The Darkness of Bones (12 page)

O
PENING THE FRONT
door of his house, an exhausted Jack almost walked on the small package resting on the carpet in the hall.

His name was typed on the front, but no address. He wondered why anyone would drop it through the letterbox so late at night.

Opening it, he was somewhat puzzled to discover a pair of laced panties, black in colour, moderate in size and expensive to the feel.

“Who on earth would send …?” A photograph fell from the panties, landing beside his feet. “Sarah …?” The photo was of a smiling Sarah, posing adjacent to a painting in the gallery.

Glancing at his watch, Jack decided to call her. It was then that the thought struck him: she was still in Dublin, and wasn’t due back until tomorrow. Perhaps she had simply cut her trip short?

He lifted the receiver and dialled her home, but all he got was her answering machine. Undeterred, he decided to call the
hotel in Dublin. “Hello, would it be possible to put me through to Sarah Bryant, please?”

A few seconds later, Sarah’s groggy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Sarah? Jack. Sorry. Did I disturb you? Were you sleeping?”

“Jack …? No, I mean yes, but not to worry, darling. What’s wrong?”

“I know this sounds strange, but did you send me something tonight, wrapped up in a brown package? Got someone to deliver it?”

He could hear her body shift in the bed. She seemed to be getting herself more comfortable.

“Something? What kind of something?”

A cold sensation was beginning to stir in Jack’s stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck moved.

“A pair of lace panties.”

“
What?
Are you serious?” She laughed. “No, of course not. Why would I do such a thing? I mean, I know I’m a bit of a—”

“Sarah, are you sure? I need you to tell me if it’s a little gag you’re pulling on me? There’s a photo with them. It’s you, standing next to a painting of what looks like a large orange tree with seagulls nesting.”

There was an iron silence from the other end before Sarah spoke. “
Doves
. Not seagulls.
Peace in the Orange Grove
, by Paul Thornton. He’s a young artist with a bright future. How … I don’t understand? That photo is in my bedroom, in a drawer.”

The cold sensation had turned to ice in Jack’s stomach.

“It’s probably nothing, just one of your employees messing about, trying to wind us both up.” Jack knew that his reasoning sounded feeble, but there was little he could say to clear up the mystery.

“Should I leave, head home, Jack? I’m due back early tomorrow morning anyway. I can cut my stay short.”

“No, don’t do that. There would be little point to it. As I said, it’s probably nothing.”

“Okay … Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Have you heard anything from Adrian?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m really sorry about what happened, when he walked in on us. That was my fault. All I had to do was phone, instead of showing up at your door like that.”

“It had nothing to do with you,” he lied. “We’ll get him back. Don’t worry. Now, I want you to get some rest. See you tomorrow. Make sure you phone me as soon as you get back from Dublin. Okay?”

“Yes. Goodnight, darling,” said Sarah and the phone went dead.

The visit tonight to the orphanage had unsettled him, physically as well as mentally. He had hoped to get some
well-earned
rest, as soon as he arrived home, but the mysterious package had put an end to that.

No sooner had he turned to leave the room than the phone screamed. Quickly, he picked up the receiver.

“Sarah?”

Heavy breathing competed with static and dull sounds. “Did you like your little present?”

Jack gently squeezed the button of the tape recorder. He was prepared this time.

“What have you done with my son?”

“You’re wasting valuable time,
ex
-detective Calvert, just like I wasted valuable time waiting for your whore of a girlfriend in
her bedroom tonight. You’re such a hypocrite, pretending to be worrying about your son, pretending to be searching for him. You’re more concerned about fucking the whore, aren’t you?”

Jack squeezed the phone until the knuckles in his hand looked ready for popping. Trying desperately to control his voice, he said, “I love my son more than anything on this—”

“
Liar!
” hissed the voice. “Such a liar. You tell me one more lie and the phone goes dead—as will your son.”

Breathe easy
, he told himself.
Good long gulps.

“What … what is it you want from me?”

Snide laughter. “I waited two whole days in that whore’s house, just to give her a surprise. But she failed to show. Is she there with you now, fondling your balls, kissing your cock?”

