by AD Davies
Alicia checked her watch. “Thirty five minutes, actually.”
“So yeah. It just stuck with me a bit. No contact for twenty-some years, then Jacob sets up so close to his dad’s place. A place his dad later died.”
“Note it all down. Full timeline, please. I’ll process it later. I think I’ll turn in for the night.” She thanked him again and hung up.
So.
Coincidence?
Unlikely.
When darkness fell, so did the temperature, with little cloud cover to maintain the warmth of the day. Since Jacob’s car was always photographed returning less than two hours after the outward journey, Alicia waited that long to make a move. Her real move, that is, not the moves that involved her negotiating her black yoga pants and knickers to allow her to pee twice.
This was really annoying now.
If she was caught, Murphy would not be implicated. Maybe she could blame it on the hormones or her baby brain, but she would certainly be off the case. However, with OU12—at best—twenty-four hours away, and being so worried the attack may hit before prom night, she was the best candidate to check this out. And they genuinely needed to know if there was a clue here, no matter how unlikely. She couldn’t enter anything into evidence right now, but at least they would know where to focus their energies and resources.
With both hands under her gut, supporting the swishing and bobbing of the child inside, she placed one foot after the other, progressing slowly through the woodland. Combining the three-quarter moon and the stars with her Google Earth app, she gleaned enough light to navigate. The ground was soft underfoot, and she had to lean occasionally to keep her balance, and only once did she stumble over a root.
She was certainly glad nobody could see how ridiculous she looked tonight.
Within thirty minutes, the lake reappeared, lapping the shore off to her left. She approached from an elevated position, pausing to observe and let her eyes adjust to the lighter hue of the moonlit clearing. Jacob’s cabin covered approximately twenty square metres and stood a single-storey high, with a door and porch facing the water fifty metres to the north. Tyre tracks were visible, indicating parking to the east side, room for four cars or more.
She saw no one.
Even the scurrying of animals seemed to have paused in her presence.
Now or never.
So, now.
Alicia tramped forward, waited for a second as the baby rearranged itself, then placed one foot on the bottom step, and climbed the remaining three. On the stoop, she listened again.
No cars.
No footsteps.
No werewolves.
Okay, it wasn’t a full moon, so werewolves were always likely.
She pressed her ear to the door and thought she heard a creak. Listened a little longer.
Nothing.
Nothing but an old wooden house.
She tried the door handle. Locked. A floor-to-roof window to the side appeared relatively new, weathered only by a couple of winters, split in the middle so the top half would swing open. The top part jiggled slightly.
Double glazing.
A crack of space between the window and the frame in which it was set.
Jacob left it like this, the handle locked with a finger’s width of ventilation.
Intentionally?
Alicia cupped her hands over her forehead and leaned against the glass. The shadows of furniture stretched across a room illuminated only by moonlight. What she could see suggested decor from the 1960s or 70s, wooden floors with rugs, and a hard-looking three-piece suite.
A knock sounded.
Alicia fell backwards, but caught herself on the balustrade. She searched desperately for somewhere to hide, dizziness the only thing keeping her from screaming. Gripping the wooden barrier, she pushed herself steadily upright.
The lake lapped gently, and a breeze she hadn’t noticed before rustled the leaves all round.
Nobody on the step behind her.
No creature scuttling over the roof.
Just a very silly detective with an overactive imagination.
To reassure herself that it was nothing, she returned to the door, leaned heavily upon it, and lowered herself to her knees. She pressed her ear to the gap left at the window.
Then she knocked on the door.
Listened.
Nothing.
Then a knock.
Two knocks.
From inside the lodge.
“Hello?” Alicia called, her mouth pressed the gap it occupied moments earlier.
Listened again.
Two knocks.
Shit.
Calling the police anonymously was one option, but now her fingerprints were everywhere. Wiping this down could well erase important evidence needed later. Plus, the scene of crime officers would note that the front door, bannister, and window had all been wiped and the search would commence for the mysterious witness. No way could she get rid of all the footprints in the woods, nor the tyre marks of her car in the adjacent picnic spot.
Other cameras would show her vehicle around the area, if not the exact same location as Jacob.
Her choice was to leave and allow OU12 to discover what lay within, or suck it up and ensure whatever that knocking noise was did not turn out to be a prisoner of some kind.
Was it possible that Omar, Benjamin, and Mitchell were all held here, given their instructions, and forced to act against their will? Or a relative perhaps?
This could be a relative of Jacob’s next murder partner.
It would certainly explain the executioners’ willingness to attempt suicide. If one’s child or mother was held and threatened with death unless the father or son killed himself, who would refuse?
Even though, sonogram aside, she hadn’t yet laid eyes on the child within, despite the other half of its gene pool, she knew she would die to preserve its life. It was considering this—and only this—that made her hesitate.
The hesitation lasted perhaps ten seconds.
Alicia rushed to the woods—well, as “rushed” as she could—and foraged in the undergrowth for two suitably sized rocks. She returned, jammed one rock on top of the door handle and swung the other down.
