by steve higgs
Leaving my cell door open cast light into the darkness beyond and created shadows too. The corridor was bare brick – large grey breeze blocks I could smash through if I had a few tools. It was four feet wide and came to a dead end just to the left of my cell door. Turning right led into the darkness as the corridor stretched out before me.
I went that way, doing my best to walk in my boots now that both heels were broken. Three yards later the light from my cell was fading fast, the blackness eating more of it the farther I went. I pushed on, telling my eyes to hurry up to adjust. When I came to a door to my right, I stopped.
On the same side of the wall as my cell, was another one. The door was exactly like the one to my cell. When I looked, I could see at least one more on the same wall just a few yards farther along. Examining the first one, I poked it to confirm it would not swing open and tried the handle.
The handle refused to turn – it was electronically locked just like mine. Was it another cell? The door looked the same, it was locked, and it was located in the same creepy underground bunker.
Underground.
I hadn’t thought about it before, but now I was free of my cell, the air was laden with a damp mustiness I associated with old cellars. I was below ground. Would that make it harder for anyone to find me? Where the heck was I for that matter?
My thoughts that maybe the Sandman had me in a room beneath his house could still be correct but if so he had a big house. The dimensions of the area I was in would not fit beneath a standard semi-detached place and had to be three times the footprint of a terraced house. And that was just the bit I could see.
When a noise came from the other side of the cell door, I leapt backward in fright. So unexpected was it that I almost lost control of my bladder and came to rest with my back pressed against the opposite wall.
With my pulse banging in my ears, I could barely hear the sound but when it came a second time, I realised I was listening to a person. They were trying to make themselves heard through a gag, the words coming out as unintelligible mumbles.
I rushed back to the door, placing my ear right up to the edge where it met the frame. ‘Hello?’ I called into the dark.
There was a moment of silence before the person on the other side said, ‘Ayne?’ I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say – it was definitely a man – yet the noise he made sounded hopeful and excited.
‘Hello,’ I tried again. ‘Are you trapped in there? I just managed to get out of my cell. I was trapped next door. Can you hear me? Can you get your gag off?’
‘Owww!’ complained a voice that made my heart jump.
I squealed, ‘Jan!’ My boyfriend was behind the door. Trapped in a cell in an underground space just like me. It should not give me comfort to discover he was a captive too, but it did. I wasn’t alone, and even though that meant he wasn’t out there looking for me, it meant a lot to have him here. He was making spitting noises as if trying to get something out of his mouth. I remembered the ball of cotton wool.
‘Yeah,’ he replied after a second. ‘Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?’
‘The Sandman has us!’ I blurted somewhat redundantly.
From the other side of the cold steel door, Jan said, ‘That would be my guess. I didn’t know he had helpers.’
‘Helpers?’
‘Six guys dressed like weird cult members came into my apartment just after I got home from my shift. I tried to fight them but … well, one of them had a needle. The last thing I remember is the sting as it went into my neck. If the Sandman has us, then he has a bunch of henchmen working for him.’
This was unwelcome news. Until I heard it, I was operating under the belief that once free, I would only have to fight the Sandman, a man who I believed to be close to retirement age. My likelihood of success might not have been high before, but it was markedly less so now.
Jan broke my train of thought by asking a question, ‘How did you get out? You said you were in a cell. I guess I am too, but there is no light in here. I can’t see a thing.’
‘It wasn’t easy,’ I admitted with a sorrowful sigh. ‘Are you tied up?’
Jan huffed. ‘Yes. My hands are behind my back. Getting the damned gag off was hard enough. I managed to rip my right ear which is now bleeding. How on Earth did you get out of your ropes?’
It had taken me hours to get free and now we needed to do the same thing with Jan. Would there be something in his room that he could use to saw through the rope like I had? We were going to have to find out.
I crouched to see if there was a gap under the door. Maybe I could find something down here he could use to cut his ropes.
However, Jan claimed no light was coming under the door, so the gap, if there was one, was too narrow for anything worthwhile to go through.
Leaning against the wall, I began to explain all the things I had done to get free.
Tempest. Time to go! Friday, December 23rd 2120hrs
Tossing the house as swiftly as we could, the four of us split up to attack different rooms. Amanda and Big Ben went upstairs, rifling through drawers and closets. Basic got the kitchen which left me the living room with its trashed window plus the dining room/study.
We had to be swift. The likelihood that the police were coming too high to hang about. However, being swift increased the probability that we would miss whatever there was to find here.
The desk yielded nothing of interest. On it was a plan of some woodland, but in the two seconds I spent studying it, I found nothing to suggest it was of any interest. I checked underneath it to be sure it didn’t hide a glaringly obvious clue to the Sandman’s location. Then a thought occurred to me and I ran to the front door to look for keys.
That he had another property somewhere was obvious now and of no surprise. I was also convinced that it would be local which is to say I expected it to be within the county.
Kent is not a small county.
The key hooks contained bunches for a car, a few odd keys that might open anything and a large ring with a single key for a large padlock. I pocketed the lot.
