The Sound Of Crying

by Nigel Cooper

  ‘You were right, detective,’ said Helen.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Revenge, an eye-for-an-eye and all that stuff you were talking about, you were right.’

  ‘Well if I was right, why did you just kill him?’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t.’

  ‘I just witness you shoot him.’

  ‘No, detective, you witnessed me pulling the trigger and taking a shot. What you didn’t witness is where the bullet went or who it hit,’ she said.

  Rhodes looked out across the park, but the bench was too far away to see anything over there.

  ‘Well what the hell did you just shoot?’

  ‘My brother.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My brother, I just shot my brother.’

  Rhodes just looked at her, somewhat perplexed.

  Chapter 39

  ‘All rise,’ said the court bailiff as the judge entered the courtroom. Helen, along with everybody else in the court, stood as the judge settled in his seat.

  The proceedings, the case against Helen Kramer, got underway, but it didn’t take long for the evidence to be presented and it took even less time for the jury to come back with a decision.

  The fact of the matter was that Helen Kramer had listened to every word that DS Rhodes had said out on that roof that day and she’d had a moment of clarity. Rhodes was right, she’d just never thought about it that way, never stopped to really think about what she was doing, the consequences, how she’d really feel afterwards and what her children would think of her if, by chance, they were looking down. She was so hell-bent on getting revenge, avenging her children’s deaths, that she’d lost sight of absolutely everything, as her world had turned into something surreal. It was like she’d been living in a dream – or rather a nightmare – and then DS Rhodes’s voice up on that roof had somehow, slowly brought her out of it, back to reality, like bringing her out of some kind of hypnosis that she’d been under for over a year now. That day up on the roof she’d got thinking, her brother down there on Jesus Green with a gun pointing at Stanton’s head. She knew that her brother wanted to avenge the twins’ deaths as much as she did, why else would he be there, in the park, waving a gun around. What she didn’t know at the time was that her wayward younger brother was the one responsible for abducting her boys from the park to start with. In hindsight, had she known that Dean was involved, she probably still would have done what she did. While the crosshairs were aimed squarely at Stanton’s chest with Dean standing next to him, seconds away from blowing his brains all over the park, Helen, with the help of Rhodes words, had had a moment of clarity. She realised that killing Stanton was not going to fix things, it certainly wouldn’t bring her twins back and, like Rhodes said, Stanton would be out of it, resting in peace. Why should that fucker have any piece, she’d thought. And maybe, yes, what was it Rhodes had said, ‘If you go down to the river and sit on the bank and wait long enough, eventually, you’ll see the bodies of your enemies float by,’ yes, that was it. She liked the sound of that and she was convinced that one day Stanton would get what he deserved. What Helen didn’t realise was that day was nigh.

  She’d adjusted her aim away from Stanton’s chest to her brother’s right shoulder, confident she could hit the small area of about five inches, which she did, with great accuracy, as she knew she could. As it happened all that sniper training wasn’t a waste of time after all. Helen didn’t want her brother doing a life sentence in jail for murder, she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself, and she always had been the big sister, looking out for her younger brother.

  The judge and jury had decided that Helen Kramer had done an amazing thing, the ultimate forgiveness, considering. There are probably only a handful of women on the planet who could forgive the man who’d raped, tortured and murdered their children, but Helen Kramer had managed it, somehow. Something had told her that killing Stanton was the only way that she could move forward with her life, just like her husband, John, had wanted all along, but now she knew that killing Stanton would have only made things worse.

  The judge decided that, with mitigating circumstances and all the suffering that Helen Kramer had been through – plus the fact that in the end, strangely, she’d actually saved Derek Stanton’s life – that, for the charge of being in possession of a firearm without a licence, shooting her brother in the shoulder, and a few other lesser charges such as: theft of the gun by deception, not registering two used cars and a few other bits and bobs, he was going to sentence her to two years imprisonment; suspended for two years, which basically meant that as long as she stayed out of trouble – and didn’t try to assassinate anybody else – for a period of two years she would do no jail time. The judge also slapped another condition on her, she was ordered to get counselling. The CPS had decided not to prosecute Helen with the offence of ‘possessing a firearm with criminal intent’ under section 16 of the Firearms Act 1968, as it was not in the public interest.

