The dark side of my soul (14 page)

Terry sniffed and eyed Bone. They were both looking at the screen but I couldn’t read their faces. Terry Bovey leaned back in his chair while Bone removed the wires from my fingers.

“Did I pass?” I asked trying to be jovial.

“Like you said you can’t always be sure from these things but it doesn’t matter, Bone here is the backup.”

In the long awkward silence the air seemed to thicken. I could feel the atmosphere change as Terry’s old eyes studied me with a ferocious intensity before at last it was he who broke the spell in his squeaky high pitched voice. “Why don’t you tell me what happened Harry? What exactly occurred in the forest that morning?”

“How should I know, I wasn’t there,” I tried to keep calm, keep my speech level in spite of the internal combustion engine that that was my heart.

“Oh come on Harry, you’re lying. I don’t need the bloody machine to tell me that,” he pushed the laptop violently to one side. He leaned forward over the desk “I can tell from your eyes. Now tell me the truth Harry. I just want to know what happened to my boys.”

“You already know. They were shot. I don’t mean to be heartless and I’m sorry but I had nothing to do with it.”

Terry Bovey sat back in his seat and took a long deep breath. “That’s a pity Harry,” he glanced at Bone who was still hovering around my shoulder. “Show him Bone.”

The big man went to the windowsill and picked up what appeared to be a leather tool wrap. He brought it back and put it down in front of me. His big powerful hands undid it slowly as though it was some valuable ancient artefact but all it contained were a number of different types of pliers.

“These are the tools of my trade,” he spoke quietly but I detected the understated threat and a nervous understanding began to dawn in my chest.

“With these,” he said running his fingers almost lovingly over the tools, “I can inflict immeasurable amounts of pain and I have a one hundred percent success rate at making my clients tell me everything.”

“Your clients,” I said. My mouth was suddenly so dry that I could hardly speak.

“I like to call them that,” Bone gave me a pleasant smile as though we were just having a friendly discussion, talking about the latest films or football. That somehow made him even more sinister. “Of course it wouldn’t be necessary for me to use any of them if you told Terry the truth. I assure you that you’ll talk anyway in the end, so why not save yourself a lot of trouble and pain and tell the man what he wants to know.”

“I’ve already told you I had nothing to do with Terry’s sons killing.” I was torn between fear and a kind of euphoria. Knowing that I had the pistol and that I would not hesitate to use it gave me the resilience to remain calm but I had to be cautious, Bone was a young, fit, strong adversary and he was also a professional.

“I take it this place is not soundproofed,” He said to Terry.

Terry looked almost as confused as I was, “no, no of course not.”

Bone nodded and pulled from his jacket pocket a reel of heavy duty parcel tape. “Then I shall need this,” he said as he placed it on the desk next to the tools. “Once I get started clients usually make a lot of noise, yells and screams of pain, a lot of swearing and the like. We don’t want to frighten the neighbours.”

He picked up one of the pliers with his left hand and grabbed my wrist with his right. He was so fast that I hardly saw his hands move. He slammed my wrist down on the grey metal top and my fingers automatically splayed out. Holding it firmly with an iron grip he tapped the knuckle of my little finger with the pliers. I could feel the beads of sweat on my forehead.

“I could just use a hammer to crush the knuckles of your fingers. That would be just as effective and also very painful but with these specially designed tools I can apply pressure gradually. I can squeeze the bone until it crushes completely and that is much more disturbing. In fact the pain is excruciating. Then I can work my way along the fingers, one at a time. If, in the unlikely event you still don’t talk then I move on to the other hand. When I have finished, the bones will be so completely crushed that you will never be able to use the hands again. If after that you still refuse to co-operate, I move on to other areas, the toes, the testicles, I’m sure you can imagine that the pain levels get somewhat higher.”

He was so matter of fact that it was almost surreal, like a doctor talking about an upcoming operation. I was becoming very nervous and I could feel the beads of sweat running down my forehead. My right hand gripped the pistol in my pocket and I hoped that Sandra’s repairs to that part of the garment were good. Once I pulled the gun out there would not be time for me to threaten him or tell him to move away. I knew the moment he saw it he would try to knock it from my grasp and as he had already proved he was fast, very fast. I had to pull point and fire without hesitation. The question was would I be quick enough. This time I remembered the safety catch. I eased my finger towards it and flicked it to the off position. There wasn’t going to be time for any mistakes.

