by Huw Thomas
After escaping from the cell, Louise wasted little time but it still took her more than an hour to get out of the Caledonia Barracks. Once she finally pulled herself up into the stairwell, she had soon found the extending stepladder used by her captor.
There were no bulbs in either of the lights in the stairwell but those in the workshops above worked fine. The illumination they provided was plenty to let her see while she unfolded the aluminium steps and lowered them down into the cell. When she bent down to pick up Ahmad, the boy lay in her arms like a limp sack. Although her own strength was flagging, there seemed hardly any substance to him and lifting him was easier than she had feared. In the end, she put him over her shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried him up the ladder. It was a tight fit getting the two of them through the hatch; she was torn between trying to avoid hurting the boy by scraping his broken limbs against the opening and a sudden, burgeoning fear her captor might return.
The swift rising of panic was insidious. One moment she was concentrating grimly on the task in hand. Then she felt her legs starting to weaken on the ladder and a cold crawling sensation in her gut. She could almost hear him coming, sense his figure about to appear in the doorway above. For a second, it was all she could do not to let go and slide back down the ladder into the cell. But she literally bit back the fear, inadvertently sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.
The sudden metallic taste of her own blood registered before the pain of what she was doing to herself. It was enough, though, to break her out of the will-sapping funk that risked putting them both back on the cell floor.
A few minutes later, Louise was outside the warehouse, shivering as her skin met the night air. She paused as she emerged, staring around with a sense of dislocation; although dark, it was the first time she had seen the sky in three days. While looking around, she saw the red van and dimly recognised it as the vehicle that had brought her there. Overcoming a shiver of distaste, she spent a few moments checking the van but it was locked and there were no keys obvious.
From there, it was a slow walk through the barracks to find the exit. To begin with, she had no idea which way to go. Then, casting around, she spotted the river and decided the logical route must be away from it. There was no obvious path but she picked her way through the buildings, across a parade ground. Finally, she found the extensive lawns that divided the base itself from the perimeter fence.
Lit only by the glow cast by the streetlights on the far side of the fence, the small dark shapes that hopped across the orange grass confused her at first. It took nearly a minute before she recognised the things as night-grazing rabbits.
With Ahmad clutched in her arms, she reached the gates of the old barracks a few minutes later. Only then did the next problem dawn on her; how to get out of a base designed to be secure against intruders. The gates stood about eight feet high, while the fences were even higher. Her hopes collapsed briefly at that point and Louise spent some minutes standing at the fence screaming at the outside world. But there were no pedestrians about and the entrance to the barracks lay too far back from the main road for anyone to see her.
In the end, she left Ahmad against the lee of a guardhouse wall and went all the way back for the stepladders. Exhaustion, both in mind and body, was setting in by the time she got them both sitting on top of the gates. Wavering on the thin metal barrier, she nearly fell. Somehow, though, she managed to keep holding on to the gates, the boy and the steps as she pulled their ladder up from inside and lowered it down again on the other side.
Louise was tottering like a drunk by the time she reached the edge of the busy main road heading into the city centre from the direction of the airport. The first cars rushed past without slowing but then a Toyota hatchback flashed its lights. For a moment, Louise thought the car was going to continue just like the others but then it braked sharply and veered to the edge of the road. Turning slowly, holding Ahmad to her with one arm, she raised a weary hand in supplication. Seconds later, the car’s reversing lights came on. The Toyota shot back towards them, causing angry hoots from other drivers unaware of what they were passing, only seeing a danger to their own safe journey.
The car turned out to be a taxi but the driver, a young Pakistani, did not even ask about a fare as he gently helped Louise into his car and laid Ahmad across her lap. ‘I take you hospital straight away,’ he said. ‘Is quicker than ambulance.’
With that, the man put on his hazard lights, sounded his horn and accelerated off like a horde of demons were on his tail. He asked no questions, concentrating on driving as fast as he could, only distracted from his mission for a moment when his nostrils registered the smell coming from the back seat of his car.
Now, as Louise almost fell into the arms of the hospital orderly, the taxi driver bustled in beside her. Desperate to make himself useful, he slammed his fist on the reception counter. ‘This woman and her boy need help,’ the man declared, as the nurse dropped his holiday form and came rushing around to the aid of Louise and Ahmad.
Fifth Intermission
He walked the path slowly, her body held in his arms. Ordinarily, he would recoil at the proximity of such corruption. At the moment, though, he was in a state of grace; nothing could touch him, he was immune to all her impurity and filth.
He had wondered briefly about the wisdom of acting tonight. He knew they were asking questions. Suspicions had been raised. It would have been safer to do nothing, let the night pass without incident.
But duty was not about picking and choosing. He had been charged to carry out this service. Penance, he knew. His past contained some guilt and to assuage the stain on his history he must continue to prove his worth: not shirk his responsibilities. He could worry about the questions in the morning. And anyway, he knew his innocence. His actions lay beyond the boundaries of any petty constraints. He operated according to other laws, infinitely higher in regard.
