Perfect Silence

by Helen Fields

  The money had gone directly into an envelope to her parents. It would buy her mother a few hours of overnight care, so she could actually sleep. The harsh reality of being a full-time carer was that you neglected your own health to such a degree that both parties inevitably ended up ill. Kate worried constantly, as much about her mother as her father. The problem was that sending sixty pounds had left her short of the money she needed for food. So, in spite of all she’d gone through, in spite of how much she hated the use to which she was putting her body, she had logged back on to the SugarPa site. The system had not crashed. In fact, there was a new user who was incredibly keen to meet her.

  The red umbrella had seemed old-fashioned, and the idea of meeting in the shopping centre was a good sign. Better than being picked up on some street corner. They would have a chance to walk and talk, for Kate to get the measure of him, perhaps even chat over a coffee. They weren’t all bad. Not that they were using the site to find a life partner or because they respected women, but it wasn’t all desperation and fat bellies. Still, she’d been through enough bad experiences to be wary.

  He had seemed normal. Not trying too hard, not looking her up and down, not creepy. Her one thought, as they’d walked out of the mall, was that he seemed lonely. He’d given her money to buy each of them a takeaway coffee from a small cafe, but waited outside, explaining that he didn’t like too much noise. She’d complied. He claimed to have made a reservation for a meal at a nice pub just outside the city. At the time, she’d been hungry, and the thought of a decent three-course meal, maybe even a couple of glasses of wine, was welcome. His car was a bit of a mess, but he’d explained that his other vehicle was being serviced. Still she hadn’t suspected anything. Even hindsight hadn’t revealed any clues she should have picked up on. Perhaps he was a little too quiet. Perhaps the other men before him had been more curious about her.

  They were driving into the small village where he’d said the pub was, and past a lovely looking country inn, before Kate got the feeling that things weren’t going to plan. He had begun to sweat by then, and it was cold in the minivan. She wondered if he was nervous, but that was ridiculous. He hadn’t seemed nervous when he’d met her. She clarified again which pub they were going to and he changed the name. The Queen’s Head became the Queen’s Arms, or the other way around. It was enough for warning bells to sound. Then there was the change of story. He had forgotten his wallet, he’d said. They would just have to visit his house quickly to fetch it. Only that wasn’t right, because he’d handed her a five-pound note from his wallet to buy the coffee earlier.

  Kate suggested that he drop her to the pub first so she could make sure they didn’t lose their table, then he could join her when he came back. That was a waste of time, he replied. Faster for them to stick together. She told herself she was imagining danger, overreacting, a reflex from past ill treatment. The atmosphere inside the minivan wasn’t helping. As they’d travelled, an odour had become apparent, perhaps with the increasing heat from the engine, but this she knew was no figment of her nervous mind. The top note was antiseptic, sharp and acidic, but a truer stench lay beneath – all copper, sulphur and rotting red meat.

  She pretended illness, that old chestnut, and it didn’t matter to her that he might realise she was lying. What mattered was how he reacted to the lie. What man would force her to continue a date knowing that she didn’t want to be there?

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘We’re nearly at my place now. Only another minute or so. I’ll stop off and fetch my wallet anyway, then drive you back to the city.’

  ‘But you already have your wallet,’ she said. There. She was pleased that she’d been brave and direct about it. ‘I saw it when you asked me to get you a coffee.’ She waited. And waited. When he didn’t respond, she wondered if she was misreading him. ‘Did you hear me?’ she asked. ‘Um, you know what, just pull over. I’ll find my own way back. No need to put you out.’ He didn’t look at her. Didn’t respond. ‘Stop the car,’ Kate said. ‘Right now.’

  The man turned a corner into a private driveway. The gravel tracks went past a house and into woods behind, turning to dirt. Then they were driving across down-trodden grass and nettles. By then Kate was beyond scared. Something skittered through her veins like a many-legged insect, making her shiver, rendering her nauseous. She grabbed the door handle. They weren’t going too fast. She wouldn’t be badly hurt. It was time to jump and run. Wrenching the handle backwards, she prepared for the shock of the door flying open. The only result was three broken nails and a bruised wrist. She tried it again. And again.