“You seem like a genuine guy Harry, why put yourself through all this for nothing. You’ll tell us the truth anyway in the end so why not tell us now?” Bone seemed really concerned for my wellbeing. With one hand on my wrist and the other holding the pliers he placed them so that the jaws were around the knuckle of my little finger. I saw then the little indentations in the tool so that it fitted perfectly but he applied no pressure.

I was perspiring heavily. Even my hands felt clammy but I had to concentrate. Pull point and fire

It would all be over in a second. In one tick of the grandfather clock the outcome would be determined. Could I do it fast enough, pull the weapon from my pocket, point it at him and fire before he knocked it from my grasp? It was going to be a close run thing. I wasn’t ready so I played for time. “Wait a minute. Before we start this charade let me ask you something Terry. What makes you so sure I killed your sons? What proof do you have?”

As he gazed at me I realised for the first time that his features were really quite grotesque. The long pointed nose, the beady eyes and the thin drawn face with the broken yellow teeth; he could have been a character from a child’s horror story.

His high pitched squeaky voice replied. “The police need proof. They need evidence, something that will stand up in a court of law……”

Pull point and fire, concentrate.

“That’s why they’re so damned slow. Me, I don’t need proof, not when I know…..”

I wasn’t listening. All I was thinking was pull point and fire.

“And I know Harry. I just know it was you.”

“How do you know?” I managed to say.

Concentrate.

Pull point and fire.

“I just do Harry. You see…..”

Pull point and fire.

“………..Sometimes you kinda get a feelin’ that…..”

NOW

I slid the gun out of my pocket and aimed at Bone. I was expecting him to make a lunge at the pistol, make a grab for it but he didn’t, instead his reaction was to squeeze the pliers that encompassed my little finger. The shock was colossal and I yelled out in pain and almost as a reaction I pulled the trigger. The noise in the small room was far greater than in the forest or the field and the whole building seemed to shake.

The pain in my finger wouldn’t relent and for one frightening moment I thought I had missed my target altogether as Bone stood statue like staring at me, then the pressure on the finger eased and the big hulk staggered backwards towards the wall and window, holding his side with one hand and the pliers flapping uselessly in the other. Blood appeared between his fingers as he slid down the wall to the floor, gasping for air. He was badly injured but still a threat.

Terry screamed, “What the fuck” and knocked over the chair as he stood up. I turned the gun on him.

“There was no need for any of this Terry. It’s your bloody fault for telling your sons about Sandra’s accident. They were blackmailing me. The phone calls they made were attempts at blackmail. They wanted to collect the money in Lyminge forest and I almost paid them but they said they would come back for more and then they threatened me. It was them or me. I had to shoot them.”

“No, no you don’t understand. I didn’t tell them about the accident, honest.” His haunted face had lost its colour and his hands were shaking by his side. “Why would I tell them?”

“Bullshit, how else would they have known about it? Nobody else knew.”

“Try me, try me on that machine.” He pointed to the laptop, desperation in his voice.

“I don’t need to do that. Like you said Terry, sometimes you just know,”

I pulled the trigger.

Another loud explosion shook the building and Terry’s body slammed against the wall behind him. This was a much better shot. The bullet hit him in the centre of the chest and slowly with his mouth agape and eyes rolling he slid down, leaving long red streaks of blood chasing after him, decorating the drab surface.

My hand was hurting like hell and shaking it violently to try to relieve the pain I went over to where Bone was propping himself up with his elbow on the floor. His hand was clutching the wound but he was unable to stop the blood from pumping out through his white shirt and between his fingers.

“I’ve faced some of the toughest criminals in London in my time,” he said, between gasps for air. “Some real bad fuckers, nasty cruel people, professional killers and drug dealers and I end up getting shot by a prick like you.”

He breathed in with difficulty then continued, wincing with pain. “I asked that idiot,” he indicated Terry with his eyes, “If you would be carrying and he said you were only a bloody accountant, all you would be armed with was a pen and a calculator. I should have known better than to believe him, after all if you shot his sons like he thought you did, you must have had a gun. Mistake, bad mistake,” he shook his head.

