cackled, his face set in a deadening grin.
Will conveyed his anger by shaking his head. But it was pointless. In the mind of a cold-blooded killer, everything is justified.
He blinked away his blurred vision. The shaking had subsided, and the only plan he could think of was to launch his body at the man if he came towards him. Slowly, he tried to wriggle out of the barbed wire, each movement bringing intense pain.
‘I’ve wasted enough time. Now it is time for your future.’ Bert rubbed his hands together before slowly turning the last card over, nodding and mumbling as he responded to the voices in his head. ‘I am to do you a great service,’ he said.
Will’s heart leapt. Was he going to release him after all?
‘You are to become acquainted with the blade of my knife, but it won’t be a quick death. You have a whole day to make your peace with it, before your body expires.’
Will bellowed through the cloth in frustration, making Bert jump and topple the candle to its side, spilling hot wax on the dusty floorboards. Bert swore, patting his pockets for his matches. He shook the half-empty box before striking another, making it kiss the extinguished wick.
Bert’s face darkened like thunder as he grabbed Will by the jawbone, his long nails digging into his skin. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
Unable to raise himself from the ground, Will bellowed for help, but was silenced by the tip of cold steel piercing his stomach. A trickle of warm blood ran down his side, and a fresh wave of nausea passed over him as he realised he had just been stabbed.
‘The prophecy has been set in motion,’ Bert said, transfixed by the bloody blade. ‘Your body will sustain you until tomorrow, then you will die here, drained of blood.’ Bert laid the bloodied knife on the floorboards behind him before stretching his limbs to walk away. ‘So it will be done. You have twenty-four hours to live.’
Will sank into dark oblivion.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Bert
* * *
He was getting stronger, he could feel it in his bones. Every cell was repairing, knitting together, expelling the sick, and cleansing his blood. The police officer may not have been part of his plan but he had come too far now, he could not risk getting caught. Now all he needed to complete his mission was to fulfil two more prophecies. The bound and gagged police officer was a good bargaining tool. If the homeless man did not bring Jennifer Knight to him, the death of her colleague would. He needed to arrange a meeting, and he needed her to come alone. This had to be personal, so personal that she would want him solely for herself. She was close. He could feel her energy reaching out to him, probing the darkness. It was all coming together, and he was ready.
Like a vampire, he would feed from the essence of her soul. Only then could he be free. Bert smiled as he watched in his rear view mirror of his mother’s car. The ragged man slowly ambled up the road, his face wracked with discomfort as he clutched a rucksack over one shoulder, and his scruffy dog under his arm. A grey blanket enveloped the terrier’s body, its small black nose peeping out from the layers. Bert pressed the brake, allowing the man to catch him up. The drizzly weather had kept people inside, and Bert felt his confidence in his mission grow. The car came to a slow halt as he unwound the dirt-streaked window, a spray of drizzle providing fresh vigour.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ Bert craned his neck to peer up at the man.
George pulled the scruffy terrier up under his right arm as he shuffled on the pavement towards town. He hunched his shoulders in a determined march, throwing a glance at the driver of the car crawling alongside the kerb. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Don’t you remember? We shared a drink the other night. Can I give you a lift?’ Bert tried to hide the glint of excitement in his eyes. Such enthusiasm tended to unsettle people, and although his prey may have overlooked it for the sake of a drink, in the empty streets with nothing but blackbirds circling overhead, he may not be as keen. He could also have been warned of a suspicious man in the area.
‘I’ve got a little nip of something that should help warm you up,’ Bert said, his patience running thin. His eyes flicked to the mirror to check the streets were clear. A knife lay hidden in the pocket of his door well. The dog could prove difficult, but if the old man didn’t get in voluntarily, he would take him by force.
George came to a sudden halt, his dog shivering under his arm. Bert willed him to climb inside, wondering if the sight of rosary beads hanging from his mirror would give him some much needed reassurance.
George hoisted up the dog under his shoulder, his own discomfort evident by his pained expression. ‘I need a lift to the vet’s. Me dog is sick. I think he’s caught a chill.’
Bert leaned across and pulled the passenger door handle. The bottom of the door scraped across the pavement and it protested with a loud creak. It hadn’t been opened in years, and an earthen mossy odour escaped with a barely audible whoosh.
‘Hop in,’ Bert said, with his most reassuring smile.
George ducked his head as he climbed inside. ‘Thanks very much, mister. Can ya drop me to the Haven Veterinary clinic on the far side of town? You’ll have to turn around. Do ya want me to direct ya?’
Bert checked his mirrors as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘No need. I know exactly where I need to go.’
George drew the seatbelt across his dog, strapping him onto his lap. Tinker blinked before narrowing his eyes at Bert, and a low rumble of a growl ensued.
‘Tinker, stop that,’ George said, stroking down the white hackles forming on the dog’s back. The car veered left and began to gain speed as it took a country road out of town. ‘You’re going the wrong way, mister, the vet’s back there.’ George jabbed his thumb behind him.
Bert stared firmly ahead. ‘In good time. There’s a few loose ends to tie up first.’