Amanda appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Tempest, I’ve found something.’
I ran up them two at a time, watching for the thing I tripped over earlier. At the top, I followed her into the master bedroom where she handed me a framed photograph.
It was of an attractive woman in her twenties. Her hairstyle and clothes were from the eighties, but filing that information away, the thing that stood out most was how much like Karen Gilbert she looked.
‘I think it’s his wife,’ Amanda whispered.
It made perfect sense. Or it might if you are a psycho serial killer.
Whipping out my phone, I dialled Jagjit.
He answered on the first ring. ‘Hey, Tempest. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Did you get him already?’
I sucked a little air through my teeth. ‘No. It’s a total bust. He’s not here and neither is Jane. Listen, I need you to check something out for me.’
‘Sure. Go for it.’
Between Amanda and me, we steered him to research the fake names we found for Harry Hengist – the one on his arrest sheet was almost certainly the real one. Did that man marry? What happened to his wife? Was she still alive? Was she the first victim?
Amanda studied the psychology of serial killers at university, using her knowledge now to explain to Jagjit how serial killers are usually recreating a moment from their past when they kill. Or attempting to relive an experience that traumatised them so they can re-enact it the way they wanted it to have been. That the Sandman’s killing spree may have started with his wife sounded highly likely.
Big Ben called to get our attention.
I wished Jagjit good luck and followed Amanda from the room.
Big Ben was in the attic, his face looking back down through the hole in the ceiling. A telescopic ladder hung down to the landing below.
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ he claimed.
> Amanda went up first, a gasp of surprise coming the moment she stuck her head through the hole. I raced up after her, my eyes swinging around to take it all in.
Unlike most attics across the planet, which house suitcases, old bits of furniture and things the kids have grown out of, but the grandkids might want, the Sandman’s attic was a shrine to all the women he had murdered.
The clutter was there too but pushed into the corners. There were photographs, far more than we expected and yet again, every woman bore similar hair and facial features. He was selecting them because they looked like his wife. That was the conclusion my brain wanted to draw. Each photograph was of a woman arranged the same way River Tam had been. I spotted her too. The shot was taken at a different angle from the one I’d seen before; this one getting taken by the man responsible for her death.
Big Ben tapped a box with his hand. ‘There are mementos too,’ he revealed.
A siren in the distance broke the spell before I could decide I was curious enough to explore further. We had to go and there was no time left for anything.
Charging down the stairs yet again, I shouted, ‘Basic! We are leaving!’
He appeared from the kitchen with a peanut butter sandwich in his hands. ‘I found a sandwich,’ he mumbled around the gob of bread in his mouth.
I grabbed his arm and ran for the front door, towing him along behind me.
Getting caught now was not part of the plan.
Amanda and Big Ben hit the bottom of the stairs, all four of us flying from the house, though only one had a sandwich hanging from their mouth as we ran across the driveway and back to the road.
The siren wasn’t alone. There were several of them, but they were all coming from one direction.
The keys in my pocket jangled, making a terrible racket until I crushed them against my body. The cars were just along the street parked nose to tail one behind the other with the Lotus nearest to us.
We split up again, Amanda diving into my car as Big Ben plipped his truck open for him and Basic. Engines roared and we set off, pulling away fast to get some distance between us and the approaching police.
If we could get out of the street, the police would arrive and find only a suspicious mess where we had been. We were all wearing gloves so there would be only minimal evidence to tie us to the scene and since I had been there earlier today, I could argue any trace fibres from Amanda, Big Ben, or Basic could have transferred from my clothing.
Breaking into a serial killer’s home to prove that’s what he was could be easily justified, especially on the hunt for two missing persons. Yet explaining all this to the police would eat up time that we didn’t have.
We knew for certain that Harry Hengist/Ramsey Mitchell or whatever name showed up on his passport was the Sandman, and we had led the police to his house. Quinn wouldn’t be able to ignore the case now though I felt sure he was already investigating it after our most recent chat.
I glanced in my rear-view mirror as I reached the end of the road. Behind me, the flashing lights of approaching police cars were bouncing off the buildings, but they were yet to turn into the same street we were on.
We were going to make it.
Making a fast left turn, I rounded the corner, watched Big Ben follow me and allowed myself to relax.
Until Amanda swore.
Too busy checking behind, I hadn’t paid attention to what was in front of me. As my eyes twitched across to see what had startled Amanda, I saw it too.
Fifty yards ahead, parked side on so it blocked the road, a squad car with its lights off sat waiting for us.
Unable to go forward, I hit the brakes. I could back up and go a different way but that would be running from the police and was not a policy I could endorse. It would only make matters worse.
Then Chief Inspector Quinn got out of the squad car and I realised that things were already about as bad as they could get.
Tempest. Busted. Friday December 23rd 2122hrs
We all got to watch as Quinn stepped from the car and spoke into his radio. The squad cars we were trying to evade didn’t stop at the house next to Karen Gilbert’s. They kept coming, reaching the end of the road where they formed a blockade behind us.
