Degrees of Darkness

by Tony J. Forder

Whelan nodded, drew in a deep breath. ‘Insane bastard. We’ll have him, though, mark my words. That wee girl up there deserves some justice. Oh, and speaking of insanity, Foster was raging like a wounded bull earlier. What did you do to upset him?’

  Frank inclined his head. ‘Actually, I probably said more than I should’ve. It was a mistake on my part. I embarrassed him in front of his squad, and he’ll neither forget nor forgive that. I can only imagine he’ll now do everything in his power to work against me.’

  Whelan gave a slight uneven grin. ‘You knocked him off his self-erected pedestal, and it serves the tosser right. He’s a forceful enemy, Frank, but you have some powerful friends on your side.’

  ‘Let’s hope it gives me the edge. I need to stay with this.’

  ‘I don’t see how they can keep you out. It was you he called, Frank. It’s you he wants to deal with. Now, do you need to see any more?’ He tilted his head toward the steps. ‘Seb has just about finished, and SOCO would like to have the body removed so they can wind things down.’

  Frank told him he was done, eyes hooded with sadness, wanting to get out of this place and breathe fresh air again. Once the dispatch warehouse for a chain of major newsagent’s, the building had been stripped of everything but its skeletal structure and a little cabling and pipe-work that hung through the rectangular gaps in the false ceilings of both floors. The shell was located at the far end of the industrial complex, where its naked windows could be seen from the dual-carriageway that ran behind it. The body remained where it was discovered, in the centre of the upper floor.

  At first glance, the girl had looked enough like Laura to make Frank’s heart skip a beat. It took several seconds for both him and Nicky to realise their mistake. And if it wasn’t his own child, then her parents were already dead and would never have to mourn or see what had become of their daughter. Their own deaths had at least spared them that.

  ‘I’m done as well,’ Nicky said. He exhaled slowly. ‘I’ve seen enough for one day. Enough for a fucking lifetime, in fact.’

  The DS nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll catch you later. Foster’s left me to clear the scene with SOCO. Take care, Frank.’

  Frank and Nicky walked back out to the Mondeo. Nicky leaned against the car and lit a cigar, drawing heavily on it, his hands visibly shaking. Frank chewed on a stick of gum, his face turned to the sky, lost in thought. It was Nicky who broke the silence.

  ‘This sick fuck is losing it, Frank. It’s gathering momentum. It all changed the moment he left that poor kid up there.’

  Frank nodded. ‘I know what you mean. It’s taken time, but now something has made him move. He’s gradually been working his way up to this. But now that he’s given us this one, there’ll be more.’

  ‘You think he’s keeping all of the other girls alive?’

  ‘No. He keeps each one alive for a time, I’m pretty sure about that. But only for a while. Wouldn’t surprise me if he takes a girl every time the last one dies, though.’

  Nicky looked at him. ‘If that’s right, then Laura is still alive.’

  ‘Probably. But for how long?’

  As the two men got into the car and began to compare notes, a light summer storm drifted in from the east, casting the sky into an impenetrable ice-grey. Sheet lightning flared briefly in the distance, followed some moments later by a low rumble of thunder. The air remained warm and still, however, and Nicky kept his window open to allow the smoke from his cigar to drift harmlessly away. Minutes later, an initial light spattering followed swiftly by a heavy downpour hammered against the windscreen, obscuring their view of the abandoned warehouse. Both men were thankful for this small mercy.

  ‘So, just what the hell are we dealing with here, Frank?’ Nicky’s face had regained some of its natural colour. ‘I’ve seen all kinds of shit before, stuff that’s made me physically ill, but this is something else again.’

  ‘I know. I’ve never come across anything quite like it, either. But keep your emotions in check, mate. We need to focus.’ Frank was equally horrified by what he had seen, and his words were as much for himself as they were for his friend.