“No, she isn’t here. She wasn’t here.”

“You’re not lying to me? I don’t like to be lied to.”

“No, I am not lying. I haven’t seen Sarah in days. I thought that was her on the phone, when I picked it up.”

“Did you now? So sorry to disappoint.” More snide laughter. “I’m sure Adrian would love to hear how you’re out fucking instead of searching, you hypocritical bastard.”

A damned noise was banging in his head, making it difficult to hear the tormenting voice clearly. It was the sound of his heart, bang-bang-banging, in his chest.

“Please … please don’t hurt him. Why are you doing this to him? He’s just a child. He didn’t do anything—”

“Please don’t hurt him,” mimicked the voice. “No? Why? You’ve already done that, over and over again, haven’t you?”

Jack’s mouth turned arid. He didn’t reply.

“Haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to rectify that, don’t you?”

He did not reply.

“Don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“What would you do to have Adrian back?”

Jack tried to swallow. “Anything. I’d do anything. Is it money you want? I can get you—”

“I have a little proposition to make. I need you to kill Sarah Bryant,” said the voice, calmly, as if reading a recipe from a list.

“What on earth are—?”

“
Shhhh
. No interruptions. Pay attention. Time is running out for us all—especially for your son, if you don’t comply.” The voice waited, and, getting no response, said, “Good. That’s more like it. Now, you will use your police skills to kill her—you’re good at that. I will leave the method entirely in your hands.” Laughter. “But it must be painful. She must suffer before she dies. That is imperative. Do you understand?”

“I …”

“
Do you understand?
” hissed the voice.

“Yes.”

“Good! Cheer up. To listen to your unenthusiastic voice, one would think it was Adrian you’re being asked to kill, not some deserving whore. Now, to help you become more
enthusiastic
, I will award you points for imaginative techniques used. You need to achieve twenty points—no, make that twenty-one, my favourite number—to free Adrian. The more points you accumulate, the quicker he goes free. Should you fail to reach the designated number—say, within a week—well, I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

The phone went dead.

“Hello? Hello!” shouted Jack, before quickly regaining his composure. He hit a button and asked the voice at the other
end, “Did you get it?”

A few seconds of silence. “No, sir … a few more seconds,” said the young police officer’s voice. “That’s all we needed to trace—”

Despondent, Jack slammed the receiver back into its cradle, cracking it.

“
S
ARAH TOLD ME
that she can’t think of anyone who would wish to harm her,” said Jack, replaying last night’s tape recording for Benson. “She doesn’t recognise the voice on the tape, either.”

“That’s a great help. So informative.” Benson smirked, sipping a cup of coffee at Jack’s kitchen table. “What about a disgruntled artist? We all know how touchy you bastards are. Perhaps Sarah displaying your paintings in the gallery was taken as an affront, filling him with jealousy?”

“I doubt very much if someone would kidnap Adrian just because my paintings were exhibited.”

Benson snorted. “I doubt very much if someone would break into a church and kill the vicar. But hey, guess what? It happened!”

“That was a robbery and vandalism. Didn’t the report say money was stolen and a couple of statues smashed up, and that the vicar had stumbled upon the intruders by accident?”

“A doctored report. We don’t know what—if anything—was taken. Wilson leaked the robbery scenario to his friends in
the press. Probably thinks people will feel more secure believing it was simply a robbery gone wrong, rather than some devil worshipper running about, chopping the heads off statues.”

“Chopping the heads off …?” Deep furrows appeared in Jack’s forehead. “How was the vicar murdered? Any idea, or has that been doctored as well?”

Benson shrugged his shoulders. “Initial reports say he was beaten with a blunt instrument. A rock of some sort, more than likely. Why? What’s that look for?”

“I’m just thinking about that headless corpse at the Graham building.”

“Well, you can stop thinking about it. That case is firmly closed. That’s Wilson’s orders. So don’t even think that you are going back in there. You’re not. Now, why don’t you take my advice and get some sleep? You’re no use to Adrian if you look and think like a zombie.”

