Jonathan pulled open the door and looked inside. The long upper floor of this portion of the mill was naturally lit by the angled northern lights that ran in rows along its length. It was empty apart from an echoing silence that seemed to bombard his ears. He stood momentarily, checking every part of the space, ensuring that one foot kept the door ajar. At the bottom of the room was a pair of large doors, the only other exit excluding the old fire doors he stood by. He let the door close quietly before starting to walk towards the others. His eyes scanned the metal bars that formed the skeletal frame supporting the roof. As he passed each window, he looked out onto the cobbled road, the same road he had walked down minutes earlier; it was now bathed in sunshine but still deserted. Nothing moved.
Reaching the doors, he took a deep breath before quickly pushing them and to his surprise they too swung open silently and with ease. The room he entered was much larger, but darker having lost the ceiling windows. There was another floor above and this space was not empty like the last. He cautiously took two steps. In front of him were seven naked figures, mannequins, shop window dummies, positioned slightly apart to form a neat arc. Their arms were all bent in the same way so that their hands were arranged at the side of their heads. A chair was positioned in front of the semi-circle of figures on which was placed an envelope. He paused, assimilating the scene. He wondered if they were remnants of the mill, abandoned and unwanted stock; the possibility helped calm him. He felt sweat run down his inner arm and the bag he carried suddenly seemed to weigh heavily.
As he moved further into the room, a startled bird flew and crashed against one of the windows, causing him to panic and instinctively look towards the sound and movement. The bird soon recovered to flutter clumsily onto a steel girder to his left. Watching it settle, he allowed himself the same opportunity to gain control of his mental and emotional equilibrium before walking towards the motionless group. Giving the figures a wide berth, he moved around the mannequin furthest away from the windows before he turned round to look. It was only then did he hear the gasp, his own gasp, that broke into a short but sharp cry of anguish that seemed to fill the space, causing the bird to flutter again and crash once more against the same glass as if trying to find freedom. It fell, confused and injured onto the soiled wooden floor. It fluttered again briefly for one last time and then lay still. He watched its final moments but felt nothing. He was numb.
It had been the emotionless laughing face of his father staring back at him that had caused the sudden shock and explosive cry. He let his eyes rest on each mannequin’s face before moving to the next. He recognised the face of the woman from the photographs that the police had brought round to the house and the man too, Baines if he remembered correctly. Each was merely a life-size monochrome photograph secured to the mannequin’s head.
Jonathan’s confused and frightened mind tried to rationalise, add names, put into perspective what he was contemplating but it could not. Even though they were photographic masks, life size and accurate, black and white, they seemed real. The other dummies wore masks but were simply blank, featureless. However, the final one terrified him. When his eyes fell on the last of the figures he emitted a second gasp as he tried to comprehend the scenario. Astonishingly, it was a full-size photograph of his own face staring back at him. He remembered when the photograph had been taken and by whom… his father.
He moved to the chair and collected the unsealed envelope. His name was clearly written on the front. He removed the contents to reveal a handwritten note.
Cyril stood in front of the aviation chart and carefully plotted the co-ordinates as they were given.
“There are two possibilities, life is never simple, Mr Bennett, but he assures me one of these locations is correct. Being an arse and a flying snob we are also blessed that he appears to be anal about his flight records. Any normal flyer would have just pointed the camera, pressed and forgotten about the location but not our boy. He even wears all the gear; tie, epaulettes and carries the obligatory pilot’s case.” He laughed again.
Cyril had stopped listening and was circling the two co-ordinates. “Do we have a name and contact details for this person?”
Making a note, Cyril thanked Ryan before looking carefully again at the marks he had made on the chart. He estimated a two-mile radius around the two marks and circled them but it was the second mark that drew his focus as the area in which it was situated was close to the village of Bedlam. He paused searching for some kind of logic but to him the word Bedlam was linked with Bethlem, the famous psychiatric hospital, the first and oldest in Europe. It might also have given origin to the word for chaos and madness and from where Cyril was standing at the moment it certainly fitted.
He read the note twice:
There’s no rush, take a seat and reflect on those faces before you. I’ll be along very soon. If you’ve brought everything, I can assure you that you have nothing to fear.
Jonathan’s mind was a jumble of options. Should he do as the note said, wait, or should he just dump the bag and go? There was nobody close to stop him. He turned the card over:
Do not run, as that would be the last thing you will ever do. You must now trust me. You will leave here safely if you just do as I ask.
He reluctantly sat and looked into the bag. Everything was there, everything that had been specified.
Owen, Shakti and April entered the incident room as Cyril stood by a flip chart. He quickly explained that the location of the emoji crop circle could be in one of two places.
“Owen and April to this location. I want it searched. You’ll have backup waiting, a drug and police dog handler. I’ve not requested an armed presence at this stage but if at any time you feel as though…” He did not finish as somehow he felt as though he was trying to teach old dogs new tricks. “Shakti, you’re with me. The property owner’s details are in the file with a map and images of the location. If they have nothing to hide, you’ll receive full cooperation.”