George’s straggly Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his liver spotted hands shaking in tune with Tinker’s nervous shiver. Probably desperate for a drink, Bert thought, knowing that would be the least of his worries soon. As if reading his thoughts, the dog gave a low growl, enough to tell him he was up to no good. Bert smiled in satisfaction. He had George exactly where he wanted him. There was no way he could get out of the car while it was moving so fast. The metal box shook as it hit the country lanes, the worn-out suspension making every bone in his body rattle.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ George said, his teeth jarring as the car bounced out of another pothole. ‘Just bring me back to where you found me and I’ll be on my way.’
Bert tightened his fingers over the narrow steering wheel and threw George a poisonous look. ‘You’ll go when I say you can go. Now sit tight, this won’t take very long.’
George’s voice rose up a pitch. ‘What do ya want with me? Sure I’m just an auld fella on the street. What interest do ya have in me or me dog?’
Bert shook his head. ‘I saw your past, I read your cards. What’s the saying? What comes around goes around. Well today destiny is paying out.’
‘What?’ George said, craning forward in his seat as the car slowed to a halt. As he gazed at the landscape ahead, it all became clear. The earlier drizzle began to thicken, as black clouds blotted the landscape. A low rumble of thunder echoed from far away.
‘I’m not going in there,’ George said, as Bert opened his passenger door from the outside.
Bert leaned across and cli
cked the stiffened seatbelt free, pulling back his hand from the snapping muzzle. ‘Fine. Then we’ll do this the hard way, because I always get what I want.’
Bert ripped the blanket from George’s arms and threw it over the dog’s head.
‘What are ya doing to Tinker?’ George yelped, slapping away his hands. ‘Don’t hurt me little dog.’
‘I’m not going to hurt him, I’m just bringing him for a walk,’ Bert said as a sheet of drizzle showered his face. Wrenching the dog from George’s arms, he strode to the building ahead. George caterwauled in despair, shuffling and limping behind Bert, his black coat flapping in the rising wind. In the distance, a flash of light followed the boom of thunder.
The corners of Bert’s mouth cranked upwards as a flock of ravens cut through the evening air. One, two, three … there was no stopping the prophecy now.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Jennifer nursed her cappuccino as she inhaled the delicious aroma of freshly ground coffee beans in the small cosy cafe. While most police officers frequented pubs in their leisure time, Jennifer could usually be found in one of Haven’s coffee shops. Although she was not averse to going out for a drink, the smell of alcohol reminded her too much of her father, and the nights she had to pull on her coat to walk through the dimly lit streets to bring him home. Heads would turn as she entered each of the local boozers, full of drunken patrons elbowing each other to warn of the presence of a child. Their father had become an expert at dealing with the occasional visits from social services. Lying was a natural talent, and he used his charm to ease any lingering doubts.
Jennifer forced herself to snap out of it. Without work to occupy her, her thoughts often returned to the past. Only now could she comprehend how much danger she and Amy had been in. And yet her father was back, raking up old wounds.
She liked the coffee shop because she was always left alone to ponder. Nobody took your cup before you finished, or wiped your table to subtly pressure you into leaving. It was usually filled with young girls, admirers of the David Beckham lookalike barista who ran it. Jennifer turned her thoughts to Will, who had made the journey home to chat to his mum about their relationship. She didn’t know what worried her the most, the fact he deemed their relationship serious enough to involve his parents, or their reaction when they found out how smitten he was. He didn’t need to say he loved her, it was evident every moment they spent together. But it was no secret they wanted him to return to his remorseful wife, who was yet to sign the divorce papers citing her infidelities. Jennifer’s fingers found the nape of her neck as a cold breeze danced on her skin. She shook off the feeling, telling herself she was being silly. But as she gripped her mug, a ball of dread dropped like a stone inside her.
Students giggled as they waited to be served, toddlers whined in their pushchairs, and the man across from her rustled the pages of the Financial Times. But it was all lost to Jennifer as she sat stiffly in her chair, oblivious to the outside world. Something was wrong. It chilled her bones and filled her soul with dread, detaching her from reality until the only sound she could hear was the beating of her own heart.
She jumped out of her trance as her telephone rang, bringing up her knee and spilling the contents of her coffee cup across the table. Jennifer mopped the cold liquid with serviettes. Just how long had she been sitting there? Grabbing her handbag she squeezed past a queue of customers to the front door. Of all the places for that to happen, she thought. I must have looked like a shop dummy sitting next to the window in a trance. But the feelings of misgivings had not relinquished their hold, and her heart skipped a beat as her phone rang a second time.
It was not Will’s name that lit the screen but Christian’s. ‘Hello?’ Jennifer whispered, fiddling with her car keys as she strode down the path.
Christian’s voice was breathy. ‘I’m glad I caught you. Bert’s called my mobile. He said he was going to pay me a visit, but he had some business to take care of first. I’ve had a bad feeling all morning, I just knew something was going to happen.’
Jennifer’s heart flickered. ‘Did you hear any background noises? Anything to tell you his location?’
‘He said something about being in the highest point in Haven. I could hear someone shouting in the background, something about letting go of a tinker. That’s when the call ended. You need to arrest him, Jenny, please. I’m terrified he might come around and harm the children.’
