‘Tell him the truth,’ Henley replied as the light upstairs switched off. ‘Tell him that Michael Kirkpatrick has gone missing. We’re checking up on him, and then lie. Tell him that Olivier has been seen in the area.’
Ramouter pressed the doorbell. As he waited, he checked his watch and listened for the tell-tale signs of back-up, but there were no sirens or flashing blue lights in the distance. He felt nervous as he rang the bell again. He hoped that it had been Henley’s mind playing tricks on her when she had pointed someone out in the windows. He felt his throat constrict slightly as he placed his hand on the door and it gave way. The hallway was dark and he could hear the sound of a ticking clock. The bare floorboards creaked. The house smelt of damp and sawdust. At the end of the hallway, the light from the kitchen spilled out onto the floor. He thought about turning back. To wait. Instead he carried on.
The kitchen had been gutted. There was a sink and the walls showed the markings of where the cupboards should have been. The space was empty except for a microwave, which sat on top of a fridge. Ramouter sneezed as the dust from the old plaster that had been ripped from the walls tickled his nose.
There had definitely been someone in the house. But the door had been left open, which meant that someone had obviously left in a hurry. That should have settled Ramouter but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t right. He spotted shoe prints on the exposed concrete floor that didn’t belong to him. He crouched down and tracked the wet bloody swirls left behind from the soles of a pair of trainers that led into the kitchen, circled around and went back out into the hallway, but there were no blood-stained prints leading towards the front door.
Henley found a small table that had been dumped in the alley next to a broken lamp and a rusty barbecue. The gate was secure and there was no way that she would get through it without bringing a lot of attention to herself and alerting Dominic Pine. She carried the table to the gate and steadied herself as she felt the metal legs bend. She placed her right foot on the edge of the wood panel and pulled herself up. She could feel splinters pushing into the palms of her hands as she gripped the top of the gate harder.
The loud engine of a car passed by. Once the car turned a corner and the engine grew quieter, she pulled herself over. She searched blindly with her foot for somewhere to grip and felt thorns from a rose bush attach itself to her jeans. There was nowhere solid for her to place her feet and she dropped onto the hard concrete. She winced and grabbed her elbow as a shooting pain coursed through her arm. She rolled over, stood up and placed a hand against the wall of the shed. It felt solid, not like the flimsy sheds normally used to store lawnmowers and broken hoovers.
She stopped as the light on the ground floor turned on, illuminating the newspapers. While the garden was overgrown with grass and weeds a trampled path led from the back door directly to the shed. The one window, on the shed, that faced the house was blacked out. Henley kicked the bottom of the door twice and then placed her ear to the door. This time she heard it louder. The sound of something falling to the ground. And muffled screams.
Chapter 95
Twelve hours earlier…
He had fought back but the killer in front of him was stronger. He felt a fist connect with his jaw and his nose. He heard the sound of bone crunching as his mouth filled with blood and his tongue brushed away pieces of tooth. He thought he’d had the upper hand when he punched, kicked and clamped his mouth around the killer’s ear, bitten hard and pulled. He thought he’d won when he heard the killer scream but then something hard had connected with the side of his head. He couldn’t remember being dragged across the floor. He didn’t remember being stripped naked and propped up against a wall.
‘You’re awake. It’s about time.’
He recognised the voice, but he couldn’t turn his head. Every muscle in his body was frozen. All he could do was look straight ahead into the dimmed light of the room. There was a window in front of him, but the curtains were closed. He wanted to raise his head. To open his mouth, to tell the killer that he was sorry, that he could leave and he wouldn’t say a word to anybody, but he couldn’t move.
‘You must have wondered. What it would feel like,’ asked the killer, ‘to have no control. All you can do is watch and listen to the voices in your head and ask yourself repeatedly, why me?’
