Frank hung his head, eyes closed tight as if to ward off the brutal reality of what he was hearing. The entire human race was shamed by such people. ‘The poor little mite,’ he muttered.
The woman shuffled her legs and shook involuntarily. ‘Not only that, but the twins were forced to watch every despicable act. Finally, it seems that their parents did it one time too many. The girl, Sophie, died after a fierce beating. The boy, Lawrence, got hold of his father’s tools and killed both his parents with them. Then he took his sister into the cupboard, where they were found.’
Nicky blew out his cheeks. ‘My God. It sounds like the worst nightmare imaginable.’
Frank’s features were drawn and stretched tight across the bone beneath. ‘The boy was called Lawrence. That matches with the name we’ve been given by someone in our custody. The sister … what became of her?’
‘Both Lawrence and Violet were institutionalised. Both were rehabilitated and released into the public when they reached the age of eighteen.’
‘That’s why he’s so cocky,’ said Frank.
He slammed a heavy fist down against his side, grunting as a jab of pain reminded him of his wounds.
‘All along we’ve had thoughts only of him. One man. One suspect. But we were wrong all the time. There are two of them. We have Lawrence Swain, but sister Violet is still out there. Somewhere.’
‘Don’t ask for any forwarding addresses,’ Mrs Shaw said, her eyes sadly reflective. ‘Once out in the big wide world the twins simply disappeared.’
‘So where did all this take place, Mrs Shaw?’ Nicky asked.
‘Hove.’ It was Frank’s voice.
The woman stared up at him in surprise. ‘However, did you know that?’
‘He went back.’
Nicky nodded solemnly. The monster’s first victims lived in Hove. The scene of Lawrence Swain’s childhood horror show.
Frank’s entire frame seemed to shrink in on itself. He’d thought they were nearing the end. Instead, they were only at the beginning. They had the man who’d taken Laura, but if she was still alive then someone else now held her captive. He reached down and patted the woman’s liver-spotted hands.
‘Thank you for coming forward,’ he said, managing a thin smile of gratitude. ‘Many people wouldn’t have bothered. You’ve confirmed who we’re dealing with, at least. Hopefully we can use the information you’ve given us.’
Irene Shaw looked up at him. ‘Lawrence is the serial killer, isn’t he? The one that’s been in the news lately.’
‘I’m sorry. I can’t answer that at the moment.’
She smiled. ‘That’s all the answer I need.’
Frank grew more serious. ‘Please understand, anything you’ve said here today should remain between us for the time being. If the press find out what you suspect, they may alert our suspect’s accomplice.’
‘Yes. Of course. I won’t breathe a word to anyone. But you know, Violet was every bit as peculiar as Lawrence. Perhaps not as violent, but definitely a strange little girl.’
56
Frank returned to the interview room some forty minutes after he’d been summoned away by Nicky. The officer guarding the suspect left the room, leaving Frank and the prisoner together once more.
‘Let’s establish something right away,’ Frank said immediately, taking his place at the table. ‘Would you like me to carry on calling you Lawrence Wilde, or would you prefer I use your real name?’
The man tilted his head, frowned. ‘My real name?’
‘Yes. Swain. Lawrence Swain.’
There was a slight pause. Just a beat, but it was enough for Frank to realise that his revelation had struck home.
‘How did you manage to stumble upon that?’ Swain asked.
‘We’re detectives.’ Frank flashed an icy grin. ‘We did what we do best.’
‘It’s not important.’ Swain let his eyes roam the interview room.
‘Of course not.’ But it was, and Frank could tell the man had been rattled. Now he was wondering what else they knew about him. ‘So why hide the fact? Why not tell me the truth right from the beginning?’
The prisoner stared at him. ‘This isn’t getting you back your little girl, Frank. Don’t you want to see Laura again?’
‘You told me she was already dead.’
‘So I did. I also made it clear that I consider there to be various levels of death. Laura may be still warm and breathing and praying for her daddy to arrive on his white charger. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?’
‘Are you going to tell me where she is?’ Frank asked.
‘Of course, I’m not. What would be the fun in that?’
‘Then there’s nothing to keep me from snapping your neck here and now. If you won’t give me the information I need, you’re of no use to me.’
The madman chuckled softly. ‘Oh, Frank. You know you won’t do that. You have to hold on to the small glimmer of a chance that I’ll suddenly capitulate, spill the beans … cough. It’s a fair cop, guv, and all that sort of thing. You kill me and you’ve no hope.’
Frank closed his eyes for a moment. He had to shut out that grinning, evil face. He was drifting away when he heard the rattle of steel and his eyes sprang back open. Swain laughed, his broad shoulders rocking.
‘Made you jump, eh, Frank? You never know when I’m going to shrug these cuffs off. I know I said I wouldn’t harm you, but really … shutting your eyes like that. One can only resist temptation for so long. In fact, I can resist anything except temptation.’
‘Another Wilde quotation? Let’s not regress here, Swain. By the way, did you change your name from Swain to Wilde by deed poll?’
‘Oh, what’s in a name, Frank? You know, my father named me Lawrence after our greatest actor.’