  He glanced down at his book. ‘Apart from the semen at the abduction point, he never leaves anything to go on. Not one time in seven. He’s kept the girls, dead or alive, right from the beginning. Now, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, he’s changed the pattern and decided to taunt us. He gave us the impression that the girl might still be alive. But you saw her. The poor thing has been dead for quite some time. This fucker likes games, Nicky. He enjoyed playing with us today. He left her in such a state that normal identification will prove impossible. Eventually we’ll find out who she is, but it’ll take time, and we’ll have to work all the harder. He likes the idea of that.’

  ‘What did you make of her flesh?’ Nicky asked thoughtfully.

  ‘Another new one on me. It reminded me of the way a floater’s skin looks after spending some time in the water. But that isn’t it. Not quite. No bites taken out of her by fish, no soil or muddy deposits on her body. I’ll be very interested to hear what Sebastian has to say.’

  ‘Grotesque, wasn’t it? The whole scene sent a shiver down my back. The candles, party stuff, the girl and what he did to her. We’ve got one sick fucker on our hands, Frank. This business with … Ah, shit. Sorry, mate. What must you be thinking right now?’

  Frank put back his head and puffed out his cheeks. ‘I try not to think anything, but I can’t help it, Nicky. You know, when I saw that girl properly I was so relieved that it wasn’t Laura. Yet every time I looked at her, I saw Laura’s face. I see her now as just another victim. My own daughter.’

  Nicky reached for his shoulder, squeezed it gently. ‘Hang on to it, Frank. It wasn’t Laura, so be thankful enough for that. You have to believe we’ll get to her in time.’

  Frank gazed off through the misted windscreen. For a while he again became lost in thought. Nicky turned the engine over. The wipers cleared the windscreen’s outer surface, and he set the demister to work. He nosed the car away from the dark shape of the warehouse. Frank felt a cold spot on the back of his neck. He always did when he left the scene of any barbaric crime.

  They drove in silence for some time, before Nicky again broke into his thoughts. ‘So, what did you make of his call?’

  ‘I imagine Foster will have the tape played to a forensic psychiatrist. He’ll probably draw up some impressions.’

  ‘I know. But what did you think?’

  ‘He’s on some kind of power kick. That’s why he spoke to me. He knows he has me by the balls. He’ll be considering the pain he’s causing, enjoying the thrill of messing with my mind. Also…I think there’s a chance he’s some kind of religious freak.’

  Nicky frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Think about it.’ Frank gave an icy grin. Behind it there was a deep loathing for their quarry. ‘What did he do to that poor girl, Nicky? Ignore everything he did to the flesh, ignore the disfigurement, the holes he drilled into her skull. What else did he do? How did he leave her?’

  Nicky shrugged, shaking his head. ‘You mean the way she was laid out?’ He gunned the Ford along a stretch of dual-carriageway. The wipers squealed on dry glass. Nicky snapped them off as Frank looked across at him.

  ‘Exactly. He crucified her, Nicky. The bastard spread her out on the floor and crucified her.’

  18

  ‘Have you been inside my house?’ he asked.

  The man was standing by her feet, looking down at her with eyes that gleamed like reflective mirrors.

  Laura shook her head. She sat cross-legged on a pile of clothes at the far end of the room, as far away from the house as she could get. She had slept only fitfully, nightmarish visions of dead children pulling at her senses, yet even through her exhaustion she knew she had to be convincing. It was obvious now that her life depended on keeping this man happy. But it was so hard. Harder than anything she had ever had to do. Everywhere she looked she saw those dea
d faces staring back at her.

  Dead girls. Just like she would be if she made a mistake.

  ‘I can’t hear you, Laura. Speak to me.’ He cupped a hand around his ear.

  ‘No,’ she said. Her throat was parched, and the voice came out brittle and cracked. ‘You told me not to.’

  His eyes pierced hers. They held her captive, seeming to sap the last of her remaining strength. She blinked and stifled a yawn.

  ‘Didn’t you sleep, Laura?’ The man’s smile touched only his lips.

  ‘Not much.’

  What did he expect? She’d been taken from her bed in the middle of the night, her mother and brother were dead, she’d been humiliated and left in a locked room for many hours with only three rotting corpses for company. What did this man expect?

