Just before the sun reached its zenith, the familiar sound of keys jangled in the lock. Laura stiffened. She was afraid to die, terrified of the way it was likely to happen, but was too exhausted to fight. Her mind flashed visions of her mother, brother and her father. They’d let her down. Between them, they had failed to protect her. It wasn’t their fault, but the failure was theirs all the same.
But it was the woman this time. Violet. She locked the door behind her and came over to squat by Laura’s side. In one hand she held a knife, in the other a mobile phone. She made a call, and Laura was shocked to hear her father’s name mentioned. She hardly dared breathe, intent on listening to every word spoken. It seemed impossible for her father to be so close and yet so far away. The blow with the hard edge of the phone came from nowhere, causing her to let out a yelp of pain. She could only imagine what might have happened if Violet had used her other hand. When the call was ended, Laura was even more convinced that she was never going to see another day.
For a few minutes after the telephone conversation, the woman walked in tiny circles, muttering to herself. Then, after a brief pause, Violet walked purposefully across the room to the doll’s house and silently beckoned Laura to join her.
Another shock awaited Laura when the door was flung open. The girls were gone. The dead girls. Had they taken their leave of their own free will, just got up and walked away? Nothing made sense any more. Nothing was what it seemed. By now she should be dead. Instead, the woman was here, the dead girls were gone, and the terrible man was with her father.
‘Well, this is cosy,’ Violet said. She patted Laura’s thigh. ‘As we have a few hours together, I thought we should use it wisely.’
The knuckles of her right hand were white as she gripped the carving knife, whose blade was now pressed against the mattress.
‘Remember what we agreed,’ Laura said, thinking quickly now. She swallowed. ‘You mustn’t do anything I don’t like. Larry wouldn’t care to find out about our secret.’
But Violet slowly shook her head and said, ‘Oh, it’s far too late for that now. How do you think I got these bruises?’ She indicated the purple and yellow marks on her arms and legs. ‘You see, I’m so fucking stupid I forgot all about the cameras, the ones that have been watching every move you’ve made since you came back.’
Laura blinked. ‘Came back?’
Violet smiled, a grim slit in her face. ‘That’s right, Sophie. You came back to us. After all these years. After all we suffered because of you.’
Laura’s mind whirled. That name again. Sophie. Which was it better to be? Clearly the woman was deranged, and couldn’t be trusted not to react against either name, but it seemed as if she had a particular dislike of this girl called Sophie.
‘But I’m Laura,’ she said, offering a tentative smile of her own. ‘You remember. Larry took me away from my family. My name is Laura Rogers.’
Violet waved a dismissive hand. ‘Silly girl, don’t you think I know my own sister?’
‘But I’m not Sophie,’ she insisted, shocked by what the woman had revealed. ‘I’m Laura. You must remember. Ask Larry if you don’t believe me.’
Violet’s face darkened alarmingly. ‘Larry’s not here as you full well know,’ she said through a stiff jaw. She set the phone to one side and reached out a hand to stroke Laura’s hair. ‘And please, I don’t want you to confuse me any more, Sophie.’
‘I keep telling you, I am not Sophie!’ Laura’s voice rang out harshly.
‘But of course you are. And you used to enjoy these kinds of games. Daddy and Mummy and you. You used to squeal with delight. So, don’t play the innocent with me.’
‘You’re mad. I’m not Sophie, and I’m not playing your games.’
Violet looked at her for a few moments, saying nothing this time. She blinked a couple of times, shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. When she looked at Laura it was as if she were surprised to see her sitting there. In a quick, jerky movement, she shot to her feet. She stood looking down at Laura. Her mouth twisted into a thin sneer.
‘I’ll leave you to it. For a while.’ She walked across to the doll’s house door, pausing on the threshold. ‘Oh, and by the way, don’t get carried away by the thought that the call I made will be traced. Larry knows all about these sort of things, and we have more phones than we know what to do with.’
Laura felt one more faint sliver of hope slip from her grasp.
