by Gwyn GB
‘No one here. What should we be looking for?’ Jack called back to Harrison.
‘OK for me to come in?’
‘Sure, put some gloves on.’ Jack handed Harrison a pair of gloves from his pocket.
‘Do you mind giving me some space?’
‘Course,’ Jack replied, and stepped back into the corridor with Richard.
Harrison stood for a moment, grounding himself in the room. His eyes covered every inch, taking in the detail, logging and categorising all he saw. The room was so clean and tidy it could only belong to someone with some kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder. No one else would feel the need to have regimentally lined up every item on the top of the chest of drawers in order of size, as Scott had. He opened a drawer and saw colour coded socks all neatly wrapped together like some kind of weird painting palette.
The huge crucifix above the bed, was joined by horseshoes which were fixed to every single wall, and particularly clustered above the window and door. Harrison was convinced he’d found their killer. All he needed was one final piece of proof, and they could arrest him with confidence.
Harrison’s mobile rang again in his pocket. He wished he’d turned it off, it was distracting.
He blocked it out. He had to put himself into the mind of Scott. Where would he hide two human hearts which he believed were going to protect him from the evil spirits of their original hosts? They had to be in this room. This was his sanctuary. It would be while he slept that he’d fear the most.
Harrison went straight for the bed. In keeping with the rest of the tidiness, he’d not expected to see anything underneath it. What he found were two shoeboxes, one at the head end, one at the bottom end. He carefully pulled one from under the bed, touching it as little as possible. Tentatively he took the lid off, not sure what sight or smell he might find. Inside was a wooden box. It had held some kind of horse medical supplies. Harrison lifted it out, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it wasn’t lockable.
Carefully, he eased the lid open with a fingertip, and once he’d seen what he’d been expecting to see, he flipped it open.
‘Jack, get onto control and put out an order for the arrest of Scott Smith.’
Jack stepped back into the room.
‘What the hell is that?’
‘It’s what they call a witch’s bottle. You use it to ward off evil spells and spirits from someone you believe could be cursing you or using magic against you.’
‘Is that?’ Jack asked, pointing at the contents.
‘Yep, it’s a human heart pierced with an iron nail, and probably in human urine. The other objects might be horse hoof shavings. There’s a second box underneath the bed.’
‘Eugh,’ was all Jack could reply.
‘What’s going on? Why do you want to arrest Scott?’ Richard started to come into the room.
‘Mr Carter, I’m going to have to ask you to leave please. This is now a crime scene.’ Jack sprang back to the door and ushered the shocked Richard back out.
‘Jack?’ Harrison said, thinking. ‘We need to find out where Scott’s gone.’
‘You think he could be after another one?’
‘If he’s worried that we’re getting close then perhaps he’s throwing caution to the wind.’
‘Mr Carter, I need to know Scott’s mobile number please, and his car registration,’ Jack said, dialling the incident room as he spoke and thrusting a notebook and pen under Richard’s nose for the details. ‘I need a trace on a car and mobile phone,’ he said into his phone, walking away from Richard so he could talk more freely.
While Jack was talking to control, Harrison stood in Scott’s room with one unanswered question. Why was it that Scott latched on to Paul Lester? Why had he seen The Horsemen as a threat? Was it simply that he was jealous of Paul’s success?
He turned to the wardrobe. He didn’t want to touch too much, as forensics would want to go over the room, but there had to be an answer somewhere.
When he opened the wardrobe door, he was met by the same immaculate neatness as the rest of the room. On a top shelf were some jumpers neatly folded, and alongside these was a cardboard box. Harrison couldn’t resist. He took the box down and placed it on the floor, crouching down to open the lid and look at its contents.
Inside was a selection of newspaper cuttings, dating back over a decade. They started with stories of Scott’s success as a jockey, but by far the majority of them related to the accident which had ended his racing career.
‘Pile-up kills jockey and horses’ was one headline, ‘Racing mourns after fatal fall’ was another. There was a photograph of a young jockey, Cliff Cunningham, who had broken his neck and died instantly following a four-horse pile-up at a jump.
Harrison skimmed through the cutting. Scott Smith was mentioned as having to be stretchered off with a back injury in the pile-up, while another jockey broke his leg and pelvis. Then right at the bottom it was mentioned that novice jockey, Paul Lester, miraculously avoided injury, walking away from the scene unharmed. That was it. It all made sense. Paul had escaped without a scratch, while Scott was seriously injured and his friend killed. Scott must have been in hospital for months following the accident, but while they mended his back, they’d probably not attended to the post-traumatic stress disorder the accident had caused. Harrison could bet he’d mended physically, but not received any treatment for the mental scars. It would have been the start of an obsession as to why Paul had managed to avoid injury when the others hadn’t.
Harrison put the cuttings back into the wardrobe and rejoined Richard Carter in the corridor. The man was not looking too well.
‘This could ruin me. I built these stables up from nothing. My reputation is everything,’ he said to Harrison when he reappeared.
‘Are you saying you’re involved?’ Harrison asked him.
‘No! Of course not,’ Richard replied angrily.
