Carson peered over the wall as he tried to work out the layout of the house. They had made it back down to the road. Rod was on his radio, calling for the firearms unit. Joe was pacing around, trying to decide on the next step.
The house looked dark and dirty, just a two-storey stone cottage, the white paint old, with small dusty windows and a tumbledown extension at one side. The field leading up to it was steep, but the house wasn't quite at the top of the ridge, so that the bottom part of the house was built into the hill. If there was a cellar, then it would be a good place to keep someone captive, the landscape providing the soundproofing.
Carson worked out the windows. One at the front downstairs, and a door next to it, with another window at the side. One room, two windows, was his guess. Upstairs, there were two larger windows, one with frosted glass. The bathroom, he presumed. Five places from which they could be shot at.
Rod shuffled along to join him, grimacing in pain, a tourniquet fashioned out of his shirt sleeve wrapped
around his thigh. ‘Firearms are on their way,’ he said. ‘Will be twenty minutes, maybe more.’
‘And an ambulance?’ asked Carson.
‘I bloody well hope so,’ said Rod. ‘Your bedside manner isn't doing me much good.’
Carson smiled, but it faded when he looked back towards the house. ‘How did this turn into a hostage situation?’ he asked, almost to himself.
Joe arrived next to him. ‘By us not realising the danger,’ he replied.
‘So what now?’ asked Carson.
‘We wait.’
‘Did Dan Mather never come up on your radar?’ asked Carson, looking at Rod.
‘I don't know any more than you,’ Rod replied, gasping.
‘This doesn't feel good,’ Carson said.
‘It's worse than that,’ said Joe. ‘If McGanity is in there, this is a desperate last stand.’
‘But why?’
‘Because he knows we are on to him,’ replied Joe. ‘He has already killed, if we are right, and so he has nothing to lose.’
Carson didn't respond to that, all his attention focused on the house; he looked round only when he heard Joe speak into his radio.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Joe asked, his eyes wide.
Carson waited impatiently as Joe listened. They had found something.
When he signed off, Carson asked, ‘What have you got?’
Joe turned to look at Carson, and then said, ‘It's his son, Tom Mather.’
‘The shoplifter?’
Joe nodded. ‘There was more on him than on his father. His school called the cops a couple of times, thought he had killed some of the school pets. But they had no proof, just schoolboy rumours. And anyway, his mother had killed herself not long before. He was bound to be a bit screwed up.’
‘There's a young man in the coven,’ said Rod, suddenly remembering. ‘He would be about the right age.’
Joe whirled around. ‘Tom would be a descendant, just like his mother.’
Carson looked at Joe. ‘What the hell are you thinking?’ he asked.
Joe bit his lip, his thoughts flowing fast, and looked towards the house. ‘He's the scout,’ he said. ‘He tells his father who's in the coven, the pretty ones.’
‘But why did he turn on the coven?’ asked Carson, confused.
‘Resentment about April's suicide would be my guess,’ said Joe in reply. ‘Remember that April Mather gave her husband an alibi the first time the police asked questions about a murder. Perhaps she believed his story, that it was nothing to do with him? When it happened a second time, Beth Howe's murder, did she realise that she'd got it wrong, that she had allowed him to kill again? Remember that April was a witch, all about harmony and nature, doing things for good. She died on Halloween, her special night, the first time it came around after the second murder. After some booze, maybe the guilt came out.’
‘It would fit,’ said Rod.
‘What would fit?’ asked Carson.
‘With what she shouted when she jumped,’ Rod replied. ‘“An' it harm none.”’
‘How do you think Dan Mather felt about that?’ Joe asked, and then he answered his own question. ‘Betrayed would be my guess, and all because she was in a coven.’
Carson sighed and looked at the house again, at the clouds gathering just behind it. ‘How the hell are we going to unravel this mess?’
Tom Mather was carrying empty paint tins from the back of the house and placing them around the room, ten in total. Then he brought in a large oil can. I guessed they had a diesel store at the back somewhere. He had put the shotgun down on the floor while he moved the tins, but I knew I would never get to it before Dan.
I slumped back against the wall. ‘So why did you do it?’ I asked Dan. ‘If it was never the high you expected, why carry on?’