Owen and April read through the notes. “We go in thirty minutes. Keep me informed throughout. You’re looking for some kind of deep freeze, a chest freezer or a cold store but as always, keep an open mind.” Cyril slipped his e-cigarette into his mouth and looked at Shakti as she read through the details. He watched her frown and then look up.
“Bedlam?” she asked as she observed a light cloud of vapour erupting from Cyril’s mouth.
34
After the second roundabout at Ripley, Cyril turned towards Burnt Yates. The A6165 was relatively quiet. The police minibus containing four officers and two dog vans followed. The handlers and their dogs were both attached to the operational base in Harrogate and would, after the search at Bedlam, go on to support Owen and April.
Jonathan heard the door, the one he had used to enter the mill, suddenly slam shut, the sound echoing through the near-empty space. He immediately stood, his hands fumbling with the strap of the bag as the note and the envelope fell to the floor.
“Good of you to come, Jonathan Stephens.” The voice came from the other room and was still some distance away. It suddenly seemed as though the shock of hearing someone speak turned his insides to liquid. A shudder of fear spread down his back.
“Turn around and don’t look towards the doors, not yet, not until I give you permission. That would be so unwise. Now we understand that one simple rule, let me thank you for following my instructions. You might not believe me but I’m sorry to bring you here, to what you might think is a godforsaken remnant of a Victorian carbuncle, to me this once-proud gem is a masterpiece that may soon be lost forever. Some of the buildings have gone following the demolition of the mill chimney.” He paused as if to bring solemnity to his words. “I noted when you arrived that you saw the clock, Jonathan. How many lives did that clock control over the years? How many families did this mill support? You probably have no idea and neither do you care. Why should you? You are more interested in your possessions, your trophies of wealth, just as your father was.
This building was the lifeblood of the community. It supported and enabled them to make a living, but it did more for the owners; this mill gave them immense wealth and power. Not for them the toil and hard graft. Your father was the same and I…?”
Jonathan’s heart rate had not fully recovered, his senses still heightened; he could hear every sound, even the breaths taken between the words of the person who controlled his every move. His eyes, as instructed, remained focussed on the distant paint-flaking wall.
“Why?” Jonathan pleaded, the words dribbling stickily from his dry lips. “I don’t understand this. Why?”
The stranger approached one of the figures. Jonathan sensed the movement before he saw him in his peripheral vision. Dressed in a white boiler suit and white training shoes, the mask he was wearing was the same photograph as on the last mannequin; it depicted himself.
“You may turn.”
A bizarre sensation filled Jonathan’s body, a prickly, hot tingle. Seeing his own face looking back, it was like staring into a moving mirror but yet the eyes, obviously behind the holes in the mask, seemed to speak a different language. There were no accompanying facial expressions to support the look, just the occasional movement of the head.
“It’s really quite simple, my young friend. It’s a game, you remember, you probably played at school… One potato, two potatoes… You know the rhyme. Three potatoes, four… you can join in if you like.” The stranger pointed to each static figure as he counted.
“My father did see you. It was true. Where did you get that photograph of me and the one of my dad? Who gave it to you?” Jonathan’s voice was high-pitched but he kept a degree of control.
“You did. You posted it on social media like many other photographs… like this one of your father here. Surely you remember as you boasted about your helicopter, your plane, your holidays and fancy cars. You put everything out there; you made it so easy for me. Look, I’ve cloned you. It’s been so simple. Look!” He pointed to his own masked and covered face, then to the mannequin furthest away. “You are here and you are there…” Before pointing at Jonathan. “And you are here. You’ve not met this man and this young lady before but you have seen them, you have seen their post-mortem photographs and you could say, like the clock face outside, they’re now frozen in time.”
“I’ve brought what you asked me to bring.” Jonathan removed the strap from around his head and tossed the bag on the floor. A small cloud of dust rose from the boards but settled quickly.
The masked head remained focussed on Jonathan; the eyes moved freely behind the perfect circles cut exactly where the mask’s eyes were positioned.
“Frozen… in… time. You know all about the cold, the extreme cold, as your father utilised it to bring him wealth. Just the two of us, he said, but then we have Baines and that silly bitch of a girl Baldwin. She was always an untrustworthy schemer right from our first meeting. All she was meant to do was to spill the beans and Baines was to act upon it. Five grand each for bugger all, and what do they do? She was having an affair with both of them. Your father always did have a soft spot for young ladies, money attracts, you see. She then threatened him.
“Blackmail is such a wicked sin but then I discovered it was Baines, he put her up to it, more money and next a share of the products you brought back. With blackmail and then greed, the situation needed to change. So, Jonathan, from only your father and me, we now had two leeching parasites and that, to my mind, couldn’t be tolerated. I took a page from their book and performed a simple risk assessment for my health and my safety’s sake and decided it was time.”
