by G H Mockford
‘People know we’re here,’ Bryonny said.
‘I heard Stephen’s attempt to call for help. Sadly, with a dead battery they can’t track your GPS, and Stephen’s phone...well let’s just say I know eight-year-olds who have better phones than him. How’s John? And dear, sweet Violet with her DS?’
Stephen ignored the question. Felix may have been spying on him for weeks as he claimed, or he might just be pressing buttons to see how he would react.
‘You killed your sister,’ Bryonny said. Stephen was glad of the change of subject as grim and upsetting as it was.
Felix shrugged his shoulders. ‘All part of the plan, I’m afraid. If it makes the pain any easier, she gave her life willingly.’
‘You sick bastard.’ Stephen launched himself forward.
The gun roared.
Stephen skidded to a halt, and plaster drifted down from the ceiling.
‘The next time I won’t be so generous. Get back into line,’ Felix said, motioning Stephen to the corner with the gun.
‘Get it over with. You’re going to kill us anyway,’ Stephen said.
Georgia started to cry. Stephen was surprised she’d lasted this long. Judging by the sounds that came from behind him, Bryonny had moved closer to the girl so she could comfort her.
‘I’ll get to that in my own good time. Right now, there are a few things I think we should do, don’t you?’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, I’m so glad you asked. I’m sure you have many questions.’
‘Yes, like who was the poor child you killed and whose body you used as your own?’
‘Splendid. Insightful. You really should have been a policeman.’
Stephen narrowed his eyes. Was it a lucky guess, or was Felix eluding to the conversation he’d had with his mother?
Felix walked to the hospital bed, sat on the edge, and leaned the lantern he was carrying against his sister’s remains. ‘Please, excuse me while I sit. I’ve had a long day at work, and now this.’
‘Really? How have you managed to work your way back into polite society?’
‘By being clever, Stephen. Very clever. I’ve been surviving off my wits for years. I’d go so far as to say since I was seven, but actually I’ve been a survivor for as long as I can remember. My mother and father taught me that particular skill in a room downstairs, sometimes in other places if the mood took them, or their clients.’
‘What they did to you was wrong. Terrible.’
‘Oh, Stephen, you are the master of understatement. But it is you who are wrong. They made me who I am today. And I’m glorious.’
‘One sick fuck, more like,’ Bryonny spat from behind.
‘Sit down, Stephen. Join the women folk on the floor. I think it’s time for a story.’
Seventy-Five
Stephen sat down even though he knew it left him in a vulnerable position.
‘Are you sitting comfortably? Good, then we’ll begin,’ Felix said. ‘Some very nice people made me talk about my problems once before.’ He stopped and leaned to one side so he could see past Stephen and look at Georgia. ‘One of them was your delightful mother. All I cared about was getting my sister back, so like a good little boy I concentrated on saying all the right things. Unfortunately, I don’t think I was a good enough liar. It was decided, principally by your mother, to separate me and my sister,’ he stopped and patted Felicity through the bloody sheet, ‘permanently.’
‘Is that what this is all about? Revenge?’ Bryonny said, the contempt in her voice clear.
Stephen started to worry the pair of them were pushing Felix’s buttons too hard.
He smiled. ‘Nothing’s ever that simple, my dear. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. We were separated, Felicity and I. I was placed with foster carers in a safe house. I even had my very own tutor, Mrs Anderson.’ He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, drifting off to his very own special place, Stephen guessed, and said, ‘I wonder if they ever found her body?’
‘You didn’t kill her,’ Bryonny said. ‘There’s no way you could get away with it. You’re playing games with us.’
Felix smiled again. ‘I got her years later. I got them all. One a year for the last decade. I used a bowl of poisoned fruit on Mrs Anderson. Don’t you think that’s wonderful? An apple for the teacher.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘I’d hoped Felicity would help me, but she didn’t have the stomach for it, so I had to keep her here, as my plaything. Just like old times.’
‘And now she’s outlived her usefulness,’ Bryonny said. Stephen reached behind him and took her hand. He gave it a squeeze, which he hoped she would take to mean careful.
