She wanted to weep, to scream, to beat on the door with her fists and bellow her rage. But again, she somehow knew that crying would only weaken her resolve, that screaming would anger the man and send him rushing back to punish her. She would grieve later, when it was safe to do so. The overwhelming pain of bereavement could not be confronted now, or she would be lost.
The fear would concentrate her mind, however, and she did fear him. For he was the dark. And the dark could not be reckoned with.
13
Though drained by all that had taken place, Laura picked her way around the room, ignoring the open tea chests. She refused to touch a single thing. To do so would mean accepting them; accepting him. Laura shuddered at the thought. She wanted no part of them. As she moved, Laura hugged herself and rubbed her bare arms. The air was stale, tainted by the air-fresheners and a thick, cloying odour she could not identify.
Little more than five minutes had elapsed before she heard footsteps approaching the door. The man was not alone this time.
His voice: ‘Wait until you see her. She’s perfect.’
A woman’s voice: ‘I hope so. I really do.’
His voice: ‘I said she would be, and she is.’
The key rattled once more and the tumblers snapped back with a loud clunk. The door opened slowly on well-oiled hinges.
Laura was again struck by the man’s appearance. He had stripped off the tracksuit, and now wore a checked shirt tucked into black denims, bare feet encased in grey moccasins. His tall frame was slight, but well-muscled. A lean face, chin narrowing to a point. His eyes seemed too small for his head, and beneath a nose that appeared broad in comparison, thin lips were like a slit in the wan complexion. The man reminded Laura of a child’s sketch.
The woman by his side was every bit as willowy, her face more orderly, though containing similar features. She wore a beige ankle-length dress of ribbed cotton, that hung on her like a sack. They both smiled as they stood in the doorway, two grinning Cheshire cats, Laura thought.
The woman nodded. ‘Hello, Laura.’ Her voice was shrill, buzzing in Laura’s ears like a swarm of angry bees.
‘Hello,’ she answered at once. Laura felt no warmth emanating from this woman, no female empathy, no scent of humanity. Perhaps there was as much to fear from her as the man. She would have to bear that in mind.
The woman stepped into the room, holding out a bundle of clothing. ‘Here, slip into one of these.’
Laura took the bundle without a word, careful not to make contact with the woman’s hands. She felt the same way about the man and woman as she did the contents of the tea chests. Laura looked down at the tiny cotton dresses she had been given. There were four in all, each one plain and simple, old, threadbare, colour washed out. She glanced back at the woman, who nodded encouragement, her eyes dancing.
Laura turned her back and shrugged off her night-dress, then prepared to pull on one of the dresses.
‘No,’ the man said behind her. ‘Take off your underwear first.’
Laura looked back over her shoulder. ‘But you haven’t given me any others.’
‘Take them off all the same. And this time face us when you do it.’
As she turned, Laura felt herself grow hot in the cheeks. She was no longer comfortable being naked around her mother, and certainly would never have allowed Gary to see her that way. She felt embarrassed, ashamed and humiliated as she now stepped out of her knickers and let them fall to the floor. She guessed this had been their intention, rather than commanding her for the sake of a coarse thrill.
The couple observed her closely, almost reverently, as they might a precious object. Laura heard them both utter gentle sighs as her body was revealed. She swiftly tugged on one of the dresses, holding the others close to her chest. The dress fit reasonably well, except that it was far too short. Laura gave the man and woman a sidelong glance, wondering whether they were expecting to be thanked. Was the dress a gift?
‘Perfect,’ the woman said, moving closer. She brushed the back of one hand against the curve of Laura’s cheek, ran tender fingers through her fine hair. She took a step behind Laura and wrapped both arms around her, burying her own face into the nape of Laura’s neck. The girl felt the woman’s warm breath, stale and foul, the gentle pressure of lips against her flesh. There was an unpleasant odour, like stale sweat.
Laura shivered, in spite of her control.