Tinker? Jennifer searched the corridors of her brain as she tried to extract the information she needed. She stared at the cracks in the rain-dappled pavement, her forehead knotted in a frown. Tinker … ‘The voice, did it have an accent?’
‘It wasn’t local. He just kept shouting something about Tinker, and then the phone went dead. I didn’t even know Bert had a phone.’
Jennifer nodded, even though Christian could not see her. ‘OK. I’ll call this through to control and send somebody over to keep an eye on the place. Keep the line free and call me if you hear any more.’
Jennifer tapped her fingers against her lips, pushing back her anxiety. The Raven must have taken George and his dog. But why would he want to hurt them? Membership of The Reborners came with a hefty price tag and Jennifer couldn’t imagine him attending. And where the hell was the highest point in Haven? She alerted control to carry out a local search, and organised a unit to attend Christian’s address for safeguarding. The wind whistled as the dark clouds whipped into a storm, sending loose leaves in a circular dance as the breeze picked up momentum.
The thoughts of the Raven hurting George filled her with trepid determination. She had to find the Raven before he killed again. A sense of déjà vu swept over her as she recalled her last big case, attending the boathouse to save her young nephew Joshua. In her eyes, George Butler was every bit as vulnerable. A small frail man with a trusting nature, she struggled to understand why the Raven would hurt him … unless it was solely to get to her. She thought of the last time they spoke, the raven glaring down at them from the branches of the tree. Was it an omen? Jennifer’s heart pounded in her chest at the thought of George making his way to the highest point in Haven. But where was the bloody highest point? Haven was relatively flat. There was a river, woodlands, and acres of unkempt land, but no mountains or hills to be explored. Frustration pushed the breath out of her body and she fought to calm herself in short gasps. She couldn’t keep driving aimlessly around, waiting for answers. She had to stop the prophecy.
She dialled her sergeant’s number and patched it through to hands free. It was picked up on the first ring. ‘Sarge, give me some answers please, where’s the highest point in Haven?’
‘I’m looking. There are several blocks of flats, or the radio station, but I don’t think anyone can get in there. We don’t even know if he means a building or land, do we?’
Jennifer could hear a keyboard tapping in the background. She was about to reply that she didn’t know, when she was interrupted by Claire’s voice.
‘Hang on, I’ve got it on Google. The highest point in Haven is the radio station, it’s located on the old industrial estate. I’ll update control and get some units to meet you there. And Jennifer … you don’t need to look for Bert’s van. Officers picked it up down a side alley half an hour ago.’
The trees flashed past the window in a green blur as Jennifer drove towards Radio Haven. She glanced at her dashboard as the ding ding of her warning system alerted her she was low on petrol. Swearing under her breath, she gripped the steering wheel. It wasn’t like her to be so disorganised, but with everything going on, her normally ordered lifestyle had been thrown into chaos.
Jennifer swung her car around and pushed her foot onto the accelerator as the engine roared into life. The Siri device on her phone obtained the number for the radio station and she punched it in.
‘Come on, come on,’ she growled as the slow tone rang out unanswered. Just what was she going to say if she got through anyway? Surely anyone trying to get access to their roof would be
challenged, and if they’d seen anything suspicious they would call the police. She cancelled the call and concentrated on the road, wishing she had a blue light on the roof of her car.
* * *
[#]
* * *
Jennifer’s car screeched up to the building, sending gravel skidding across the path as she yanked her handbrake. Pulling out her warrant card, she flashed it at the brunette on the reception desk.
‘DC Knight. Has anyone suspicious come in this way? Any men you don’t know?’
The brunette closed her magazine, a wad of chewing gum resting on her back teeth as she stared open-mouthed. ‘No, nobody,’ she squeaked in a small voice.
‘How do you get access to the roof? Is it possible for someone to get on from outside?’ Jennifer said, her heart pounding as precious seconds passed by.
The girl pointed at a set of double doors to the left of the building. ‘There’s a railing outside but it’s safer in the lift. It’ll bring you right up to the roof.’
‘Thank you. We have concerns that an elderly homeless man may be trying to jump off a building today. If you see anyone matching this description on the premises then call the police.’
The girl chewed her gum a couple of times before answering, ‘Sure, I will do.’ But Jennifer had already left, and was hastily jabbing the buttons to call the lift.
She wrung her hands as the lift slowly ascended, the panelled numbers of each floor flashing red as they rolled across the glass screen, one … two … three … four … as if in slow motion. Jennifer’s imagination went into overdrive, acting out every worst-case scenario. How terrified must George and Tinker be in the clutches of the madman? she thought, clenching her fists. She didn’t trust the receptionist, who had been engrossed in her magazine when she burst through the double doors. They could have easily gotten past her and slipped into the lift. They could be up there right now. She envisioned them on the roof as the wind whipped around them. Bert standing behind George, his hands rough on his back. The skinny Irish man was skin and bone. It would only take a small push to send him over the edge. Clutching his little dog, he would either land on the concrete or on the roof of a car in the car park below. She willed the lift to move faster until finally it dinged.
Time To Die Page 25