Stepping along the narrow walkway, he held her limp form like an offering: a bride if she was worthy, a sacrifice if not.
Reaching the chosen place, he rested for a moment. Although imbued by the authority of the highest power, he still only had his own strength on which to call. And the weight of her body pulled at his arms.
With a smile, he let the feet of his burden slip to the ground. He felt almost kindly towards her now. She was being given the chance of salvation. He would place her in the balance: if worthy, she would be saved. A moment of affection crossed his mind. Bodily death was certain but, for the soul, eternity lay ahead. Whether that contained an eternity of redemption or of damnation he was not fit to judge but at least he had given her the choice.
Guiding her limbs with the tenderness owed to those poised on the threshold of judgement, he began to lower her unconscious form into the opening he had cut into the framework of steel rods.
51. I Know What You Are But What Am I?
Saturday, 1.14am:
Harper blinked. The concrete pressing against his head was hard: sharp flecks of coarse aggregate dug into the side of his face. A cold film of moisture covered the other cheek. He frowned as he lifted his head. He rubbed the wetness with one hand. Then brushed away the building material embedded in his skin.
His neck creaked. He winced, swallowing thick saliva before levering himself into a sitting position. While his brain attempted to re-engage, he scanned the building site, wondering at where he found himself. His mind was sluggish as it fought its way to what he presumed must be consciousness.
How long he had been asleep was uncertain but the stiffness in his body suggested he had been lying there for some time. His mind was also still awash with the memory of his dream. He only remembered one. Not the double nightmare that had plagued him the previous three nights. This one was much more mundane. It stood out for two reasons: one that nothing really happened, the other for its vividness. There was no sense of dreaming. Instead, he remembered waking. He had come to in a dimly lit room, groggy and unsure where he was or how he got
there.
In the dream, he could not move his body; only his eyes appeared to work. Stuck on his back, he was only able to stare at the ceiling and a few things in the periphery of his vision. He was in bed, with flowers on a table to his right, and a glow coming from a corridor outside. Something electronic, like the fan in a computer, whirred in the background. A picture hung on the wall beyond the foot of the bed but the angle and lack of light made it impossible to work out what it showed.
The room seemed familiar but he had no idea why.
While his eyes tried to look for clues, Harper spotted a dark figure in the corner of his vision. He tried to make sense of the shape, uncertain whether or not it was a person.
Then, he became aware of a hand in his. The realisation was a sharp stab; someone was next to him, holding his hand. Harper tried desperately to move. He sensed the warmth of the touch but — try as he might — could not move his fingers to make contact.
And that was it: a dream of lying in bed in a darkened room, trying to squeeze the hand of an unknown companion.
As he clambered to his feet, Harper looked at the darkened building site in confusion. The vision had been so vivid that waking from it had left him quite disorientated.
Harper rubbed his face. As he brought his eyes back into focus, he realised why the room felt so familiar; he had seen it in previous dreams. Previously, he only saw it in snapshots: like flicking through television stations and glimpsing something without really registering it. This time, it was if he had tuned in properly.
Harper leant against a section of steelwork as he waited for his head to clear.
But when it did, realisation jolted through him like a knife; he remembered why he was on the building site. He shook his head in anger. Asleep, he could have missed anything. The thought shook him awake, adrenaline making his pulse pump and giving an extra prickle to his senses.
He snatched up his bag and ran.
Harper had picked an observation post on the first floor of a part-built office block. No walls, only a concrete floor and steel frame. The extra height gave him a good vantage point over the excavations below, as well as a place where he was unlikely to be spotted himself.
Swinging around a scaffold pole, Harper part slid, part fell as he dropped back to ground level. His boots crunched in a pile of gravel. He jumped the dark outline of a narrow trench and made for the path around the outside of the car park excavation. He forgot caution as he reached the narrow path that marked the top of the riverbank, following it as fast as he could.
Harper had discovered the hole cut in the reinforcing rods on his earlier patrol. It was about halfway along, in the middle of where the retaining wall was going to be. He slowed as he approached the area and pulled out his torch. With it on, he began to run its beam along the wooden shuttering, looking for the place he had marked. As he found it, he dropped to his knees, the bag thudding against the ground next to him. He paused a second to gather his breath then bent over and shone the light down into the hole.
A flood of cold flowed down Harper’s spine. He groaned as the torch beam picked out a mass of blonde hair and stared in anguish. He had wondered about what would happen if he saw Van Hulle, whether he could just watch and not intervene. But to have slept as the killer worked seemed even worse than doing nothing. There was also something ghastly about seeing the woman below for real. Knowing there might be someone in the hole was one thing. But to actually look down at a body inside the wall was more unsettling.
A small part of him had hoped there would be nothing there and Van Hulle would not have come. Even discovering the whole thing was the fevered imaginings of his own disturbed mind would have been preferable. But this was real.
Harper held his breath as he looked at the top of the woman’s head. She was about six feet below. He was unable to make out much of her, just the hair and her shoulders. She was not moving and gave no reaction when he called down.
