Dark Choir

by Paul Melhuish

  “I gave you a lift home. I was over the limit, but we were so worried about you that I took you home in the taxi.”

  “Who else saw me?”

  “The usual. Brian, the landlord. Mooey. Karl.” Billy sat down on the bed. “So, has she left you?”

  He looked around at the bedroom. The empty wardrobes, doors still open as if someone had been in a hurry to pack their clothes.

  “I guess she has,” Dan confirmed.

  While Billy made a coffee for Dan’s fictional hangover, Dan rang Willow House. No one answered the phone which wasn’t unusual as it was breakfast time. The time was ten o’clock and with the radio on and Billy making toast, the world looked sane and normal.

  If Lindsey were still missing from the home then someone would have called. If the bodies of last night’s victims had been found then the police wouldn’t make any connection to him until, what? Witnesses came forward? Maybe someone had seen his distinctive Morris Traveler parked up the asylum?

  Another realization hit him. If the police did come around, he had a water-tight alibi from Billy, Mooey, Karl, and anyone else who’d come into The Lamb.

  Having Billy here stemmed the thoughts from his mind, shielded him from seeing the mutilation and sadism from last night. Billy just thought he was hungover and thought the whole thing was hilarious. He made breakfast and they both sat down.

  “One bit of gossip I heard,” said Billy between mouthfuls of toast. “I went past Gould’s place. That big posh concrete and glass thing he lives in. There were coppers and an ambulance outside. Ravi, one of the other drivers, his missis is a copper in CID. She reckons he hung himself.”

  “It was a dream. A fucking dream. That,” Dan spat the words out as he drove, “was a dream!”

  He took Lindsey’s adapted car and drove down to New Scarsdale. A dread filled his stomach like backed up effluent on seeing the tower loom into view. He passed the old asylum and could see the lichen-scarred walls of Blackthorn Ward among the bracken and dead trees.

  Pulling up at Willow House all seemed normal. There were no police or other vehicles here investigating the strange disappearance of six residents

  He rang the bell and one of the caregivers answered the door, a young girl named Hailey.

  “Is my sister here?” Dan pushed past her and laid eyes on Lindsey sitting in her chair in the living room. She didn’t even acknowledge him, just laughed at a cartoon playing on the big TV.

  “She’s here. We didn’t expect you today,” said Hailey.

  Dan ignored her and just stared intently at his sister. Behind her, on the sofa, Stephen Shell wriggled and regarded him with his large, bulging eyes. Unlike his sister, Stephen seemed to convey some of the knowing malice of last night’s vendetta.

  “Is there anything she needs?” said Dan.

  “No. She’s got all her clothes. She seems happy.”

  “Any problems from last night?”

  “No,” said Hailey, frowning. “It was all fine when I came on this morning. Apparently, they had a good night.”

  “I bet they did.”

  When he left Willow House he spotted a tired-looking washed out figure lurking by the entrance to the car park. He got into the adapted car, pulled up beside her, and asked if she needed a ride. Melody got in.

  “Melody, you look terrible.” He drove on. “Where can I drop you off?”

  “I need to talk,” she said.

  He took her to the café at the mill and bought her a coffee.

  “When you and Alison left, I waited for the police to come,” Melody recounted.

  “Sorry about that. Alison didn’t call them.”

  “I rang your mobile but there was no answer. I did not want to ring the police in case I got in trouble, but in the end I did, but do you know what happened? That awful singing started again and the phone stopped working. The singing was so loud. Outside the window, I could see them walking around. Hideous shapes of demons.”

  “Really?”

  “I saw them because the sun was shining. At night. Then it faded again to night. That was it. I hid in the clinic and blocked my ears. I hid for hours. In the end the singing stopped. I came out of the clinic and heard Stephen cough. He was in his bed again. They all were. It was as if nothing had happened.”

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “They would think I was mad. They wouldn’t believe me. So I waited for you to come.”