‘Have fun, sweetheart,’ the woman whispered softly in her ear. She kissed her once more, scooped up the discarded night-dress and underwear, then joined the man at the doorway. ‘We are going to enjoy each other so much. All of us.’
‘Find somewhere to sleep,’ the man ordered. ‘One of us will wake you in the morning.’ He nodded and smiled magnanimously, like a kindly uncle who has taken in an orphaned niece.
The door swung shut. Locked. Footsteps moved away. Laura let out a soft groan and sank to her knees. The floorboards were warm to the touch. She felt disgusted by what the woman had done, wanted to scrub at the icy spot left behind by those filthy lips. For the first time since she had been abducted, Laura felt helpless, realising that her father would have no idea where to find her, and that she truly was alone.
Except for the man and woman.
One of them would wake her. She dreaded the moment.
Dark red blood and images of death came creeping into her thoughts. Her mother. Gary. Both now gone. Murdered in their beds. She would never see either of them again. And now these terrible people had her and she didn’t know why. Did not dare to imagine what they wanted of her. The time was right for her to cry, and Laura did so.
14
The man and woman strode hand in hand back to the room they shared, along the passage from the one in which Laura had been left to contemplate her fate. Though much smaller, this room was equally stark, and infinitely less cheery than the one they had left behind. A double bed, an old TV set and a single armchair were the only items of furniture. Clothing and newspapers lay scattered over the carpeted floor, together with rotting food and discarded containers. The pervading odour was one of neglect.
The woman flashed a warm smile at him. ‘She’s very nice. So much better in the flesh. I think I’ll enjoy her.’
He nodded eagerly. ‘Me, too. Something about her I can’t describe. Delicate, yet … so aware for one so young. She has great presence. I genuinely believe she’s the one, that we’ve found her at last.’
‘Thank you, darling.’
‘For you, my sweet, anything.’ A slightly mocking edge filtered into his voice.
She kissed him on the cheek.
‘Surely I deserve more than that.’ He injected passion into his eyes. Eyes which, he was aware, seemed at once blue, grey, or even silver, depending on what light surrounded them. Whichever hue, none was warm.
The woman grinned wickedly, raising an eyebrow. ‘I do feel rather excited.’ She rubbed the soft pad of her hand between her legs, closing her eyes as a deep breath hissed through slightly parted lips.
Long fingers moving swiftly, the man unfastened her dress, letting it slip to the floor. She stepped out of it wearing only tan stockings. ‘Keep them on,’ he whispered, already climbing out of his trousers and underwear. ‘I want to feel their softness slide around me.’
Together they walked across to the bed. Her hand slipped to his groin, held him, pulled at him. As his fingers sought her she said, ‘No need. I couldn’t be more ready.’
He grinned as he entered her with one thrust. They moved hurriedly. Together they grunted and panted like rutting animals. She licked the sweat from his brow, cursing him between flicks of her tongue. His teeth left marks on her breasts.
It was over quickly, yet he felt completely satisfied. It had always been that way. Ever since they were children. As they lay together afterwards on top of the bed covers, she held him in her hand, fingers toying with him until he was hard once more. This time she let her mouth do all the work.
Later, while sh
e opened some cans of food, the man switched on the TV. He clicked between channels for a while, before settling for the news. Each item washed over him, until one of the presenters said something very interesting indeed.
Eyes sore and hot from weeping, Laura gathered her thoughts and concentration once more. She looked around at the room and again wondered where she was. After leaving her house through the back door, the man had pulled the hood over her face. Once out of the garden gate they had turned left. Along the rear alleyway. Into a car … no, it was a van. Before starting the engine, he had asked her that same terrible question.
Are you afraid of the dark?
She said ‘yes’. He laughed.
Excellent. I am the dark, Laura. So, fear me. Fear me like nothing else.
Now Laura struggled to think, her face strained by the effort. Where had she seen him before? The voice was familiar, too. He knew her name. Knew Gary’s name. How? And how would any of the answers help her right now? But she believed it was right to pose the questions. It might be important. Somehow, she had to be strong. Somehow, she had to get away from these dreadful people.