  ‘Well, I thought that all went rather well, how are you feeling?’ said Helen’s solicitor as he walked her out of the court.

  ‘Strange, I’m just glad it’s all over now. I’ve been struggling to adjust to some sort of normal life again, especially with this court date hanging over me. But now it’s over and done with it should be a little easier for me to try and move forward, but I’ve still got a long way to go.’

  ‘That’s good, Helen, you’re going to be just fine,’ he said.

  ‘Come on, the car’s over here,’ said John.

  ‘Ok, Helen, you take care now,’ said the solicitor.

  ‘Thanks again, for everything,’ said John, shaking the solicitors hand.

  Although Helen was back with John, living in the family home, she wasn’t exactly ‘back’ with him per se. Even though John had forgiven her for sleeping with Peter Jackson – said he’d understood why and that he’d understood what she’d been through and why she’d gone to the lengths that she had – it was just words, Helen could feel his pain, the wedge between them.

  Helen had felt dirty for that part of her plan and she didn’t know if things could ever be the same again with John, no matter how much her husband tried to convince her otherwise. She needed time, for now she wanted to sleep in the spare room and John had gone along with her request. Although he wanted to, he hadn’t made any advances towards Helen, partly because he was respecting her wishes, but partly because he was a man and the thought of another man being there recently didn’t sit comfortably in his mind, maybe it never would. But now he knew how it felt to be on the receiving end.

  Helen and John had struggled and the kidnapping of their boys had put a huge strain on their relationship. But, if truth be told, their marriage was on the rocks before that, it was the twins that were holding them together, just.

  Who knows what the future held for Helen and John Kramer, only time would tell.

  Chapter 40

  The routine and rigmarole Helen had to go through when she arrived at Peterborough Prison was a nightmare. Even though she’d arranged the visit with the prison staff in advance, it was still an ordeal: booking in, being searched, showing ID etcetera. While she was in the prison waiting room waiting to go through she actually thought, for a moment anyway, that she was sitting in a room with actual prisoners. There were men and woman aged from 20 to 40, all dressed like total scruff bags, jeans, trainers, t-shirts, and most of them had an assortment of tattoos and spoke in plebeian, including the women. Helen couldn’t help thinking that if these people were the friends and relatives of those incarcerated here, then lord knows what the actual prisoners were like, she didn’t want to think.

  Eventually, her name was called out and she was led though to see her brother.

  ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘Hi, sis,’ said Dean, sitting down.

  Helen was surprised at how good her younger brother looked. Probably the lack of drugs and three square meals a day and daily exercise in the gym, she imagined.
r />   ‘How’s your shoulder?’ she said, with a slight smile to try and break the ice.

  ‘I’ll live; it could have been a damn sight worse if you weren’t such a sharp shooter. Look, sis, you didn’t have to come up here to see me, I don’t deserve it. To be honest, I don’t get it, I just don’t understand why you’d ever want to see me again, let alone speak to me,’ said Dean.

  ‘Look, I’ve learned a lot recently and I’ve had time to think, work things out for myself. I can’t ignore what you did, Dean, and I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why you did it. I know you needed the money and had a big problem with some drug dealer, but still...’

  ‘You’re right, I don’t have any excuse and my being in here isn’t punishment enough for what I did. I don’t deserve a sister like you, you should just leave and never speak to me again, at least I could understand that.’

  ‘Look, Dean, you’re my brother and I know you’ve lived a pretty messed up life until now and I don’t condone the way you live it and the trouble you constantly find yourself in, but you’re still my baby brother and … I forgive you.’