“We all make them,” I said and for a second I felt sorry for him, he was quite likeable really, but then I realised that he had no qualms about torturing me and what would have happened when Terry had learned the truth, would this guy have simply let me walk away with a pat on the back and a good evening, nice to have met you? No, I had no doubt that he would have had some other nasty fate in mind.

I put the gun to his forehead and he didn’t try to stop me. He either didn’t have the strength or no longer cared. I pulled the trigger and the wall behind him was promptly painted a brighter colour.

Once again I had to move fast. The sound of the three shots must surely have been heard by a neighbour. As quickly as possible I flicked on the safety catch and returned the pistol to my pocket before drawing out a handkerchief and wiping the corner of the desk where my hand had been. Next I wiped the whiskey tumbler, even the back of the chair and the plastic arms although I could not remember touching them. Then I checked on Terry. He was already dead. As I was about to leave I noticed the polygraph, laptop, whatever it was. Would it have recorded my voice? I didn’t know so I closed the screen and took the damn thing with me.

On the way down the stairs I pulled the hood over my head. The knuckle of my little finger was throbbing badly but the adrenaline pumping through my body helped to deaden the pain. I opened the door and peered outside. There was no one about so after wiping my fingerprints off the inner and outer handles as well as the bell push I closed the door and walked away with the computer under my arm.

Stepping swiftly along the pavement I remembered Terry once saying that he may have been responsible for populating half of Folkestone. Well, it appeared to me that I was now rapidly depopulating the place, at least of all the scum and riffraff. The thought made me smile and I turned the first corner a happy man. Arriving at the car the distant sound of police sirens could be heard. One of the neighbours had probably heard the shots and called the police. I was getting used to the sound and was pleased to know that the local constabulary were responding to calls so quickly these days. It didn’t matter, in a few seconds I would be away.

Thirteen

My hand had hurt all evening but the big black man had not put sufficient pressure on the joint to break the bone. It was swollen and painful but I could just about move the little finger. The bullet must have hit him before he had been able to do any serious damage. I took several paracetamol along with a good measure of brandy before going to bed and the combination helped me get a good night’s sleep. When I awoke the finger was a little more flexible and the pain was almost gone.

After breakfast that morning the first thing I did was to break up the laptop that I had brought from Terry’s office. I dismantled it into its component parts, the case, the screen, the motherboard, the hard drive and various other bits and broke them up into fragments. Then I went around the surrounding area dumping the pieces over many miles in various litter bins, being especially careful that the pieces of the hard drive were spread over several locations. I realised that maybe I was being overzealous in my efforts but it didn’t matter, it was better to be safe than sorry.

When I got home a scruffy looking Toyota was parked outside my house. I didn’t take much notice of it until I opened the front door and Sandra greeted me with a wide eyed meaningful look that said be careful.

“Detective Inspector Armstrong and Archie Haines are her to see you. I told them that you had just gone into town and that you wouldn’t be long so they said they’d wait. They’re in the lounge.”

“Oh right,” I said as casually as possible, acknowledging her visual warning with my eyes as I entered the room to join them.

The policemen looked uncomfortable as they perched, one on each of our two settees with half-finished mugs of coffee set on little tables in front of them. Archie, who was sitting on the seat nearest the door, smiled as I entered but the Detective Inspector merely nodded.

“Your wife invited us in,” said Archie, trying to make it sound like a social call. “She told us you wouldn’t be long.”

“That’s fine, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting, you must be busy.” Keep calm, relax and be careful what you say, I instructed myself. The next few minutes will determine the rest of your life, guard every word.

Detective Inspector Armstrong stood up. He had been sitting across the room, the farthest away from me. “Have you heard that there has been another shooting in town?”

“Yes I heard it on the news this morning. I couldn’t believe it. First both Terry Bovey’s sons get killed and now Terry himself is dead. I guess someone must have it in for the family.”

Sandra came in and sat on the sofa near Archie. I scarcely noticed her, my full attention was on the Detective who was now slowly pacing to and fro between his seat and mine. He had his head down and occasionally scratched the back of his neck with his right hand. He didn’t look up and his voice was very quiet. “How well did you know Mr Bovey?”

I seemed to recall that he had asked this question the last time he came here but I couldn’t be sure of the answer I gave so I answered cagily. “I think I told you before that I hardly knew him. I did some work for him some time ago.”

