Darkness Looking Back, The (22 page)

All the lights were on when he got to Mandy's. A blue-shirted policeman was pacing near his patrol car at the foot of the driveway. Paxton could see the man's hackles rise as soon as he pulled up.

'What's going on?' Paxton called out. 'I just got a call from my girlfriend.'

The cop looked at him more closely than he should have. 'You're James Paxton, aren't you? I remember your voice. I saw you on TV.'

Paxton nodded. 'Yeah.'

'I'll still need some ID.'

Fighting back a sharp comment, Paxton quickly dug his wallet from his pocket, and showed him his New Zealand licence. 'Can you tell me what happened? Lena sounded —'

At that moment the door few open, and she came down the drive to meet him. 'James!'

Before he could speak, she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him towards the house. 'Come and see this.'

When they reached the door, instead of taking him inside, she closed it. Immediately Paxton saw why. Nailed to the outside was a card, attached to a note. At first Paxton thought it was a playing card, then he saw the familiar figure. Death, on his pale horse.

'Oh for God's sake. How naff can you get?'

But his insides were iced with fear and rage. He read the note underneath it.

I SAW THE DETECTIVE AT YOUR HOUSE. CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP . . .

'He thinks he's so bloody clever!' Paxton sneered at the beckoning skeleton. 'And I'm not afraid of
him
.'

But it was a lie. Funny, he was used to the idea that the dead were watching, all the time. The thought that a living person was following them, wishing them ill, was far more frightening. The dead were just shadows; it was the living who held the guns and the knives.

He turned and frowned at the policeman, still at the end of the drive. 'What I don't understand is how he managed to get this here right under the cop's nose.'

'That's because he wasn't here when the killer showed up. He only came afterwards, and I had to yell out the window.'

'You're serious?'

Lena nodded. 'Apparently he was only told to drive past every half hour or so. Doing double duty.'

Paxton snorted in disgust. 'Fuck. If you were dead you'd get at least five, plus a photographer. Come on, I'd better get you out of here.'

Lena looked profoundly relieved. 'I thought you were going to say I should stay here.'

'Hell no.' Paxton thought quickly. 'What about Colin and Bev? And I'll get you some decent protection. Bring me your cellphone.'

Fresh hope surfaced in Lena's eyes. 'I'll go and call Bev.'

Somewhere in Paxton's wallet was the business card Kirkpatrick had given him. Rather to his surprise, the mobile was answered after only two rings. The detective sounded tired but alert.

'Hello, Graeme. It's James Paxton here.'

Kirkpatrick seemed to throw off his tiredness at once. 'Hello. What can I do for you, James?'

'I don't know if you're aware of this, but my girlfriend received a death threat from your killer today.'

Kirkpatrick sounded oddly disappointed. 'Yes, I was aware of that. I set a patrol car to check on the house.'

'I know, the man's here now. But unfortunately the killer beat him to it.'

The pleasantness entirely vanished from Kirkpatrick's voice, which was sharp as acid. 'What? Is she all right?'

'Yes. Luckily. He nailed a tarot card to the door. I'll let you guess which one. He also sent us a note saying he'd seen Andy Stirling round at Lena's house earlier.'

There was no reply for a few seconds, then Kirkpatrick spoke briskly. 'Right, James, I'll be sending round some more cars. I'll get someone to investigate where you are right now, but I also want to make sure you're safe. Do you want to stay where you are, or would you rather move? I'm quite happy to sort out a motel.'

'No, that's all right. We've got another place.' He gave Colin and Bev's address to Kirkpatrick.

'We'll be round there in fifteen minutes. Thanks for ringing.' There was an uncertain pause. 'Listen, there's something I think I should tell you. Two of our detectives haven't been seen since this afternoon. Not answering their phones, can't reach them on the radio. We're getting pretty worried.'

'Who?' asked Paxton, feeling sicker than ever.

'Ray Gardner and Vicky Nielsen. You've met them both, haven't you?'

'Yes,' said Paxton. He couldn't say anything more than that. His mind was spinning.

'If you have any ideas at all, we'd be very grateful,' said Kirkpatrick frankly. 'We haven't even had one of his usual tricks. No deliveries, nothing. I don't think anyone's gone home in the last twelve hours.'

'I'll do anything I can to help.'

'Just stay safe, for God's sake. Don't go anywhere, and make sure you've got people with you.'

Lena came out of the house with her bags and made for the car. Glen was sniffing at the few centimetres of air coming in through a rear window.