He watched his son for a while as Tom half-filled each tin with oil, before turning to me.
‘You wouldn't understand,’ came the reply.
‘Try me,’ I said.
Dan shook his head. ‘This isn't your show.’
‘But what did you enjoy most?’ I pressed. ‘I want to know why, and what you got out of it.’
Dan watched Tom again, who was carrying a bucket and dragging some wires along the floor.
‘You want to get the thrill without the risk,’ said Dan. ‘Like all the rest, cowards until the end.’
‘No, it's not like that,’ I protested, trying to keep up
the diversion, to postpone the final moment. ‘I just want to expand my knowledge, so that I can understand people like you,’ I added, pandering to his ego.
‘But you'll never understand people like me,’ Dan Mather said, arrogance creeping into his voice. ‘People like you can't, because you can't see beyond your own little world, where everything is safe, no fears, no dangers.’
‘Or maybe there is nothing to understand,’ I snapped back at him. ‘Perhaps you just never stopped being the little boy who liked torturing animals; not for any reason, but just because you've got a cruel streak you can't control.’
Dan Mather stepped closer to me. His teeth were bared, spittle peppering his lips.
‘Have you ever imagined jumping from a building?’ he said slowly, quietly. ‘Alive all the way down, but with no way out, the ground getting closer all the time, rushing towards you. Tell me, what would go through your head?’
I thought about that, tried to engage him. ‘Could be many things,’ I said. ‘My family?’
‘But why not think of them before? Suicide is such a selfish thing.’
‘Okay, so what about acceptance, or regret,’ I said. ‘Some sorrow for how my life ended up? Maybe fear of what is about to come, that split-second of pain?’
Dan tugged on his lip, began to smile. ‘You're getting the game now. How does it feel?’
‘Interesting, I suppose – but I can live without knowing.’
‘But I want to know,’ he said gleefully. ‘That moment, life or death, realisation in their eyes, fear. I want to know that moment, want to see inside them, to taste that final thought, the glimpse into the abyss.’
‘So is that your high?’
He chuckled. ‘If you chase the high, you are never happy.’
‘So why was it only young women who interested you?’ I asked.
He flinched. I saw Laura shake her head. She knew what I was doing, but
Take it slow
was the message.
‘That's what troubles me,’ I continued, knowing I had to take a risk, try to provoke him, knock him off balance. ‘If you wanted that knowledge, why not vary it a little? What's so special about the last moments of pretty young women?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘It wasn't about that.’
‘So what was it about then, the girls you strangled and raped? It was more than just witches, wasn't it? Who were you really striking back at?’
Tom put the bucket onto the floor. It was filled with black powder, which he began to scoop into the cans of oil, watching us all the time.
‘It's just that moment that counts,’ said Dan, his voice quieter now, ‘that final few seconds of panic when they know they are dying, like a flash of their life in front of my eyes.’
‘But what do you want them to say?’ I pressed. ‘Do you want them to say sorry?’ Dan looked uncomfortable, and so I carried on. ‘Whose face do you see when they are dying? Your mother?’ When Dan shot me an
angry look, I added, ‘She left you when you were a boy I know that, brought up by your grandmother. Is it her you are killing, just wanting her to say sorry for walking out on you?’
Dan looked away, his jaw clenched tightly.
‘You're saying too much – you don't have to tell him anything,’ interrupted Tom angrily, as he attached the wires to some small discs. He placed each disc in a paint tin, the wires trailing out, which he then bound together, all intertwined, ten wires joined into one. ‘Do you know what this is?’
‘You're changing the subject,’ I said. ‘I was talking to your father.’
‘Look around,’ Tom said. ‘This is our show, and so we change the rules.’ He lifted the wires. ‘So come on, what is it?’
I played along. ‘At a guess, some kind of primitive bomb.’
He laughed. ‘Nothing primitive about this. Once I've attached the wires to a detonator, one press of the button and we're fucking bird food.’
I looked at Katie. Her excitement was long gone now. She looked back at Tom, and then at the tins spaced out around the room. It looked like there was to be no escape.
‘So when do we go bang?’ I asked, keeping my gaze on Katie.
‘Pretty soon,’ said Tom. ‘We just need a few more of those people outside in here.’