“Mmm,” Detective Inspector Armstrong continued his slow pacing with his head down and his hand still at the back of his neck. “So you didn’t know him very well?”

“No.”

The Detective stopped moving and turned to face me. “When was the last time you saw him?”

To be a good liar you need to have a good memory and that was another attribute that I did not possess. I couldn’t remember what I had told him last time or even if he had asked the same question. I stammered “Er, it must be years since I have seen him.”

“I see,” he said and restarted his pacing before suddenly stopping and looking out of the window, deep in thought. “You see from his phone records it seems that you have spoken to him several times recently.” He swivelled around and looked me in the eye, trying to gauge my reaction.

Of course Detective Armstrong would have the dates and times of the calls made and received on Terry’s phone. For a second I must have appeared worried but I recovered instantly with an unconcerned smile. “Oh yes there have been phone calls but I haven’t seen him in the flesh for a long time.”

The Detective withdrew a tiny notepad from his pocket and flicked it open before studying it with care. “His phone records show that you called him several weeks ago. Can you remember what the call was about?”

Yes of course I could. It was when I had phoned Terry to ask him to repair the front of our car but to mention that would be fatal. I could feel a little colour coming into my cheeks and I hoped that Sandra might think of something to save the day like she did last time but she kept quiet. A deathly hush filled the room, the only noise emanating from the ponderous heartbeat of the grandfather clock in the hall, each tick sounding louder than its predecessor until each movement of the second hand was like a clap of thunder. Both policemen’s eyes bore into me as I struggled to think of a suitable reply.

Unable to respond with anything meaningful I stalled. “I can’t remember why I called him.” Then an idea formed. It was a poor attempt at deceit but I had nothing else so I went with it. “Wait, I remember, it was a business call.”

Armstrong shot back immediately. “Business, I thought you said that you had not seen him for years.”

“That’s right but my work has its ups and downs. I was going through a quiet spell. When that happens, as it does from time to time, it’s customary to call old clients to see if you can drum anything up.”

“Even though you didn’t get paid last time you dealt with him?”

“Certainly, there’s always a chance that as well as new business the client may be in a position to pay a little off the original debt. It happens, I am an eternal optimist.”

“I see,” Detective Armstrong sat down heavily on the settee and referred again to his notebook. “And the call he made to you a few weeks later, do you remember what that was about?”

I was thinking ahead now and was prepared for the question. “Yes, that was to thank us both for the flowers.”

“The flowers,” the Detective peered up from his notes, perplexed.

“Yes, we sent a wreath to his son’s funeral.”

“I see. Do you usually send flowers to a relative of someone you hardly know?”

“No, but this was sort of special, how often do you hear of the sons of an acquaintance being shot. It was very sad.”

Sandra spoke for the first time. “I told you last time didn’t I that my husband is a big old softie.”

The Detective’s lips curled into a smile but there was no humour in his eyes as he glanced at Sandra and then turned back to me. “Don’t people usually send thank you cards for receiving flowers or maybe these days it’s emails.”

“Some do,” I replied, “but Terry wasn’t the sort to sit and write. I was amazed he even telephoned.”

Detective Armstrong’s head nodded slowly up and down. “Where did you buy the wreath?”

Sandra had suggested that we pay our respects with a floral tribute and although at the time I had objected I was glad now that we had. She gave Detective Armstrong the name of the florist without hesitation. She was good at things like that, her memory was much better than mine. Armstrong scribbled in his little book.

“And the last call he made to you, on the day he died, what was that about?”

Again I had anticipated the question. “He wanted me to deal with his sons Estates. Sort out the financial side, you know.”

He regarded me with a cold hard stare but said nothing. It was Archie Haines turn to take up the questioning.

“Harry, we understand from a couple of our uniformed boys that you were in the vicinity of Lyminge forest the day the two sons were killed. Is that true?”

I might have guessed that they would find that out. “Yes, yes it is.”

Detective Armstrong was quick to take over again. “I see, so now we have three coincidences. The sons call you on the phone shortly before they die; the old man calls the day he dies and by your own admission you were in the vicinity when the first shooting took place. Have you anything to say about that?”