  “Have you seen Alison?”

  “No. The last time I saw her she was with you.” She sipped her coffee nervously. “So when you left me at Willow House, what did you see?”

  He put down his cup. “Well, you’ve been honest with me, Melody. I’ll be honest with you.” He looked around the café. It was still early and there were only two other couples sitting at tables on the other side of the mill. “Well, here goes…”

  He told her everything, sparing no detail apart from his dream where he kicked the stepladder from under Gould’s feet. He kept that to himself.

  Forty-Seven

  One week passed. The disappearance of Brendan Widdowson was linked to the suicide of Phillip Gould. No one had come to the house to ask Dan about what he knew.

  The first of the victims to be reported as missing was the teacher Jason Hereford. He left behind his wife and two children, a boy of ten and a daughter of twelve. Jason’s disappearance sharpened the town to be vigilant for other missing persons and further reports to the police followed.

  The second person to be reported missing was Angela Teal. When she failed to attend a court summons for non-payment of council tax, police called at her address. Neighbours had not seen her for a week. Her flat was empty, but the TV was still playing which aroused suspicion. Jackie O’Shea was reported missing by the staff at the home she worked. Denis Gillits by his caregivers after a week. They’d turned up at his house and he’d been absent. One of the staff had found a hand written note on Friday night saying he would be going to stay with his brother in Essex. When he didn’t return after a week, the manager of the care agency he used rang his brother. He’d never visited and had never planned to visit. They’d called the police.

  A search for an escaped psychiatric patient had been underway since his mysterious disappearance from the ward when he should have been in segregation. Now Connor Pendred was feared to be among the missing but, given his past psychiatric history, he took priority in the search. He was never found.

  One week later, from an anonymous phone tip off, police found the body of Brendan Widdowson.

  The pathology report concluded that, after being tortured and mutilated, he’d been buried alive with the body of Diane Hepworth. Widdowson and the corpse had been attached with spikes and barbed wire. The police kept these details from the press for as long as they could. An extensive forensic search of the chapel began.

  Dan saw the police car pull into the driveway from the kitchen window as he was warming Lindsey’s peg feed solution. He knew this was it. She cried out from her wheelchair in the kitchen, and Dan gave her a sharp look.

  He would be arrested. At least he had his alibi, and he intended to deny everything.

  He opened the door before they even got to the front step. There was a uniformed officer, a rotund guy in his fifties and a younger woman, an Asian detective in plain clothes. She held her identity card up.

  “No need for that,” said Dan. “I hardly thought you were collecting the charity bags.”

  “This is hardly a joking matter, Mr. Hepworth. My name is DCI Pudruth. We’re here to discuss something very important.”

  Dan was about to say, “Let me get my things. Someone will need to look after my sister,” when Pudruth spoke again.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk? I have some upsetting news for you.”

  Pudruth told him in as sympathetic tones as she could manage that the murderer had exhumed his mother, and buried Widdowson with her. She went into graphic detail telling h
im the press would soon have the details, and she wanted to spare him any more shocks.

  However, Dan figured she wasn’t just here to break the news about his mother’s exhumation. Pudruth was also digging for answers. She asked some tentative questions about Widdowson and Diane’s relationship, asked him who hated Widdowson enough to do this to him. Daniel told her about Widdowson’s extensive blackmail list.

  “To be honest, Mr. Hepworth, this whole case is a mess. There seem to be no easy answers to this case. Five people connected to Brendan Widdowson have simply disappeared from the face of the earth. Now we find Brendan Widdowson murdered and buried. We only found him because a member of the forensics team at the church saw the earth around your mother’s grave had been disturbed. Do you know anything, anything about these events? Why these five people would have disappeared?”

  Dan almost wanted to tell the policewoman the full story but knew that would be a big mistake.

  He shook his head. “Only what I’ve already told you. About Widdowson.”