'What if he's still watching us now?' Lena asked, staring out at the darkness.

Paxton followed her gaze. 'Don't even think about it.' He didn't tell her the news.

Colin and Bev were waiting for them when they arrived and, to Paxton's relief, they didn't fuss. Seeing Lena was worn out, they put her straight to bed, and Paxton went with her after answering a few more of their questions. Colin insisted on sleeping on the sofa in the lounge downstairs, as an extra precaution. Lying in bed, Paxton could hear the knock on the door as the police arrived, and the murmur of several voices.

Anger, confusion and frustration all took their turn at keeping sleep away, and after at least half an hour of sweaty tossing and turning the bed was roasting. He knew what he would have to do in the morning. When sleep finally came, Paxton dreamed of fire.

COLIN DIDN'T WAKE from his guard post by the door when Paxton slipped past at six-thirty. Months ago he'd nicknamed Lena's godfather Cuddly Colin, and asleep the man really did look like an overgrown teddy bear. Glen opened an eye from his spot on the floor but, stayed where he was.

He swung by Lena's house, where he had a quick shower and changed into a clean shirt. Then he flicked through the phone book until he found what he wanted: Parsifale.

It was a good twenty-minute drive before he reached Ponsonby, and Paxton felt his blood pumping faster through his body as he turned onto Richmond Road. He kept his eyes on the shopfronts as he went past, then, between a tiny boutique and a Chinese restaurant, he saw it, with a painted wooden sign hanging underneath the awning. At this time of the morning, the tables were empty, and there was a space right outside. If Stirling was right, he was walking straight towards a psychopathic killer. Despite less than five hours' sleep, Paxton hadn't felt so awake in days. All the rubbish floating through his head would finally make sense — it had to.

The tension as he got out of the car was nightmarish. He was sweating almost as much as he had last night. He paused as he saw the door was ajar. Heart thumping harder than ever, he stepped inside, then stopped short, his eyes widening in shock.

'What are
you
doing here?' Stirling had just appeared from the back, looking as surprised, and exhausted, as he was.

The place was otherwise deserted. Paxton walked towards him, keeping his voice down. 'I was going to ask you the same thing. I thought you were looking for your friends.'

'He was. He thinks I have an underground cell or something.' A little Asian man stood stiffly behind Stirling's shoulder, his arms crossed, watching a young curly-headed detective sift through the drawers of the small office.

'A car last issued to Detective Sergeant Nielsen was found just over the road, sir. Care to explain that away?' Stirling's eyes bored hotly into the man's head.

Paxton stared. So this was Arthur Wong, Stirling's killer.

The other detective gave a sudden exclamation. 'Come and have a look at this, mate.'

Stirling turned quickly to the drawer his colleague held open, and Paxton followed. He could feel the waves coming off it before he even looked in. Sudden, violent death and sick anger poured from the box, though all it contained was a few small pieces of jewellery, and three cellphones.

'They're from the victims,' he whispered. He felt nothing but shock.

Coleman was peering harder at the cellphones, his brow creasing in a frown. 'Those are the same model we get.'

Stirling darted a glance at Arthur, and brought his own phone out of his pocket. A scared look suddenly came over Arthur's face, as he looked between Stirling and Coleman and the drawer. Stirling's thumb hit a button, and seconds later, the first few electronic bars of 'The Pink Panther' started up. Coleman almost dropped it.

Stirling abruptly flung his phone on the desk, with a look on his face that frightened Paxton. He wasn't sure how far the DC could go.

'You'll have to come with us,' he said to Arthur. 'You have the choice of locking up, or letting your staff mind the shop.'

Arthur stared at the box Coleman was holding, his face pale. '
What?
Where did those come from?'

Stirling put his face in Arthur's, shutting him up. He cut off each word with his teeth. 'My colleague's cellphone is in that box. Where is she?'

Arthur stared back into his eyes, swallowing, but didn't say a word.

'
Where are they?
' Stirling screamed.

'Stop it!'

The three of them turned to look at Paxton, whose anger had suddenly returned tenfold.

'He's not your killer.'

'What?' Stirling looked at him like he was speaking in tongues. 'But you just said — '

'I know what I said. He's still not your killer.'

'For God's sake, James!'

'There's someone else.'

'He's got the motive, he's got the damn murder victims' items — you just said so!' Stirling was shouting again. '
I am not leaving here without arresting this man!
'

Paxton, so angry with Stirling he could have hit him, tried to hold back his frustration. 'Then you're letting the killer go free, and your colleagues are going to die.'

