The Games People Play Box Set

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  It was only a few moments before Morrison marched back in. “I have to be going, I’m afraid,” he said, eyeing his half-full plate with reluctance. “Some woman just phoned the station. Says some lump of a stranger tried to get her into his clutches. Her words. The D.C. assumes this was the Chimney Killer, but by the woman’s description, it sounds more like Lionel Sullivan.” He had already grabbed his mackintosh and car keys from the chair beside the front door. “Not my case, as you know. But I’m interested, and there’s no other senior in the station at this time of night. The last victim, still in hospital, sprayed the man’s face with special dye. Now this new sighting mentions a purple stain. Most convincing, I’d say.”

  “I suppose it would be pointless me asking if I could come along?” asked Harry, half standing.”

  “Ludicrously pointless,” said the detective. “I shouldn’t even be going myself. But it’s Inspector Ellis’s case, and she’s a friend of mine. She’ll be grateful since I happen to know she’s on a blind date.”

  “Hopefully not with Lionel Sullivan,” smiled Sylvia.

  Peggy smiled too. “Rita’s a friend. And she can be a bit daft in her private life. But not that daft.”

  Darcey Morrison turned once as he shrugged on his coat. “No actual address. But a sighting’s still important. The best for some time.”

  From the top of the stairs, a young boy’s voice called down, “It’s Father Christmas who climbs up chimneys. Perhaps it was him. If he brings a stocking, but the others are naughty.”

  “That’s Primrose,” Peggy sighed. “I’ll see to her.”

  “Then we’d best be going,” Sylvia said, waving to everyone and thanking the empty space for a fascinating evening.”

  Back at the manor, the usual roaring fires brought the ease of homely comfort, but Ruby was waiting for their news, and they had very little to give. During a long evening of boredom in spite of a Cumberbatch film on television, Ruby had concocted a hot spiced punch, and served this in tumblers, ladled from a glass bowl.

  “I should have added fireworks.”

  They sipped. It was too hot and spicy to gulp. “It’s delicious,” said Harry. Although it wasn’t. Too much pepper and not enough ginger.

  “I talked some more to Arthur,” said Ruby, “and David too. David may have problems, but he’s really not stupid. He said he was at his father’s side when the couple drove up and stopped at their sale. She really liked the rug and said it felt like Alpaca, although David said it was Ally Spak. And she was really friendly and chatted to him about her husband being a teacher. But then she saw the acro-prop leaning against the fence, and she just called across to her husband, and he said they’d better take that too. Then Arthur had smiled and asked why they needed it. And she’d changed and had gone all frosty and said that it wasn’t for her, it was for someone else, and they bought it and just left. Then it was the teacher who picked it up and carried it away.”

  “My dearest Bluebell,” Sylvia said, putting down the glass of punch, “I find that extremely interesting. It means that Kate knew all about everything from the start. She wasn’t ever innocent. She knew. And perhaps she even helped. So maybe it was her husband after all, and she loved him enough to help a sick murderer.”

  “Possibly,” Harry added, “that’s why he likes kids and became a teacher.”

  “But he teaches eight, nine, ten year olds. He kills seventeen, eighteen, nineteen year olds.”

  Milton crouched on the rug and stared up at his brother. “I’s happy wiv my lady,” he said, with the hint of a sulk. “I likes her better than the last one. Why can’t I keeps her?”

  “Because in spite of the drug, she remembers too much. Now she knows who Maurice is,” Mark said. “We cannot keep anyone alive who knows our identities.” He smiled down at Milton, a rare softness filling the empty black tunnels with warmth. “You must know that by now, my dearest brother. You never use our names when you speak to your ladies, do you?” Milton nodded. “And you know I’ll always do whatever you want, my little one. And I shall find you another lady after I take this one away.”

  “You’s gonna kill my Evie?”

  Mark sat again at the dining table where the remainder of their meal was strewn, Mark’s plate almost untouched, and Milton’s a spilt chaos of fish scraps and half-chewed chips. Another plate neatly scraped clean, its knife and fork side by side across the empty china, sat at the other side.

