What he couldn't see or hear were the soft, almost silent footfalls of the man in rubber boots who followed the woman down the steps. The sound of a switch being thrown followed and the room was bathed in the soft light of a single, low wattage light bulb, suspended from a fitting in the centre of the ceiling.
“Well, hello, pretty boy,” the woman spoke mockingly as she walked up to and stood directly over Lucas Devereux, who tried to look up but could do more than stare at her legs and feet, no more than twelve inches from his face.
“Oh, I don't think he looks so pretty now, do you?” said the unknown man whose voice startled Lucas, who had remained unaware of his presence until that moment. “Do you feel like a pretty boy, Luke?”
“Aw, he can't speak,” the woman mocked. “He's got a big red ball gag stuck in his mouth, haven't you, Luke?”
“Bet you've used a few of those in the past eh, Lukey baby?” the man added.
Lucas struggled impotently against his bonds, and then, without warning, strong hands grabbed him by the arm and leg and rolled him over. Now, Lucas could see where he was. They had brought him to a crypt, probably underground, judging from the steps, and at least two stone coffins stood before his eyes. The man now cut the rope that joined his arms and legs, and forced him into a sitting position and the fear rose in the naked man again. Resting on one of the coffins was a selection of cutting and sawing tools whose use Lucas could only imagine at, increasing his growing terror.
“We've got such plans for you, Luke,” the woman said. “You're going to be so sorry for the things you've done, Lucas. We're going to make sure you go to hell before morning, but in the meantime, you're going to suffer as you've never suffered before.”
A gurgling sound came from behind the ball gag, an incoherent mumbling that did no more than produce a stream of spittle that ran down Luke's chin.
“You like causing pain and fear, don't you?” the man asked, not expecting an answer of course. “We're here to show you what it's like to be on the receiving end for a change.”
“Oh look, he's wriggling with excitement,” Vera said, as he struggled vainly against his bonds.
“You like scaring and raping young girls and women, don't you, you piece of scum? It's your turn now,” the man added.
Suddenly, the woman reached into a handbag that stood on the nearest coffin lid and lifted out a small six by four inch photograph of a young woman, little more than a girl, that she held down to Lucas's facial level.
“Remember her?”
He shook his head, vigorously.
“No, you wouldn't would you, you bastard? Too many years ago. How many have there been since then, I wonder? You ruined her life, Lucas bloody Devereux, you and your twisted little cronies. Her name was Brenda Gillespie. You gang raped her, left her for dead and never gave her another thought, you bastards. Well, she's had to live with the results of what you did to her ever since, and so have we. She was, and still is my little sister, and he,” she gestured towards the man, who Lucas couldn't see properly because of the cowled hood he wore that hid most of his face, “he was going to marry her, until you bastards caused a total mental breakdown that she's still living with, every day of her fucking life, living like a vegetable in a wheelchair, unable to speak, move or do anything for herself because the horror of what you did simply destroyed her. We're here to exact revenge for my sister, his fiancé, and all the other poor girls you've terrorised over the years.”
Devereux knew now that he had no chance of leaving the crypt alive. All his plans, all his dreams for the future were about to end in this cold, dank place, but, he thought, what horrors are they going to inflict on me before they let me die?
“Scared, are you, Devereux?” the woman asked, not requiring an answer. “You should be. Remington went quickly, too quickly really, but we hadn't refined our means of disposing of you all at that point. Proctor was a little more fun. We made him wait longer for the final release of death. He screamed his lungs out, but with the gag in place, he couldn't exactly make himself heard. Of course, the papers haven't told the whole story, because the police wouldn't tell them everything. The only thing I found unsatisfying about the two of them was that it's not a lot of fun slicing off a limp, dead penis from a corpse before stuffing it down their throats.”
A look of pure terror spread across Lucas Devereux's face, and without warning, he lost control of his bladder, the fear overcoming any hope he had of arresting the flow.
