Two Evils: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel (21 page)

‘Hello?’ Jason said, moving closer to the tube. ‘Will you let me out if I do become your friend?’

‘Yes I will!’ The voice sounded pleased. ‘Not just yet, but soon, I promise. I hope you’ll want to stay with me and Smirker and have some fun. It’ll be just like old times.’

Jason swallowed, feeling sick. He had a pretty good idea what the man wanted. His mum had warned him to be wary and his nan was always going on about the world being full of perverts. There’d been lessons at school too. Stranger danger, the teacher had said. This was the ultimate stranger danger, Jason thought. Some anonymous weirdo had captured him. He was plainly a psycho straight from one of Stone’s horror movies.

‘What’s your name?’ Jason asked, thinking that finding out who the man was might be a start. ‘It’s hard to be friends when I don’t know what to call you.’

‘Can’t tell you. You see, once you know somebody’s name you have to know their secrets as well, so I can’t tell you. Not yet. Once I can trust you I can tell you.
Can
I trust you?’

‘Yes,’ Jason said. ‘I’m very trustworthy. My mum says so.’

‘OK then!’ Silence for a moment. ‘But we need to shake on it. Put your hand up the tube. I’d reach down but my hand is too big.’

Jason hesitated. He looked at the tube where a dim light cast a pale circle on the wooden floor. The man was right, the tube was probably too small for an adult’s hand. He crouched next to the tube and twisted himself to one side. That allowed him to thread his arm into the tube, his hand grasping upward.

‘Got ya!’

Something wrapped into place around Jason’s wrist, some sort of leather material. He tried to pull back but the strap bit into his skin.

‘Let me go,’ he shouted. ‘We had a deal!’

‘There we go.’ A hand held Jason’s palm and shook it. ‘The deal is done. I trust you and you need to trust me for a second. This won’t take long, so don’t struggle. I’ve got you well secured with my belt and if you move around I’ll be forced to pull the belt tighter.’

‘No!’ Jason ignored the instruction and wriggled and yanked down, putting all his weight on his arm. It was no good. ‘Don’t hurt me!’

‘I’m afraid there will be a little pain.’ A hand tugged at his wrist and then a sharp pinch came just below the second joint of his pinkie. ‘You see somebody has stolen one of Smirker’s fingers and I promised I’d find him a replacement.’

‘Noooooo!’

‘Hold still will you?’ Crunch. ‘There we go!’

Jason screamed as something sliced through his little finger. Even with the pain, he noticed the sensation of the warm blood flowing over his hand. He yelled again.

‘Don’t be such a crybaby. Keep still, I’m going to clean you up.’

Up above, the man was doing something to Jason’s disfigured hand, applying some sort of dressing, but Jason could hardly focus. He hung on his arm, thrashing around and screaming and screaming and screaming until a wash of nausea overcame him. He vomited over himself and then, mercifully, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Chapter Eighteen

Another Friday. I no longer look forward to the weekends since I discovered what Bentley is up to. He visits once or twice a month, but for the boys that is all too often. Especially for Jason, who’s his favourite. The lad has gone downhill recently. He’s lost weight and is sullen and withdrawn. Liam tries to buoy him up, but I don’t think it makes much difference.

The routine is pretty much set in stone now. Bentley arrives and if my mother is here he spends an hour or two with her while Father retreats to the downstairs living room. After Bentley has finished with Mother he heads for the cellar and waits while one of the staff members fetches his choice of boy. By this time I’m already in place at the airbrick. As much as I hate it, I force myself to watch. Tonight it wasn’t Jason and I breathed a sigh of relief as Bentley set to work.

The man is something else. At first I thought it was his size and strength which gave him his power, but his physicality is only part of his presence. The power comes from within, a self-belief which makes him feel he has a right to take whatever he desires.

And why not?

The boys have nothing society wants. No one cares about them. When they go to the village shop, the postmistress hovers hawk-like. ‘No more than two of you in here at a time,’ she says. Parents in the playground pull their little ones away. When something is damaged or goes missing, the finger is pointed towards the home. A policeman comes and gives a lecture, a talking-to. A clip round the ear isn’t unheard of.

I think Bentley plays on this sense of isolation. I heard him whisper to the boys that they were special, that he loved them, that he wanted to look after them. Everyone else thinks them runts, dregs, outcasts or delinquents, but he calls them his treasures. Treasure is valuable, the boys know, treasure is worth something.