  ‘No, don’t say that, sis, I don’t deserve your forgiveness.’

  ‘That may be so. Look, Dean, the truth is, I’ll never be able to forget what you did, but I can forgive you for it, just accept those two facts.’

  Dean looked at her then lost it, he had an emotional breakdown and started to sob uncontrollably, he could barely get any words out as he choked on his tears. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, what can I do? I don’t know what to do, sis.’

  ‘Nothing, you can’t do anything, it’s over, Dean. Listen to me, your solicitor’s explained how your sentence works. When the judge gave you nine years I thought that meant you’d be locked away for nine, I didn’t realise you only have to serve half your sentence. You’ll be out of here in four and a half years, you’ll only be 32 when you get out, you’ll still have your whole life ahead of you and I’ve even been told you can study in here so if you really want to do something for me, get your head down and try and learn something while you’re in here, put the time to good use, so when you get out you can make a fresh start, leave that shitty old life of yours behind.’

  He looked at her, through red eyes, unable to find the words to express himself.

  ‘And speaking of leaving your shitty old life behind, what’s gonna happen with all that drug dealer business and the money you still owe him?’

  ‘The last time I spoke to him, when he gave me the gun, he said he was gonna wipe the debt, but that he had something lined up that he wanted me to do, to return the favour,’ said Dean.

  ‘Well what did he want you to do?’

  ‘I don’t know, and I guess I’ll never will now. Anyway, by the time I get out of here he’ll probably have forgotten all about it, the crazy bastard takes more drugs than I do. Or he’ll have either moved on, moved away or he’ll be dead, lord knows he’s got enough enemies.’

  ‘Ok, I’m glad to hear that,’ said Helen.

  ‘Did John get his money back?’ said Dean.

  ‘Well, not quite. The police took an age giving it back to us, said it was evidence. By the time they did there was just over £176,000. Your housemate had blown the other 24 on drugs and drink, apparently. The court have ordered him to pay it back, but it will be one of those £15 per month things because he doesn’t work. Besides, that won’t start until he’s out of prison and he got a longer sentence than you so I guess John’ll have to write that off.’

  ‘Yet another reason for him to hate me.’

  ‘He’ll always have reasons to hate you. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about John, when get out of here things are gonna be quite different, you’ll see.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said, but Helen didn’t have chance to answer him as her visiting time was up, it was time to leave.

  ‘Everything’s going to be ok, Dean, you just get your head down and stay out of trouble in here, ok.’

  ‘You got it, sis.’

  ‘I’ll come back and see you soon.’ And that was the last thing she said as she was led away by a warden.

  As Helen walked across the prison car park towards the large black Land Rover Discovery 4, she thought, for the first time in a long time, that everything really was going to be ok. Peter saw her approaching and, being the gentleman that he is, he got out of the car and opened the passenger side door for her.

  ‘Everything ok?’ he said.

  ‘Yes … everything’s just perfect,’ she said, leaning forward and kissing him.

  Epilogue

  Down below, the city of Cambridge was awash with tourists, though they were little more than ants from up here, 114 feet up to be precise. By the time he’d managed to climb the 123 steps – rather high steps, the kind that force you to lift your knee a little higher than usual to make the next one – that led up to the tower at the summit of Great St Mary’s Church, he was physically done in. Eventually, after about four minutes of huffing and puffing as he navigated the narrow spiral staircase, he exited the small wooden door and walked out onto the roof of the tower, shattered. He sat down on one of the wooden slatted benches to catch his breath, his calf muscles cramping up in pain. Opposite, a man and two women were taking photos of the spectacular view of King’s College Chapel and its immaculately kept lawns. A younger boy, about twelve, had poked his head through the purposely-cut square in the safety fence to get a better view of the 114-foot drop down onto Senate House Hill below. The boy, and the other tourists up there, didn’t pay the newcomer to the tower roof much attention. If they had any idea what he was about to do, maybe they would have, instead, they made their way through the door to make the spiral 123-step journey back down to ground level, leaving the lone man on the bench to nurse his calf muscles.