Harper watched a few seconds longer to be sure.
Some sixth sense made his head jerk up and he looked around, glancing left and right along the narrow path then across at the far side of the excavations. Nothing moved and he hesitated, eyes drawn from the motionless shadows to the woman’s head below.
Still uncertain, he pulled out his mobile and hit speed dial. Cash answered on the second ring. ‘Harper?’
‘He’s been here. Get the police, get an ambulance.’ Harper spoke fast as he looked into the narrow space between the metal rods. ‘We’ll need the fire brigade too. Someone’s going to have to cut her out.’
‘Is she in the wall?’
‘Yes. About halfway round. She’s quite a way down and she’s not moving. I don’t know how they’re going to get her out.’
‘Okay.’ The older man’s voice sounded calm. ‘I’ll make the call. Did you see him? Is he there?’
Harper hesitated. ‘No. But I think he’s only just put her in the hole. Get help here as fast as you can. I’ll try…’
On the other side of the excavations, something moved. Harper only caught a movement rather than really spotting anything. His head snapped up and his eyes stared towards the big cement tank. The area around its base was deep in shadow. For a moment, Harper wondered if he had imagined it. But then it moved again; just one patch of darkness against another but definitely something there. A shape, too indistinct to make out, slipped away from the tank and disappeared in the direction of the site’s main entrance.
‘Hey!’ Harper bellowed his challenge without thinking, his voice carrying across the open hole in front of him.
From the mobile still in his hand Cash’s voice was asking what was going on but Harper’s hand was already closing the phone. His mind raced through the possibilities. It could have been anything: a cat, a fox even. But if it was Van Hulle, the killer was still on the site and had probably been watching Harper. He would have seen him on the phone and might be fleeing now. He could equally well be hiding, waiting to see who had spotted him and what they were going to do next. It would probably take a few minutes for Cash and the others to get to the entrance off Carson Street. That was assuming they did not waste too much time persuading the emergency services to take them seriously.
Harper left the bag next to the hole. Using the torch to check the path for obstacles or other dangers, he ran around the edge of the wall. He reached solid ground without any problems and sprinted towards a row of metal workman’s cabins. The first was a restroom: muddy chairs against one wall and a kettle on a table in the corner, plus some magazines and empty sandwich packets. The second cabin was locked, plans and piles of paper littering the desks inside. The third cabin was another office, while the fourth contained work clothes, boots and helmets.
Frustrated, Harper looked around impotently. He had hoped to find a weapon in case Van Hulle was still around.
He was still wondering what to do next when he heard a car’s horn being sounded repeatedly. The noise came from the direction of the main gates and was getting closer. Harper ran towards the entrance. Cash had got there quicker than expected.
The pink Rolls Royce was just outside the gates. Cash stood by the driver’s door, leaning in to press the horn. One of the gates was open and Rebecca pushed it wider. She hurried towards him, stumbling on the uneven ground. ‘Danny, are you okay?’ Her voice was anxious and her eyes scanned his body.
Harper’s gaze met hers, briefly warmed by the care in her expression. But then he looked over her shoulders. He was conscious that Van Hulle, if it had been him, would have only got a head start of a few minutes. But yards beyond the gates lay one of the city centre’s busier streets. It would be easy for someone to vanish into the steady flow of passing people and cars.
He nodded at Rebecca. ‘I’m fine.’ He reached out and took her hands in his, still looking around suspiciously. ‘Did you see anyone? As you got here: was there anyone running away? A car, anything?’
As he asked the questions, Cash strode over to join them. The arti
st looked keenly at Harper. ‘It’s true? There’s someone trapped inside the wall?’
Harper looked at him in surprise. ‘Yes. I’ve seen her. It’s a woman. Van Hulle must have just lowered her in.’
Rebecca looked sick, while Cash frowned. ‘But you didn’t actually see him?’
‘No.’ Harper looked down. ‘Not exactly. I fell asleep. Something woke me: I don’t know what. I came down to investigate. She’s there. A woman with blonde hair: right inside the wall.’
The older man gave him a level stare. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Can we do anything to help her?’
Harper shook his head in agitation. ‘No. She’s too far down. You’ll need ropes and cutting gear and stuff. But just now: I saw something.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. There was something or someone in the shadows. Over on this side of the site. I came running over. I was looking for a weapon but then I heard your car. Didn’t you spot anyone?’
‘No.’ Cash shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But the gate was open?’
Rebecca nodded. ‘Yes. It wasn’t locked.’
Harper walked towards it. A heavy padlock would normally hold the two gates shut but it was open.
Cash looked at it over Harper’s shoulder. ‘Not the best security.’
‘No.’
They fell silent for a moment. Rebecca kept glancing nervously towards the interior of the site. Cash watched Harper, who screwed up his eyes as he faced away from them. The darkness in his vision was coming back again. It seemed to be happening with increasing frequency: not always going the whole way but he had an uneasy feeling of hovering on the brink. He swallowed and dug his nails hard into the palms of his hands: pain seemed to help hold off the fog.