The Teacher: A shocking and compelling new crime thriller – NOT for the faint-hearted! (18 page)

After twenty minutes of silence and awkward stares, John walked into the office, baseball cap in hand. Abbey could smell the whisky on him as he planted himself next to her. He barely managed to smile at her. He had been drunk for the last week, she had had to call him in sick to work after she had found him out cold on the bathroom floor. For the first time in years she was embarrassed by her father, but even more embarrassed that she had turned him into this.

‘Would you recount the events of Saturday night for us?’ No easing, no small talk, straight to business.

‘Why are they here?’ John pointed at the lawyers.

‘It’s just standard procedure,’ Dean Talbot said dismissively. ‘Saves confusion later on. Please, Abbey, go ahead and tell us what happened.’

As she started to speak she noticed the girl with the laptop was typing furiously, it took a moment before Abbey realised the girl was recording Abbey’s words verbatim. This made Abbey nervous. No one spoke as she told them of the party and the drinking. No one spoke as she told them of the kiss, ever aware of her father sitting by her side, listening to details about his daughter that no father ever should have to hear. It wasn’t until she talked about Jamie entering the room that one of the solicitors finally broke ranks.

‘So at that moment you were actually consenting to the relations with Mr Taylor?’

‘I consented to kissing him, but I didn’t want to do anything else.’

‘Did you make that clear to Mr Taylor at any point?’

‘When Jamie walked in I tried to leave, but I couldn’t.’

‘Did they lock the door?’

‘No, but I couldn’t leave.’

‘Did they hold you down?’

‘I think so, I don’t know, maybe, yes …’ She was getting flustered.

‘And at any point did you tell the boys to stop? Are you sure it wasn’t a misunderstanding?’

‘A misunderstanding is when you forget whose turn it is to do the washing up! They assaulted me!’

‘Listen, it’s obvious those boys knew what they were doing!’ John piped up aggressively. For the first time Abbey felt like someone was in her corner, and more importantly, that someone was her father. Relief swept over her. John’s face was stern, eyes directly on the dean as they had been since Abbey started talking. John reached for Abbey’s hand and squeezed it, she felt safe again.

The dean leaned forward and smiled at John.

‘We have a lot of experience dealing with allegations of this nature, Mr Lucas, better to just let our guys handle it.’

‘Oh, I can see how you are handling it. You don’t give a shit about my daughter, you just care about your precious university.’ John’s venom was new to Abbey, she had never even heard him raise his voice before.

‘Mr Lucas, if you could just calm …’

‘And why so many lawyers, anyway? Maybe I need to call my lawyer too!’

‘Please calm down, if you could just continue with your account and then …’

‘Then what? Let me guess, she signs it then you pick it to pieces making everything look like her fault.’ The lawyers looked at each other guiltily, having previously assumed that John and Abbey would be easy to take care of. The dean’s smile faded.

‘Mr Lucas, we take allegations like this very seriously, I promise you. We just need to decide what the best course of action for everyone is. We don’t want to put anyone through any unnecessary ordeals.’

‘Unnecessary ordeals?’ John said through gritted teeth.

‘The fact is that only twenty-eight per cent of rapes in the UK are then referred on to the Crown Prosecution Service. Of those, the actual conviction rate is considerably lower.’ The dean spoke with confidence. Abbey wondered how many times he had to wheel these statistics out. ‘Unfortunately, with the pictures, the boys’ exemplary records and also witness accounts of your daughter’s behaviour at the party, going to the police may not be a course of action you want to take …’

John stood up, yanking Abbey up with him.

‘Where was your goddamned security when this party was going on? Who exactly was watching those kids while they all got wasted on speed and booze? My daughter and I
will
be contacting the police, and if you have anything else you want to ask then put it in writing, I’ll get my lawyer to look at it.’

The dean stood up and looked at John with feigned sincerity.

‘I would strongly advise against that course of action, Mr Lucas, you wouldn’t want this to have any kind of long-term effect on your daughter’s education. Or anything else, for that matter.’

‘What exactly are you saying?’

‘I’m saying there has to be some kind of arrangement we can come to so that this goes no further, this could be quite damaging for everyone involved, including poor Abbey.’ The dean looked at Abbey and she found herself withdrawing and edging behind her father.

‘So we just let it go? Just like that? Life goes on? You don’t seem to understand, I’ve been at home with my daughter since it happened. She’s a mess because of what they did!’