‘Then your reputation will remain intact,’ Harrison simply replied.
‘I don’t think you understand…’ Richard began.
‘Mr Carter, do you know who or what caused the accident that injured Scott?’
Richard looked at Harrison, surprised by the sudden question at such a time.
‘Yes, there was a huge enquiry, but it was pretty obvious. It was a loose horse, she’d lost her jockey and they’d not managed to catch her. They should have stopped the race, but they didn’t, and she ran across them just as they all landed after a jump. There was nothing any of the jockeys could have done because they couldn’t see she was there. The front pack were well ahead of the rest of the field luckily and they were flagged down, otherwise it would have been even worse. Horse racing is a very dangerous sport, Dr Lane. You have powerful beasts with minds of their own, travelling at up to forty miles per hour with men balanced on top of them.’
‘Yes, I think I’m learning just how dangerous it is,’ Harrison replied.
Just then the door from which music could be heard was opened and the sound of electro-pop filled the corridor.
‘All right, Richard?’ the head which appeared around the door asked.
‘Yeah, all fine, Todd,’ he replied.
Todd eyeballed Harrison.
‘Don’t suppose you know where Scott went do you?’ Harrison asked him.
The head shook.
‘No. Saw him about half an hour ago rooting around in that pile of old horseshoes but didn’t speak to him. He’s probably gone to hammer a few more shoes around the place, you know what he’s like with them.’
Harrison did know what he was like with them, and it wasn’t using them for luck that he was worried about.
‘Mr Carter, I need you to seal this room and not allow anyone in until other officers arrive. Is that clear? If anyone enters this room after we’ve gone, they will be charged with perverting the course of justice. There are officers on their way.’
‘I understand,’ Richard replied. ‘So, what are you suggesting? That Scott killed Paul? Is that
what you’re saying? I can’t believe it, that’s crazy.’
He pulled Scott’s door closed and locked it.
‘If Scott returns, you must call 999 immediately. We have reason to believe that he’s dangerous.’
‘My God, he spends time alone with my children.’ Richard had turned ashen white.
‘He has a clear motive in his mind, and probably believed he was helping protect you and your family too,’ Harrison said to him as his parting words. He had to find Jack fast before they had another victim.
Jack was outside pacing up and down on the phone.
‘Jack, we need to go,’ he said to him. ‘He’s not gone shopping, he’s gone after his next victim.’
‘How do you know?’ Jack asked.
‘He’s picked up some more iron horseshoes.’
‘But who? There are about a dozen possibles, how are we going to know which one he’s targeting.’
‘My guess is he’s going to go for the one closest to Paul, Craig Matlock, and he’s got a long head start so we’d better hurry.’
30
Tanya cancelled the call she was making on her mobile. It had gone through to Harrison’s voicemail for a second time. He was obviously busy. She was going to have to deal with this situation on her own.
DCI Barker had called her about ten minutes ago to tell her that the Scottish sociopath had not turned up for the interview about his murdered girlfriend. She sounded concerned about what he was up to.
‘Are you safe where you are?’ she’d asked her. ‘I need you to be on your guard in case he’s decided that we’re on to him and he throws caution to the wind.’
‘I’m fine,’ Tanya had replied, but she should have been honest. She’d forgotten a few things that she needed from her flat and had decided to go and pick them up while she thought her stalker would be otherwise occupied in a police interview. Only now it turned out that he wasn’t there at all.
‘Tanya, promise me that if you’re worried, you’ll call 999 immediately? It’s on the system now so it will be treated as a priority emergency. Any issues, you have my number.’
‘Thank you, yes. I will and I’ll be fine.’
The second she’d ended the call with the DCI, she nearly slapped herself for being so stupid. Why wasn’t she honest with her? Or why didn’t she just turn right around and go back to her friend’s flat right now? The problem was, she’d already reached the end of her road. If he was here, he’d have already seen her. She’d gone past the point of no return and if he was waiting he’d just follow her there and she’d potentially put her friend in danger too.
Tanya hadn’t wanted to worry Harrison, but she had wanted his advice. Would the stalker be likely to come after her, or is he long gone on a boat out of the country? Would he attack even though it might be dangerous for him? Whatever the answers he might have given, she was about to find out for herself.
It’s really difficult to walk when you think somebody might be watching you. You become aware of every little movement you make. The act of placing one foot in front of the other, something that’s so automatic and easy to most people, suddenly involves a great deal of conscious thought. Was he here? Was he watching her now?
Every molecule in her body seemed to be on high alert. She wondered if this is what it felt like to be a rabbit grazing on open ground, aware that danger could come from anywhere. Left. Right. Behind. Above.
Her breathing was shallow, and she could already feel a pain in her neck from where she held her shoulders so stiffly. She wanted to keep looking around her, but it would be so obvious. Did that matter? Would he be less likely to attack her if he knew she was aware?
Tanya reached the house. She looked around. There was nobody. She was being paranoid.
Down the steps. She had her key ready in her pocket in case she’d needed to get in quick. The one downside with adding an extra lock to the front door was that it now took twice as long to get in.