63
The inside of Nicky’s office was sweltering, despite the windows having been thrown open. Frank sat in a chair opposite his friend’s desk, shaking his head, trying to come to terms with his failure to break Swain.
‘I can’t get him to slip,’ he said. ‘Or if he has, I haven’t spotted it. Nicky, where the hell is that fucker holding my daughter?’
His friend gave a grim shrug. ‘Nothing so far from his clothing, particularly no traces to indicate a farm or something similar. He may have yet another office somewhere where he does his developing.’
‘The photography is the only thing we can trace back to Swain, and though it’s his way of getting to the girls, I just don’t see that being enough for him.’
‘But there are no records of either Lawrence or Violet Swain ever being employed. No trace of a driving licence for either of them, no tax records, no bank details. It’s as if they don’t exist. How can they afford to live off his meagre earnings?’
‘I wonder if they inherited any money,’ Frank said.
‘I guess we can check. Perhaps they got the proceeds from the house when they were eighteen, though I doubt he would have profited from his crimes. I know there was a huge element of diminished responsibility, though, and maybe it was the sister who got the money.’
Frank nodded. ‘Yes. There never was anything against her, so she may well have received proceeds from the sale of the house. Problem is, I still don’t know how any of that will help. This freak must have a weakness I can work on now, today.’
‘Why don’t you speak to Irene Shaw again? She spent time with him, knew more about him than we know now.’
It was an excellent idea. A few minutes later Frank had located the number and had punched it in. He explained to the ex-social services worker what he was seeking to do. ‘It’s my belief that he and his sister must have some weaknesses from their past that we can exploit,’ Frank went on. ‘Would you think that’s possible?’
‘Anything’s possible, Mr Rogers. But I can’t think of anything off the top of my head’
‘What about their desires? An unfulfilled desire can create weakness.’
‘Lawrence would have wanted to succeed where his father failed. That, in itself, could be considered weak.’
Frank nodded to himself. ‘I don’t suppose he ever gave any indication of what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go when he grew up?’
‘I’m sorry. I really would like to help, but I simply can’t remember. We discussed so many things. His likes, dislikes, loves, hates.’
‘His fears?’ The question was out before Frank had really formed it in his mind.
‘His fears? Yes, of course, Mr Rogers. I had completely forgotten about those conversations.’
Frank licked his lips and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. ‘Tell me, Mrs Shaw, what did Lawrence Swain fear?’
When Frank put down the telephone he sat lost in thought for some time, eyes closed, breathing calm and steady. Finally, he opened his eyes and asked Nicky to fetch him something from a particular shop in nearby Walthamstow.
‘Are you sure about this, Frank?’ Nicky asked. He gave his friend a quizzical look. ‘Sure this is the way you want to go?’
Frank nodded. ‘Absolutely. You up for it?’
Nicky wet his lips. ‘I don’t know about that, but I’ll do it.’
Frank headed back down to the cells, a spring in his step for the first time. The custody sergeant unlocked the door without delay. Normal procedure had been waived the moment Lawrence Swain had o
pted not to have a solicitor present.
Swain sat upright, spine pressed against the painted brick wall. Its gloss finish reflected his paper suit; a ghostly companion by his side. He was smiling. As usual.
‘I hope you’re in a better frame of mind than you were last time,’ he said without looking at Frank. ‘You were unnecessarily rude, Special Detective Rogers.’ He made to move off the narrow, steel-framed bed.
Frank held up a hand. ‘No, don’t bother. Stay where you are. We’re not going to the interview room this time.’ His manner was deliberately easier. It was part of his plan to put the madman at his ease for the time being.
‘No interview? Oh, what a shame. I do so enjoy our little chats.’
‘Me, too. I thought we’d make it a little less formal.’
The madman’s face brightened considerably. ‘Good. I like a man who’s not afraid to step out of character.’
Frank leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. ‘Comfortable?’ he asked. ‘This cell?’