“Oh, what a dirty boy you are, Luke. We'll have to punish you for that as well, won't we? And don't worry, we'll find a way to make your dick stand up before we cut it off, won't we?” she asked the man who stood a few feet behind her, who simply laughed quietly and nodded his head. “Poor Brenda can't control her bladder either. She has to wear a bloody bag to catch it in. Would you like a bag, Luke?” Vera added.
Devereux shook his head vigorously, still making incoherent sounds from behind the gag. The woman stood so close in front of him, he couldn't help looking up and all he could see was her legs, slightly apart, encased in a black mini skirt, and he could see as far as her stocking tops, and he just knew she was deliberately flaunting herself before him. She suddenly walked away and the man took her place, looking down at the shivering man, whose body was now wracked with paroxysms of fear.
“You're nothing but a waste of a heart and soul, Devereux,” the man said, with a voice so flat in intonation that Devereux felt his tormentor to be completely devoid of emotion, and he knew that even if he was allowed to speak, no offer of money was likely to sway him or incite him to deviate from his intentions, which Luke knew were simply to cause him as much pain as possible before ending his life.
“I'm going to take great pleasure in watching you die and sending you to Hell, where I hope Satan decides you're too evil even to dwell there, and sends you to purgatory, where what's left of your soul will be tormented by demons for eternity. Come on Vera, we've wasted enough time on this piece of scum. Let's get started.”
Lucas Devereux felt himself being lifted up by his wrists and the man suddenly spun him round and then kicked him behind he knees, causing him to pitch forward and land heavily on his knees on the concrete floor.
“In case you're wondering,” the man said, his voice still flat and emotionless, you're in a crypt, Lucas, a fitting place for what we intend, don't you think? The inhabitants are long dead and the family who originally owned it have long since died out, so I doubt anyone will mind us using it. If it wasn't for the gag, you could scream the place down and no one would hear you. Do you know how long you've been out? Oh, I forgot, you don't have a watch do you? We removed it with your clothes. Time has no meaning for you any more, apart from the length of time it's going to take for you to die. Clothes, watch, money, all the trappings of wealth, they've all gone now, and you won't be needing them any longer will you?”
Devereux tried his hardest to voice the word, “please” through the gag, but if the man realised what he was saying, he took no notice whatsoever.
“Let's get him up,” the man said to Vera, and Devereux couldn't help looking upwards where, to his horror, he saw what had to be a newly added butcher's hook affixed to the ceiling.
The woman joined the man in forcing Devereux to take the few steps that placed him directly under the hook. The man now walked to the side of the room, and took hold of a length of rope which he quickly attached to the butcher's hook by standing on a small, two-step stepladder. Next, a pair of manacles were attached to Devereux's wrists, replacing the plastic cable ties and together, the rope threaded through them, and the man and woman hoisted the bound man up until his feet were barely touching the floor. They were ready to begin.
* * *
Two hours later, the man and woman stepped back to examine their handiwork. Lucas Devereux was still alive, but only just. Thanks to their study of various methods of torture and of prolonging the victim's life during the process, the pair had managed to inflict such pain on the
now pitiful man who hung, suspended from the butcher's hook that he had reached a point where death would come as a welcome release to him. But, they hadn't finished with him yet.
His body was bleeding in multiple places, his chest, belly and back a crazy patchwork of numerous knife wounds, all painful but designed to be non-fatal. Most painful by far had been the slicing through of Devereux's Achilles tendons, leaving his feet useless, and unable to ever support his body again, even if given the opportunity. Blood pooled all around his dangling body and his earlier attempts at screaming had reduced to a series of long, pathetic and pitiful sobs, though pity was the last thing on the minds of his tormentors.