“I’d appreciate if you’d keep me informed of any developments,” said Jack.

“I would’ve appreciated you informing me sooner about the phone calls,” replied Benson, staring at Jack.

“I know. I should have.”

“No more solo escapades. If you can’t trust me, then you can’t ask for help when it suits you.” Rising, Benson removed his overcoat from the back of the chair, and squeezed into it.

“Fair enough. You’ll be the first to know of any new developments.”

Buttoning his overcoat, Benson looked at Jack. “I’m sorry about not being able to offer some protection for Sarah. Wilson would laugh me out of the office. Besides, I hate asking the bastard for anything. You’d think it was coming out of his miserable pocket, the way he’s reacting.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, Sarah wouldn’t have allowed it. She said I was paranoid, and that she was more than able to take care of herself.”

“Ballsy kind of a woman. My favourite,” said Benson, opening the front door before walking down the pathway, towards his car.

Closing the door, Jack returned to the kitchen to finish off his coffee. He wouldn’t be seeing a bed any time soon. Too many questions; too many theories to speculate on:
stoned to death in the sanctuary of holy ground?

It sounded almost biblical.

“
G
OD, THE NIGHT
, Sarah!” shouted Jack, his composure long gone. “The stalker was in your very bedroom, less than two days ago. This isn’t a game. You’ve got to let me get you some extra security. I’ve a couple of ex-cop friends who are more than willing to do a bit of guard duty. All you need to do is—”

“I insist that you stop causing a scene, Jack. My clients are not accustomed to loud noises in the gallery,” hissed Sarah, politely smiling at the faces glancing in her direction. “You are going to have a massive heart attack, if you don’t calm down.”

Jack breathed deeper. “Okay. I’ve calmed down, but you can’t avoid what I’ve just explained.”

“Did you know that there have been over fifteen burglaries in the last two months alone, in my area?”

“This wasn’t an attempted burglary, Sarah. He was in your house, in your bedroom, stalking it out.”

Gently, calmly, Sarah placed her finger on his lips. “You’re doing it again, the cop mentality, the paranoia. You’re beginning
to really piss me off. I am not one of your damsels in distress, waiting for a knight in shining armour, Jack. I don’t lead a sheltered life, despite the erroneous messages the opulence may be sending you. For your information—and I know how cops just
love
information—long before I met you, I had been threatened, robbed, even had a knife held to my throat by a would-be rapist; I’ve witnessed a client being shot dead on the streets of Tokyo, and God alone knows how many obscene phone calls I’ve received, not to mention drug dealers accosting me to buy their dope. So, please, do not insult me with the macho bravado bullshit. It simply doesn’t wash. I am more than able—and willing—to protect myself. Now, when I remove my finger, you—we—will not discuss this sad, pathetic creature, any further. You are insulting me, just by having this conversation. There is this little thing in the air, slipping between us. Don’t allow it to destroy us, Jack.”

Defeated, Jack wearily asked, “Well, at least allow me to stay at your place, for the next few nights. Not for your sake—for mine.”

Immediately, Sarah laughed. “I like the sound of that. Me protecting you. You’d make a good politician, Jack Calvert, if such a thing as a good politician existed.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It isn’t a no. Give me some time to think about it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve a business to run.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek, shooing him out the gallery door equally as quickly.

In the hospital, Jack replayed the scene over and over again, wondering what he could have done differently. The combination of all the warnings should have acquiesced into a
whole that made Sarah feel vulnerable. But they had not. The opposite had happened—disastrously so. He was the one at fault. He should have had someone watching her at all times, protecting her, despite her protestations. Intuition was one of the strongest advantages he had—something he normally would never have ignored. But he
had
ignored it, and Sarah, not he, had paid for his complacency.

He couldn’t hear the doctor’s words, explaining the damage done by the perfectly honed dumdum bullets, only the sniggering voice on the phone, saying,
Did I catch you and her off guard? You really didn’t believe I needed a pathetic bastard like you to kill the whore? Silly Mister Policeman …