by J. D. Weston
“I’ve been around a long time, Donald.”
“It doesn’t matter, the secret dies with us both.”
"Oh, I don't know about that, Donald. But you know what I do know?" Frank smiled.
"What?" Cartwright was breathing heavy, Frank had wound him up like a clockwork toy. He'd been easy.
The lights went out.
The basement was plunged into darkness once more. The girls all gave a harmony of stifled whimpers.
"He's here," whispered Frank. Cartwright heard the grin in Frank's voice.
19
Feeding Time
Donny panicked. Frank saw the look of terror in his eyes. He knew Harvey and what he was capable of.
"I know it's you, Harvey," shouted Donny up the stairs, "you come down here and I'll kill them all. Every one of them."
Frank heard Donny's frantic breathing.
"You hear me?"
Harvey didn't reply.
"Answer me you coward."
Harvey didn’t reply.
"There's no escape, Donald," said Frank softly. "Stone, it's Frank," he shouted as loudly as he could with the restricting rope around his neck, "don't come down here. Donald is going to lay his weapon down and untie me. I'll bring him up to you, and you will not harm him."
Silence.
"That's it," said Cartwright. He moved towards Frank and roughly pulled the noose from his neck. Frank stood and rolled his head, freeing up the tension that had built.
Frank felt the gun on the back of his head.
"Move." Cartwright's voice had become cold, but scared.
Frank stepped cautiously to the stairs in the darkness. "Harvey, I'm coming up, don't shoot me."
He took the steps slowly, the gun never lost contact with his skull.
They reached the top of the stairs, and Frank turned left into the main hallway.
"Harvey, it's us, we're coming out," shouted Frank.
"Shut up, you're a hostage," hissed Cartwright. "Walk faster."
Frank picked up the pace just a little and strode into the hallway. Both front doors stood wide open, and leaves scattered the floor. It felt like days since Frank had walked through there.
"Stop."
Frank stopped.
"Harvey, where are you?" called Cartwright. "Don't cock about."
The soft stringed introduction of an orchestral tune that Cartwright recognised faded gently into the room, coming from John Cartwright's old office.
Cartwright turned sharply at the sound as it grew in body, strength and warmth. The cellos began to add their weight to the ensemble. Frank felt them through the wooden parquet floor.
"I know it's you, Harvey. Show yourself," shouted Cartwright. The music grew louder still.
Cartwright shoved Frank forwards, who turned and looked him up and down.
"Open the office door," said Cartwright, "don't do anything stupid."
Frank stepped over to the door. With each slow step across the huge hallway, Frank expected the blow to his back.
It didn't come.
He reached the door, turned his back to fumble with his bound wrists and awkwardly gripped the doorknob. Frank turned it and pushed it open, before stepping clear of the door. He faced Cartwright, who stood with his gun raised at the empty doorway. He was visibly shaking; the gun moved in his hands.
With the door open, the music rang out clearer. The intensity increased with every phrase, every bar and every beat.
Violins straddled the soprano and tenor rhythm and danced delicate melodies through the ever-increasing baritone body the cellos sung.
The crisp string tones ran from the empty room through the open door and danced their way to freedom and beyond, through the front door and up the winding stairs where great paintings had once hung majestically. Sad-looking, empty spaces now stained the yellowing walls, as the only memory of the paintings that had been sold off separately. They now hung on foreign walls, in some happier place.
"Harvey!" shouted Cartwright. "Harvey! Stop playing games."
Frank stood motionless against the wall.
A loud thud came from the kitchen. Cartwright jerked his head, he was twitchy. He would snap soon.
"No. No!" shouted Cartwright, his voice rasped with fear. He stepped back away from the kitchen and towards the front doors.
The dead girl, number twelve, lay on the cold wooden floor at the top of the steps to the basement. She'd bled dry, but Frank could see the top of her head, shards of skull stood bright against the dark red insides.
Cartwright stepped closer to the girl's body. His head flicked back to Frank who stood still against the wall.
"Follow me," he said. Then called out again to Harvey.
"I know you're down there, Harvey."
Cartwright stepped across the body and rushed to the top of the stairs, his gun aimed into the darkness below. He fired off three shots into the shadows and stood waiting and watching for Harvey's body to slump to the floor.
Harvey didn’t slump to the floor. He wasn’t there.
Harvey waited in the shadows of the dimly lit kitchen. He sat in the place he had sat once before, a long time ago.
"I know you're down there, Harvey." Harvey heard Donny call out down the stairs. Then he heard him fire off three rounds that would hit the hard floor and ricochet off to nowhere.
Harvey stepped up silently behind the door and stood tall behind his foster brother. He reached back and drove the sharp end of his blade through Donny's knee cap. It was a move designed to immobilise the victim by destroying the cartilage and knee joint. Donny would never walk on two legs again. Donny screamed and reached down at the pain instinctively.
Harvey was ready and grabbed Donny's gun hand, twisting the weapon and his fingers.
Donny tried in vain to squeeze the trigger but couldn't move his twisted fingers. His ruined leg gave way, and he fell to the top step.