  Dried tears still stained her cheeks, and there would be more to come. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what this man had done to her mother and brother, whether they had suffered, felt much pain before they died. There had been time to reflect on that. Too much time. She was certain that another day had come and gone, her stomach groaning with hunger every so often to remind her of minutes and hours slipping by. Now, knowing what lay beyond the walls of the doll’s house, she was concerned with what he had in mind for her. What they had in mind.

  ‘Would you like something to eat, Laura?’ he said now.

  She nodded eagerly. ‘And a drink, too.’

  ‘Please! Where are your manners, child? I do so hate ill-mannered children.’

  ‘Sorry. Yes, please.’

  ‘That’s better. Didn’t cost anything, did it? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Then we’ll have a nice chat.’ He smiled once more, turned and left her alone.

  She waited for the rattle of the key in the lock. When it came, Laura blew air from her lungs. She looked down at the half-moon imprints in her palms, where her nails had dug into the flesh. Realising that she was not the first girl to be taken by the man in the dead of night, having seen for herself the fate of the others, knowing that she had to perform in order to survive, was taking a great deal out of her. She didn’t think she’d be able to cope much longer. It was too much to ask.

  But then, as when the initial rush of negative thoughts had risen up during the early hours of her captivity, her mind thrust images of those other girls at her. Instead of breaking her, it flooded Laura with even greater resolve. She would say anything, submit to anything, to prevent that happening to her.

  As soon as she’d realised what they were, Laura had turned away and fled. But the shocking vision still burned on her retinas. They had not smelled anything like she’d imagined corpses would smell, and the flesh hadn’t really been rotting. The skin seemed to sag on their skeletal frames, prune-like, as though they’d stayed too long in water. It was as if they’d collapsed in on themselves. They scarcely looked human any more, but they were. Laura was certain.

  How did the girls end up that way? What did the man and woman do to them? Did they have their fun and then just leave the girls to die? Did they starve them to death? Simply pretend they no longer existed? And how long before they grew weary? Days? Weeks? Months?

  Laura tried to thrust these unwanted thoughts aside, but they funnelled back gleefully, tormenting, teasing. Wicked questions that would not be denied: How long before they grow tired of me? How long do I have before I became like those inside the doll’s house?

  Somehow, Laura tore her way through. Such thoughts were parasites, gnawing at her resolve. Soon there would be nothing left with which to fight. Then it would be too late. Survival. That was what mattered now. Keep him happy. Keep him interested.

  When the man returned he handed her a bowl of cereal on a tray, together with a jug of milk and a tall mug. Then he moved back a pace or two and perched on the edge of a tea chest. Laura thanked him, set the bowl on the floor and poured. Vile smelling lumps of clotted milk fell from the jug, spattering over the flakes of corn. Laura jerked her head to one side, instantly nauseous.

  The man shifted. ‘What’s the matter, Laura? Don’t you like cereal?’

  She looked up at him. ‘I can’t eat that. The milk’s off. It’s foul.’

  His face clouded over.

  No! her mind screamed. You made a mistake. Survival. You have to keep him happy. You have to.

  ‘It’s kind of you,’ she said quickly. ‘And I am grateful. But the milk has turned sour.’

  He stared hard at her for several seconds, saying nothing. For the first time, Laura realised that she hadn’t seen him blink even once. His unswerving gaze intimidated her. She wanted to keep this man happy, but she simply could not even consider eating the disgusting mess now lying in the bowl.

  The man slipped off the crate, which tipped and fell to one side with a loud clatter, and moved back across to her. His movements were delicate for such a big man. He glared down at Laura, who felt the blood seep from her face.

  ‘I don’t have to feed you, Laura. There’s no one around to make me feed you. I do so because I’m kind, because I’m thoughtful. You wouldn’t want me to be unkind, would you? You wouldn’t want me to be thoughtless?’

  She shook her head, offered a tentative smile. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to complain. If you have no more milk I can easily pick out some of the flakes and eat them dry.’

  He leaned forward, put his face closer. ‘Eat them as they are,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Eat the flakes as they are, Laura.’