  Leaning back in his chair, Mark leaned out and stroked Milton’s knotted black twists of hair. “Listen, my sweet,” he said softly, “for many years I’ve brought you back girls to play with. Then if you play too hard, I get rid of the bodies and find you another girl. Sometimes when you dislike them, or get bored or irritated by their habits, then I remove them and dispose of them for you. I’ve always done exactly as you ask. Sadly, you don’t get a lot of freedom, and I apologise for that. But I take you out when I can, and you had a nice holiday in the Scottish Highlands last year. You were able to run and hide, and we all played games together even though I admit it was a little chilly.”

  Nodding eagerly, Milton remembered his holiday. “And I didn’t have no lady but there was Kate, and I doesn’t see her much. But she were there, and it were nice. Can we do it again?”

  “One day. Yes indeed. But you must allow me to take this girl away and find you another lady.”

  Milton stared down at his bare toes and wriggled them, half delighted but half unswayed. “She got nice titties and I likes biting on them.”

  “Most females have similar proportions.” Mark watched his brother’s sigh of acceptance and leaned forwards again. “Have you eaten enough, little one? Do you want cake?”

  “I wanna give some of what’s left to my lady,” Milton looked up. “I don’t reckon she’s ate fer four or five days.” His small twisted legs shaking, Milton scrambled up. “I gotta take her sommint. Then yeah, I wants cake.”

  “It might,” Mark considered, “be easier to let the bitch die of starvation. Take her nothing. I shall fetch the cake.”

  “She might like cake an’all.”

  “The cake,” said Mark, “is only for you, my dearest.” He stood but was interrupted by the door smashing open, and the hurried entrance of Maurice, who strode to the table and sank immediately to one of the chairs.

  “Damned nuisance,” he said. “I thought she’d make life easier. But not at all. Damnation, I’ve warned her often enough.”

  “What have you done with her?” Mark asked.

  Maurice said, “Gave her a good hiding and locked her in the attic. I’ve fed her, and she got a good share. I gave her a plastic fork and no knife, but she even tried to stick the bloody fork in me. It broke, so I told her to eat with her fingers.”

  “You wanna get rid o’ your lady too?” asked Milton. “But I likes Kate. And Number One, he wants to get rid o’ my lady an’all, but I likes my Evie too.”

  “You don’t understand,” Maurice told him.

  “And you gotta bub,” Milton persisted. “Kate, she done told me once. She done had a bub, and I remembers all about it, ‘cos she called it Mia. You can’t put Mia’s mum in a hole.”

  The brothers looked silently at each other. “You’ve never met Mia,” Maurice said eventually. “You know nothing about her, and she’s not a baby anymore. While we all went to Scotland on holiday, Mia was on a different holiday with her Kindergarten. She’s in boarding school now, over in Switzerland. She won’t be hurt, whether or not her mother survives.”

  Milton thought a moment. “Can I plays wiv Mia then?” he asked.Maurice looked away, disgust twisting his mouth.

  Mark smiled at Milton and said, “She’s not the playing kind, my dear. She can’t ever be your lady, and I doubt you’ll ever meet her. Switzerland is a long way away. Nor will she ever be permitted to know the secrets of our lives.”

  “I could have anovver holiday.”

  “No,” Maurice spoke loudly.

  “Kate then.”

 
“No.” Maurice banged his fist on the table and Milton looked startled.

  “You ain’t angry wiv me, is you?”

  Mark patted his hand. “My dearest boy, we are family. Neither of us are ever angry with you, and never will be. But Kate has been a bad girl and you must have good girls to play with. We have been through many long troubles together, and perhaps this is another of them. But, as you know, we are more intelligent than the police, or the fools in authority. We will look after you forever and ever, and you’ll never be alone again.” He turned to Maurice, who was sitting stiff-backed. “Don’t trouble our baby brother, my dear. We shall work it all out over the next two days before I leave.” Voice lowered, he added, I thought you’d fixed Kate years ago. You swore she had no options.“

  „For years, yes. I was a kid’s teacher and a good one. Domestic bliss, wife, daughter, and only a teacher’s salary. Because I’d threatened Kate so often, she knew the words off by heart. She’d lose Mia forever, and if she attempted to spill the truth a second time, I’d kill her. And she knew it was the simple truth.“

  „Have I kept you so poor?“

  “Well, I certainly hope there’s more money?” Maurice asked, “in case we have to make a quick escape and kill the girl off first?”