Laura glanced across at the door and felt her body shake once again. If anything, the woman had unnerved her more than the man. If he was the darkness, what did that make her? The touch of the woman’s lips lingered still, a cold spot upon her neck. There was more to come, Laura felt sure. If there was any comfort to be found from this dreadful situation it was a sense that she would live for as long as she was useful to them.
But would she want to live through what they might have in mind for her? Would she want to live afterwards?
Laura found she could not answer that. She was alive now, and would be for a while yet. She had to draw strength from that, forget about the future and the past, concentrate on her present. Forget about the human wreckage she might be this time next week, forget about what he had done to Gary and her mother. See only the next minute. The next hour. Take each moment and try to draw strength from the most meagre of scraps. Somehow. Or she would not survive.
Laura willed herself to draw away from the negative thoughts, composing herself, steadying her breathing, which had become irregular. She picked herself up off the floor and moved around the room, trying to find a comfortable place to lay her head. She decided to use some of the clothing from the tea chest, together with the remaining dresses she had been given.
Sleep called to her, another way out, a haven of further denial. Still the thought of touching their things repulsed her, but Laura became aware that ultimately, she would have no choice. Finally, she came back to where her appraisal had begun: the doll’s house.
It was so well crafted, even down to the beautifully made curtains, that she felt certain there would be a bed inside. Perhaps this was a test, despite the warning. Perhaps the warning had been intended as a lure. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to take a look. They would never know. Carefully she turned the handle on the door, pushed gently and eased it open. The interior was less bright, shadows converging swiftly from every direction. Laura was not at all surprised to find a light switch on the wall. She flicked it down and a single naked bulb sprang to life.
The bulb was of low wattage, so the doll’s house remained in gloom, though Laura could make out a small sofa in one corner, a table with four chairs arranged neatly around it, and on the far side a tiny kitchen range and a single bed. More of the green air-fresheners hung from the ceiling, held in place by drawing pins, while others lay scattered across the floor. The room seemed alive with them.
There were some dolls laid out on the bed. Huge, heavy dolls, the like of which Laura had only ever seen in the best department stores. Laura did not intend to play, and dolls were a part of her past. She was desperately tired and wanted only to lose herself in sleep. There was an urgent need to block out the misery of all that had happened, and all that her mind told her was to come. She walked across to the narrow bed, intending to push the dolls aside. It was as her hands reached out that Laura realised her mistake.
There were three of them. Not dolls at all, but other children. Girls like her. Very much like her. Only these girls were dead, and all in various stages of decomposition.
15
Frank killed the Renault’s engine outside a bland, grey breeze-block building, yet remained for several minutes inside his car. A single storey high, the unit was long and wide, with a fabricated roof whose negligible slope held too much water when the rain fell. It was one of several similar buildings on the industrial estate he’d driven through. Over the blue steel-shutter doors was a white and blue sign that read:
Police
Leyton Annexe
The estate had been developed in the mid-seventies, much to the dismay of local residents. It was built on the site of a derelict factory, smack in the centre of a quiet block of houses. Residents now had to endure heavy vehicles moving up and down their narrow streets at all hours of the day. Beyond the far side of the estate, whose perimeter was fenced in by steel, playing fields stretched for dozens of acres. Those who travelled only the main roads would never have known the estate existed, if it weren’t for the large sign attached to a single streetlight. The sign made no mention of the annexe, however.
Frank swallowed thickly and felt his pulse quicken. Adrenaline squirted somewhere in his stomach. He had to go inside, had to see this through. It wasn’t going to be easy. Not now. Not ever again.
Too many memories. Too many scars left unhealed.
Still he sat and thought.
