Hellbound: The Tally Man (20 page)

Joe turned away for the desk as he thought.

The Absol did dock here that night, pretty much on time. So why didn’t it arrive back in Dunquin until after midnight?

Joe felt Kelly’s large, brown eyes boring into him. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

“No,” Joe said thoughtfully. “You’ve been very helpful, thank you.”

She gave him one last beaming smile as he slowly headed for the exit.

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

Evans watched Joe approach the reception desk before closing the door and picking up the telephone. He paused halfway through dialing the numbers as though uncertain whether to proceed before completing the digits and leaning back in his chair. Evans realised that he was holding his breath whilst he waited for a connection. There was a click as the phone was picked up at the other end but no one spoke.

“It’s me. I’ve just had a reporter asking to see the booking log for the night of Stark’s execution. I didn’t give him anything and he seemed satisfied, but I don’t know. You told me that no one would ask questions. This is my career on the line here. If I’d have known people where going to start poking around, I would have…” he was about to say ‘asked for more money’, but caught himself. He knew better than to bite the proverbial hand.

The line remained silent. “What should I do?” Evans asked nervously.

“Was it O’Connell?”

“How did you know?”

There was a pause. “Do nothing,” Then the line went dead.

The coroner cradled the handset against his chest before slamming it back into its receiver. Clasping his hands together to try and stop them from shaking, he took a final drag before stubbing out the cigarette so hard ash plumbed into the air. It was still gently falling as he made his way out of the office and across the mortuary floor.

* * *

It was eight o’clock and dark by the time Joe headed back towards The Daily Éire. He had felt the need to freshen up after leaving the mortuary, thinking that a shower and a few cups of coffee would help him put things into perspective. Instead, he had fallen asleep on the sofa and awoke just after seven with a desire to revisit some of his interviews before trying to make some sort of sense out of the myriad of scenarios he had flying through his mind.

Parking at the top of Denny Street and stopping to have a quick chat with the Daily Éire’s security guard Paul Helm or ‘Buster’ as he was better known, Joe had proceeded to walk through the lobby and straight for his office. Choosing to leave the larger expanse of the room in darkness, he had flicked through the filing cabinet, stopping occasionally to pull out a brown folder and place it on his desk before putting them all in his shoulder bag and heading back up the street.

“Shit,” Joe said.

Approaching his car, he noticed that his far side front tire was flat. Throwing the bag onto the back seat, he bent down and saw the long slash horizontally across the front of the tire. Joe fingered it curiously, recognising that it couldn’t have happened by accident and could have only occurred in the last thirty or so minutes he had been in the office. He stood and moved to the boot, shifting the requisite car essentials to one side before lifting up the base. As he was unscrewing the spare Joe became aware of the black Audi pulling up, its headlights momentarily blinding him. He shielded his eyes, hearing the engine die and a door open and shut before a figure appeared beside him.

“Need a hand, mate?” the voice asked.

On any other day, Joe wouldn’t have been suspicious but after his discussion with Evans, his growing disquiet about everything Obadiah Stark and the now obviously slashed tire, Joe found himself unusually keyed to the convenient Samaritan’s over-enthused smile, slicked back hair and black jacket. He also couldn’t help noticing the Audi’s heavily tinted windows. But it wasn’t the tinting that had him uncomfortable so much as the fact that they were so black it was impossible to see inside.

Joe smiled up at his would-be helper. “No, I’ve changed one before. Cheers though” He glanced past the man to see Paul Helm, the security guard, in his usual spot of the booth by the door outside the office. Instead of feeling safer and less alone with him in his sights, Joe found himself in a whirlpool of anxiety and negative emotion. The man stood before him with his offer of help did little to dissuade Joe’s dispirited emotions.

“You’ve had a slashed tire before?” the stranger asked, peering over Joe’s shoulder. “You must be popular.”

Joe smiled an irritated smile up at him. “I’ll be okay, thanks.”

“Go on,” the stranger insisted. “It can be a pain in the arse changing these things. You get the spare and I’ll get the nuts loose and the car up. The name’s Milton.”