  ‘Won’t open,’ the man said. He applied the brakes and finally turned to look at her.

  Kate didn’t waste the opportunity, too aware that it suddenly felt like her last. She folded her right elbow in, drew it across her chest sharply to get some driving force behind it, then slammed it as hard as she could into the man’s throat, making him choke and gasp. As he fought for breath, she pushed between the front seats into the rear of the minivan, trying the door on the left, then the door on the right. Finally, she pushed to the very back, throwing her body weight against the boot and fiddling around to find the lock release. The hiking boot caught her directly on the right temple. Kate had time to register the blurring of her eyesight and a flash of blinding pain that ran from her forehead, down her neck and into her shoulder. When she regained consciousness, she had been tied to a long wooden table, wearing what felt like a hospital gown, with her ankles and wrists tied at each corner to the table legs. Since then, every minute had felt like a day, every day a lifetime.

  The man had stopped mumbling his prayer now, Kate realised. He was standing again, staring down at her, and he was trembling.

  ‘You’re a bad girl, just like the others,’ he said, spittle flying from his lips to glisten on his chin. Kate looked away. ‘Say it. Admit you’re a bad girl.’

  Kate said nothing. It was insanity. Whatever she said would be twisted. He lifted his hand and took hold of her right ankle, squeezing hard. Kate bit down on her bottom lip, rather than give him the satisfaction of crying out. The prickly numbness of her right ankle became agony when it was touched. She had long since ceased to feel her toes.

  ‘Such a bad girl. Worse than the others. You sinned through choice. You sinned through laziness.’ He moved his hand slowly upwards, on the outside of her leg, reaching her knee.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ Kate said. ‘Don’t do that.’

  He laughed. ‘Isn’t this what you get paid for? You let men touch you all the time. What’s different about this?’

  ‘Permission,’ Kate said. ‘I’m saying no.’ Even to her it felt ridiculous. He would do what he wanted. Surviving it was more important than getting into an argument about consent, and still she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  ‘Bad girl,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘God sent me to collect you to his side. He wants me to teach you a lesson. Fire with fire. Like with like.’

  ‘Get the fuck off me,’ Kate yelled, as he lifted the hem of the white gown she was wearing, revealing her nakedness beneath. When he spread the cold cream on her stomach, then slid his hand beneath to do the same to her back, he kept her gown in place and his eyes closed. His touch was brief, impersonal. This was different. The threat – his intention – was absolutely clear.

  ‘You must understand the wickedness of your harlotry,’ he panted, staring between her legs, pulling frantically at his own belt.

  ‘You fucking bastard,’ Kate shouted. ‘Help! Somebody help me!’ She had screamed before and no one had heard her. She didn’t believe anyone would come now either. But it was better than lying there, waiting to be raped. ‘I’m being attacked! Police. Call the police!’

  He let his trousers fall to his ankles, kicking off his shoes and pushing his underwear downwards, a condom in his hand. Kate’s cheeks were wet, and she felt a moment of self-loathing for allowing her distress to betray her and hand him the victory.

  ‘No,’ she
sobbed. ‘No. No.’

  Condom on, he began to climb onto the table, his hands all over her thighs. At least part of her was numb. It was the tiniest consolation. Her abdomen and back were sensation-free from the regular applications of cream, increasingly more frequent and in larger amounts in the last day. He began to lower himself down. Kate turned her face away, wondering how long it would take and if, when he had finished, he would also be finished with her completely.

  The door flew open. ‘Sam! What the hell are you doing to that girl?’ a woman yelled. ‘Get off her! Get off her right now.’ Kate stared, caught in confusion. She hadn’t dreamed that anyone would hear her cries.

  ‘Help me,’ she shouted. ‘Please, please, please …’

  The woman ran at the man, grabbing a shovel from a corner of the hut as she came, hitting him with it around the shoulders. He fell off the table, sideways. Kate heard the crack of his knees and elbows hitting the hard ground, praying he had hurt himself badly enough that he would be slow to get up.

  ‘Untie me,’ Kate yelled. ‘My name’s Kate. We have to get to the police.’