The crack was as loud as a gunshot.
She slammed it again, the vibrations radiating through her hands and wrists.
The wood near the handle cracked.
The third and fourth strikes split the wood further and the fifth wrenched the metal from its housing. The destruction pulled the lock mechanism with it, and the door swung open an inch all by itself.
Alicia hefted one of the rocks, holding it like a weapon, and pushed the door open all the way.
She called, “Hello? Police.”
No reply. Not even a knock.
“I’m entering the premises. If there is anyone here, please make yourself known.”
Listen.
No reply.
Did she imagine it? Had the motion of her shifting the window caused a breeze that rocked an uneven table or chair?
Possibly.
She entered as softly as she was able. The floor creaked beneath her. She passed through the first blade of moonlight, her shadow transiting over an ancient sideboard covered in the sort of gross porcelain knickknacks and figurines her grandmother used to display with great pride. Under nothing but moonlight, the dust looked an inch thick.
“Hello? I’m Alicia. I’m with the police. If there’s anyone here, please make yourself known.”
Through the old living room, the next space was a kitchen with a Calorgas cooker, a fridge with no power, and shelves stacked with tins and dry food packets. The stench of faeces emanated from an open bathroom door in one corner.
So Jacob took a nasty dump before going home.
Modern building codes demanded at least two walls between food preparation areas and human waste disposal, but from the fixtures and decor, she guessed this was at least fifty years old.
One final door presente
d itself, directly opposite the loo. It was closed tight. And locked by a bolt on the outside.
Alicia rapped on the door. “Hello? I’m with the police. Is anyone in there?”
Silence.
Then a knock. Like a chair tapping.
“If you are near the door, please step away. I’m coming in. Do not make any sudden movements.”
Without stating she was armed, the implication was that anyone inside should believe she carried more than a rock.
She held the makeshift weapon in her left hand. Finger and thumb on the bolt. The baby kicked.
If anything happened to him, she would forever remember this moment. She hadn’t called Murphy yet.
Stupid stupid stupid.
She unlocked her phone and checked the reception. Typed a message:
I am depressingly stupid.
If you don’t hear from me in the next 10 minutes, ping my phone and send everyone.
Then a second message to be sure:
That’s EVERYONE :-0
If whatever lurked behind this door did not justify her presence here, that text was her resignation letter.
She turned her phone to silent and held the bolt again. Eased it up, the creek of metal on metal reverberating through her brain like steel fingernails down chalkboard.
It was unlocked.
Alicia turned the knob.
The door cracked open.
A wave of filth and decay swept over her. The smell wasn’t coming from the bathroom. It was leaching from this room, lingering from the last time it was opened, presumably from Jacob’s most recent visit.
Alicia ran to the sink, surprised at how fast she moved when she needed to, and vomited. Not much there, but she coughed the last remnants, before wiping her mouth and pulling her jumper up over her nose.
Then she returned to the doorway.
She blinked. This room was on the opposite side to the moon, so it took a while to make out the shape of the bed. Something squirmed on the mattress, something the size of a man. Without looking away from the bed, she touched the adjacent wall, found the light switch, and flicked it on.
Nothing.
She turned on her phone’s flashlight feature and aimed it at the bed.
A man of approximately eighty years old lay there, his hands by his side, manacled with chains secured to the frame. He twisted minutely one way, then jerked the other, causing the bed to judder and knock on the floor. The top half of his body was dressed in black, the lower half naked, his shrivelled button mushroom penis and grey wrinkled scrotum caked in dirt, as were his thighs, and most of the bed. It appeared black under the torchlight.
Alicia dared not enter any further.
She shone the light on the man’s face again. His mouth worked like a fish on dry land. Although she hadn’t noticed earlier, a white clerical collar encompassed his neck.
Even breathing through her jumper, using only her mouth, she tasted the vile decay. She envisioned it seeping into her bloodstream, infecting her child. Still, fighting the heaviness of her limbs, she took two steps closer.
The man’s eyes were wide but had clearly not seen anything in many years. And as she craned her neck to see more, his mouth opened wider as if to scream.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
Murphy, no doubt.
The man twisted his neck so those cloudy, useless eyes bored straight into her. And it was here, through the narrow beam of her flashlight, that she saw he had no tongue.
Then she ran.
A weird penguin style panic, flopping leg to leg, heel to heel, fumbling her phone into her hand.
Answering.
“Alicia?” Murphy shouted in her ear. “Wherever you are, get out now.”
A new voice joined Alicia as she opened the front door.
“I’m sorry,” Jacob said, waiting on the stoop. “But I really have no choice.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Murphy hurtled to the scene faster than any high-speed pursuit. He was a trained advanced driver and, as he shot through the country lanes with his blue light flashing and siren blaring, he tried to put out of his mind the bollocking he would unleash upon Alicia Friend.