Joe shrugged and passed him the torque wrench before reaching into the boot for the jack.

“Joe,” he replied, shaking the man’s outstretched hand.

As Milton began working on loosening the nuts on the wheel, Joe placed the jack besides him and pulled the wheel out of the boot, bouncing it on the floor before rolling and resting it against the passenger’s side door. He grabbed his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, taking a long drag on it before exhaling slowly.

He watched his convenient helper straining to turn the nut counter-clockwise before it twisted free and he began to spin it off the wheel.

“So, you from around here?” Joe asked.

Milton carried on working on the nuts as he spoke. “Not, really. Just passing through. But I saw you and figured I’d lend a hand. Wouldn’t do to have one of Ireland’s most famous reporter’s stranded at the side of the road.”

Joe frowned. “Do I know you?”

Milton gave a look of mild derision and idle curiosity, his obsidian eyes twinkling playfully in the reflection of the streetlights. “Relax, everyone knows who you are, Joe. You’re the man who kept the country up to date with one of the world’s most famous serial killers. And given the fact you’re just up the road from The Daily Éire, I didn’t really need a slide ruler and a pencil to figure it out.”

He nodded as he watched Milton twist off the last nut, place the wrench on the floor and began jacking up the car. Though the exchange still had him feeling a little uneasy, he began to wonder if he was letting everything that had happened recently cloud his better judgment and make him a little paranoid.

“How’s it going there,” he asked, flicking his cigarette on the floor and crushing it out with his heel.

“I think…” Milton replied with a grunt. “…that we’re done.” He twisted the jack twice more before standing and handing the wrench to Joe.

“Cheers,” Joe relied, placing the wrench on the roof of the car. He rolled the tire in position and bent down to fit it into place.

“No worries, Joey,” said Milton with a conceding nod before moving back towards his car.

Joe grabbed the wrench and bent to tighten the nuts. As he moved down past the window he noticed Milton’s reflection suddenly behind him, his arm rising up towards the back of Joe’s head and the click of the hammer being cocked.

“What the fuck?” Joe yelled as he turned and instinctively grabbed Milton’s hand. The gun fired softly into the space his head had just been occupying, the suppressor muffling the bang to a quiet hiss. Joe hit Milton three times in the sternum, sending him crashing backwards into the wall, the gun spinning from his hand.

He glanced in shock at the gun on the pavement trying to process what was happening as Milton jumped to his feet and charged at Joe, the precise right hook connecting with the side of his head and sending him stumbling against the car. He blinked, trying to focus on the man standing in front of him as Milton grabbed the gun from the floor and aimed it at his head. Joe managed to force his legs to work, diving out the way as a bullet whistled past his face and smashed into the passenger side rear window.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouted at his attacker.

Milton placed his foot on Joe’s chest and checked the street around him. Usually, you body checked enough people on Denny Street to be a UFC fighter, no matter what time you were out. Tonight though, there was no one.

As Joe watched Milton tighten the suppressor and point the gun at him, his hand groped clumsily for the wrench. He felt his fingers curl around the cold handle as adrenaline brought on by the fear of death surged through him. He swung it into Milton’s kneecap, taking a small amount of satisfaction at the crunching sound he heard accompanied with Milton’s loud scream.

Joe reached up and grabbed the barrel of the gun, aiming it away from his face and swung the wrench again, this time connecting with the side of Milton’s head. He ignored the sickening crack it made as it struck his cheekbone, blood spraying from the now open wound as his attacker fell sideways and onto the street.

Joe glanced up the street towards the office and saw Paul staring back at him. He felt relief at seeing him and irritation that he obviously hadn’t moved during the attempt on his life. Joe began to move towards him, his legs suddenly feeling like two columns of concrete. He glanced back a few times to see Milton moaning on the floor, holding his face as though his hands were all that was keeping it together.

Paul stepped quickly towards Joe as he reached the office and pulled him into the building. He offered himself as support, but was quickly waved away.