So why not?

Father and the rest of the staff are all in on it and there doesn’t seem to be anyone who can do anything to help.

I guess that means it’s down to me.

The Shepherd stands outside the barn and listens to the last of the bell’s tones fading into the night. Sunday –
God’s day
– is here. He needs to get to work.

Inside, he moves to the cells and stands in front of the doors for a moment. The choice hasn’t been an easy one to make but Benedict’s looking weak. Given the age and state of the man, he could well die before he faces justice. That would never do.

‘It is time,’ the Shepherd says as he slides back the two bolts and opens the door. ‘Time for you to face the altar.’

Inside, the hunched form of Benedict stirs. The man straightens and then begins to stand.

‘No,’ Benedict says. ‘Please, have mercy.’

‘Mercy?’ The Shepherd pulls the Taser into view and fires the weapon at close range. The barbs strike Benedict in the side and there is a burst of electricity. Benedict reels backwards and falls to the floor quivering. ‘There’s no mercy here. Feel the power of the Lord God Almighty!’

As he enters the cell, Benedict is having some kind of fit, his arms and legs jerking back and forth. The Shepherd doesn’t care. He kneels beside Benedict and rolls the man over.

‘The kindness of our Lord is a wondrous thing,’ he says as he works. ‘Forgiveness, penance, and the promise of His love. Who could want for more?’

Benedict has regained some form of consciousness now. The twitching stops and the Shepherd lifts him to his feet. Benedict rises meekly, as if under some kind of spell or hypnosis. The Shepherd pushes Benedict from the cell and down the long corridor. He slides open the metal door and his voice echoes in the vast chamber.

‘Behold, God’s altar. Shortly you will prove to Him you are repentant and then you will receive the gift of everlasting life.’

Benedict’s knees buckle at the sight of the huge machine, but the Shepherd pushes him forward. He moves him to the stainless steel table and stands him before it.

‘You must mount the altar yourself,’ the Shepherd says. ‘Your penance must be voluntary for the act to have any meaning.’

‘What?’ Benedict looks at the Shepherd, his eyes only half open. Then he understands. ‘No, I won’t. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

The Shepherd sighs. He was expecting this. Luckily the barbs from the Taser are still embedded in Benedict’s side, the wires curling to the weapon. The Shepherd operates the trigger and God’s pure force courses through Benedict once more.

This time the Shepherd catches the man and slides him onto the altar, face to heaven. Benedict twitches and then is still.

‘Put your hands in the shackles.’ The Shepherd speaks flatly and this time Benedict complies in a daze. The hasps close automatically around Benedict’s wrists, a second set clamping his ankles. ‘So, we are ready. Do you, Tim Benedict, have anything to say?’

‘Please!’ Benedict shouts, the meekness gone. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘You don’t know your crime, do you?’ The Shepherd is disappointed. How can Benedict repent if he doesn’t understand what he has done? ‘Cast your mind back and examine your conscience.’

‘I … I …’ Benedict shakes his head. ‘No, my conscience is clear. I don’t know who you are, but I’m sure I’ve done nothing to harm you.’

‘Really? Remember your days as a curate over near Salcombe? Somebody came to you but you ignored their plea for help. Just like the priest in the parable of the Good Samaritan, you passed by on the other side of the road.’

‘Passed by …? I wouldn’t. Never.’ Benedict begins to shake his head again. Then he stops. His mouth drops open. ‘Oh God, no!’

‘Oh God, yes.’ The Shepherd leans over Benedict. ‘You pretended to have faith and swore to serve God but you became corrupted by evil. You took an oath to protect the meek and the mild but caused untold suffering. Now you too must suffer.’

‘I couldn’t know! Please forgive me. The bishop told me to keep quiet.’

‘And you, being a coward, obeyed.’ The Shepherd places his face close to Benedict’s. ‘I
hate
cowards.’

‘Please forgive me!’

‘Forgiveness is not for me to give. You, of all people, should know that. God is the arbiter here.’

‘Yeeesss! Of course!’ Benedict’s voice is almost a scream. ‘Forgive me, God. I have sinned, but I beg for forgiveness. Please, I know I did wrong, but I’ll make amends, I promise I will.’

‘Good. God has heard your plea and now we’ll see what He thinks of it.’

‘Thank you. Thank God!’ The emotion in Benedict’s voice is palpable.