Little more than thirty minutes ago, moments before Nicky had called, Frank was seriously contemplating another drinking binge. The fridge and cupboards were bare, but the supermarket was nearby. They sold Scotch, they sold beer, they sold Chardonnay. It seemed like the sensible thing to do given the circumstances. He had even snatched up his car keys from the kitchen counter when the telephone rang.
Hope flared like a distress signal when he first heard Nicky’s voice, but in his wildest dreams he could never have expected this new twist. It was more like being involved in a vivid dream. Things just didn’t happen like this to him. In his world you got shafted, life was a pisser, and then you died. It never reached out a conciliatory hand in such a way. Life was unforgiving and brutal.
Frank snapped his eyes open. Someone was tapping on the car window. Where had he been? Where had his mind taken him? He climbed out of the car and, offering a thin, tight smile, slapped Nicky on the back.
‘This is a joke, right?’ he said. ‘Has to be.’
Nicky held up his hands in mock surrender, shaking his head earnestly. ‘It’s no joke, mate. A short time ago someone called the information hotline, said he was the person we were looking for. He says he has Laura, and the other girls. He’ll speak to us … but only through you. He’ll deal with you and no one else.’
‘Why me, for fuck sake?’
Nicky shrugged. ‘Who knows? He’s never done this before. Maybe it’s the link with Laura, maybe he’s seen the stuff they’ve been running on the TV or in the newspapers about you being a copper.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Perhaps he sees you as a challenge. Foster didn’t want to have anything to do with it, of course. He ranted and raved, saying you were off the force now. But for all his bluster and rank, even a few of the top brass know he’s a prick. He was duly overruled. For now. So be warned, Foster is not a happy man. He reckons it’s a hoax, anyway. Some nut.’
Frank took off his sunglasses, squinting in the glare of the sun. His eyes felt as if they had withdrawn even further into his skull. ‘One sure way of telling. There are certain things you wouldn’t have released to the media, right?’
‘Of course. No mention of him doing the pets, no mention of his preferred method of entry.’
‘Who put Foster’s nose out of joint?’ He was beginning to feel better about things. The SIO wouldn’t go out of his way to make life easy for Frank, but he certainly couldn’t be seen to be obstructing such a hea
dline investigation.
‘It was the chief superintendent himself.’
Frank nodded. ‘Good old Lion.’
Lionel Badger was one of the few members of the elite hierarchy whom Frank had ever respected. The man was no bureaucrat, had never baulked at bending certain rules in order to get the job done effectively, and had never once, to Frank’s knowledge, passed the buck. He was a man who stood up for his beliefs, and took both the plaudits and condemnations with the same good nature. A man after Frank’s own heart.
He looked beyond Nicky. The Leyton annexe unit stood like some vast Pandora’s box, waiting to unleash its terrible secrets. He cleared his throat. ‘Feels strange being back. I wondered whether Foster still allowed it to be used.’
‘Funny you should say that. This is the first time we’ve used the annexe since he took over. This operation is simply too big to handle down at Francis Road. We didn’t fancy the Yard getting their hands on the case, so Superintendent Finnieston sanctioned this place again.’
‘I wonder if Foster stopped using it because it was my idea in the first place?’
‘I’d lay money on it.’
The annexe had only ever been used for major operations, mostly to house murder squads. Frank had always believed that the structural confinements of the old station buildings at Francis Road led to sloppiness, to documents and information being mislaid as it travelled from one room to another, even between floors. Here it could be condensed because once inside nothing left the unit, and there was room for all the officers to breathe and relax while they worked – a major factor given the tense atmosphere of murder cases.
Frank drew in one last deep breath. ‘Let’s do it.’
The two men walked across to a tall and narrow door set into the pitted steel roller-shutter. It was 11.55am, temperature in the mid-eighties, and Frank felt sticky and damp. Nicky, on the other hand, although he wore his shirt collar buttoned, tie firmly knotted, looked as cool as if it were a winter’s day. Frank envied him as he felt the discomfort of his own short-sleeved shirt plastered tight against his back.
Degrees of Darkness Page 8