Jonathan stared at the masked figure. “An affair?”
“Took them flying, told people that they worked for him. He began to lie, to cover up. How could I trust him then? You tell me.”
“You..? You killed them?”
35
The building was to the right of the road and the vehicles swung onto the small private lane that led to the front of the house. Cyril wanted the dog trained to detect drugs at the ready. The tracking dog would remain in the van with its handler should it be needed to give chase. The Harrogate Dog Section had been enhanced since recent amalgamation of the forces of Cleveland, Durham and North Yorkshire.
Cyril pushed open the gate and walked towards the stone building. It reminded him of the type of house a child might draw, with symmetrical windows and a central door. All it needed was a sun containing a smiling face but then he remembered that it might have had one of those in the field opposite.
The garden was orderly and Shakti lowered her hand to brush against the lavender, releasing its delicate perfume.
“I love lavender and rosemary, rosemary for remembrance.” She smiled to herself.
Cyril ignored the comment, focussing on the job in hand.
Owen was sitting with the farm owner’s wife. Her husband was at a market in Gisburn.
“Picked a bad day, love. He doesn’t normally go that far, we don’t even go that far for us holidays.” She giggled. “That’s not strictly true. We once went to Filey for a week. Which is closest?”
“There’s probably not much in it but I’d say Gisburn is the closer.” She smiled but received only a look that said snotty bitch.
“Anyroad up. I can tell you one thing, Sergeant Owen, my Stan wouldn’t be going to the expense of growing a good crop and then destroying it by making a stupid face in it. How big did you say it were?”
Owen explained again.
She shook her head. “Bloody stupid that. Some people are just plain daft. Tea?”
Owen smiled.
“You ’n all?” She looked at April. “Sugar and milk? Them in the van too?”
“Can we look around your outbuilding, just to tell my boss we have?” Owen realised that she would have no objections by the way she kept putting her hand either on his knee or arm as he spoke to her.
“As you please. Take your shoes off when you come back in, there’s shit and all sorts round them barns.”
They were leaving when she called after them. “Mind that daft bloody dog of ours, it doesn’t take prisoners. It’s chained mind.”
As they left the room, Owen beamed at April. “Like putty in my hands!”
April pretended to make herself sick.
Cyril knocked again and then went to look through the front window. The net curtains proved successful in keeping out prying eyes. He went back to the lane where the officers were leaning against the wall. One, the female on the team, had taken the opportunity to have a swift cigarette but dropped it and extinguished it with her boot on seeing Cyril come through the gate. She was surprised to see him come over to her.
“Name?”
“Naylor, sir.”
“I’d pick that up, Naylor if I were you. We might be at a potential crime scene. Think before you act. Be professional, that’s all I ask.”
“Sir, sorry.” She blushed and when he turned away she breathed deeply, realising that she had let herself down.
Coming up the lane were two people on horseback. Cyril walked down to meet them. He held out his ID at arm’s length. “Do you own the house?” He pointed with his other hand.
“Owned by the Wilbors, they live in the large house just outside Bedlam, up Pye Lane. They’ve rented this place out for a couple of years, usually holiday lets but occasionally long term stuff. I believe the last person who stayed any length of time was a head teacher and his family, taught in Harrogate and rented whilst looking to buy something. I had a beer with him a couple of times in the New Inn. Not seen him or the family for a few months now. Possibly school holidays but more likely he’s found a house to his liking.” He spoke like a newsreader of the forties, using long and drawn-out vowels.
“We have the owner recorded as Wilbor as you have confirmed, Donna and Christian Wilbor.”
“Lovely couple. As I say, Pye Lane, the largest house on the right. Can’t miss it, bloody pretentious gargoyle things by the gateposts. Still, it wouldn’t do
for us all to like the same thing. Chief Inspector did you say? Major Collier and this is my daughter Pip.”
Cyril smiled, nodded to Pip and thanked them. “Just one more thing. Do you remember a large corn face made within any crops round here?”
Pip giggled and looked across at her father. “That would be Harvey the farmer, does these things to make a bob or two. He’s created all sorts in the large field over by his barn. You can see it from here. Usually it’s a message… Marry Me or a birthday wish. We even had a heart last year. They usually fly over with the person to whom it’s dedicated. Mind, most now film the things with these new drones.”
“And the face?”
“You’ll have to ask Harvey, although I doubt he’ll say much where cash is concerned.”
Cyril thanked them again as he followed the horses’ slow walk. Back at the car, he instructed Shakti and one of the officers to go and speak with the owners and to get them there as soon as possible. “Call me with details of the tenant and a contact but I need to get in this house.”
It would be forty minutes before the police car, followed by a Bentley Continental, would turn down the lane. He spoke with two officers and instructed them to pay Harvey a call. He outlined details of the information that he needed and the possible consequences of withholding vital information relevant to a murder case.
36
Jonathan stared at the motionless, expressionless figure and was afraid of the consequences of any degree of conversation.
The Third Breath Page 18