‘I’m sure that we could reimburse you for any time missed …’ The dean leaned forward and spoke softly. Abbey saw the lawyers straining their necks to hear what he was saying.

John lunged forward and grabbed the dean by his collar.

‘We don’t need your fucking money!’

The lawyers all jumped to their feet and Abbey tried to pull her father back. John pushed the dean and he staggered backwards, one of the men catching him before he fell to the ground.

They stormed out of the office, leaving the rest of the people in the room stunned. She saw John in a new light. Abbey’s father’s outburst had both shocked and impressed her. She knew that people often underestimated her father, herself included. They mistook his placid nature and soft-spoken voice to mean that he was somehow a pushover.

She squeezed John’s trembling hand as they waited for the lift. She was glad he had come after all. The lift doors opened and Abbey was confronted by both Jamie and Christian, with who she assumed were their parents. She moved out of the way and they stepped out of the lift, as she moved forwards she noticed a slight smirk on Christian’s face and for a second she was almost sure he winked at her. She had to get out of there, she wasn’t even sure if she was breathing any more and she didn’t want her father to realise who they were. She pulled him into the lift and pressed the button manically.

They arrived at her dorm room, John standing in the doorway as she entered. Dani’s side of the room was stripped bare but the same could not be said for hers. The world slowed and she wanted to run and shut her father out but it was too late as she turned and saw his face. He was looking at her wall, the words ‘watch out, slut’ were scrawled in red paint behind her bed, dripping down the wall in a menacing font. Surrounding the message were large printouts of the party, coupled with some imaginatively photoshopped pornographic images, some were real, some were not, but all of it had happened. Only someone who had been in that room would have known what images would have upset her the most. She didn’t even want to take her things, she just wanted to leave. She ran out, pushing her father out of the way, running through the hallway, down the stairs and out into the open, gasping for air. It wasn’t enough, she needed to be gone, away from this place.

She knew now that there was no way she would be able to get justice for this. She had no evidence, in fact all she had was her word against theirs and she already had a demonstration of how much weight that carried, especially given the circumstances. She couldn’t bear to be made to feel like a liar any longer. Her father believed her, she was sure of that now, and that meant more to her than anything else. It was almost enough.

John led her to the car, arm around her shoulder. People looked and smirked. She wanted to scream at them but she just got in the car, happy when the engine started, even happier when the college was in the rear view mirror.

At home she went straight to her room. She couldn’t talk, didn’t even want to look her father in the eyes after what he had heard, after what he had seen. She wanted to die in that moment, to exist no more, to not have to think, to feel, to hurt. John was the only reason she would not, could not end it. She loved him, she knew how much her mother’s betrayal had destroyed him, she couldn’t betray him too. She would stay and they would look after each other, just as they always had, just like old times.

She awoke to the sound of the front door closing, she looked at the clock and knew that her father had gone to work. She had slept through the night, knowing her father was there for her had been enough. If today was a work day then things had returned to normal. Maybe they could go back, maybe they could pretend that it had all been a bad dream and they wouldn’t have to face the reality of it. Who needs reality, anyway?

Her bowl and spoon were laid out on the table when she walked in the kitchen and she smiled. The phone rang, it was her father. He had probably forgotten something; maybe he wanted her to bring him lunch as she had done so many times before.

‘I’m coming home, I’ve lost my job, Abbey. They fired me.’

The Sanctum

At the museum the unveiling of the grand old ballroom ready for the big fundraiser had been a triumph. Using the likeness of a picture from the fifties, they had tried to make it as authentic as they could. No one could deny they had done a good job. Abbey and Parker had relocated the animals that had escaped the cull. Abbey was proud of herself, proud of them. She couldn’t remember a time before Parker, couldn’t remember how lost she had felt, only that she had felt lost. But that was a distant memory. Abbey was now helping to oversee the arrangement of the ballroom for the centenary this evening. It was all hands on deck, she had had to work through lunch. She hadn’t seen Parker since before noon, she looked around the museum in his usual haunts but he was nowhere to be found, it was unusual for him to not be near her.

‘We’re all done now, here’s your gear back.’ The foreman handed her a stack of photos and old documents with the plans and blueprints of the museum. She struggled to hold on to them as she made her way up to the filing room.