‘This last week she’s proved more useful than ever before,’ Felix said, stroking the cadaver through the dirty sheet.
Bryonny moved, but Stephen clamped his hand around hers and pulled her down before she could start to get up. She glared at him over his shoulder. He tried to look impassive and shook his head.
‘You should listen to your boyfriend. He’s not a coward. He’s just trying to keep you alive. Not that there’s much point. Even if I let you go, your career as an officer of the law is over.’
‘Not if I nail your arse to the floor first,’ Chambers said.
‘Feisty. I see why you like her, Stephen.’ Felix rested the pistol on his thigh. ‘Anyway, back to me. The prison they kept me in was a joke. I was more than intelligent enough to circumvent the locks, even at age seven. It was almost insulting. I escaped most nights for weeks and wandered the streets. I already had a plan you see. I would look for the visible signs of a child’s bedroom – curtains with designs and characters on, toys on the windowsill – and throw stones at the window. It took weeks before I managed to find someone the same size and shape as me.’
‘This is bullshit,’ Bryonny chipped in, her tone dismissive. ‘Then you befriended them, I suppose? Worked them for weeks, and then lured them out of the house, and got them to go to your’s in the middle of the night.’
‘That’s exactly what happened, detective. Well done. I managed to get Steven – that was his name. Ironic, eh? – into my prison and I strangled him with the Christmas tree lights, grabbed my stuff, started a fire, and left.’
‘You’re a fantasist,’ Bryonny smiled.
‘You explain how I escaped and accomplished all I have then.’ Felix stopped and waited for Bryonny to offer an alternative. ‘I didn’t mean for my carers to die. Honest. They were good people.’
‘You would’ve left a window open or something. There would’ve been some clue that you had fled the scene.’
‘Bryonny, Bryonny, Bryonny. Are you sure you’re a detective? You’re not thinking these things through. The house burnt to the ground.’
‘By accident? Without an accelerant?’ Bryonny shook her head. ‘What about the missing boy? Why weren’t the two cases tied together?’
‘Why should they be? Some plod like yourself decided he was a runaway, I expect.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘So you keep saying, DC Chambers, but here I am.’
Stephen sat, riveted as he listened to the exchange. Was any of this true? Was it even remotely possible?
‘And the intervening years?’ Bryonny asked.
‘My dear mother and father taught us how to use other people. I simply moved in with vulnerable people who others never saw and, therefore, wouldn’t be missed – the computer geek, the crazy woman with budgies and cockatiels. But it was the elderly, mostly.’
‘When you say moved in…’ Stephen started to ask.
‘It was easy when I started. Old people would literally fall over themselves to help a lost, sobbing child who knocked on their door because he’d lost his mummy. As soon as I was in, I would incapacitate them before they called the police. Old people are great. Often they have cash in the house and plenty to eat, even if it is only tins and dried food. Don’t believe what The Mail tells you about old people having no money for heating. Their houses are boiling.’
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‘You’re crazy.’
‘You love stating the obvious, don’t you, constable?’ Felix flashed Bryonny a smile and then continued. ‘I’d never stay long. I’d move on before I got caught. Sometimes I’d leave them alive when I left, but I soon learned that wasn’t a good idea. Anyway, that’s enough about me. Let’s hear a little about dear, sweet Georgia.’
Seventy-Six
‘You leave her alone,’ Stephen said.
‘You speak, Stephen. I was beginning to think the cat had got your tongue,’ Felix said with a smile.
‘Fucking well leave them both alone,’ Chambers snapped.
‘You, young lady, have an anger problem. And such language,’ Felix said.
Chambers blustered for a moment. ‘I have an anger problem? Come over here and I’ll show you–’
Felix’s laugh came suddenly like a summer shower and cut off Chambers’ outburst.
‘Don’t give him the pleasure, Bryonny,’ Stephen said once the laughter died down. ‘He enjoys watching us suffer.’
