The House of Killers, Book 1

by Samantha Lee Howe

  When I’m dressed, I return to the bedroom, pull up a chair, and sit by the bed, watching over her. I don’t know if we are safe. I only know I couldn’t find any bugs or cameras, so for now I assume that no one knows she’s here. And as for whoever drugged my milk, I have no idea what they intended.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Michael

  She wakes a few hours later, going from unconscious to wide awake with no interim grogginess.

  ‘Hello,’ she says, smiling at me as if nothing has happened.

  It’s late afternoon. I have only left her side to fetch a glass of water.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ I ask, then regret it, wondering what other items of food or drink in the kitchen may have been tampered with.

  ‘Yes,’ she answers. ‘I feel like I haven’t eaten for days!’

  I order Thai food on an app on my phone, reasoning that whoever did this wouldn’t have access to a random restaurant I might find on an app. I put the flat opposite mine as the delivery address as a precaution. I know this neighbour, a little old lady who goes to Australia for three months every year to see her daughter. She’s away at the moment and I have a key to go in and water her plants. ‘It’ll be delivered in an hour.’

  I go into the kitchen and open a bottle of wine. The bottle is a screw top and is sealed, though I’m still nervous that it might have been tampered with. I pour a little into a glass and sniff it. Then I sip a little and wait for that lethargy I’d seen affect Neva. I don’t feel anything and consider the wine to be safe. I take it into the living room. Neva is sitting on the sofa. I hold out a glass to her.

  ‘Why do I feel like I’ve lost time?’ she frowns.

  ‘I gave you tea this morning,’ I prompt.

  She takes the wine glass and sips it.

  ‘Oh yes, I remember … then. Oh my God! You drugged me!’

  Before I can move, Neva has put the wine down, and has a blade at my throat. I remain stock still.

  ‘I didn’t drug you; it was intended for me,’ I say. ‘In the milk.’

  Neva studies me for a few seconds and then pulls the knife away.

  ‘You drank the tea first, but I think I was the target,’ I say again, then nod towards the wine glass. ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why would someone want to drug you? What would they gain?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m beginning to think it’s not the first time it’s happened. It’s like someone knows my habits. I don’t drink tea most days, and I always have milk with it. Unlike coffee, which I take black.’

  I see panic in Neva’s eyes for the first time. I guess she is debating leaving and staying clear of me in future, but something tells me last night meant more to her than casual sex. Maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part, as I am far more invested in getting to know her than I should be.

  ‘Do you remember when I told you about Sharrick and you asked me to check his toxicology report?’

  Neva nods.

  ‘There was LSD in his bloodstream. When he died, he was most likely taking the trip of his life.’

  ‘Can I see the report? And the autopsy?’ she asks.

  I open my briefcase and pass it to her.

  ‘You’ve been keeping it in there all this time?’ she says.

  ‘I hoped we’d meet again. So I could show you.’

  She opens the folder and reads the report and looks at the pictures of Sharrick’s dead body.

  ‘Execution for certain, but why dope him first?’ I ask.

  ‘He was being tested. They sometimes used hallucinogens to make us drop our guard. They gave him the LSD so they could question him while he was tripping. He’d be incapable of lying to them in that state. Whatever he said convinced them that he was broken. Hence the bullets in the head.’

  ‘Broken?’

  ‘Yes. Like me. I’m broken. Or at least, I’ve ripped through the barriers of their conditioning. If they’d taken me back in, they might have been able to brainwash me again, but I doubt it. I’m too far away from it all now.’

  ‘Neva, when you were drugged this morning, you walked in your sleep. You called me Doctor Mendez.’

  ‘If I did that, then the stuff that was put in your tea―’

  ‘Milk,’ I say.

  ‘Milk then. It was something similar to what they gave us. As children. To condition us. Which can only mean one thing.’

  I frown as I wait for her to continue.

  ‘The Network is watching you, and they are planning to … turn you maybe? Make you one of theirs.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ I say.

  ‘I’ve never heard of this before, to be fair. They usually work on children as they are more susceptible. It’s odd that they are targeting you this way. Perhaps they know we’ve been in contact and they want to learn what you know.’

  ‘But how could they? No one knows about our contact.’ I say.

  ‘Someone does, Michael. Who did you share this with?’

  ‘No one. I swear. Even my colleagues at Archive don’t know you were my source. They just knew we met once. At the train station.’

  ‘Maybe that was enough for your rogue agent to make an assumption that you were dealing with me,’ she says.

  ‘I’ve never deviated from protocol so that’s a bit of a leap,’ I say. I know I’m being defensive.

  There are only three other colleagues with the same access as me, all of whom I have trusted with my life before today. But because my milk was tampered with and the nature of the drug that was put in it, I am now in a great deal of doubt. Is Neva right? Could one of them really be working with the Network? If so, who? And what do they hope to gain by drugging me?

  As if she knows what I’m thinking Neva touches my arm. ‘It might be that they wanted you to reveal who your source was.’

  ‘That’s the most likely,’ I say. ‘But how would they know if and when I drank the milk?’