“Do you want to know what triggered all this, at this moment in time, Luke?” Vera suddenly asked. Without waiting for an answer she knew he couldn't give, she went on:
“Your mate, Remington. He couldn't stop himself could he? Wouldn't even wait for you to come up with a new target for your perverted lust, would he? When he targeted a young teenage girl who went to a local church, and she ended up having an abortion, then couldn't live with what she'd done, and she killed herself, we decided the time had come to put our plan into operation. We'd wanted to do it for years, but it had always been theoretical, and then we snapped after that young kid died, because of you, Remington and all your kind. When you're gone, it'll be Johnny's turn, but maybe we'll just sit back and watch him fall to pieces with fear, maybe turn himself in to the police to save his miserable hide, but we all know what they'd do to him in prison, don't we? I think it best if we send him on to join you and your mates in hell, don't you?”
“You're wasting your breath,” the hooded man said from somewhere to the rear of Devereux. “Let's finish this.”
“Right,” Vera replied, as she walked across to the stone coffin and through his tear stained eyes Devereux saw her pick up a large, black sex toy. He had an idea what she intended and tried hard to shake his head in panic.
“Rape, Lukey baby, terrible thing, isn't it? Oh, sorry, I forgot, you like raping young girls and women, don't you? Forcing yourself onto them, into them, violating their most private, intimate places. Ever wondered what it feels like to suffer that kind of violation? No? Well, before you die, we want you to know a little of what it fells like.”
Panic gripped Lucas Devereux as Vera walked behind him, pulled his buttocks apart and despite the gag, he screamed at last as the sex toy was rammed into him, stretching and tearing as Vera laughed at his agony and torment. The man stood back, watching dispassionately until she'd had enough of the game and walked around to face the man who'd been the prime focus of her hatred for so long.
“Had enough, Luke? I'm getting tired of this now. Oh look, he's got all excited.”
Lucas couldn't help it. It had been totally involuntary, but his bleeding, weakened body was actually showing signs of arousal.
“Perfect,” said Vera as she moved in closer, a long gleaming surgical knife in her right hand, at the same time as the man moved behind Luke and released the ball gag allowing hours of pent up agony to escape Luke's lips in what became little more than a loud agonised gasp, which grew to a scream once again as Vera took hold of his manhood with one hand and the blade flashed once, emasculating him in one swift brutal slashing movement.
Blood seemed to flow everywhere from the gaping wound, and now, knowing their victim couldn't last much longer, the pair exchanged a look that said the time had come.
Without further hesitation, the hooded man removed another blade from a pocket in his hooded top and grabbed hold of Luke's head, pulling it back sharply, exposing his throat. One slash, and Lucas Devereux saw the blood spurting in a fierce jet from his throat as he gurgled and began to choke on his own life-blood.
Before death took him, however he had just enough life left in him to feel the final cut as his belly was opened up, and Vera herself completed the job of disembowelment.
It was over. Lucas Devereux, parliamentary election candidate, respected local businessman and rapist of at least twenty women had been sent on his final journey to the realm of the damned.
Vera and the hooded man quickly took the body down from the butcher's hook and within half an hour, the remains of Lucas Devereux were in place, draped suggestively, naked, legs apart and bent over a randomly selected tombstone in the graveyard above. Vera herself added the final touch by pushing the amputated penis of her victim into his mouth and forcing it as far as possible into his throat. It was their 'signature' after all.
Chapter 32
A Place to Die
The discovery of the body of Lucas Devereux was made just after seven-thirty a.m. by Tom, the husband of Iris Redding. He'd dropped his wife at the front of the manse before driving around back, parking his car and making his way towards the graveyard's tool shed, where he stored the lawn mower and other tools needed to ensure the grassed areas, graves and pathways of St. Luke's remained as pristine as possible.
Tom Redding had the presence of mind to leave the church grounds for the few minutes it took for him to walk down the lane to the nearest public call box where he dialled 999 and summoned the emergency services. He'd not wanted to upset his wife by announcing his grim discovery and making the emergency call whilst trying to answer the barrage of questions he knew he'd face from Iris and the two priests,
Fathers Byrne and Willis.