  The woman had moved round to the side of the table where the man was still on the floor. He was groaning, face to the floor, writhing in the cold dirt. The woman abandoned the shovel and was thumping and slapping him with her bare hands.

  ‘Defiling yourself. Did you think I wouldn’t hear? Did you really believe I wouldn’t find out? How dare you be so weak,’ the woman ranted.

  ‘What?’ Kate muttered.

  The woman stood up, taking a gentle hold of the hem of Kate’s gown and pulling it back down to cover her again.

  ‘Did the devil in you ask him to do that?’ the woman asked. She tutted, shaking her head. ‘I should have known. You’re an experienced temptress. He could never have had the strength to fight the demon once it spoke through you. But it’s over now. I can help you.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Kate asked. ‘I need you to untie me. He’s held me here for days …’

  ‘Not as long as we wanted you for,’ the woman said. ‘But apparently there were a number of police cars at the internet cafe, which can only mean one thing. Your time with us has to come to an earlier end. My schedule of prayers has been shortened, but the Lord will understand. He works through us for your sake, and to set an example to other sinners.’

  ‘Why would you do this?’ Kate slurred, panic and adrenaline making the room spin above her.

  ‘It’s our calling,’ the woman said. ‘To save those girls who turn from God’s grace, those girls who defy him, those girls who break his laws and indulge in sin. We had one such girl ourselves, consumed by demons. We swore then to send her back to God, and to save other such lost souls.’

  ‘I’m not lost,’ Kate said. ‘I was trying to help my parents, you have to understand, I never wanted—’

  ‘Excuses come not from God.’ The woman laid a hand on Kate’s forehead. ‘You will be reborn. You will be baptised again in God’s purity and love.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Kate whispered.

  The woman walked to the far end of the shed, where she opened a wooden box and unrolled a leather tool belt. Her dark hair, starting to grey, was pinned in a neat bun on her head. She had soft features and a voice that could have been grandmotherly but for the craziness of her words, and a slim frame with neat clothes.

  A glint of light came as she held up her hand.

  ‘Gag her,’ the woman ordered. The man finally got himself up out of the dirt, taking a rag from his pocket and stuffing it into Kate’s mouth.

  The woman walked closer, pulling up Kate’s gown once more to reveal her stomach. She placed a bag of bandages on the table beneath Kate’s legs.

  ‘You’ll be unconscious in no time,’ she said. ‘The pain will cleanse your soul and the merciful Father will see to it that you do not suffer any more than you deserve.’

  Kate tried to scream, but gagged on the cloth. The woman put something onto her abdomen, some flexible material, like a stiff cloth, before holding the scalpel to the light.

  ‘The rebirth of the sinner, in the name of our sweet Jesus. Suffer the little children …’

  Kate’s eyes widened. She began to scream again as the woman lowered the blade, the man watching by her side. They prayed together as the woman cut her.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Callanach stared out of the window from the penthouse apartment on Western Harbour Drive. Selina had insisted on cooking him a meal when she’d found out how long it had been since he’d eaten anything but sandwiches and take-out. Her flat had stunning sea views, as well as a glimpse of the Royal Yacht Britannia that countless tourists would have paid good money for. To the north of Leith, the docks had seen a facelift, which left the area too expensive for local families while expanding the upper reach of the city to house businesses and savvy commuters. As much as he enjoyed being able to lose himself in the push and pull of the angry autumn tide, he could only afford an hour away from his desk. He’d already stopped at his flat to grab a change of clothes, and now had just about enough time to shower before he had to get back to his squad. They were still sifting through hours of CCTV footage and chasing up reports of possible vehicles that matched the description from the owner of the internet cafe.

  His mobile rang just as he was stripping to get into the shower. ‘Sir, a woman’s been found, believed to be Kate Bailey. She’s still alive. Address is 94 Ocean Drive,’ Tripp said.

  Callanach shouted the address to Selina. ‘It’s just down there,’ she replied. ‘You’d be able to see it if Ocean Terminal wasn’t in the way.’