Behind Stirling, he saw Coleman looking at them both in surprise. Then Paxton saw him nod at someone behind him. Paxton turned, and saw the door to the kitchen was open. A young man with dark hair was peering round it, looking concerned by the noise. Their eyes met for a split second, and Paxton felt like he'd been doused in ice, and then in fire. For that one second, he felt dizzy, weak, nauseous. His own feet didn't even seem connected to the floor. Before he was able to speak, the young man had quietly disappeared again. Paxton turned slowly to Arthur.

'
Who was that?
'

The little man was watching him in shock. 'That was Nathan Carter. My employee.'

All three were once more giving him identical stares. Paxton tried to speak calmly, forcing himself not to run after him as fast as he could.

'That's him.'

'Who,
him
?' said Coleman.

Arthur was frowning at Paxton in astonishment. 'Who
are
you?'

'James Paxton. I'm a psychic.' Wasting no more words, he walked quickly towards the kitchen.

Arthur stared after him. 'Why would Nathan kill these women? He has no reason. He
has
a girlfriend.'

Paxton pushed open the door to the kitchen.

'Then where is he?'

In two steps Stirling was beside him, staring into the empty room. The rear fire escape hung open. The back lot beyond was empty, home only to two miniskips and not much else. Stirling was speechless. Paxton strode back inside to Arthur.

'When was the last time you saw his girlfriend?'

Arthur tried to think. 'It must have been several months ago. She's in London.' He looked horrified. 'He had a plane ticket.'

'He served all the dead women, didn't he?' Stirling demanded sharply.

Arthur nodded dumbly.

'We need his address.'

Arthur gave him a quick, scared look, then ran into the office, bringing out a printed list. Nathan's previous address was crossed out in pen, replaced by a new one.

Taking the list, Stirling ran out of the café, closely followed by Paxton and Coleman. Neither of the detectives complained when Paxton jumped in the back of the car. Coleman floored it, lights flashing, radioing a description of Nathan to Comms.

'
Fuck!
' said Stirling. 'How could I have missed him? I thought I had good instincts.'

'You can't see what doesn't want to be seen,' said Paxton. 'He kept that well hidden.'

'He never mentioned his girlfriend by name. I didn't even notice. He was so friendly.
Please, officers, how can I help you?
' Stirling looked white. 'It's exactly why I went after Arthur,' he muttered.

Coleman's eyes were looking at Paxton's in the rear-view mirror. 'Do you think Vicky and Ray are still alive?' he asked softly.

Paxton's gaze met Stirling's as he craned his neck. Paxton didn't dare speak. He couldn't help thinking of the pale rider on his pale horse.
Clip clop
. . . Tick tock. The sick knowledge that Nathan had fled because he'd recognised Paxton was uppermost in his mind.

Stirling turned round again, staring out the windscreen. 'Don't even think it.'

Nathan was clever, and he was angry. And he was mad. Nothing could stop a man from killing, who wasn't afraid to die.
Dear God, let Lena be all right
.

The five-minute drive seemed to take half an hour. Nathan's house was a tiny, decrepit villa on a long driveway. It was a paint job in waiting, surrounded by rented clones. Stirling jumped out and took a look around, but the door was locked and there was no sign of anyone.

'What happens now?' asked Paxton. 'Do we wait?'

'No,' said Stirling after a moment.

'He knows we're onto him,' said Coleman. 'Where would he go?'

Paxton's stomach lurched.

'I'm going in there,' said Stirling suddenly. He twisted round to face Paxton. 'Hand me that torch, will you?'

Paxton dived to retrieve it from the floor, and got out, determined not to be left behind. He passed the torch to Stirling, who strode towards the house. Coleman jogged to catch up. Stirling jiggled the doorknob for half a second to make sure it was locked, then shrugged and paced right to the window. Grimacing, he lifted the torch and shattered the glass, smashing out all the shards until they could climb through.

Coleman was in like a flash. Paxton glanced at Stirling. 'After you.'

But when Paxton stepped inside, it felt empty. Coleman's yell, 'Anyone here?', made a sort of dull echo, fattened by curtains and carpet. Stirling was already going through the rooms, one by one, opening doors. He shook his head tersely as Paxton came up behind him. 'Can't see any sign of another person. It's like he lives here alone.'

'Makes you wonder what's happened to the girlfriend,' said Coleman.