The Shepherd turns from Benedict and walks away, his heels clicking on the concrete floor as he leaves the chamber. He closes the sliding door and locks it. Then he stands next to a large red button on the wall. The button starts the countdown sequence and sets things in motion. Once pressed nothing can stop it. The Shepherd’s been waiting for this, waiting for the day when the wrongs could start to be set right. He pauses for a moment and then reaches out and pushes the button.

He nods to himself and then moves down the corridor and enters a small room. There’s a desk and chair, a computer and monitor on the desk. The monitor shows Benedict lying on the stainless steel altar, his voice coming through the speakers.

‘Hello?’ Benedict struggles against his bonds. ‘I thought I was forgiven? When are you going to set me free?’

The Shepherd sits at the desk and leans forward. He pulls a microphone from one side of the monitor and speaks, his voice booming out through a powerful PA system.

‘You
are
forgiven, Tim. God loves you and soon you will know that love.’

‘Hey?’

‘But first you must be punished. And the punishment must fit the crime. Are you ready to perform your penance?’

‘What? I don’t understand.’

‘Never mind. Now make your peace with God.’

‘No!’ A shout comes from Benedict and now the man is blubbering. ‘Please noooooo!’

‘GOD IS WITH YOU, BENEDICT! FEEL HIS LOVE FOR YOU!’ The Shepherd’s voice echoes throughout the building. ‘OPEN YOUR HEART TO HIM AND LET HIS SPIRIT FILL YOU!’

‘Noooooo!’ Along with Benedict’s pleas, a mechanical noise is growing in intensity, the man’s voice barely audible against the clatter of metal. ‘Noooooo!’

The Shepherd moves the mouse and clicks and a burst of organ music blares out. He begins to sing, the words resounding through every room in the barn.

‘THE LORD’S MY SHEPHERD, I’LL NOT WANT. HE MAKES ME DOWN TO LIE. IN PASTURES GREEN HE LEADETH ME. THE QUIET WATERS BY.’

In the chamber, pieces of machinery are moving, a huge hydraulic arms hisses into action, an electric saw begins to revolve, a drill spins up to speed and lowers. Over it all the sound of Benedict screaming.

Chapter Nineteen

Near Bolberry, South Hams, Devon. Sunday 25th October. 8.35 a.m.

Savage returned to Woodland Heights first thing Sunday morning. Overnight developments in the
Curlew
case had come in an email sent by Nesbit late on Saturday. The pathologist’s few short words brought a whole lot of consequences for the investigation: the bone from the cellar was definitely human and what’s more it belonged to a child.

A child
.

Whether the bone belonged to Liam Hayskith or Jason Caldwell didn’t matter.
Curlew
had now become a murder investigation.

She parked up and strolled across to where a patrol car sat on the gravel track near the front steps, the officers inside bleary-eyed from overnight guard duty.

‘All quiet?’ Savage asked as one of the officers slid down his window.

‘As the proverbial, ma’am,’ the officer said. He gestured to where the house stood in the grey light. ‘Not a dicky bird. The seal on the cellar door’s still intact. At least it was fifteen minutes ago. Can’t say it was a pleasant night though.’

Savage thanked the officers and then walked over to the entrance steps, turning as she heard a vehicle approaching. The Freelander eased into the car park and stopped. Inside, the bulky shape of DSupt Hardin remained stationary for a good minute before the door swung open and he climbed out.

The drizzle of yesterday had given way to a bank of grey cloud which hung overhead almost unmoving and Hardin lumbered over towards her, shuffling his feet as if the clouds above were pressing down on him. Not for the first time Savage wondered what was wrong. Hardin looked as if he was in a bad way. His mood didn’t improve as he reached her and glanced up at the house.

‘You found something then.’ His eyes flicked from window to window and then to the front door. ‘House of horrors.’

‘Yes, sir. Nesbit sent this through.’ Savage pulled out her phone and handed it to Hardin. ‘It’s a computer reconstruction using the fragment we found. A metatarsal, apparently.’

‘You mean metatarsal as in footballers?’

‘Yes. Only this isn’t a footballer’s, it’s a kid’s.’

‘Fuck.’ Hardin stared down at the photo on the phone, almost as if he was willing the image to disappear. Nothing doing; after a few seconds he handed the phone back and looked at Savage. ‘So, who’s in the frame for this? The owner? Staff? I need something, Charlotte. You know how it is. Heldon will want this to end quickly. The force doesn’t need any more publicity, not so soon after the stuff with Simon Fox.’