When she got to the cramped office she looked at the intricate drawings of the building. She saw something that didn’t make sense, different to the map on display to help tourists to find their way. On the second floor of the museum there was a blank space, as if there was nothing in that location, but knowing the building as she did, she knew there was not actually a gaping hole in the centre. The rooms were identical to the rooms downstairs only a few feet smaller, nothing too noticeable, not unless you knew what you were looking for.

As she walked through the large corridors to the fossil room, she looked at the paintings of the former directors, a tradition that had been carried on through the ages right up to Mr Lowestoft, the most recent addition. His picture was modern and out of place among some of the other faces and grand golden frames. She took a step back and looked at one of the men, it took her a few seconds before she realised why she had been drawn to this particular portrait. She checked the name, Giles Epler, Mr Lowestoft’s late predecessor, who had left a great portion of his estate in trust to the museum. He had paid for most of the work that had been undertaken. She had never met the man when he was alive, but there was something about his face that was familiar, something, what was it? Then it hit her, it was his eyes, a sinister version of the ones she adored. Was he connected to Parker? Could he be Parker’s father? No, he would have been too old; he must have been his grandfather, someone he trusted. She thought about the room, the secret room on the plans, and her stomach listed. Pieces fell into place in her mind. Did she even want to find it now?

It took her a while but she finally located the part of the wall that was just a few feet too short, she felt a little fantastical looking for a secret lever or revolving bookcase, but there must be a way in. She tried to picture in her head which other rooms would back on to the hidden chamber, then she remembered something that had always seemed out of place to her: a brass hook on the wall in the museum’s aviary. It was small and unobtrusive but it was clearly as old as the building. Abbey ran through the museum until she reached the room, she found the hook and pulled, nothing, she then tried to move it and it turned a quarter, she heard a click but could not see anything different about the room. She placed her hands on the wall and felt as she walked along it, then she saw the slither of light down the side of the glass cabinet holding the ravens she had worked on when she had first started at the museum. There were seven of them, in a series of natural poses, but she knew what was under the skin, what went into making them look so natural. Glue and staples, paper and wood, wires and screws. The click sounded again and the slither of light disappeared, she rushed back to the hook which was straight and performed the action again, returning to the cabinet and searching for something out of place, something that should not be there; then she saw the switch. A tiny hole in the fascia, barely noticeable, just large enough for her to slide her finger in. There was a lever on the inside. She flipped it and the cabinet came free from the wall on one side. It was stiff and audible when she tried to move it, she squeezed through the gap and found herself in a room she had never seen before, and wished that even now she had not found it. Her eyes struggled to take in what she was seeing.

The door clicked shut behind her and the first thing that struck her was the stained-glass window, it was almost identical to the one she had kissed Parker in front of the first time. The rest of the room was more formidable. An arrangement of dirty, gilt throne-like chairs fixed to the ground in a circular fashion, all facing the centre. In the centre of the room a large hook hung from the ceiling, dangling over a wrought-iron grate, which appeared to be some kind of drainage system, with a parallel track on the floor and remnants of something else that had been bolted to the ground. She looked at the walls, the large oak panels were similar to the walls in so many of the other rooms, but on them hung various artefacts, obviously old, devices used to torture people in the medieval ages, maybe even earlier. Spiked whips and chains hung from the walls, every size and design you could imagine. Each item was conceived with a sole purpose in mind, to stretch, maim, brand, disfigure or kill. She couldn’t quite see into the corners, she didn’t want to venture over but curiosity had driven her this far, surely she had seen the worst of it.

In each of the far corners there was a large wooden chest, the bolts that had held them both closed had been cut, what seemed like recently to Abbey. A shiny new pair of bolt cutters lay on the ground next to them. She knew it was Parker who had been here of late. She was terrified but she wanted to look inside the chest. She took a deep breath as she heaved on the unwieldy lid, immediately regretting it as the foul air entered her lungs. More weapons, knives, a mace, a miniature crossbow, she looked at the bolts and saw the five pointed nibs, she recognised the pattern immediately, she had seen those markings on Parker’s back, intermingled with the giant asterisk that dominated his body. The bottom of the chest was also a wrought-iron grate; she presumed it was so the base would not become rotten with the blood from the rusty arsenal.