  Neva shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. That’s the biggest mystery here. But your place has been compromised. We need to get out of here.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. I had all day while you slept. If they’re watching me, leaving will alert them that I’m onto them. Even so, I’m concerned that they may realise you’re here with me. I checked the flat and I couldn’t find any surveillance, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any,’ I say.

  ‘What do you propose?’

  I don’t speak. But I open the front door and point to the flat across the hall and show her the key, which was in the cutlery drawer in my kitchen.

  Then, I say loudly, as a precaution, ‘We sit tight and see what happens.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Michael

  Mrs Kendal’s flat is the reverse of mine, and other than the furniture, it feels like I’m in the mirror image of my own. A knock at the door signifies the arrival of the Thai food. I nod towards Mrs Kendal’s bedroom door, and Neva takes my cue to go in there. I open the door to a spotty kid who works the delivery slot to earn his way through university. I’m pleasant to him as I take the food. He shows no curiosity, and doesn’t even attempt to glance into the flat as I place a tip in his hand. After he’s gone, I close and bar the door again. Neva comes out of the bedroom and she fetches plates and cutlery from the kitchen.

  After the strange enforced fast created by the events of the day, we are both hungry. We eat in silence. The food is delicious and I try to clear my mind as I chew, sipping the wine in between bites. But the awful thing is, I can’t really switch off. I’m still processing what’s happened, both with Neva and with the drugged milk.

  After dinner, I go back into my own flat. Neva helps me carry Mrs Kendal’s crockery, which we load into my dishwasher. Then we begin to empty my cupboard and fridge of any foods that could have been tampered with. I’m left with a few cans of soup, a can of plum tomatoes, a can of baked beans and some eggs, as I reason that any piercing of the eggs would become evident as the eggs would leak in their box. But
at the last minute, I throw away the eggs as well. I’m just not sure enough that they haven’t been touched.

  With a full bin bag, I go out of the flat and throw it down the garbage chute.

  When I return, Neva is replacing the black bag in the kitchen bin. She looks at me with complete understanding.

  I feel invaded. My home no longer feels like the safe haven it once was, but I’m not sure what to do about that. I take a few personal items and we go back to Mrs Kendal’s flat, but not before I pretend to go through my regular evening routine, ending with turning the light off in my bedroom as though I’m going to sleep.

  In Mrs Kendal’s standard double bed, we are a little cramped. Despite the previous evening, we don’t touch. It doesn’t seem appropriate in the old woman’s room.

  The next day, I go out and get some proper provisions, replacing the eggs and other perishables while Neva stays back at Mrs Kendal’s flat. When I return, briefly, to my own place to collect her crockery from the dishwasher, I see the carton of contaminated milk still in there.

  ‘I could get this analysed,’ I say to Neva, bringing it back with me.

  ‘But how do you know you can trust anyone in MI5’s lab?’ Neva asks.

  I don’t answer but I know she’s right. If I take the milk in, then whoever is responsible may learn that I found it. I can’t risk showing my hand. Not yet. I must remain beyond suspicion until I find out what I need to know.

  Neva helps me unpack the groceries. We put them away in companionable silence, and then I make us a sandwich.

  She’s making no attempt to leave, which I’m pleased about. Her presence makes this easier somehow, but I’m concerned about what’s happened and her safety. We need to find out who’s behind the drugged milk.

  ‘We need to explore ways in which you can observe your colleagues,’ Neva says, as though she’s reading my thoughts, ‘without them realising.’

  We discuss this, though I don’t talk about who those colleagues are, and she doesn’t ask.

  ‘Are any of them acting out of character?’ she asks.

  I think about it and can’t come up with a definite answer. The autopsy report on Sharrick, the lack of toxicology, is the only thing I can pinpoint as strange. And that was all down to Ray. It doesn’t make sense that he would be behind this.

  After supper we go to bed. We still don’t touch each other; we merely sleep. It’s been a very strange weekend.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Michael

  When Monday arrives, my paranoia is heightened. I dress and behave just as I do every work day, but all the time I’m struggling with the change in my feelings about Archive. Part of me wants to just go into the office and tell Ray what happened, get him on side, but I still have a nagging doubt about him. Despite the fact that I had previously excused his behaviour to myself, I now re-examine it, because it was out of character. It’s difficult to acknowledge that he, or any of the team, could be playing double sides. But after what’s happened, I can’t take any chances.

  ‘You’ll be here when I get back?’ I ask Neva. She’s lounging in bed, watching me dress. She looks incredibly sexy and I’m almost tempted to get back in with her.

  ‘As long as no one sees me, I should be safe here. Your neighbour isn’t likely to come back early, is she?’

  ‘No. She’s away for at least another month,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll keep my eye on your place. If someone comes in and tries to spike your milk again, I’ll have to deal with them.’

  ‘I know.’ I don’t tell her that it’s a relief to think she will be there making sure that doesn’t happen. ‘Try not to kill them; they may be able to tell us something.’

  On impulse, I lean over and kiss her. She kisses me back and when I pull away, she is reluctant to let me go.

  ‘I’ll be back about six,’ I say.