  She looked more than disappointed. “I was draughted in from Manchester to investigate this case because Gould is linked to all of this.”

  “My name will come up, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Widdowson was due to inherit this house after my mother’s death. I started doing some digging on him, to see if I could find any dirt. I found plenty. I knew what he was like from when I lived here, but I’d never known how corrupt he was until now. It was futile. One thing I did find out was a link to Widdowson and the missing people.”

  “Go on.”

  Dan swallowed hard. He had to tell Pudruth about the specific blackmail by Widdowson of Jason Hereford, Jackie O’Shea, and the others. He owed Ann Prendergast that. However, he didn’t want to put himself in the frame by giving too much away. Dan felt like he was walking on a tightrope as he began to spill to Pudruth.

  “Widdowson was blackmailing them. That’s all I know. If I were you, I’d speak to a woman, an ex-nurse named Ann Prendergast. She’s in a home up in Oldthorpe. I went to see her…er…about another matter, and she told me all this stuff about Widdowson blackmailing people, staff from the hospital.”

  “I’ll need to take a statement,” she took out her card and gave it to him. “But I was meaning to speak to you about another matter. DCI Gould. I’m investigating his past as well, like I’ve not got enough to do with all of this. We found images on his laptop, films he’d taken of boys going back years. He also kept diaries of his abuse and your name was mentioned. Would you mind making a statement about what happened? Sorry to burden you with this now.”

  Dan sighed. “I guess I’ll have to.” Gould had been an abuser. This needed to come to light. If he told his story then others might come forward. “Actually, yes. Yes. I need to.”

  “Call me when you’re ready to make a statement about Gould. I may call you after we’ve spoken to Ann Prendergast.”

  She got up to leave and he showed her to the door. Just as she was about to leave, she stopped.

  “It’s a nice house. Worth a bit, I expect.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I expect the house will automatically go to you now that Widdowson is dead.”

  “I didn’t think of that. I’ll have to check with the solicitor in town. The old duffer up Cobbs Row.”

  She turned on her heel. “Oh, one more thing. I should have asked you in the house. Can you give me your whereabouts on the night of the 9th of December? From midnight until three in the morning?”

  He smiled. “I was at The Lamb public house. William Cockayne, Karl Finch, and Brian, the landlord, can vouch for me.” She seemed satisfied with this and carried on.

  He watched them leave from the kitchen window. Lindsey moaned lazily from her chair.

  “Burying Widdowson alive with our dead mother,” he said. “You are one sick bitch, Lindsey Hepworth.”

  Forty-Eight

  Dan made his statement to the police regarding his meeting with Ann Prendergast and made another concerning the time Gould had tried to abuse him when he was young. After that, Pudruth carried on with her investigation. Christmas came and went.

  The investigation concluded that the five former abusers being blackmailed by Widdowson had disappeared after his death. It was believed they fled the country after killing Widdowson in his chapel. Widdowson’s whole sordid blackmail organization came to the attention of the national press and made the front pages of the tabloids more than once. With Widdowson dead, people were free to go about their lives. The chapel was utterly deserted now and plans had been submitted to turn it into a block of flats. The investigation into Gould’s involvement with Widdowson led to the imprisonment of four police officers in total, including the two that attacked Karl in the museum.

  With the town buzzing with gossip, Dan decided to check his rights to the house with the solicitor and the old solicitor confirmed the house and the money now belonged to Dan. Diane had left the house solely to Brendan Widdowson. One Farm Road was legally his.

  He’d lost his job with the IT firm in London when he’d not turned up for work, but he had enough money to live on for the time being. He made arrangements with social services for Lindsey to stay at Willow House on Friday and Saturday nights, and he’d look after her the rest of the week. Once this was sorted, he made plans to start his own web design business.