He could feel the tiny muscles in his eyes straining as he tried in vain to search for the killer, to find the danger, but then he stopped looking as a pair of legs appeared in front of him. He watched as the killer raised his right leg but he didn’t feel a thing as the foot connected with his chest, knocking him onto his side. He wanted to say, ‘Don’t do it. Please don’t do it.’ He willed himself to speak or to just move his little finger and then he felt it. Sharp pins and needles prickled his neck and jaw. His body was waking up. He opened his mouth. ‘No,’ he whispered as he looked up at the killer. ‘No,’ he said again as the killer’s hand grabbed his legs and pulled him across the floor.
‘Sorry, I can’t hear you. You’re going to have to speak up,’ said the killer.
‘No,’ he repeated.
‘Hmm, I’m afraid that it’s a bit late for that. I can’t really deviate from the plan.’
He struggled to raise his head and follow the sound of footsteps around the room and then he saw the sharp teeth of the blade.
‘No,’ he said again as the blade waved teasingly in front of him and then he heard laughter.
‘I thought that I would start with an arm,’ the killer stated. ‘I’ll end up cutting a major artery if I start with your leg and the last thing that I want is for you to miss out on all the fun.’
‘Please. Stop,’ he begged. He should have been grateful and considered it a blessing that he couldn’t feel any pain; but he knew what was being done to him. He bent his head back and closed his eyes, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling of the skin on his right arm being gently tugged and the river of vibrations as the saw went back and forth. He couldn’t shut out the heavy groaning sound as the saw made its way through bone. Then it stopped. There was no movement, but he could hear heavy breathing and then a loud grunt of satisfaction as the saw was thrown onto the ground.
‘Look at that,’ the killer said calmly.
He recognised the horseshoe-shaped scar on the inside of his detached arm. He had fallen off the shed roof when he was nine. The bone had stuck out from the flesh. He didn’t listen when his mum had told him to get down. He never listened. He could see the bone now as his arm hovered in front of his face. He recognised his fingers. He didn’t close his eyes as the blood from the severed arm fell onto his face. He let the blood fill his eyes. He wanted the darkness, but he couldn’t stop the sound of the saw as it began to make its way through his leg.
Chapter 96
The door to the shed was padlocked but Henley could see that the bolts securing the lock were old and rusting. The wood had signs of rot. Henley crouched down and searched among the tall grass for anything that she could use to smash it open. Her fingers curled around cold metal and she picked up the broken blade of a lawnmower. She pushed the blade between the wooden door and the flat metal of the lock and pulled. She could feel the blade cutting into the skin on her hand, which was already filled with splinters and dirt. After a couple of minutes, the rusty screws were pried loose and came away from the door. Henley threw the blade onto the grass and pulled the door open.
Henley almost tripped over Michael Kirkpatrick who lay bound on the ground, his feet facing the door. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with fright. She tried to stop herself from retching. The shed smelled of urine, the coppery smell of blood and rotten flesh.
‘Do you remember me? I’m Detective Henley.’ Henley pulled out her phone and turned on the torch app. Michael’s mouth was bound with silver duct tape. His face was cut and bruised and covered with dried blood which had settled into the grooves of the tape. His hands were tied behind his back with black cable ties. His wrists were purple an
d swollen while his fingers were almost white, the blood struggling to circulate.
Henley tried to gently pull the duct tape from Michael’s mouth. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK. I’ve got you,’ Henley said as Michael let out a loud gasp of air and began to choke up with tears.
‘Please, please, he’s going to fucking kill me,’ Michael said, his voice hoarse and shaking. ‘He’s promised to kill me.’
‘No, he’s not.’ Henley pulled out her police radio. She hoped Ramouter would have turned his radio on and would get out of the house.
‘This is Detective Inspector Henley. Code Zero. I need immediate emergency assistance to 158 Hanover Street, Camberwell. Sierra. Echo. Five. Four. Charlie. Lima. I repeat I need emergency assistance.’
Henley put the radio down and looked around for something to cut the cable ties binding Michael’s wrists and feet.
Henley shivered. It had happened in here. The killings. Next to a carpenter’s table, a large roll of plastic stood in the corner. Two large saws and a smaller hacksaw lay under the table. The ground was stained with dried blood. The light bounced off something metallic not far from Michael’s feet. It was a long black braid with a gold cuff in the middle, similar to the braids and cuffs that had been on Zoe Darego’s head.