We weren’t trying to run. Not anymore. Like I said, it would only make matters worse.
They were not squad cars as I expected though, it was a full tactical unit – armed officers approaching us as if we were dangerous terrorists.
‘Don’t move,’ hissed Amanda, gripping my left thigh across the seats. ‘If they get twitchy, they will shoot.’
I knew she was right. Tragic incidents had made the news headlines in the past. The officers, their level of alertness and preparedness to react heightened, would shoot first if they felt their target was going to draw a weapon. Afterward, an enquiry would determine whether the officers were right to fire, but the victim would be just as dead no matter the outcome.
I checked my rear-view, reassuring myself that Big Ben wasn’t going to do anything stupid. His hands were raised, palms open to show the officers they were empty. Amanda and I did the same.
Using hand gestures, Quinn drew the officers from their cars and sent them in our direction. They rushed us, crowding the cars with their weapons pointed at our heads. Most held back, watching us for danger as if daring us to make a foolish move while others darted in to rip the doors open.
Orders were barked, raised voices commanding us to keep our hands in sight and exit the cars.
Rough hands pulled us to the ground.
‘Quinn!’ I bellowed. ‘Stop this! We know who the Sandman is. Help us to find him!’
I could hear Amanda on the other side of the car being handled every bit as roughly as me. Twisting my head around, I could also see Big Ben. He was on his chest with cuffs being snapped on his wrists. Ever the clown, he shot me a grin and made his eyes go crossed.
This was no laughing matter though. Quinn was doing exactly what I expected him to. He could see a potential win and he was going to make sure he got it. All he had to do was make sure I was out of the way and illegally breaking into the Sandman’s house handed him the means to do it.
Trying again as they hauled me to my feet, I shouted, ‘Quinn. The clock is ticking. You must let us help you! Lives are at stake.’
Up to that point, Quinn had not deemed us worthy of addressing, but my latest rage-filled rant changed that.
‘Help?’ he repeated. ‘You continue to delude yourself that you are helping.’ The officer holding my right bicep in a vice-like grip wheeled me around until I was facing his boss.
Quinn was coming my way, making a beeline for me as his driver shifted the squad car to unblock the road.
His tone was passive aggressive and yet also borderline bored. ‘You broke into a house, destroying the front façade if my officers there are to be believed. Doing so compromised the chain of evidence and will fuel the defence lawyers with get-out clauses since they can argue you planted anything we find. What you have done is criminal, Mr Michaels, and this time you are going to be charged.’
I was seething. ‘How swiftly would you have found that house had I not shoved this case down your throat, Quinn? I have led you every inch of the way. Earlier today you denied the possibility that the Sandman even existed. Now you want to blame me for ruining evidence you wouldn’t have known to look for?’
Dismissively, Quinn turned his back, nodding his head at the sergeant leading the armed unit.
‘Take them away. I’ll interview them myself later.’
And that was it. The police had a van waiting for us, and we were going to be locked up for the night.
At Quinn’s retreating head, I shouted, ‘Jane is out there right now! He has her, Quinn. He has her and he is going to kill her. Tell me you are going to throw everything at this, Quinn!’
I got no answer, he didn’t even bother to acknowledge that he had heard me.
A hand cupped the top of my head as I was pushed into the va
n.
‘Mind your head,’ advised the officer, loading me in next to Amanda. Big Ben and Basic were on the other side, facing us. Their faces were emotionless, unlike mine which couldn’t decide what it wanted to do. I was madder than a box of wasps and it was a good thing I was cuffed because I would have punched Quinn in the face if my hands were free. More than my anger though was the sense of despair.
Ultimately, we had failed. I had failed. Whatever was going to happen to Jane was going to happen now and there was nothing I could do about it. Jan would likely share the same fate. Would their bodies ever be found? Jane identified so many missing women and after seeing the Sandman’s attic, we knew there were even more. The police would do a full count and match photographs to missing women, but how was it they all stayed missing? Jane’s report showed us pictures of River Tam, a young woman found lovingly arranged just like the ones in the attic. So why had she been found but none of the rest ever had? How was it that this man continued to kill and never got caught?
As it turned out, I had the whole night to consider those questions.
Jane. A Noise in the Dark. Friday, December 24th 0215hrs
I was bone tired and now that I wasn’t doing much moving, I was also getting cold. My clothes were damp with perspiration from the extreme effort of getting myself free and that was ruining the thermal insulation properties they might have offered.
My hands, shoulders, forearms, and above all, my abs hurt still but the pain had receded to be nothing more than a dull ache. I would hurt worse tomorrow (if I lived that long), and I fervently hoped to experience it.
With me giving him encouragement through the door, Jan was fighting to get free of his bindings, but he was having far less luck than me and the lack of light in his cell was not helping.
After what had to be about four hours of effort, he was still working on the bindings around his feet. He got his hands around to the front of his body but succeeded in popping his shoulder out of its socket to do so. He and I both suspected it was dislocated, the pain from it encumbering his efforts further.