  Before she’d disappeared, Alison had taught him to use the hoist and he spent some of the money on a wet room conversion so his sister wouldn’t have to be washed in bed. His weekends were spent going to Ram’s matches or playing with Scarsdale’s newly formed 5 a-side team which he’d set up with Mooey, Billy, and some other blokes from the pub. As time moved on he made a little more capital with the web design business, which he operated from home. Surprisingly, many of his contacts came from Beverly. She’d rung him drunk on Christmas day and they’d agreed to stay friends. After that she’d recommended him to contacts she and her family had. She never mentioned Lindsey’s attack on her and kept things formal and businesslike when Skyping or on the phone. Her summer wedding was back on. Within two weeks of ending her relationship with Dan she’d found another suitor. A guy she knew from school. She’d not had to change any of the wedding plans, just the man she was going to marry. He’d smiled ironically when he’d heard this. He wished her and her groom well.

  He changed the house around, eradicating his mother’s memory and modernizing the decoration and features. He had the lads around for curry and Xbox nights sometimes during the week when Lindsey was home.

  Since that night, he no longer spoke to her like she was a child. A small part of him feared her, but she was still his sister and she bore him no malice. He took her to football matches and they watched films together. She was unchanged from the woman she’d been before. He’d decided to have her home out of duty and love, he supposed. Apart from Uncle Silas she was his only living relative.

  As winter turned into spring he searched for Alison. He used the internet but found no trace of her. Her real name may not have been Alison Coombs at all. He’d even asked in New Scarsdale and visited Ann Prendergast again, but she’d never heard of her.

  Alison had lied to him and left him alone that night to witness unimaginable murders. She’d known what he was to see and she’d known all about the Dark Choir. His mind advised him to forget her, but his heart couldn’t. He remembered how she’d been there for him. Stood up for him and cared for him. He remembered the sex, the waking up in the mornings, tea and toast. He missed her and he had to admit, she’d broken his heart. After a futile search, he realised she was gone. It had all been lies. She’d steered him towards that night, carefully and covertly.

  Before finally giving up on finding Alison, he’d contacted Melody. Melody was living in London and she was almost as hard to find as Alison. However, when he finally got a phone number, she told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to speak to him o
r discuss any of the events in Scarsdale. Dan couldn’t blame her but the snub left him feeling isolated.

  However, there was one person who would understand. Sometimes he helped Karl at the museum. He was beginning to find a new hobby in local history. A sign, he decided, that he was growing up. One long Saturday afternoon he’d told Karl the whole thing. When Dan had finished, Karl shrugged.

  “Bi-location is possible,” he’d said. “In this ghost choir case it seems to be a recurring theme. Almost as if time and space become subjective and malleable when the choir sings.”

  “Yeah,” Dan had answered. “Right.”

  One cold day in April, Dan dropped in on Karl in the museum. The ownership of the chapel had finally been sorted out and renovations to turn the chapel into flats had begun. Karl had availed himself of some historical artifacts from the basement. Among them, some photographs. Dan had said he’d help catalogue them.

  They sat at the desk sipping coffee as Karl recalled his morning at the police station.

  “So,” said Karl, “I’m looking at this line up and I’m to identify the arse holes who smashed up this place. I pointed to that big black guy and said, ‘That’s him. That’s the one I punched in the bollocks.’ So he starts mouthing off about how he beat me up and I only got that one punch, which I imagine didn’t help his case. I was laughing at him. Very cathartic.”

  “Yeah, well those turds are going away for a very long time.” Dan sipped his coffee. “When they get out the only jobs they’ll be able to get will be sweeping the streets. Twats.”

  As he spoke, Dan was sifting through photographs, large black and white prints of old Scarsdale. One of the photographs caught his eye. The print was of a man in a dark robe. Around him were several children in 1950s style clothes. They were standing in front of a large stately home. Dan knew this place. It was that hall near the mill coffee shop. The place he’d first spotted with Beverly. He stared at the adult male in the picture. The bald head and the dark eyes. He knew that face. He whipped the picture up into his hand and showed it to Karl.