‘How insightful, Stephen. You really should have been a psychiatrist, not a policeman. In fact, I guess a barman is a sort of unofficial counsellor. There you are, night after night listening to people ramble on about their problems. Anyway, that’s enough about you. It’s time to hear Georgia’s story.’
‘You know everything,’ Stephen said. ‘You’ve been watching everything through your hidden camera.’
‘True, but I’ve not had a chance to review today’s footage. Tell me, how did you escape your chain, Georgia?’
There was silence for a moment and then Stephen turned and faced his half-sister. He still expected her to be on the brink of collapse, but somehow she was still holding on. When she spoke, her spirit came to the fore.
‘When I awoke from whatever crap you pumped into me, I found a key on the floor.’
Felix’s hand shot to his thighs and tapped the outside of his jeans, feeling for something. He pulled the pocket inside out. His hand darted to his mouth. ‘Oops, did I drop something?’
Stephen looked at Felix, his eyebrows knitted together. ‘You’re playing a game, aren’t you?’
Felix ignored the question. ‘What did it fit, Georgia?’
Stephen looked at Georgia expectantly. She just stared at her captor and said, ‘You planted it? Didn’t you?’
‘Oh, you two. So bright. So clever. Not as clever as me, of course, but clever nevertheless. Not surprising really, is it?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Georgia.
‘I’m curious. Why didn’t you climb out the window?’
Stephen looked at Georgia. It was an excellent question.
‘You think you’ve been manipulating me with your drugs and keys, but I got one over you. Before you tortured and killed her, Felicity and I dug a tunnel.’
‘Oo, oo, just like in that book,’ Felix hopped off the bed and started to skip and prance about in excitement. ‘The one where that man is imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. Oh, what is it?’
‘The Count of Monte Cristo. It was Felicity’s favourite,’ Georgia said, the tone of her voice changing.
‘Of course. Fantastic book. I gave it to her years ago when she first joined me here. Sadly she learned the wrong lessons from it. I was hoping she would join me in my revenge, but…let’s just say her mind wasn’t as resilient as mine. She succumbed to her demons rather than embracing them. So, tell me Georgia, were you going to copy Edmond’s escape route?’
Georgia shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘The priest, who teaches Dantes, dies, so our hero hides in the body bag. The guards then throw him into the sea.’ Again he patted Felicity’s body. ‘But, you got the window open. I’m impressed by the way. So, why didn’t you climb out once you found the key?’
‘I woke up, found the key and then I thought I heard you coming, only it was these two. I crawled in here so you would think I was gone. I was going to wait and…’
‘Oh yes, very clever. She’s clever, isn’t she, Stephen. You must be so proud.’
‘What are you on about?’ Georgia said, shaking her head.
‘Haven’t you told her yet?’ Felix said to Stephen as he made his way round to the back of the hospital bed, returning his attention to the teenage girl. ‘You don’t know who your prince charming is? Who your gallant hero is? Tell her, Stephen. Go on, tell her.’
‘Very well, Felix. I don’t see why you think it’s going to be such a terrible thing.’ Stephen, who was sitting cross-legged, turned his whole body around to face Georgia so he could look her in the eyes and opened his mouth to speak.
‘Oh my god, you’re my father, not Fraser,’ Georgia said, eyes wide with surprise.
Felix’s laughter rang out through the room again. ‘Wonderful. Even better than I could have planned, yet alone hope for.’
‘No,’ Stephen smiled, ‘Fraser Bridges is your father. I’m your brother. Your half-brother. Stephen Bridges.’
‘Fraser doesn’t have–’ Georgia cut herself off.
Stephen nodded. ‘It’s okay. I’m not surprised. I only just found out about you.’
A loud, condescending clapping came from the direction of the bed. ‘Now this is drama. Forget EastEnders, everybody, or Jeremy Kyle. This is classic.’
Stephen’s head snapped round. If Felix was clapping, it meant only one thing.
He wasn’t holding the gun.
Seventy-Seven
Years of cycling, combined with his naturally wiry frame, meant Stephen had powerful leg muscles.