“I’m okay,” Joe insisted. “Where were you when I needed you?”

He noticed the confused look on Paul’s face that told of the value he placed on his own life. “Never mind. Have you called the police?”

“Yeah, there on their way, though I’m not sure they believed me. Don’t often get armed gunmen on Denny Street.”

“No shit.”

Joe’s legs gave way from beneath him and he slumped down against the wall. His ears were still ringing from the blow he’d received to the side of his head and he found himself shaking from the sudden release of adrenaline. In between shudders, he realised that whatever he was onto had people worried. Powerful people. And that meant, whatever it was, it was real and tangible, not the fantasy he had begun to suspect it could be. Why else would they send someone to kill him? It was a new experience for him. He’d had death threats before, but never any that had actually followed through.

Joe listened for the sound of sirens in the distance but heard nothing. “Jesus. Someone riots about student fees, the police are here in a flash,” he said. “Someone tries to shoot you in the street, and they’re nowhere to be fuckin’ seen.”

Paul stepped outside and looked round the corner of the building. He moved back in and touched Joe gently on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, son. You’re the only person they’ll be talking to.”

He pushed himself up and followed Paul’s pointing finger back outside and up the street towards his car. Milton had gone.

“Shit!”

At that moment, he realised something else. The prescient feeling he had had earlier had just occurred. Wherever his investigation went from here, Joe knew it would be a place far from good.

‘Man cannot remake himself without suffering, for he is both the marble and the sculptor.’

Dr. Alexis Carrel

Chapter Sixteen

22:58

“IT’S going to get bad for you, my old friend.”

Those words had played repeatedly in Obadiah’s head all the way back from Cooke’s Pub. Tom Jacques, his only friend in life, had delivered those baleful words in his melodic Irish lilt – not as the shy reticent boy from Killarney, but as a poised advisor delivering a threat. And now, standing before the front door of the house, bathed in the night that had once embraced his solitary existence, Obadiah experienced a gut-wrenching emotion long-denied to him by his cold, calculating immorality: Fear.

Tommy had been right. Obadiah had always wanted to be part of the world and Eva and Ellie had given him the chance to reclaim his place in it. He had been allowed to imagine what life would have been like had he taken a different path. The thought that his chance at redemption could be stolen away from him was terrifying.

You will suffer here…

Obadiah moved to the front door, noting it was slightly ajar. Giving it a gentle push, he let it swing open as he stood on the threshold, listening. Moving through the silent hallway into the kitchen, he sensed the ambience of death.

His pace quickened with his pulse. Moonlight bathed the downstairs rooms, illuminating recognized objects - Ellie’s toys … an empty wine glass, Ascending the stairs, his heart pounded so hard he thought it might knock him over. His legs became lead, forcing him to grip the handrail as he reached the landing. Soft, ambient light shone softly from beneath the master bedroom door. Reaching for the door handle, his palms clammy, Obadiah entered the bedroom.

‘You’re here to suffer, plain and simple.’

Eva lay face-down on the bed, her legs spread apart, arms fastened to the posts. Her nightclothes had been lifted and placed around her lower back, bloodstains spreading out across the sheet beneath her neck like a Rorschach image. Ellie was lying next to her mother, curled up under the crook of her arm, the child in her pajamas, Snoopy pulled in tightly to her chest as though a protective guardian.

Obadiah moved slowly towards the bed, numb with a grief that impaled his heart, leaving him feeling something he had never considered possible – powerless.

The butcher of dozens leaned forward to examine the remains of the one woman he could never have harmed, his hand gentle as it graced her forehead. Eva’s skin was already cold – Obadiah estimating her death had been a good four hours ago. Her blue eyes remained open, the colour now sapphire due to their lack of oxygen. All the joy and happiness they had held was gone, vanquished by an act that had left her mouth slightly parted in its final cry for help. The side of her face was bruised, her jaw broken.

The horror of it all washed over him in waves, and he recognized the emotion as shame. Welcome home, Tally Man, you’ve come full-circle.