‘Why don't you just give yourself up?’ I asked. ‘Go out there now. At least you'll live.’
Katie began to edge towards the door.
Tom shook his head. ‘No. We all die.’
‘So you can feel the moment, that final thought? Pity you won't be able to tell your father about it.’
Dan laughed and then gestured towards Laura. ‘I'll be looking into her eyes when we go, wondering about her thoughts.’
I didn't look over, tried to keep focus. And anyway, I knew what Laura's thoughts would be. They would all be about Bobby, how he would grow up without her.
Then we all saw something against the wall. A flicker. Blue lights. And then I heard the sirens.
‘A few more for the party,’ said Dan, his voice calm, looking out of the window.
Tom lifted up the wires and pointed around the room. ‘We can start the fireworks early.’
Katie looked at me, and I saw fresh panic in her eyes. She looked around at the paint tins. I saw her get closer to the door.
I glanced towards the window. I could hear the vans outside, could see the blue lights flickering off the walls. If Katie could get out, she might tell them what was going on. I didn't trust her to be truthful, but it was our only chance. So I had to keep Tom and Dan distracted.
‘So how did it happen?’ I asked Dan. ‘Did you get them randomly, or was it watch and wait?’
‘Who do you want to know about?’
I remembered Rebecca's father from earlier. ‘I don't know. What about the local girl, the one you left by the brook? Just an innocent young girl walking to the pub.’
Dan laughed, mocking. ‘Innocent? She wasn't fucking innocent.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why wasn't someone with her?’ he said. ‘When I saw her, it had just started to rain, and so I stopped to give her a lift. Why not? Would you let her walk in the rain?’
‘So what happened to turn it from a favour to a murder?’
Dan waved his hand dismissively. ‘I had no choice. She was going to tell lies.’
‘What lies?’
‘That I raped her,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘I helped her out, showed her some kindness, but at the end of it, she just wanted my money, tried to blackmail me.’
‘How so?’
‘I saw her, and I stopped, gave her a lift. Then, when we got further down the road, she started to come on to me, wanting to fuck me.’ His lip curled slightly.
‘And did you?’ I asked.
‘Of course I fucked her,’ Dan continued, sneering. ‘And Christ, she enjoyed it, shouting and crying out.’ But his face was screwed up with distaste, like it was a bad memory. ‘But you know what it's like afterwards with these sluts. Things got nasty. She said that she would tell my wife if I didn't give her money. She said that she would tell the police that I had raped her. Who would want that?’ he said, his voice getting quieter, meaner. ‘I had no choice. I strangled her, watched her life end right in front of me, tasted that final moment.’ He looked at me, as if he was appealing for understanding. ‘I put her body down by the brook so someone would find her.’
‘That's bullshit,’ I said. ‘Is that what you told Tom
here, to justify it? April was dead by then. How could Rebecca say anything to her?’
Dan faltered at the words.
‘And what about the others?’ I asked. In my peripheral vision, I saw Katie's hand slip onto the door handle. She was watching me, her face paler than before. ‘What about the ones before,’ I pressed, ‘and the ones after? What about Sarah? Did she want to fuck you?’
Dan didn't respond.
‘Because don't take this the wrong way,’ I pressed, ‘but I don't think women act like that, begging for sex from strangers.’
Then there was a noise, the door opening. I looked up. It was Katie. ‘I'm sorry,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘I love you, Tom,’ and then she was gone.
I sat back and said a silent prayer.
Carson walked quickly among the police vans, dark blue, three of them, with grilles on the windows, lights flashing. A driver's window went down on one and a large man with a crew cut smiled and asked, ‘Having trouble?’
‘You missed off the “sir”,’ snapped Carson.
The smile broadened. ‘Seems like I did.’ He pointed round to the other side of the van. ‘Go round the other side, so that there is no line of sight from the house.’ When Carson got there, Rod and Joe just behind, the driver jumped out and joined them.
Carson was a tall man, used to being intimidating due to his size, but even he was forced to look up. The man in front of him was over six foot six, his chest and shoulders broad, with biceps like bowling balls, his hair light and thinning. His ears gave away the rugby history, swollen and misshapen, and his nose seemed to be pushed flat to his face. ‘Ged Flynn,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘So what have we got?’