  Mark was laughing. “Money? My dear Moss, there’s a small fortune in the account. You have access. Take whatever you want. As soon as I’m back in Dubai, there’ll be more coming in.” He paused, then said, “But there’s something else. Earlier this morning when I went out to the car, I noticed movement. You know there’s a small shed higher up the valley halfway to the road. We can’t see the shed from the house, but I had parked the car further along the drive, and I saw the shed door open, and someone standing there before going in.”

  “Let them steal the straw,” Maurice snorted. “Who cares?”

  “But he saw me.”

  “Shit.” Maurice was glaring now. “So Milton’s bitch knows who I am, and now some total stranger has seen you. There’s photos of you in every police station, you know. You could be caught.”

  “I was too far away to be recognised.” Mark shook his head. “But I might go up there tomorrow and take a look. In the meantime, I believe we should all move anyway. Get rid of Kate, and I’ll get rid of Milly’s plaything. Then we make a swift drive up to Yorkshire and stay in the cottage there until my flight leaves.”

  “Can’t I take my lady?” asked Milton once more.

  Shaking his head, Mark smiled but said, “No. I’m sorry but no. I intend getting rid of her this evening. Oh well, perhaps I’ll leave it until tomorrow morning. I will probably just strangle the bitch as usual, or do you want me to do something interesting while you watch? Or just do it quickly while you have breakfast? But you can have the rest of today with her and do whatever you like.”

  “Maybe just cuddles if she’s gotta go.”

  Maurice laughed. “Whatever you want, my boy,” he said. “Whatever you feel like.”

  57

  It was many years since Iris had talked about herself, and many years since Joyce had spoken much at all. Ruby had always chatted and had friends to chat to, but usually she preferred to speak about her husband.

  “He sounds boring,” Joyce decided. “And never at home. Now my husband was rarely at home either, but thank the lord. He was a pig. No – more – a monster.”

  “Rod was nice,” sighed Ruby. “When he was there, that is.” She thought a moment. “Well, actually a lot of the time he wasn’t nice at all. He made lots of money. That was nice. But he handed over the cheques while he was telling me about all the affairs he’d been having, and how he really didn’t love me anymore, and he’d be away for the next year.”

  “My husband,” said Iris softly, “was just utterly forgettable. I’m not sure I can even be bothered remembering his name.”

  Ruby nodded into her wine glass. “Sylvia admitted a couple of things to me yesterday,” she said. “I mean, her first marriage was ages ago, and I never knew her back then, but she’s told me a few things. It was a total failure. Anyway, he obligingly died before the divorce went through, so she ended up with money. The same handy trick my own husband managed. Not that we were ever getting divorced. I just sat alone and put up with everything. He came home when he got sick.”

  “You were saying about Sylvia. Isn’t it working with Harry?” Joyce was curled on the small sofa. “If she doesn’t want him, I’d be delighted to take him off her hands.”

  “No, no,” Ruby giggled. “It was her first husband that didn’t work. And then he died anyway. But she says she lived alone for years and years getting old, and never realised she was lonely or depressed until she met Harry. She told me he walked in and the lights went on. Then she realised how fed up she’d been for all those years before.”

  “Do your policemen listen to our conversations?” wondered Iris.

  “They’re welcome,” Joyce said. “Especially if they’re lonely and miserable too. I wasn’t lonely with Lionel. I started hating him after the first two years. He used to punch me and knock me over. He liked to throw buckets of ice cold water over me. He liked whacking me in the stomach and then locking me out of the house in my nightie. Oh, there was lots more. I was so terribly pleased when he stayed away.”

  “You said you tried to kill him once?”

  “I wish I’d succeeded.”