He forced himself straight up, uncoiling his crossed legs so that he turned and faced Felix. Barely a heartbeat passed before he threw himself at the hospital bed.
There was no time for Felix to react. Stephen crashed onto the bed. He’d hoped to roll the bed across the floor and pin the maniac against the wall, but the high metal frame tipped over. Too late, Stephen realized the brakes were on.
Felix made a snatch for the automatic pistol, which he’d left on the bed, but it was too late. The edge of the metal frame dug into his thighs and forced him backwards. The mattress, along with Felicity’s remains fell on top of him as the bed toppled over. The lantern clattered to the floor. Stephen pitched over the top and landed on the mattress, forcing a cry from the buried Felix.
‘Georgia, get the lantern and run,’ Bryonny called.
Stephen heard retreating footsteps and then a sh-clack. Bryonny came into view at the head of the stricken bed. In her hand was her fully extended baton.
The mattress bucked and swayed as Felix struggled beneath it.
‘Find the gun,’ Stephen called as he pushed down on the mattress.
There was a muffled roar and a bullet ripped through the soft memory foam. The air filled with chucks of rubber and the smell of cordite.
‘Too late. Let’s get out of here,’ Bryonny shouted.
Stephen rolled away towards the door and another round went off.
‘Come on.’ Bryonny grabbed at Stephen’s hand and started to pull him towards the door. Her torchlight flitted wildly across the wall. ‘We’ve got Georgia. Let’s go.
‘Goodbye, Felicity,’ Stephen said and turned and ran.
A few frantic steps later they found Georgia standing at the top of the staircase, lantern in hand.
‘I told you to run,’ Bryonny said.
‘I couldn’t leave you, besides, I’m stiff. It hurts to move.’
From down the hallway came a terrible roar, followed by a crash.
Felix had managed to free himself.
‘That gun’s a Makarov. He’s got five shots left, assuming he doesn’t have a spare clip,’ Bryonny said.
‘Then let’s get moving,’ Stephen said.
Bryonny stepped to one side. ‘Go. Get Georgia out of here.’
Stephen opened his mouth to argue, but the look on the police officer’s face made it clear doing so would only waste valuable time.
A shot rang out
down the hallway, and everyone ducked. Stephen threw himself over Georgia, then slipped his hands under her and picked her up. Carrying the precious cargo in his hands, Stephen took the staircase sideways so he could see where he was placing his feet as the lantern in Georgia’s hand swung to and fro.
If he fell now, or a step caved in beneath his feet, it would be a disaster.
Another shot rang out and Stephen felt Bryonny push down on his back. He took two more paces and then jumped down what remained of the stairs. For a terrible moment, Stephen thought he was going to pitch forward as the weight and momentum in his arms pulled at him. Stumbling, Stephen ran towards the door that would take him to the old kitchen. There was bound to be somewhere to hide. There was probably a cellar or even a walk-in larder.
‘Don’t take another fucking step,’ the madman yelled from behind.
Stephen ignored him and kept going.
A shot rang out. Stephen could have sworn he felt the heat of the round as it passed his ear and buried itself in the wall by the kitchen door. He skidded on the floor, missing the kitchen door and drifted to a halt near a tall, covered object.
‘Okay, okay. Don’t shoot. Let me put her down.’ Stephen didn’t wait for an answer and lowered Georgia to the floor. ‘Leave the lantern here by my feet and get into cover,’ he whispered, jerking his head at what he assumed was a cabinet or a grandfather clock. He turned to face Felix.
The gunman was halfway down the stairs, weapon in one hand and his mobile phone in the other. He was using the camera flash as a torch.
‘Put your hands up. Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot you in the legs and then make you watch as I rape both your bitches,’ he called. ‘Where is she? The bacon you’re banging?’
Stephen looked, the lantern illuminated most of the area, but he couldn’t see Bryonny anywhere. He’d been so focussed on getting Georgia out, he’d forgotten about her. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Liar.’
‘We split up. She went ahead to get the car started. I can’t drive. You must know that. I was going to take Georgia and hide in the cellar while we waited for her to return.’