Something was furiously shaking Paxton's brain, trying to get his attention. He wandered in circles, half seeing. He stared at the walls, the bare walls, which were no help. The bare walls . . .

'A studio,' he said.

Stirling and Coleman stared. Paxton looked back at them sharply.

'He's an artist. There's a studio somewhere.'

He didn't wait to ask himself how he knew, he just ran. As he got to the front step, he ran left, towards a bald square of concrete for an extra car, and a daisy-covered lawn. There was no sign of an outbuilding. Stirling stopped short behind him.

'Damn, nothing!'

'
Shit!
' said Coleman, his eyes widening. 'The other address!'

Stirling was already starting to run, Paxton and Coleman behind him. Paxton's nausea had returned full force. He closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe as Coleman violently flung the car round the corners. All at once Coleman swung into a driveway, his left hand jerking up the handbrake as his right fumbled at his seatbelt. It was an old weatherboard, white with a green trim, like so many others.

A car sat in the drive. Stirling felt the bonnet.

'Warm,' he said shortly.

Paxton beat him around the corner of the house, willing himself to see what he knew had to be there. And across the lawn, half grown over by trees against the back fence, there it sat. It was a large cottage, an old sleepout really, its windows intact, sheets hung over the glass. All Paxton's nerves were standing on end.

'Nathan!' he called. 'Come out!'

At his back now, Stirling and Coleman stood in silence. A few seconds of absolute quiet passed, then suddenly there was a yell, then a scream, higher — a woman's. It too was cut off abruptly. The detectives didn't waste a glance, sprinting for the door at the side of the little house. Stirling tried the knob, but it was locked. He looked at Coleman. 'Ready?'

Coleman was already taking two paces back.

'One, two,
three
. . .'

Under their combined weight the door imploded, and the detectives stumbled to regain their balance, almost tripping as they went bursting through. Paxton brought up the rear, half afraid of something he couldn't put into words. What he saw when he came through the door was bad enough. Empty frames leaned against one wall. An easel lay on its side near the window, at angles to a half-finished oil painting of a boat, a jagged hole smashed through its centre. A watercolour study was in tatters on the worktable beneath the window, tubes of paint and bottles of water scattered all over the surface.

Painted footprints, the tread of boots, led across the room to where Nathan stood beside Nielsen. She lay slowly curling up on the wooden floor, her mouth open in almost inaudible sobs, her blonde hair soaked by a pool of her own tears. She was bound hand and foot with thin, strong cord, the sort used for hanging mirrors and paintings. Gardner was beside her, blood all over his face, streaming from his nose. Nielsen had a purple bruise, almost black, down one cheek, and fresh paint marks down the sides of her loose old shirt, the same hazy blue as the paint on the floor, and on Nathan's boots.

Nathan's eyes, an intense blue, were fixed on the three other men. An open bottle of turpentine was squeezed in his bloodless knuckles, the fumes adding to Paxton's lightheadedness.

Coleman lurched forward. Nathan flung his arm out wide, dousing the front of Coleman's shirt and everything within a two-metre radius. Paxton instinctively ducked further out of range, but Stirling was closer. Splashes of solvent soaked through his pants and the hem of his shirt. Nathan's hand went into his pocket and brought out his lighter. He flicked it on.

All of them stood there as if painted into place. A living tableau, just. Nathan's gaze focused on Paxton.

'You saw it in me, didn't you? You looked straight through me and saw the truth. Man, I wish I was you.'

Stirling's eyes were on the lighter, which flickered off again. 'Put the lighter down, Nathan. Let's talk about this somewhere else, okay?'

The fame reappeared in Nathan's hand.

'No.'

'Nathan, just let them go. They're not the ones who hurt you.' Nielsen's raw red and purple face was turned up towards him, her voice clear.

Gardner too looked up, his mouth dripping blood. 'What happened to her, mate?'

'
Stop pretending you care!
' Nathan's boot struck the side of his ribs with a force that had all three onlookers starting out of their places. He whirled round ready to face them, the fame arcing in the air. His cheeks were glistening wet.

'She doesn't deserve your pity, the heartless fucking
whore
! She doesn't give a shit about anyone but herself!' Breathing hard, he looked back at Paxton. 'So unless you can control fire with your mind, I suggest you don't . . . fucking . . . move . . . again.'

Paxton didn't twitch a muscle, making the world just him and Nathan. 'Stephen King is meant to be a genius, my friend. This is just stupid. Are you going to let what one chick did mess up the rest of your life?'