The key went into the first lock and it clicked to open, just one more to go.
She put the key into the second lock. Click, and the door was open.
She felt him almost before she heard him.
It was like a whoosh as he jumped from the stairs above and landed behind her. The black crow swooping down.
There wasn’t even time to cry out. No time to turn to face him. He shoved her in the back and sent her sprawling onto the floor of her hallway, crashing down onto her knees and elbows. The crow had attacked.
31
Harrison drove while Jack spent the entire journey on the phone with Cambridgeshire police control or the incident room. The first priority was to make sure all the rest of The Horsemen were safe. Jack arranged for them to be called and then have a uniformed officer go out to every one of them. It was a huge draw on resources, but both men knew that at least one of them was in danger. As they drove, the reports came back that there were two that couldn’t be accounted for. They weren’t answering their phones. One of them was Craig Matlock.
When Jack finally came off the phone, Harrison filled him in on what he’d found in the wardrobe, and his conversation with Richard.
‘So he’s harboured a grudge against Paul all these years.’
‘In his mind it’s not a grudge. He’s tried to rationalise why Paul walked away from that accident without a scratch, when his best friend, who was a more experienced jockey, died. But of course, he couldn’t rationalise it, so he turned it into a belief that Paul is protected by a greater force. When he saw the fake hanging in the barn, it would have tipped him over the edge. He’d have been convinced Paul was involved in some kind of black magic which meant he couldn’t die.’
‘And Sam?’ Jack asked.
‘He would have thought Paul was recruiting more like him.’
‘I hope we’re not too late, he’ll have been at Craig’s farm for up to twenty minutes already.’
It was a tense eight-minute ride through narrow country lanes to Craig Matlock’s farm. Both of them knew that a man’s life depended on someone getting there fast. When they arrived in the yard, there was no sign of any patrol cars yet, but there was a black Ford Fiesta.
‘Craig?’ Jack jumped straight out of the car and ran over to the house, shouting out to him and hammering on the door and windows. Harrison headed into the barn where they’d seen him take his horse. He ran into the dark interior, mindful that Scott could be in there with a weapon. His eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. In front, he could see a horse blanket flopped over the door of a stall. Harrison headed straight for it. The gelding they’d seen Craig grooming at their last visit, looked up startled at his sudden appearance. There was no sign of Craig.
He checked in all the other stalls, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. There was nobody. He listened. Nothing but the horse.
By the time Harrison returned to the yard, Jack had finished his check around the house and was just appearing from round the side.
‘I can’t see anything in the house, not unless he’s holding him in there. We’d have to break down the door,’ he said to Harrison.
‘Can I help you?’ a loud, rather accusatory voice asked from behind them.
Harrison turned to see a man walking towards them from the huge new barn, which was filled with agricultural equipment.
‘We’re looking for Craig,’ Jack explained.
‘He’s in demand today. Just told another fella where to find him. They went to the old barn.’
‘Thanks,’ Jack shouted as he burst into a run behind the already disappearing back of Harrison Lane.
Harrison ran at full pelt down the narrow lane which led to the old barn. The ground was uneven, and he nearly twisted his ankle a few times, weaving around, trying to avoid the dips and bumps.
In his head, he was working out how Scott was going to try to overpower Craig. Would he try to hang him again like Paul, or simply stab him and get it over and done with. Harrison hoped it was the former because that would take longer.
They might not be too late.
Behind him, Harrison could hear the pounding feet and panting breath of Jack, and in the distance a police siren that seemed to be getting closer. That was all he was aware of, because his total focus was getting to the wooden structure which had come into view in front of him, in time to save Craig Matlock.
The barn door was ajar, and Harrison burst through it, coming to a screeching halt. There was nobody there. The ground floor was empty.
Then he looked up and saw them. Scott was in the hayloft, and at his feet was a slumped figure. He was putting the noose around his neck.
‘Scott,’ he shouted, trying desperately to make his voice sound as calm and even as he could. He was puffed after the run, so it wasn’t easy and the stress had made his voice rise an octave. ‘It’s Dr Lane. Please stop what you’re doing and come down and talk to me.’ He paused to catch his breath and breathe. ‘I understand why you’re doing this, but you need to know that the hangings you witnessed were fake. The Horsemen ritual was fake. Those men fell into a pile of hay, they were not hung.’
Scott had momentarily stopped what he was doing and stared at Harrison.
‘You’re lying,’ he said. ‘I saw it with my own eyes. They swore their souls to Satan, and he brought them back.’
‘No. You only saw half of it. They untied the rope and the men just fell unharmed. Please, Scott, we need to talk this through. Richard is worried. He needs you back at the yard. He needs your help.’
Scott hesitated. He was staring at Harrison. For a moment, he seemed to go into a trance.
From the corner of his eye, Harrison could see that Jack had also come into the barn, but less obtrusively. He’d crept around the right edge until he reached the ladder to the hayloft and started to climb.
Harrison tried to keep Scott’s attention and walked forward so that he was standing in front of Scott but below him, where the pile of hay once sat. If Scott focused on him, that gave Jack the best chance of creeping up behind him unnoticed.