Flecks of plaster rained down on Ramouter from the ceiling. He stood still and listened to the sounds of the house. The clock in the hallway continued to tick and water from the kitchen tap dripped rhythmically into the ceramic sink. He walked around the bloodied footprints on the floor and up the hallway and towards the stairs. He placed a hand on the rough, stripped bannister. His footsteps were muted by the dust-covered carpet on the stairs.
The second floor was narrow and confined. The hallway was less than five feet long with a bathroom, a bedroom with an unmade bed, and a third door that was closed. He pushed open the door and walked in. He started to retch as he breathed in the scent of fresh blood. He turned on the lights.
‘Oh God.’ Ramouter gagged as the blood-soaked carpet squelched under his feet. He found himself staring at Dominic Pine’s severed head.
The rest of the body had been arranged on the floor like a macabre jigsaw. It took less than a second for Ramouter to reach for his radio.
Henley’s voice requesting emergency assistance cracked over Ramouter’s radio.
Ramouter stepped back into something solid. He felt hot breath against his ear.
‘TDC Salim Ramouter,’ said Olivier. ‘I didn’t think we would be seeing each other again so soon.’
Ramouter turned and faced Olivier. They were nose to nose. Fear prevented Ramouter from moving away.
Olivier pointed a knife in the direction of Pine’s remains. ‘Did you like what I did? I was trying to get the composition just right. It was a bit of a rush job, but I did my best.’
Ramouter said nothing. His brain had shut down with the terror coursing through his veins.
‘Cat got your tongue, TDC Ramouter? You really need to work on your people skills.’
Ramouter took an unsteady step back and stumbled on Pine’s left arm.
‘Don’t run away.’ Olivier’s voice was soft, almost tender. ‘That one behind you tried to run and you can see how that turned out for him.’
Olivier lunged towards him and Ramouter cried out as the knife pierced his arm. Olivier pulled the knife out and went for him again. Ramouter ignored the pain and the blood darkening his sleeve, and shoved Olivier away. He picked up his police radio and pressed the emergency button.
‘Code Zero—’ Ramouter shouted before Olivier rammed a shoulder into him. Ramouter grunted out in pain and fell back, banging his head against the wall before falling onto Pine’s torso. Disorientated, it took him a moment to realise that his hands were in Pine’s intestines.
Olivier punched Ramouter in the face and pushed down on the wound on his arm. ‘I’m going to give it to you just as good as I gave it to your inspector. Leave you with something to remember me by.’
Ramouter could see the open door, behind Olivier, silently beckoning him. He pushed Olivier to the side. Olivier stabbed the knife back into Ramouter’s open wound. Ramouter screamed out.
Henley’s voice sounded out from the radio. ‘Ramouter. Ramouter. Answer me?’
Before Ramouter could warn Henley to run, Olivier punched him in the face, hard enough to crack his teeth. He tasted blood and spat out chunks of molar. Olivier snatched the radio.
‘Hello, Inspector,’ Olivier said. ‘I’ve got your boy here. Right under me.’
Ramouter kicked out, catching Olivier in the groin. The sound of police sirens echoed in the distance. Ramouter turned over and tried to get to his feet, but he felt overwhelmed with dizziness and fell back down. Over the radio he could hear the channel had been switched to a group talk as officers confirmed that they were making their way to Pine’s home.
‘Olivier?’ Henley yelled over the radio.
‘Henley!’ Ramouter shouted.
Olivier grabbed his leg. Ramouter felt a sharp prick in his ankle and then there was the feeling of ice water running through his veins. He looked down to see Olivier holding a syringe. Olivier reached for a saw that had been charging in the corner, and in that moment Ramouter managed to stand up. He gritted his teeth and threw himself at Olivier, determined to stop him. Olivier shouted out as he fell against the wall, and grabbed onto Ramouter to steady himself. They tumbled down the stairs, breaking the balusters on their way down. Ramouter felt nothing as Olivier fell on top of him. He tried to move his legs. He couldn’t. His entire body was turning to concrete. Every joint was locked in place and every muscle had contracted and seized up. He heard a window being broken, but he couldn’t open his mouth to scream for help.