  At Archive, I work alone in my office. Beth is in Switzerland and Ray and Leon are huddled together working on another case. I’m relieved that they’re all busy; it gives me the opportunity to study their activity unobserved. I think back over the years and try to identify any time when Ray, Leon, or Beth haven’t been a hundred percent straight with me. I can’t remember any such occasion.

  With Beth’s office unmanned, I go in and do a quick search of her desk. The drawers are unexpectedly messy, with stationary stuffed in randomly. I’m surprised by this as I’ve always found Beth to be well organised. Without finding anything of interest, I close the drawers and return to my office. I don’t know what I expected to learn anyway.

  A few moments later, Ray emails me and asks me to come to his office. I head down the corridor to see him. Having snooped in Beth’s office – but also because I’m keeping Neva a secret from everyone – I’m feeling a little guilty. I take a breath before I open Ray’s door.

  ‘Hey, Mike,’ he says as I enter.

  He’s sitting at his desk with a brown folder in front of him. I find myself examining his friendly, open expression, and analysing his tone. Is it ever so slightly forced? Does he know I’m hiding something major from him?

  ‘Take a seat,’ he says. ‘I’d like to give you a new case. The missing kids.’

  ‘Beth was working on that,’ I say.

  Ray nods. ‘She’s going to be away for a few more days. I’d like you to look at this.’

  Ray pushes the folder at me. I open it and immediately feel confused. I see photographs of all the missing children, and a cohesive dossier on each of them.

  ‘But this is Beth’s case,’ I repeat. ‘I’m sure she’ll pick it up again when she gets back. She’s been very invested in it.’

  ‘I know. And that’s the problem, Mike. Beth is too close to this one. I’ve taken it back. I want you to deal with it from now on. Plus, I’d like to see some actual progress on this too. We’re getting pressure from above since you and Beth saw Simone Arquette. And Beth doesn’t seem to be going anywhere with it.’

  I take the folder back to my office and flick through it. I then remember the line of enquiry I’d passed on to Beth – my suspicion of a teacher or other employee involvement at the schools. There is nothing in the file to suggest she followed it up. In fact, the dossier has no additional notes from Beth at all.

  I look on the shared drive and try to find Beth’s transcripts. Surely, she has a document showing her progress so far? But I can’t find anything despite checking several directories. The only explanation for this is that she didn’t save her work to the shared drive. Sometimes I don’t either, so this is not uncommon. I plan to ask her for it all when she returns, but in the back of my mind I’m beginning to wonder if she deliberately sat on this and did nothing. There would be only one reason she would do that, and that would be if she was involved somehow in the Network.

  My mind runs away with the idea of her working for the enemy. I can’t imagine it. She was so passionate about finding out what had become of the missing children. Even so, this lack of activity is strange. I only hope I’m wrong, and that she’s been doing something that I just can’t access right now.

  Well, no matter what, I decide to follow the line of enquiry I’d previously suggested to Beth. Putting aside what I’d been working on, I pick up the phone and ring one of the schools in question. I decide to look up the Janice Brayford Preparatory School. This one is nearby and it’s the one that Amelie Arquette went missing from – the same child I believe that Neva once was, but I haven’t built up to broaching that question with her yet. Though maybe I will soon. In the meantime, I’ll try and give Ray something we can feed back to Amelie’s family. That at least would take the pressure off Archive and will allow me, with Neva’s help, to look into this in more detail.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Michael

  The headteacher was very helpful on the phone and agreed to let me come to the school that afternoon. Now I wait in the small office occupied by her secretary, but I’m not there long before the imposing woman opens the door to her office and i
nvites me in.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you,’ she says.

  I show her my ID and give her one of my formal business cards. ‘I appreciate you seeing me at such short notice.’

  She offers me a seat and coffee; I decline the drink, and sit down in a small area of the office where two sofas face each other with a coffee table in between.

  I study Mrs Denton. She is in her late forties, with brunette hair that’s going grey. She has a faded look about her. Doesn’t wear make-up, though plenty of women her age still do; it’s almost as though she doesn’t want to be noticed as a woman, but recognised as a powerful figure ruling her school with a rod of iron.

  ‘So, how can I help you?’ she says after a few moments of awkward silence. ‘You said this was important.’

  ‘It is. I want access to your employment records,’ I say.

  ‘If I might ask why?’ she says.

  ‘I’m looking at who worked here at the same time that Amelie Arquette attended, and if they remember the day she disappeared.’

  Denton’s face pales. I keep my expression blank but I watch her for any sign, any tell, that will show me she knows more about this than she should.

  ‘My entire career has been at this school,’ she says. ‘I was Amelie’s teacher at the time. But you probably already know that. I’ve struggled with this so much since. I shouldn’t have let her go to the toilet unattended but my classroom assistant had taken another child to the sick bay. I was alone with the class and couldn’t leave them.’

  ‘Children go to the bathroom alone all the time,’ I point out. ‘You couldn’t have known.’

  ‘Yes. That was true. Then. The school has a policy now of escorting to and from during class times. I initiated it myself when I took over as head five years ago.’