‘Someone shooting at us from the bedroom window,’ said Joe, stepping in. ‘A shotgun, I think, and there may be hostages inside.’
Flynn looked towards the house. ‘Who lives there?’
‘Father and son,’ Carson replied. ‘Dan and Tom Mather. They have killed people already, and so they'll do it again. And they know that when we get them, they're under arrest for murder.’
‘So this is a last stand?’
Joe nodded. Then Rod stepped forward. ‘He's used explosives before too.’
‘What sort?’
‘Ammonium nitrate. Just enough to injure so far, but they seemed like stunts.’
Ged Flynn whistled. ‘Crazy then,’ he said. Then he looked around. A car was trying to crawl past the scene, a young family, the children with their faces against the windscreen. ‘Get this road blocked off,’ he said to Carson. ‘Half a mile either side.’
‘What about residents?’
‘Get them out.’
Joe started to direct some of the uniforms to close off the road, but then he heard someone shout. He turned around, saw something moving quickly. It was someone running away from the house, a young woman. Carson saw her at the same time, and he watched as she ran at the gate, her hair wild, her eyes frightened.
He reached out and pulled her over the gate, and then dragged her behind the wall. She put her head back against the stone, panting hard.
‘Katie Gray,’ said Carson. ‘You've got a few questions to answer.’
‘She's gone,’ I said to Dan Mather. ‘What now?’
Tom looked at the door for a few seconds, unsure what to do, and then he turned to his father.
‘She was always going to go, forget about her,’ said Dan, and then he turned to me. ‘It looks like the story will get told now, so you're sort of redundant.’
‘But Katie will be the one telling it,’ I said. ‘We're your only hope of making the story even.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Dan, curious.
‘She'll tell it her way, to make her seem the innocent, make you two out to be the terrible ones.’
Dan laughed. ‘Oh, we're terrible all right, and you can think what you like of me, but she fucking revelled in it. You know, sometimes the newly converted are the most enthusiastic.’
‘So that's why she was the one in control,’ I said. When Dan looked confused for a second, I added, ‘The letters. You didn't know anything about those. She has brought you out into the open, willing you to be caught. You see, Katie didn't enjoy it, not really, not deep down. It was a thrill, the talking about it, but she didn't really want to do it. The letters were a way of the police finding you, because when I started asking questions, she was the one who decided that Sarah ought to write another one. That's right, isn't it, Tom?’
He shuffled nervously, glancing towards the door, hoping that she would come back was my guess.
‘She was the one who led me round the library,’ I said, ‘looking at transcripts, because she knew I would work it out.’
Dan held up his hand. ‘Stop,’ he said quietly.
‘Am I getting near the mark?’
‘I said Stop!’ Dan was shouting now. He walked to the window and looked out. When he turned back, he looked at Laura, and then at Tom. ‘What the fuck were you doing?’ he demanded.
Tom shrugged, tried to feign calm, but I could see his fingers drumming nervously on his leg, fast and nervous. ‘We thought it would liven things up,’ he said.
‘Katie's the one outside now, talking to Karl Carson,’ I continued. ‘You're still in here, getting ready to blow us all to bits. Now tell me, who was in charge?’
Dan picked up the shotgun and pointed it at me. ‘You're good,’ he said, mocking. ‘Very Clarice Starling. But do you want to know who is in charge?’ and he waved the barrels at me. ‘Run at me and find out, you might just get to me in time.’
Laura tilted her head to the side and I saw movement, just a shake of the head.
Don't,
she was telling me.
Don't do anything he wants.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I won't run at you.’
Dan stared at me for a few seconds, and then shook his head. ‘A coward to the end.’ He lowered the barrels and passed the gun back to Tom, who was getting edgy, pacing up and down, his footsteps getting faster, like he was winding himself up.
I looked at Laura. She opened her eyes and tried to smile at me, tears running down her face.
Dan Mather pulled a phone from his pocket. He stared at the keypad. I looked at the cans dotted around the room. Bombs, I knew that, home-made and crude. How
were they detonated? As he moved his finger to the keypad, I remembered the description of Sarah's blown-out body and I squeezed my eyes closed, waiting for the bang.