“I remember the morning of the shooting in the forest very well because I had gone to the golf club out that way to see if it was playable.” I addressed my next comment to Archie. “You know the little golf club I mean, I thought it would make a change from Etching hill.”

I turned back to Detective Armstrong to explain. “We usually play at the Etching Hill golf course but that day I was planning to go to a new venue. When I got up that morning I could see it was misty so I took a ride to the golf course to see how bad it was. I had intended to play later but when I arrived the fog was really thick and it didn’t look as though it would improve, so I gave up the idea and came home. On the way I was stopped by two policemen who told me about the shooting. They asked me if I had seen anything suspicious but I explained that the conditions were too bad to see anything, so after searching my car they let me go on my way.”

“They searched your car?” Armstrong asked.

“Yes, apparently they had received a call from the police station to search all vehicles but of course, mine was fine. The only thing I had in the car was my golf shoes.”

The two officers exchanged quick glances. “And how about the night before last, I don’t suppose you were anywhere near Sellinge were you?” asked Detective Armstrong.

This was my ace in the hole. “No, the night before last we went to our local pub, The Black Horse, for a meal. We ended up staying till closing time. We had a little too much to drink and had to leave the car and get a cab home. It’s nowhere near Sellinge, the opposite direction in fact.”

“What time did you go to the pub?” asked Armstrong.

“I should say about seven thirty, maybe a bit earlier.” I looked at Sandra for confirmation.

“It was earlier, around seven I think,” she said with a big grin.

“Do you think anyone in the pub would remember you?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure most of the patrons and staff would remember us, I have to admit that we may have got a bit loud. We’re not great drinkers and the alcohol may have got the better of us.”

Detective Armstrong appeared somewhat deflated. In his mind I was in the frame, a suspect but if my story proved correct and several people confirmed that we were in the Black Horse all evening, as I hoped they would, it was a cast iron alibi. Of course I had to gamble that the staff would not remember the exact time of our arrival but I was reasonably confident that at least some of them would think we had been in the place since early on in evening.

The fact that all three double shootings had been done with the same weapon meant that the same killer had committed all the crimes so the one alibi served to clear me entirely from suspicion of all three. I could see the same thoughts filtering through Armstrong’s mind. What a brilliant idea it had been of Sandra’s to go so quickly to the pub. What a wonderful wife she was.

“I see,” Detective Armstrong closed his notebook and rubbed his cheek. “And what about last night, where were you last night?”

“As I said we’re not heavy drinkers. One binge night lasts us for a while, we must be getting older. We stayed in last night and crashed out in front of the TV.”

The Detective returned the notebook to his pocket and rubbed his cheek again as though he were deep in thought. Eventually he levered himself to his feet.

Archie Haines followed his boss’ example then asked, “Who were you going to play golf with that morning?”

“What morning?” I was a little confused.

“The day of the shooting in Lyminge forest,” he spoke casually in a friendly manner, one golfer to another, but he knew as well as I did that it was a damn good question. Why did the bastard have to ask that now, just as I thought we had finished.

I couldn’t give a name, whoever I mentioned would be asked to confirm it was true and of course they would not be able to do so. Saying that I was going to play alone didn’t sound right. Then an idea jumped into my head. “Sandra. She is going to learn to play. That’s partly why I was going to that course. It’s a lot easier than where we normally play; a good place to learn.” For a moment both the men assessed my reply then Archie grinned at Sandra. “Getting fed up with being a golf widow are you?”

“Definitely, if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em,” she replied and gave him a winning smile. Sandra seemed to have the knack of defusing the situation and the atmosphere became a little lighter as the officers, starting to leave, stepped out into the hall.

Detective Armstrong cast an eye over the grandfather clock. “You’ve not sold it yet then?” he said and once again my heart skipped a beat. The murder weapon was still hidden in the bottom.

“Certainly not, it’s not for sale,” Sandra replied.

“Well if you change your mind don’t forget I’m interested.”

“I promise that if we do ever decide to sell it you can make the first offer.” Sandra spoke
with a lig
ht and flirtatious tone.

I opened the front door for the officers and they stepped outside into the warm sunshine but before making his way to their car Detective Armstrong turned to me with a serious expression. “You’re not going anywhere in the next month or so are you, no holidays planned, not going abroad?”