  ‘I can’t. Really, I can’t.’ Her eyes welled and her voice broke.

  ‘Eat the fucking flakes as they are, Laura!’

  She reeled back as if slapped, but her heart refused to bow. ‘I’ll be sick if I do.’

  His smile came again. He took his time, allowing the flush to fade from his face. His hairless head shone beneath the bank of lights. ‘No, you won’t. Because if you are sick, I’ll make you clear it all up. And again, if necessary. As often as it takes. Now eat your breakfast!’

  Hope dropped from Laura’s heart like a lead weight, filling the pit of her stomach with the bitter taste of desperation. He wasn’t going to let it drop. His threats were not idle ones. She picked up the bowl and the spoon, looked down, the sour milk lying like cottage cheese on the golden flakes. Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed quickly. She knew that he would be as good as his word if she vomited.

  Survival, a lone voice whispered inside her head. One stage at a time. Get through each moment, then move onto the next. Then the next.

  Survival.

  No matter what the cost.

  19

  Laura closed her eyes as she scooped the breakfast cereal into her mouth. It was better to imagine than to see. She chewed quickly and swallowed, repeated the process as fast as she could. The more she dwelt on it, the worse it would be for her. The knowledge of what she was feeding into herself was worse than the actual taste, so she sent her thoughts in search of better things.

  When she finally put the bowl down it was empty. Her face was twisted in disgust, her flesh crawling and prickling all the way down to the base of her spine. She looked up at the man, who towered over her still. He was grinning once more and his eyes were dead.

  ‘There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  Laura shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to open her mouth, for fear of what might come back out.

  He winked. ‘See. Told you. Now, here’s your drink.’ He handed her the mug.

  Laura knew what would be inside even before she looked.

  ‘Milk is good for you,’ he said, and chuckled behind his hand like a sneaky child. ‘Good for the bones.’

  ‘Please.’ Laura looked up at him, face crumpling. ‘Please don’t make me drink this.’ Her voice faltered, became whiny even to her own ears.

  His features became stone again. The transformation was so swift that it was impossible for her to notice the change happening. ‘But you asked me for a drink. I distinctly heard you ask me for a drink,
Laura, and that is what I brought you.’

  ‘I know I asked for a drink, but I just can’t drink that. I really can’t. I ate the food, I did as you asked, but I can’t drink that, no matter what…’

  The door opened behind them. The man snapped his head around, and for a moment Laura thought she heard him let out a low snarl deep in the back of his throat. He might have been an animal, disturbed from its kill.

  ‘We have things to do, sweetheart,’ the woman said from the doorway. ‘Busy, busy, busy.’ She threw Laura a wide grin, waved with her fingers.

  ‘But she won’t take her drink,’ he complained.

  ‘Leave it with her. Perhaps she’ll change her mind when she gets thirsty enough.’

  This seemed to appease him. He looked back at Laura. ‘We have to go out for a while. Please don’t cry out or try to attract attention while we’re gone. No one will hear you outside. But I’ll be leaving a recorder running. If I hear your voice on it when I get back …I’ll have no option but to deal with you.’

  ‘I won’t make a sound,’ Laura promised.

  He laughed as he straightened. ‘I know you won’t.’ He walked over to the door and paused on its threshold. ‘Oh, and by the way, remember what I said before. Don’t go inside the doll’s house.’

  Laura’s eyes flicked reflexively across to the vast wooden construction. Instantly her mind screamed in alarm, and her heart began to clamour so loud that she felt sure they would hear it from where they were standing. On entering the doll’s house, she had switched on the light, but when she ran back out of it, she’d neglected to turn it off again. Dim bulb or not, if the man looked directly into the window, he would know she was lying. With her very existence hanging by the slenderest of threads, Laura forced herself to look back at him.

  ‘I won’t go near it,’ she managed to whisper.

  He nodded and took a couple of paces across the room towards the house. ‘Are you sure?’

  Laura froze in place. He was going to check. He was going to open the door, look inside. He would see that the light was on, know she was responsible. And know that she had lied.