‘Ramouter,’ Henley shouted. Her voice was barely audible over the growing sound of sirens.
Ramouter tried to turn his head but couldn’t. From his position on the floor he could see the front door opening. Olivier didn’t look back as he ran out. A few seconds later he heard brakes screeching and the unmistakable sound of metal hitting bone and flesh.
Chapter 97
Hanover Street was lit up as if dawn had broken early. The sirens had gone silent but the emergency lights were still flashing. The police had broken through the back gate and the paramedics were now putting Michael Kirkpatrick on the gurney. He was dehydrated and in shock. Henley had had to prise his hand away when she heard the distress call from her partner.
‘Where’s Ramouter?’ Henley asked as officers filled the back garden.
‘He’s still in the house,’ said an officer. ‘He’s alive but hurt. The paramedics are with him.’
‘And Olivier? Peter Olivier was inside that house. I heard him.’
‘I don’t know, ma’am. There haven’t been any sightings of him.’
‘And Dominic Pine?’
The officer shook his head. ‘No sign of him either, but we haven’t searched the house yet.’
Henley followed the paramedics as they wheeled Kirkpatrick to the waiting ambulance.
‘Where are you taking him?’ Henley asked.
‘King’s College Hospital,’ said the female paramedic.
‘OK, can you make sure you stay with him at all times,’ Henley said to the police officer who had followed her. ‘He cannot be left alone. Do you understand me?’
‘You’re not coming with me?’ said Michael. ‘I need you with me.’
‘I promise I’ll be there, OK,’ Henley said, squeezing his hand. ‘I need to check on someone first.’
Henley tried to ignore the onslaught of emotions – shock, grief, anxiety and the euphoric rush of adrenalin – as she jogged round to the front of the house. The BMW that they’d seen earlier was parked in front of Pine’s house. A large crack spread out like a spider’s web across the windscreen. The driver of the car, a young Asian boy, was standing to the side against his car with a police officer. The boy was shaking. ‘I didn’t even see him. He just ran out. I wasn’t even going that fast.
He just came at me.’
‘Fam,’ said the driver’s friend, who was leaning against the passenger door. ‘I thought you killed him.’
‘What happened?’ Henley asked him.
‘Mate, all I know is that some crazy white man dashed out into the road. The brudda must be a crackhead or something. One minute we’re chilling in the car and the next thing I know this dude was on the bonnet. I thought he was dead. My boy started screaming in the car—’
‘I wasn’t screaming, Ashton,’ the driver said.
‘What you lying for, bruv?’ Ashton said. ‘Listen, he started screaming and I got out.’
Henley wanted to shake the pair of them. ‘Did you see where he came from?’
‘Nah, he came out of nowhere. I got out of the car and tried to help him. Trying to be a good citizen and all that. I told him that I was going to call an ambulance—’
‘Where is he, where did he go?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. My man was off. You would have thought that he had just tripped over or something. He got up, and ran towards the block. I filmed him running off. Do you wanna see it?’
‘Don’t move,’ Henley said to the friend, spotting Eastwood walking towards her.
‘Stanford filled me in. How’s Ramouter?’ Eastwood asked.
‘All I know is that he’s alive, thank God. Olivier was here and somehow he got to him.’
‘What do you mean Olivier was here? I mean…’ Eastwood put her hands to her head in exasperation. ‘What. The. Actual. Fuck.’
‘I have no idea.’ Henley looked around. ‘I need you to go with Kirkpatrick to the hospital. The ambulance hasn’t left yet. Once he’s calmed down and been checked out, get a statement from him. I need to know everything that he saw and heard before I got here. And Eastie, don’t leave his side. I want someone I know and trust keeping an eye out.’
Eastwood nodded and ran over to the ambulance.
Henley’s adrenalin was dissipating. She knew that Ramouter was alive, but she was still worried about what she would see; what she was responsible for. She could feel the shame rising up. She had put him in danger. She had almost killed him.
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