‘Olivier. So, your father was a fan of the arts, too. Did he like Wilde?’
‘My father was a failed actor. He built stage sets, but his dream was to tread the boards. He did once or twice, but he wasn’t any good. He took his bitterness out on us.’
Frank stared at the man who sat across the table from him. There was not the slightest sign that this man wasn’t every bit as normal as the next. No tell-tale tics or glares or twitches. He could be a solicitor, a banker … a copper. Instead he was a madman. And Frank wanted to know why.
‘Us?’ Frank said, feigning interest.
Swain nodded, blinking rapidly. ‘My mother and me.’
‘Ah. I thought you may have meant you and your sister, Violet.’
This time, Swain’s disquiet was all too obvious, his features reflecting alarm. Frank saw him look up, perhaps trying to work out where this information had come from, or maybe wondering if he himself had erred in any way.
‘So, you’ve discovered a few things,’ Swain said eventually. He smiled, but it was transparently forced. ‘So what? You don’t yet know what you need to know. But what you must have realised by now is that my sister is the reason you will let me go. You have me, but she has Laura.’
Frank leaned back in his chair. He raised his eyebrows. ‘And Violet may not be as cunning as you, Swain. She may not be able to cope with your absence. Violet may be a person we can deal with.’
Just as Frank was feeling good about sowing that little seed of doubt in the man’s head, Lawrence Swain said something that made the hair on Frank’s neck stand tall, a chill to move down his back.
‘Oh, Violet won’t be able to cope with my absence, Frank.’ His eyes became slits of triumph. ‘She’s liable to do anything. Absolutely anything. Poor Laura. I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes when Violet loses it.’
Frank realised his own attempt at mind games had backfired. Swain was obviously disturbed by what had been discovered, but his words held far more weight and dread for Frank.
‘Tell me about your life,’ he said, needing to get back on track.
‘Why? What possible interest could my life be to you, Special Detective Rogers?’
‘I’m int
erested in you. I’m curious as to what made you the way you are today.’
The bald and shiny head shook. ‘No. That’s not it. You want to see if you can trip me up. See if I’ll give anything away. I won’t, you know. I’m too good. Too bad.’ He chuckled again.
‘What were your parents really like?’
Something moved across the man’s eyes, like a series of low-scudding clouds slinking across a late-autumn sky. A raw nerve touched. Aggravated. Frank mentally scored another point for himself. Even so, he was losing by a mile.
‘Tell me,’ he insisted.
The man took a deep breath. When it came back out through his nose it sounded like a distant whistle. ‘My father was a complete bastard. You may well know that already, depending on where you’ve gained your information. What you may not know is that behind her docile facade my mother was every bit as bad. Our other sister, Sophie, was locked away from us until my father wanted to have her. They did it in front of me and Violet. Every sordid little act. Sophie just lay there and let them get on with it. She was like a doll, but one who lived and breathed. My mother joined in fairly regularly. She also stood by while that miserable bastard did as he liked with us. It was a living hell.’
‘That doesn’t excuse you for all that you’ve done.’
Swain smiled wistfully. ‘I never said it did. I’m not seeking to justify myself to the likes of you. You asked, I answered. I thought a cliché might add a little colour to the proceedings.’
‘Okay. So, this went on for some time, I gather.’
‘Yes. I sometimes think it would have gone on forever had I not killed him.’
When Frank failed to react, Swain gave a stifled laugh and nodded. ‘You knew that, too. I suppose you must know all the relevant facts. But facts don’t tell the whole story, do they?’
‘No.’ Frank agreed. ‘So, tell me more. Make me understand.’
‘Why not? I’ll give you an insight into what life was really like, Frank. When I was almost ten years old, my father sent me to buy a box of Tampax. I had a vague idea what they were, and of course I was embarrassed. But I went all the same. My father wasn’t the kind of man you argued with, as I’m sure you’ve realised by now. When I came back I gave them to my mother. But my father took them from her. ‘They’re not for her,’ he said. ‘They’re for you.’ I looked blankly at him. I thought that my mother bled sometimes and needed these things, I knew that Sophie had also recently started to bleed. But I wasn’t bleeding.’
Swain paused. He stared deep into Frank’s eyes.
‘You know what they were for? Do you have any idea?’
Frank said he didn’t have a clue.
‘Well, they were for me. And they were to stop my bleeding. After my father took hold of me, laid me across the end of my bed and sodomised me, he used the little white mouse to plug me up. Believe me, after my father had been there, there was plenty of room.’
Frank lowered his gaze. He couldn’t imagine a life anything like the one this man had endured as a boy. But it was no excuse. It could never be.
‘When did you become like him, Swain?’ he asked. ‘When did you become your father?’
Eyebrows angling toward the bridge of his nose, the man considered the question carefully. Eventually he shook his head. ‘I never did. I told you once before, I am unique. Okay, so I may have lied once or twice. I did mistreat pets. We didn’t have any, and when I was finished, neither did many of our neighbours. But I was always better than my father.’
Frank shook his head. ‘I don’t see it that way.’
‘You wouldn’t. You’re a philistine. You have no class.’