‘It’s not so bad. Hardly the Savoy, but I suppose it will have to do. For the time being.’
‘Oh, yes. You think you’re getting out.’
‘I am getting out, Frank. It’s just a matter of time. We both know that.’
Frank bit down on a retort. There was time for that later. ‘Look, let’s not fight. I’m sorry for what I said before. Sophie must have meant a lot to you. Tell me more about her.’
‘What is there to tell? She lived, she died.’
‘And you loved her.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘More than anyone? More than Violet, even?’
‘Yes.’ His eyes shone as he looked deep within himself. ‘You’re good, Frank. But you must pay a price, as I do, for the curse of insight.’
Frank wasn’t sure about that. Later he would have to give the matter some consideration. ‘What are you keeping from me, Swain?’ he asked. ‘I sense a lot more than you’re telling me.’
‘Like what, for instance?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. There’s a sadness in you. You loved Sophie. Your father took her away, so you killed him. It all sounds so … contrived. Too easy to believe, an excuse for the way you are now. Somehow I feel there’s more to that story than meets the eye.’
Swain grinned and shook his head in admiration. ‘Clever, Frank. None of them were as clever as you. Even as a child I had no equal, and there were many fools who believed they were my betters. Fools who tried to see inside me, open up my head to see what made me tick. Only you come close, Frank. But even you aren’t good enough.’
‘What do you mean?’ In spite of himself, Frank was interested.
‘I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone, Frank. My father didn’t kill Sophie. I did.’
‘You! But why … if she meant so much to you?’ Frank was astonished.
‘Because she meant so much to me. They had taken her out of the cupboard yet again, stripped of her few dirty rags, and then took off their own clothes. Violet and I were in our usual place, sat before them like we were waiting for a show to begin. But this time it was different. For all she’d been through, Sophie always complained, even tried to fight them. Only that day she came without a whimper, even got on her knees so that our father could take her more easily. There was no fight left in her. She was empty. I knew then that she was lost.’
‘So, you murdered your parents.’
‘It was the first time that I became aware of how much power I actually had.’
‘Power?’
‘Over life and death, yes. I don’t know where such recognition comes from, but I felt it creep over me that day, and it took control. While my father was enjoying himself with Sophie, I slipped off the sofa and went to his toolbox. Using the tools he was so proud of seemed like the right thing to do. I killed him first, just came up behind him and slit his throat with a chisel. Then I killed my mother. And then it was Sophie’s turn.’
The madman lowered his eyes. Frank looked into them and what he saw there stunned him. Sorrow. Immense sorrow. Human sorrow.
‘But why kill Sophie?’ Frank wanted to know. ‘Once your parents were gone, she was safe, surely.’
‘Physically, yes. Oh, her body was ruined, but I knew it would heal in time and at least it would never be abused by either of them again. But in here,’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘she would never be safe. There’s nowhere to hide from what’s inside your mind, Frank. You must know that by now. She was a hollow shell. There was nothing left of the Sophie I adored. For her there could never be any escape from the horrors of her memory. All that they had ever done would stay with her for the rest of her life. No, Frank. She would never be safe again.’
‘So, you killed her out of a sense of … compassion.’
‘Compassion? Yes. But most of all, love.’
For several moments, Frank felt something stir within him that was at once confusing and disturbing. He felt sympathy. Lawrence Swain had not been born a monster, had not begun life as a madman. His evil had been forged by evil parents, who no doubt had their own tales of woe to tell. Parents who had forced him to endure a childhood of physical, mental, and sexual abuse. Parents whose actions had led him to take three lives while he was barely into his teens. And so, Frank was able to sympathise with the boy who had taken those lives. Yet through this surprising sensation leaked the images of families murdered in their beds, of little girls whose lives were equally wasted.
Sympathy, yes. But not forgiveness.
It was time to go on the offensive.
‘I had a conversation with someone who knows you,’ said Frank. ‘Knew you, I should say. Knew you as a boy, before and after you murdered your parents.’