  Iris shivered. “I just kept thinking something good had to happen soon. I was so sad about life, but then I won some money and it was such fun. For the very first time in my life, I felt I was worth something. And I wanted that feeling again. But I never got it quite the same. I just felt smaller and more and more worthless. I just had to prove it to myself that I was important in this world after all. I got that gambling addiction so quickly. One day I was normal. Two weeks later I was lost.”

  “I put money in one of those machine things once,” Ruby admitted. “But I never got a penny back, so I never did it again. It was boring.”

  “I tried weed once. It made me sick.” Joyce giggled. “I should have studied poison a bit better.”

  “Hush. Police in the front room,” Iris reminded her. Her flesh now fitted her skin instead of the skin ganging in pale sacks. She bounced when she walked. She had her own bedroom, snuggled up with a hot water bottle, and saved her social security for the day when she would have to leave the safe house and start paying rent somewhere.

  “I’m selling up,” Joyce assured her. “I can’t ever face that house again with all its hideous memories. I’ll get a bit of cash, though it’s a pokey little dump. But then I shall buy something nicer for you and me together, and I can get a titchy mortgage and write a best seller about Lionel and pay off the mortgage and live happily ever after.”

  “There’s that lovely big house where they found all the bodies,” Ruby reminded them. “Mock Tudor and a hundred bedrooms, not to mention a secret cellar. Under the circumstances, they’ll have to sell that off cheap. I happen to know who owned it,” she smiled, remembering Stella and Benjamin, and their disgust at the outcome of their generosity regarding the house they bought their son. “Or perhaps they’ll sell it as the house of horrors and double the price.”

  Joyce pulled a face. “I wouldn’t want it anyway. No shit, not after being married to Lionel.”

  “The police haven’t finished with it yet, have they?” Iris remembered newspaper photos of the house still swathed in blue and white plastic ribbons, with men swarming the place in their white plastic suits.

  “They’ll probably knock it down once they’ve finished,” sighed Ruby. “They’ve knocked half of the walls down already.”

  “Make it into a museum,” suggested Iris.

  “I’ll tell Stella,” said Ruby. “But she’ll just say – Yuk – and sell it off for tuppence.”

  Some expressions had changed. Master had changed. Eve thought she knew why.

  “You’re unhappy, master,” she told him. Curled on the bed with the alpaca rug around
her shoulders and the blanket wrapped beneath her arms, keeping warm while hiding her nakedness, she watched Master as he paced, one leg wobbling, his hands fisted at his side.

  “Not happy,” Master agreed.

  “It’s because I know who you are and I know who your brothers are,” nodded Eve. “I know I shouldn’t have told you. But I trusted you. You’re not going to – kill me, are you? Because I know too much?”

  “Don’t know nuffin’,” said Master suddenly, turning around. “You doesn’t know how Number One does stuff. A great man, he is, I loves him. The best of all. But he don’t like you no more.”

  “So you won’t kill me. But your brother will?”

  “Number One ain’t me brovver,” Milton insisted. “Twins, we is. So’s Number Two. Me – I’s Number Three.”

  Eve was not sure about this. She knew Maurice Howard the teacher, and she had seen the man who resembled him so closely. They were clearly identical twins. This small and crooked man was quite unlike the others. “How nice for you,” she said, lost in contemplation. The elder man, dark-haired, tall, and frozen eyed would no doubt be ruthless in killing her. But she felt unafraid. The torture that Master enjoyed so relentlessly and without the slightest understanding of pain had now reduced her to agonising starvation, and her body not simply sagged fleshless but was burned in long strips, cut in endless patterns, and was punctured with wire and metal spokes. The rape was usually vicious, while Master became more inventive and increasingly demanding. Eve knew herself to be floating on the precipice of death and would invite it, depending on how it was delivered.

  Her fleshless body quivered. Pain and terror had constructed her only awareness, and she knew nothing else. Hope had long since been quashed from her thoughts. She had now discovered that fear could be worse even than horrific pain. The nightmare narrowed the walls of her room. The bucket of shit stank, but that stink was one of the few things that attached her to life.