Once he located the access road, it was already blocked with police tape, two constables, and a black-and-white. He flashed his ID and the first officer called ahead as they let him through.
The narrow lane would not allow him to drive fast enough to ease his heavy foot and he scratched the side of the BMW on an easy corner. Within thirty metres, the road opened out into a clearing where another black-and-white stood with its headlights aimed at the wooden lodge, illuminating the scene. Murphy slowed to a sensible speed and pulled around the front, where Alicia Friend sat on the bottom step wrapped in a silver thermal blanket. A female police officer from Harrogate sat beside her, an arm across her shoulder, holding a water bottle, while her partner was nowhere to be seen.
As Murphy hurried to the steps, Alicia stood under her own steam and wrapped her arms around his middle. He returned the gesture, bending at the waist to hold her tight. She wept in his chest, expressing how sorry she was, over and over, interspersed with how horrible it was, whatever “it” was.
A male uniformed PC strode out of the house, white in the face and shaking his head. Murphy was sure the blanching wasn’t due only to the harsh light from the police car.
Between Alicia and the two constables he understood that Alicia explored the property after hearing noises from within, and made her discovery, at which point she answered her phone to Murphy. All Murphy heard next was Alicia screaming, and he acted faster than he’d ever done. He called 999, identified himself, and ordered all available units to that location. They pinged the phone, and the first two on scene were the pair now regaling him with facts. The sentries at the bottom of the road arrived minutes after they found Alicia.
Now she propped herself against the door frame, while Jacob was locked in the police car, awaiting backup before they would take him away.
According to Alicia, Jacob returned after she tripped an alarm, which sent a message to his phone, and he discovered the intruder. Alicia believed she would be Jacob’s next victim, but this proved unfounded.
Instead of assaulting her, Jacob led her to what looked like an enclosed garden on the side of the lodge. Although she was so terrified she could barely speak, Jacob continued as if they were friends on a stroll, utterly oblivious to her fear. He fired up a generator, activated the outdoor lights, and selected a rusted shovel from one of several garden tools discarded beside a decrepit shed. He paced, counting, and stood by what appeared to be a slightly raised mound of grass.
“You can dig here,” Jacob told Alicia.
Alicia walked away, resting only when she returned inside, located her dropped phone, and tried to phone Murphy back. But Murphy was already on the line, calling in reinforcements. She heard sirens, and when Jacob appeared at the bottom of the steps and asked why she wasn’t digging, she asked him to sit with her, and speak to the next people who would show up. They would be far better qualified than her to deal with what was buried in Horatio’s back garden.
Murphy said he would wait with Alicia, and thanked the officers very much for looking after her.
* * *
The first ambulance to arrive disgorged paramedics, who approached Alicia, but Alicia being the woman she was, insisted they check inside the house. She assured them it was safe, just really, really gross. The medics, upon examining Horatio Rocaby, agreed he was the priority. Prepping him to be moved took far longer than it did for a second responder to arrive, this one an estate car with one paramedic, who examined Alicia and declared her to be in shock.
Once the scene of crime officers arrived—SOCOs— Murphy dismissed the paramedic, and he trudged inside to assist his colleagues. The SOCOs set up, and the paramedics carried Horatio out on a stretcher, wrapped in blankets, a foul stench surrounding him. His skin—what Murphy could see of it—actually appeared rotted in places
. The paramedics’ quick summary said they estimated his muscle degradation to be akin to that of a long-term coma patient, and his bedsores covered the rear side of his whole body, including the back of his head and neck. The faecal matter was probably months old, if not longer. Through being kept in that pitch black room, and having his eyelids removed, he was likely blind. It was difficult to communicate with him, not only through the missing tongue, but such was the trauma, they did not believe the man was fully aware of his surroundings, only that the noise of Alicia being present signalled a possible rescue. He was not malnourished to the point of near-death, and it was likely he would live a while longer, although that seemed rather cruel to Murphy.
When they were gone, and Stevenson arrived, Murphy secured Alicia in his car and drove her to the hospital.
* * *
Despite six years with the Police Service, Stevenson had never seen the body of a child in-situ before. In photos, yes, but never in the flesh. And as the first skeletal remains were uncovered on the grounds where Horatio Rocaby brought his victims, Stevenson knew his outlook on life would be forever tainted by that tiny form. According to the forensic expert, this first victim was between eight and eleven years old.
The first.
Over the next four hours, two more bodies were discovered by checking for slight rises in the lawn, but all were so decayed they could not be removed from the ground at this time. The lead SOCO ordered the other officers to withdraw while he put in a requisition for ground penetrating radar.
As soon as it was professionally acceptable, Stevenson relinquished the scene to a detective inspector from Harrogate, and he returned home, crawled into bed with Callum, allowed his big cuddly fiancée to hold him, and Callum knew not to enquire what was up yet. Stevenson was unsure if he would ever share it, but he had to remain strong. Someone was out there, planning to attack Excelsior Academy, and all their theories so far had come to nothing.