Harvey kicked out hard at the back of his foster brother's head, and Donny fell forwards, cracking his face against the concrete. He bounced from wall to wall and landed with a thud as his head gave a final bounce on the last step.
Frank walked slowly towards Harvey. He turned to show his bound and empty hands then stood by Harvey's side. Frank noticed Harvey's discomfort, then the dark patch of blood and gaping hole in his cargo pants.
The two exchanged a glance but said nothing of the wound.
Frank peered down into the darkness then turned back towards the front door. Sirens wailed as police cars skidded across the tired lawn, and ground to a halt on the gravel driveway.
Harvey closed the basement door.
"It's over, Harvey," said Frank.
Harvey didn't reply.
"Where are we, Harvey?" said Frank. "Are you on your own?"
Harvey looked from the darkness into Frank's eyes.
"This needs finishing, Frank."
"And then what?"
"It's over."
"And what do I get?"
"You got Brayethwait?"
"Yeah."
"You got Murray?"
"I did."
"You have Creasey?"
"We can find her, she's chipped."
"You have the clients?"
“Apparently so, an unexpected bonus.”
Harvey opened up the door wide and called down. "Come on, let's go."
A nervous head appeared at the foot of the stairs.
Harvey waved her up, "Come on, it's okay."
The first naked girl was joined by other girls, and they walked up the stairs together, but not like the scared children they had been, timid and afraid. They walked now with purpose, as a group, and with the confidence of women.
"You’re setting them free? They're illegal immigrants."
"No, they're victims of human trafficking. I gifted them to you."
"Gifted?"
"Gifted, Frank. They'll identify Murray as the ringleader if you treat them right. You've got your case."
There was a silence
as one by one, the girls emerged from the stairway. Harvey stepped back to allow them room. The first girl walked out, covering her nudity with bloodied hands. Harvey’s eyes followed her as she stepped out into the hallway, and found Melody stood at the two great front doors. Harvey jerked his head in greeting. She stepped inside and took off her coat to cover the girl.
The rest followed slowly and shyly, each of them with their bloodied arms wrapped around themselves. Melody had them wait in the hallway, then took the coats of the uniformed policemen outside and gave each girl a jacket, before leading them out into the dark night. Flashing blue lights lit each one rhythmically as they were led down the steps to the warm, waiting police cars.
“How do we do this, Stone?”
Harvey didn't reply.
“We had a deal. You stop the killing, work with us, not against us, and you don't go to prison. You’re putting me in a very difficult position.”
“Donny raped my sister.”
“I know, Stone. It must be hard to know that he’s lying down there, and all you have to do is walk down those steps and finish the job.”
Harvey didn’t reply.
“Think about this, whatever mode of suffering you have in mind for Donny, whatever slow and painful death you’re dreaming up, right now, it’ll be the last one. The last person you’ll ever stop. The last person you’ll save.” Frank stepped around the dead girl on the floor and made to walk out. “If you choose to do that, it’s the end.”
Frank turned and walked away. Harvey watched him leaving; he saw the blue lights lighting his long coat and greying hair.
“Carver.”
Frank stopped and turned.
"Sometimes, people are meant to suffer. Sometimes, their sins are so great that a good man can't take another step in his life without knowing that he fulfilled that obligation when he had the chance. To make the sinner suffer, to help the sinner repent. It’s an obligation to society, to those that fell because of him, and to those that, in some other circumstance, would fall at some other time, a month from now, a year, however long it is. We can't let these people walk the streets as free men."
“That’s right, Stone. That’s our job.”
“But sometimes, Frank, it’s those who have been wronged themselves, and have suffered at the hands of that monster, been humiliated, frightened and come close to death, that get that chance by some moral twist of fate. The chance to fulfil an obligation. And it’s the victims that deserve that chance, Frank, more than anyone. They’re the ones who need the opportunity, the chance to repay that suffering. The chance to walk free, knowing that the monster that once destroyed their lives suffered a cruel and painful death.”
“What are you saying, Stone?”
“It’s a balance, Frank.”
Frank began to walk towards Harvey again.
“Do you understand, Frank?”
“I think I’m beginning to.”
Frank looked down the dark staircase.
"Sometimes, Stone. A man who has a debt to pay needs to pay that debt to the people he owes."
"And sometimes, Frank, a man's vengeance is satiated from knowing that the debt was paid by someone who deserved it more."
Frank looked back at the cars waiting outside. Pale faces stared from the windows, ghostly in the night. He turned back to Harvey.
"If we go down there, what will we find?"
"A debt repaid."
"And who repaid the debt?"
Harvey glanced back at the police cars outside; pale, scared faces stared back at him.
"Those who were owed. Those that were obligated and had suffered the most."
20
Collateral
Frank stood in the open-shutter door of his unit's HQ. The smell of the Thames was strong, and the cold morning breeze whipped between the building and the perimeter wall.
The first vehicle was arriving. It was Melody, of course, in her little sports car. A coffee in her hand, she climbed out the car and smiled.
"Good morning, sir."
He returned the smile. "Good morning, Mills. One of these days, you'll bring me one of those."