After entering through the kitchen door, he'd asked his wife to summon the priests and he'd informed them of his discovery. Father Byrne seemed to turn almost parchment-white with shock, though the younger priest, Father Willis, appeared to Tom to be made of sterner stuff, and offered to wait outside with Tom until the police arrived.
As soon as the call was made for the duty medical examiner to attend the scene, Doctor Vicky Strauss faced a minor dilemma. The newest member of Dr. William Nugent's team, twenty-eight year old Vicky was due to finish her tour of duty at eight a.m. Her watch read seven forty, and she knew Nugent would be arriving in the next ten to fifteen minutes and would want to attend the scene, having responded to the earlier churchyard murders, but she was equally aware the police would want an immediate response from their department. Vicky gathered her bag, and on her way out, left a message for Nugent with Peter Foster, who'd just arrived to begin his day shift. She had no doubt Nugent would arrive on the scene within a few minutes of her own arrival, but guessed correctly that a prompt response was not only necessary but vital. As she climbed into her car and pulled away from the car park, she couldn't have been aware just how vital!
Mere minutes after arriving at headquarters, Ross was informed by D.C.I. Porteous of the latest murder. He'd only just reached his office and certainly hadn't been prepared for another gruesome killing to be dropped in his lap this morning.
“St. Luke's, at Woolton?”
Ross could scarcely believe it.
“Exactly,” said Porteous. “Home of your friend, Father Gerald Byrne, no less.”
“Oh, shit,” was all Ross could say, but Porteous wasn't finished.
“It gets worse, Andy. The two uniforms who responded both recognised the victim as soon as they saw him. It's Lucas Devereux.”
“The councillor?”
“Councillor and would-be local Member of Parliament. Let's not waste time. I saw Drake getting out of her car from my window. She'll doubtless be here any second. You and she get over there as fast as you can. I'll deal with things here.”
“Right sir. The team…”
“I'll see to things here. Who do you want to join you over there?”
“Thanks sir. Send Gable and McLennan. He might throw up but he's a good detective. Any more is useless based on the lack of evidence at previous crime scenes. Can you send Curtis and Dodds to check out Devereux's home? I remember reading somewhere that he was single and never married.”
“I'll see to it, and arrange a few uniforms to join you to conduct house-to-house inquiries and ensure the crime scene remains secure. You do realise this one is going to pull
a whole load of heat down on us, don't you, Andy?”
“Yes, sir, but not as much heat as when we reveal Devereux was part of a rape gang who've escaped detection for years. We just found out the first names of the last member yesterday, and we just needed a surname. I think our killers have given it to us. The name we got was Luke, and I'll bet my pension that Lucas Devereux was known as Luke to his pals.”
Drake walked in at that moment and before Porteous could say another word, Ross took her by the arm, turned her round and marched her right back out of the squad room.
“Don't ask,” he said in reply to her look of shock. “I'll explain on the way.”
* * *
Doctor Vicky Strauss had just conducted a preliminary examination of the body. Miles Booker's Crime Scene Unit was on the scene and Andy Ross and Izzie Drake arrived just ahead of the car containing William Nugent and Francis Lees.
The new arrivals quickly made their way to the grave where Devereux's remains were still displayed somewhat lewdly in the position he'd been found by Tom Redding.
“Fucking hell!” Ross was appalled at the sight.
“Look at the number of wounds, sir,” Drake said, as yet only able to see the rear of the corpse, and still to be further shocked when she took in the frontal view.
“Inspector Ross,” Strauss approached the detectives quickly, “Vicky Strauss, duty Medical Examiner.”
“Hello Doctor,” Ross replied. “I kind of expected Dr. Nugent to be here, somehow.”
“And so I am, Laddie,” came a booming voice from behind him, as William Nugent and his assistant Lees came thundering down the path towards them.
“What do we have, Victoria?” said the pathologist, ignoring the detectives at that point.
“Well, Doctor,” she began. “The body was clearly dumped here. There's not enough blood present for this to be the site of the murder.”
All Saints- Murder on the Mersey Page 28