‘Really.’ Swain had quickly recovered his composure. He yawned hugely. ‘How dull for you.’
‘Swain, you remember how I only needed to hear your voice to know you were the man who had murdered my son and wife?’
‘Yes. What of it?’
‘Well, now I need only to see your eyes to know when you are concerned or disturbed about something I mention. Something about my discussing your past worries you. Don’t tell me otherwise.’
Swain pursed his lips, took care to maintain control over his breathing. Frank saw now that it was all an act. And if none of it was natural, the facade could be pulled to pieces.
‘Very astute,’ Swain said at last. ‘But you still don’t know the thing you need to know most. You still don’t have a clue where Laura is.’
‘That’s right. I don’t. But you’re going to tell me.’
‘Dream on, Frank.’
‘You may not think you will, Swain. But I can assure you, before I leave here, you will have given me the address and precise directions if I should need them.’
Lawrence Swain laughed. Gone was the dramatic chuckle. Another falsehood uncovered. The veneer was peeling back all the time, revealing something spectacularly ordinary beneath.
‘You can’t get to me, Frank. My mind is closed to the likes of you.’
At any time before, Frank would have believed him. Now he saw the madman as just another criminal. Vile and vicious, despicable and base, a man without a conscience. But nothing special. Nothing special at all. Just a ham who blew his lines.
‘You’re a bad actor, Larry. I’ll bet you’re every bit as bad as your father was.’
‘You leave that bastard out of this. You …’ Swain faltered, smiling weakly. ‘You won’t get through that easily, Frank.’
‘No. I didn’t expect to. I have something else in mind.’ Frank felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Nicky, standing just behind the doorway. Frank smiled. ‘Put it on the floor,’ he whispered.
Nicky grimaced. ‘You bet I will. Then I’m getting the fuck out of here.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be long.’
‘I hope you know what you’re doing. It’s my neck on the block.’
‘And it’ll be safe. Believe me. I needed to know him, and now I do
. There’s really nothing to fear.’
When Nicky had gone, Frank edged back inside the cell. Swain was still on the bed, but had shifted forward a little. The brief exchange had intrigued him. Frank remained close by the door, his own smile broad, a glint in his eyes.
‘Your father used to lock you up in the dark,’ he said quietly. ‘Down in the small cellar beneath your home. There was no light, it was cold and damp and dirty in there. That’s why you sometimes think you are the dark. You believe it entered you, became a part of you. It twisted your mind, Larry. It did some crazy things to you.’
‘You have been busy. Someone has a big mouth. Whatever. I lived through it. I’m still here.’
‘But it must have been terrifying, down there in the dark. What did you hate most about it?’
Swain frowned, and his eyes became wary. The question had obviously unsettled him. A memory he would rather have not recalled. Sweat sprang from his scalp and trickled down the side of his face.
‘Just the dark,’ he said. ‘That, and being alone.’
‘Really? Yes, I can see that being left in the dark for long periods must have been harrowing. Loneliness, too, is a terrible thing. I bet you got the odd rat down there, too. Not very nice having one of those running about, eyes gleaming, chattering.’
‘Yes. They were very unpleasant.’
‘But then what about the spiders, Larry? What about the monster spiders you used to get down in that basement?’
A tremor. Two eyes widening. For the first time, Swain’s tongue snaked out to wet his lips. ‘What about them?’
‘Oh, just something I heard.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as, when you were small you used to have a bed much like the one you’re on now, with steel strips down the sides. Such as, one night you were looking at a comic and it dropped down the side, and in order to get it back you had to go to the end of the bed and crawl all the way under. Such as, when you turned back, you came face to face with an eight-legged monster, a monster you had never seen the like of before.’
A single bead of sweat began to trickle down the madman’s brow, curving into his eye. He blinked, tongue now highly animated, eyes open wide. He said nothing, but his head began to slowly shake. Mute denial.
Degrees of Darkness Page 33