  He sprinted, using the stairs rather than waiting for the lifts, throwing himself into his car, tyres squealing as he pulled away. He was applying the brakes again a minute later, abandoning his car between an ambulance and a marked police car, sirens closing in from every side. Leaving his car door hanging open, he ran, diving under the first stretch of crime scene tape and thrusting his ID into the hands of the officer who tried to stop him.

  Paramedics were unloading a stretcher next to a limp heap on the ground, as one of them applied pressure to wounds that were never going to stop bleeding.

  ‘Out of my way,’ Callanach shouted. ‘Move.’

  ‘We’re treating her. You can’t speak to her until she’s stable,’ a paramedic said.

  Callanach ignored them, landing heavily on the ground at the girl’s head and lifting her gently until she was cradled in his lap. ‘Kate,’ he said softly. Her eyes flickered. ‘Kate, you’re safe. We’re taking you to a hospital.’

  The girl groaned. Her fingers danced in the air, grasping nothing. Callanach slid his hand into hers. ‘Dirty,’ she said. ‘Cold.’

  The paramedics continued their work, adding an additional blanket then sliding an intravenous drip into her arm and securing it with tape, even as her head lolled back in Callanach’s arms.

  ‘I spoke to your mother,’ Callanach said, as Kate’s breathing turned from shallow to rasping. Her eyes opened, darting left and right before finding his. ‘She’s so proud of you, Kate. Of what you’ve done to help your father.’ Kate’s mouth opened and closed but no sound would come. So much blood was spilled on the pavement around her that Callanach couldn’t look at it. He kept his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Is there anything you can tell me, Kate? We want to find the man who did this to you.’

  Kate muttered incomprehensibly.

  ‘You have to leave her alone,’ the paramedic ordered. ‘We need to get her on the stretcher.’

  ‘Can she make it?’ Tripp’s voice sounded above Callanach’s head.

  ‘No,’ the other paramedic said quietly.

  ‘Then let him ask. It’s the most we can do for her now,’ Tripp responded with calm authority.

  ‘W …’ Kate’s mouth scrunched together with the effort of making the letter.

  ‘Again Kate,’ Callanach said, stroking her hair and smiling into her eyes. ‘Tell me about the man.’

  �
��Wom …’ Kate managed. ‘Wom …’

  ‘Kate, we need a name. Did you hear his name at all? Or initials? Do you know the place where you were being held?’ Callanach persisted.

  She coughed, her body shaking brutally in his arms. Her head was hot in spite of the freezing night and her lack of clothing. As she drew breath to speak, her lungs emitted a bubbling sound. The paramedics’ eyes met and they shook their heads.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Callanach told her, stroking her hair and her cheek.

  ‘Sam,’ Kate said, a stream of blood accompanying the word as she forced it from her mouth.

  She faded. There was no drama to it. The baby-strength grip she’d had on Callanach’s fingers melted away. Her head became a dead weight in his arms. The rolling of her eyes heavenwards marked her release from the terror and pain of the last few days. Callanach couldn’t control his instinct to hold her tight, whatever damage he was doing to the scene and the forensics. He wrapped her butchered body in his and held her while the paramedics declared what they already knew. Kate Bailey was gone.

  Ava arrived at the same time as Jonty Spurr. They walked to Callanach together, quietly, as if the road between the terminal building and a high-rise office block was a church rather than converted dockland. SOCOs worked around them respectfully, photographing the girl in Callanach’s arms, preserving the evidence on the ground, preparing a body bag. Callanach stayed where he was, knowing his clothes would have to be taken, waiting for the reality of what he’d done to hit him. Fifty yards down the street, a girl was sobbing. The night sky flickered blue and red against an expanse of vertical glass. Kate Bailey lay softly in his arms.

  ‘Luc,’ Ava said. ‘We’re going to move her now, but we need to do some photography without you there, as she was when you found her. I’m going to help you up.’ She extended a gloved hand as other officers supported Kate’s corpse, lowering it carefully back to the ground as Callanach slid away. He stood up, then stepped onto the evidence mat that had been placed beside him to capture any debris or trace materials that might have been transferred to his clothes or shoes. Ava waited patiently without talking as his outer clothes were processed, his hands were swabbed and he pulled on a set of white overalls.