‘Class? You call what you do class? Any fool can murder unsuspecting people. Any fool can terrify innocent little girls. But why did you take them? Why did you want to keep one for yourself?’
The man sat back. Little of what had so far taken place seemed to have disturbed him. Even his trip back in time hadn’t affected him in any noticeable way. He remained perfectly calm and reasonable, completely unruffled. He began moving his head from side to side like a metronome.
‘Think about it, Frank. You’re good at that. Why should I furnish you with all the answers?’
Frank shook his gaze from the hypnotic movement. Deliberately he closed his eyes. He was not at all afraid of what Swain might do. Not here. Not while he was trapped. Frank wiped his mind clean. Think. Think.
Think.
It took a minute or so, but the answer came to him so completely that he was drawn to the wonder of it rather than the horror. ‘You wanted a replacement for Sophie. Your elder sister was twelve when she died—’
‘When she was murdered.’
‘Right. Now, I’ll bet she was of slim build, had dark blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair, worn long.’
‘I knew you’d get there eventually, Frank. You’re almost clever enough to be me.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to be you, Swain. I like being human.’
This elicited only another smile. ‘Oh, dear. I thought you would be beyond that. You disappoint me.’
‘That’s too bad.’ Frank sighed. This was all grist to the mill, but it wasn’t taking him any closer to Laura. He had to find out where Laura was being kept.
‘The girls,’ he went on. ‘You took them to replace Sophie. But then you discovered that they weren’t interested in playing your games. They wouldn’t be Sophie. So, the first time this happened, with Jeanette Morris, you hit upon the idea of taxidermy. That way you could keep Sophie forever.’
‘Exactly so.’
‘So, tell me about it.’
Swain put back his head, focused on the ceiling. ‘The clock is ticking, Frank. Don’t you want to know about Laura? What I did to her? Whether I killed her or not?’
And then suddenly Frank did know. It explained the man’s confidence, it explained his words. The clock is ticking. That meant he, Frank, was running out of time. Yet if Laura was already dead then time was of no consequence. The bastard was eventually going to admit that Laura was alive, and then he was going to barter for that life.
For an instant, Frank thought he was going to keel over. He felt far too hot all of a sudden, the walls of the interview room were closing in, the ceiling light glowing like the brightest sun. His eyes refused to focus. He had to get out, had to get away from this man for a while. But he couldn’t allow the bastard to know what he had come to understand.
‘I need a break.’ He rose quickly, the chair screeched and tumbled to the floor. The door was yanked open and Nicky appeared on the run. Frank held up a hand, then turned to Swain. ‘You’ll be taken back to your holding cell for the time being. This interview will continue in the morning. When I am ready, we will discuss Laura. And then you will tell me whether she is alive or not.’
‘Will I, Frank? I wonder.’
His laughter filled the room and raced down the corridor, filtering into every room as it went, like a poisonous toxin, the essence of pure evil. Not a single person who heard it failed to be chilled by its sound.
It was the sound of madness.
Of something inhuman. In human form.
57
Frank was dropped off at home by an unmarked squad car just before eight-fifteen that evening. A few journalists had gathered outside his house, but he brushed them off with a recommendation that they study the official press release.
He knew he looked battered, but only realised how bad it might actually be when he saw Debbie’s initial reaction. He’d expected shock, maybe even anger, but no sooner had her eyes taken him in than Debbie reeled back against the hallway stairs and sobbed, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders heaving.
It took several minutes to convince her that he looked a great deal worse than he felt, and that none of his injuries were too serious. Helping her into the kitchen, Frank made light of what had happened in the butcher’s shop, preferring instead to focus on the positives.
Through ragged breaths, Debbie explained that she�
��d been frightened by the gathering outside, the fragmented information gleaned from their barrage of questioning. TV coverage had highlighted the struggle between Frank and a suspect, the injuries sustained, the need for a visit to hospital, yet failed to mention how badly he’d been hurt. By the time she’d contacted the hospital, he’d discharged himself, and this had eased her worries. Messages left at Francis Road had failed to earn a return call.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ he said, head pressed against hers. ‘I never got any messages that you’d called.’
‘I thought about driving over, but I didn’t feel at all well.’
‘No? What’s up?’
Debbie shook her head dismissively. ‘I had a really bad pain that started just beneath my chest and wormed its way down to my stomach. I’m sure it was just nerves. Tension.’
Frank narrowed his gaze. ‘You don’t look yourself, that’s for sure. How are you now?’
‘I'm fine. My belly’s grumbling, but I’m doing great compared to you.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I feel terrible for not calling you. I guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly, got caught up in the whole sorry mess. I am fine, honestly. But I should have phoned, should have let you know I was okay.’
‘Okay?’ Debbie pulled back, held him at arm’s length. ‘Have you seen yourself, Frank?’
He managed a weak smile. ‘Actually, no I haven’t. Not properly at least. I haven’t dared look in a mirror.’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, Frank. I was so worried.’
He held her again, saying nothing this time. A meal and a few drinks would relax them both. Enough, he hoped, to take her mind off what might have been.
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