  Even though it was the middle of the day and the sun was shining high in the sky, all he saw was darkness, through his eyes the sky was black, gothic black, as the bruised clouds seemed to be descending, just for him, getting lower and lower until it felt like they were hovering, menacingly, just a few meters above the tower. His skin started to creep as cold insects awakened and started to crawl just beneath the surface.

  The dark shadows in the far corners of his mind had started to take over – again – engulfing his mind like a fast-spreading cancer and, as always, there was nothing he could do about it, he simply had to go with it, ride it out until it was over. But this felt different, these inner feelings weren’t the usual ones, they were darker, much darker, this was scary.

  Usually, the voices – the demons and monsters of his mind, the monster inside him that had to be fed – just tormented him, or encouraged him to do things, bad things, which, more often than not, he enjoyed once he got going. But sometimes the demons would go a little too far, like they were right now, they’d made him come up here, just like they’d made him do terrible things in the past. One minute he was down there, sitting on the wall enjoying the sun, watching the tourists – or rather the young girls and boys – walk by, some scantily dressed and revealing flesh. He did all sorts of things to them, in his dark mind, nasty things, evil things, and when the demons of his mind picked up on his wicked thought processes, they encouraged him all the more, pushing him, giving him no choice but to feed the monster inside. Sure, teenage girls and boys were ok, but when a young boy, about five-years old, walked past wearing short pants and a t-shirt with an ice cream in one hand and his mother’s hand in the other, well, that was bliss, that really got his juices flowing, if only he still had his church, his secret basement crypt. But that was gone, since he’d lost his church, since he was defrocked and removed from the ministry. Now, his longings, his uncontrollable longings, that gripped him like the worse kind of drug addiction, would never be satisfied again, especially now that his inner demons had decided to play this new game.

  Now that the tourists on the tower were making their way back down the spiral staircase, the man stood up – obeying the voices in his head, the demon
s that had seeped in and hijacked his mind, completely – and walked over to the bench on the opposite side, where the boy had been standing just a moment earlier. He stood on it and poked his head out through the little opening, like the boy had, and looked down. They were everywhere, the demons, the monsters; they had spilled out of every evil crevice in his mind and now they were down there too, all over the pavement directly below on Senate House Hill, taunting him, encouraging him, even from down there. The ant-size tourists had changed too, gone were their bright colourful, even gaudy, summer fashions, now they all seemed to be dressed in varying shades of dirty grey and witch black. It was dark down there, just like the looming sky above, the only remaining light seemed to be a few streaks of a morbid silver slithering through the ever decreasing gaps in the bruised clouds above.

  He looked up, the menacing clouds almost touching the concrete corners of the tower now, while down below the green grass had turned gunmetal grey, no sign of life anymore as the evil within him spilled out into the dying world around him.

  The voices in his head grew louder, more determined, screaming almost. He put his palms over his ears, but it didn’t help, they just got louder and increased in numbers until their incessant voices became a deafening roar – a bustling parliament of evil dictating demons, it was impossible for him to resist their demands, they wanted him and there was nothing he could do about it, one way or another they were going to take him.

  His flabby body would not fit through the small aperture in the safety fence, so, using the bench to get extra height he reached up and grabbed the top of the fence and put his left foot into the gap and hoisted himself up. He looked up, the demonic clouds were grabbing at his head from just a few feet above the tower now. He scrambled, awkwardly, over the fence and balanced on the narrow stone ledge. The roaring noise in his head was beyond deafening now; the sound of a hundred demons all drilling holes into his skull from the inside – it was agony, his skull felt like it was starting to crack from the inside out under the sheer volume of it. He pressed his palms up against his temples in a desperate attempt to make them go away, but they weren’t going anywhere. No matter how hard he fought them, his resistance was useless.