Trying to instill order to his racing thoughts, he reached over and gently stroked Ellie’s face, the extension of his hand seeming to come in aching, strobe-like moments. He was surprised to find her skin warm, her body shifting gently beneath his touch…alive!

Moving with purpose, he strode around the bed and scooped her up in his arms, pulling her close to him, her face in the crook of his neck. She was most likely in shock, either from what she had found or what she had been made to witness.

As he turned round, he saw the note.

It rested beside Eva’s body, the handwriting neat and concise. The message pulled at Obadiah’s memories, its words taunting and gleeful.

Nature doesn’t recognize good and evil, only balance.

The words sat like a stone in his stomach. He crumpled the note, Ellie stirring in his arms. Obadiah felt her body begin to shake from the adrenaline being released in such a small frame. She pulled Snoopy tightly to her and opened her eyes, looking at him with a hollow expression.

“Daddy?”

“I’m here,” he replied - so softly it surprised him. Shifting her away from the horrific remains of her mother, his hand hovered tentatively over her head, as though he were afraid to show affection. Yet he did it anyway without really understanding why, as though his body were guiding him to behave in the most appropriate manner given the circumstances.

Obadiah remained motionless for what seemed like an eternity, his hand nestled softly on Ellie’s head, her small frame shaking in his arms. He glanced once more at Eva’s body, almost sad that he had to leave her behind. Through her, his mind had irreversibly been opened up to other possibilities, possibilities that had allowed him to see what he looked like through a looking glass darkly – a hateful bastard allowed one last chance to see life that existed outside darkness. Eva had been one half of the light that had allowed him that chance. The child he now held in his arms was the other. He would be damned again if something was going to happen to her.

Seeing his wife lying there, lifeless and barren, he felt an anger that made him suck the air through his gritted teeth. Concerned about his daughter, he stepped into the hallway and pulled the bedroom door closed, sealing in the horrors behind them.

Moving forward towards the stairs, Obadiah suddenly shuddered in pain, as if his back had been stung by a thousand wasps. Dropping to one knee, he lowered Ellie gently onto the floor before he rolled over and collapsed.

“Daddy, what’s happening?” Ellie cried, her hands pressed to his chest. She was almost frantic with terror as she watched him writhe in agony against an unknown torture.

As had happened before, the pain slowly began to ease, allowing Obadiah to push himself up from the floor. Reaching around he touched the top of his shoulder blade, knowing that if he were to look in the mirror he would see that more tally Marks had reappeared on his back.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Almost hysterical, Ellie placed her hands frantically over Obadiah’s face and body as though making certain he was real.

“It’s okay,” he tried to assure her weakly. “I’m okay.”

Ellie began to cry, the unimaginable suffering she had experienced breaking free from her small frame, her voice spiraling up as she spoke. “But Mummy…she’s in there and she won’t wake up. I lied down next to her to try and wake her up, but she wouldn’t. Someone came and was hurting her…I tried to stop him…I shouted for him to stop hurting my Mummy but he didn’t, so I hid in my room with Snoopy and waited for the shouting to stop and when I went in to see Mummy she was sleeping but I couldn’t wake her up…”

Ellie pressed herself into Obadiah’s chest, now shaking uncontrollably, her body wracked with emotions. He picked her up again and moved stiffly down the stairs, grabbing the car keys from the table and continuing to scan the darkness of the house as they moved through the hallway and out the front door towards the car.

The street was deserted as they crossed the moonlit pavement, Ellie whispering quietly to her beloved stuffed toy that everything was going to be okay. The air was silent, breathless, shadows marking their route as though illustrating the safest way to travel. He swapped Ellie’s position in his arms and opened the car door, placing her gently on the back seat.

Climbing behind the wheel, Obadiah leaned back and closed his eyes. In his prior existence, his sole purpose had been his taking of human lives. Now everything had changed – he had to keep Ellie safe.

As he started the engine and pulled into the road, Obadiah found the night that had once been his friend was now a vast and lonely place.