“One of these days you’ll ask nicely.” She stood beside him.
“You have a report for me, Mills?”
“I’ll type it up first thing. It was a late night, sir.”
“You have an informal report?”
“On the case? We got them, sir.”
“We did, how about the team?”
“The team, sir?”
“I’ve been here since two am, Mills, and you know what I’ve been doing?” Frank was standing tall, his hands deep inside the pockets of his long jacket; his breath fell away in clouds.
“Writing reports, sir?”
“No, I’ve been gathering other people’s reports, Mills.”
“Sir?”
“Two stolen boats?”
“Ah.”
“One stolen BMW?”
“That was Harvey, sir.”
“A stolen helicopter?”
“Not really stolen, sir. Commandeered.”
“Do you know how many cars were written off in the fireball on the A12? The fireball you lot caused.”
Melody puffed her cheeks then exhaled. "A few, sir."
"Nine, Mills. Nine cars written off. More were damaged of course. And then there's the tanker full of petrol, not to mention the VW."
"Ah, yeah that's going to need-"
"Throwing in the river, Mills, that's what that's going to need."
Another engine drew nearer, and Harvey's bike turned the corner.
"Oh thank god for small mercies," said Frank under his breath. Harvey rode past them and parked his bike inside beside the tools. Frank and Melody watched him remove his helmet and hang it on the handlebars.
He strode over to join them in the doorway.
"Stone," said Frank in greeting.
"Frank."
Melody just smiled at him. Harvey raised an eyebrow at her in return.
"Sleep well, Stone?" said Frank without turning to face him."
"I didn't sleep yet."
Melody turned to him. “It’s been days, Harvey, you must be shattered.”
“I’ll grab some rest when this is over.”
“It is over, we did it, Stone.”
“Not the job, Frank.”
“What then?”
“The bollocking, Frank.”
“The bollocking?”
Harvey didn’t reply.
“There’ll be no bollockings today, Stone. That I can assure you.”
A loud engine approached with a scraping metallic sound.
The ruined VW Transporter trundled around the corner with Denver at the wheel, its exhaust dragged along the concrete floor beneath it. Frank, Melody and Harvey stepped out the way to let Denver past. He parked next to Harvey's bike.
"Morning team," said Denver as he stepped out the van carrying a coffee. "Got my own thanks, Melody."
"What? Am I supposed to supply the coffee now?" she said defensively.
Denver walked around with a skip in his step and opened the rear door. It needed a hard push to open fully as the rear of the van was smashed in from the impact with the truck. The shattered glass window had been replaced with a plastic sheet.
As the door opened, a friendly face appeared inside the van.
"Reg," cried Melody, "oh it's so good to see you." She hugged him as he climbed from the rear of the van.
"Welcome back, Tenant," said Frank, shaking his hand.
Reg turned to Harvey, and Harvey held out his hand. Reg pushed it away, then grinned and went in for a hug. Harvey was shocked but laughed and slapped his back.
"So you're all better? That was quick," said Melody as they walked towards the stairs for the debrief.
"No, I discharged myself. Had to sign some papers-"
"What? Why?"
"No internet, no TV, nothing. I woke up with a banging headache. Then waited four hours for a nurse
to bring me something to eat." He pointed to the bandage. "I have to change this every day, and I'm not supposed to look at TV or screens."
"Yeah right," said Denver.
"I'll be okay. Severe concussion, they called it." He rattled a bottle of pills as he walked up the stairs. "But as long as I take these, I'll be okay."
"So you got airlifted out for a headache?" said Melody.
"And had a nap," said Reg, "I feel quite rested actually. So what's been going on here then?"
Melody turned to Harvey who was walking behind her.
"Oh, not much, Reg," said Melody. "Not much at all really."
Frank stood by the whiteboard at the head of the room. Reg and Denver were on the comfy couches. Melody sat at the small table facing Frank, and Harvey stood with his arms folded leaning against the wall by the door.
"Okay," began Frank, "the players?" He pulled the lid off his pen.
“Brayethwait,” called Melody. Frank wrote Brayethwait on the board and then asked, “status?”
“Custody,” replied Melody.
“Who caught him?”
“Harvey,” said Melody.
“You put the cuffs on him,” said Harvey.
“You didn’t kill him,” replied Melody.
“I presume there’s a story behind that?”
"Erm yes, sir," said Melody, "along with the audio confession nailing Creasey and Cartwright."
"Good, I want that in your report. Next?"
"Creasey," said Denver.
"Status?"
The team looked at each other.
"She’s chipped, sir."
"Tenant, I need you to find her on LUCY and coordinate with Essex Police."
"Yes, sir. First job."
“Next?”
"Cartwright," said Denver.
The room fell silent.
"Status?"
"Deceased," said Harvey.
Frank turned to Harvey, "How? For the report I mean."
"Repaid debt."
Frank nodded. Melody looked in wonder, she picked up on something between Frank and Harvey, something strong, a bond or understanding.
"Next?"
"Mason," replied Reg.
"Mason?" asked Frank. "Who's Mason?"
"Cartwright's minder, sir," said Melody.