The realisation that this room had been created by the original architect, presumably by instruction from the owner, sent chills coursing through her body. She could never have imagined this, in all of her suppositions about what may have happened to Parker, something she often wondered since she had first seen the scars, this had never entered her mind. She made her way to the other chest, filled with dread as she quickly pulled it open. Like ripping off a plaster, she just wanted to get it over with. This chest was different, it was full of slender leather boxes, slotted carefully next to each other, each one monogrammed on the spine. Some were so old they had warped and buckled. She pulled out one of the boxes and opened it, inside there was a large leather journal, the corresponding monogram on the front. Unsure of how many more revelations she could take, she opened the book to find the first entry was dated 1842. The writing was small and perfectly formed, with even pen strokes that on a first glance looked beautiful until the words became legible. At the top of the page was a list of members present – members of what? The initials of the first name matched the ones on the front of the book, she assumed the name belonged to the curator of that particular time period.
Subject 17 displays signs of improvement, withstanding the rack for almost thirty minutes before any significant tissue damage.
She turned the pages and was faced with drawing after drawing of a nameless young man, in various gruesome situations, limbs stretched and strangely inhuman. Just then she remembered Parker’s reference to drawing Giacometti men, the faceless bronze sculptures from the mid-twentieth century. She realised at that moment that Subject 17 was a person. A horrifying thought entered her mind. She looked back into the chest and saw a box with the letters G.E. engraved on it.

Her blood ran cold as she reached for the box. She felt she owed it to Parker to look inside, that even though she couldn’t bear the idea of what she may be confronted with, it could not be as bad as anything he had endured. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the name Giles Epler at the top of the page. This book was fatter than the previous had been, due to the photographs wedged in between the pages. The first picture was missing; she could see the ridges in the page where the picture had sat, presumably instead of a register. She turned the pages until she came to a picture of the room she was standing in, only it was illuminated with candles, every chair was filled, the occupants were wearing hooded cloaks that shrouded their faces. In the centre was a chair, not an ordinary chair, it was metal, it had bolts, spikes, rods and wires in various locations. The chair was secured to the ground on the tracks. A silver-eyed adolescent boy was strapped to the contraption, his face contorted in pain as he bit into the leather strap between his teeth. She could see the veins in his arms trying to rip their way through his skin as they bulged from the electricity that ran through them. She turned the page again, unable to look at that any longer. The next page was worse: arms shackled behind his back and hung from the hook, his shoulders protruding and inflamed, blood running the length of his shadowy naked body from his wrists. She turned the page again,
Subject 89 shows little reaction to the stimulus
. The picture was of the boy strapped to the chair, a metal restraint holding his head in place, his emotionless face staring forward. She couldn’t look any more. She slammed the book shut and threw it on the ground. She ran to the part of the room she had come in by, there was a clear lever for her to pull, she was grateful for that one thing at least in this room of horrors. She looked at the brand name that was engraved on the base of the lever, it had been made by a company called Parker industries. She thought about the desperate boy in the pictures. She was flooded by a feeling of immense sadness. Things she hadn’t dared to think about suddenly made sense, but at this moment all she could think about was her Parker, where was he?

She ran down to the foyer and up to Gemma.

‘Parker, have you seen him?’

‘Oh, he took the afternoon off.’ Gemma seemed to be pleased that she had known something about Parker that Abbey had not, her grin smugger than usual. This wasn’t like Parker. What did this mean?

‘I have to go now.’ Abbey’s breath was getting more laboured as she felt herself going into a panic.

‘What about the party?’ Gemma called as Abbey dashed from the building.

Abbey pushed the door to Parker’s home, it wasn’t locked. Parker stood in the window, his hands in his pockets, staring out over the tennis courts in the square across the road. Sally lay loyally at his feet, a sad look on her face, she barely raised her eyebrow when she saw Abbey come in, just grumbled a bit – she was worried about her master. Abbey felt her voice catching in her throat as she approached him. He turned his head slightly, letting her know he was aware she was there, then he returned his gaze to the vista outside.

She slid her arms around his waist and began to sob into his back. He remained unmoved, his eyes fixed on the amateur couples’ tennis match. She felt the muscles beneath his shirt and remembered the angles his body had been contorted into.

‘I found the room,’ she whispered through trembling lips, she wondered if she needed to elaborate, would he know which room she was talking about? She felt his heavy sigh as he pulled away from her and she knew there was no need, he knew exactly what room she was talking about. She had been afraid this would happen, his shame would drive a wedge between them. He turned to her, his face calm but his eyes screaming. He moved towards her and placed his arms around her, she had so many questions, but she dare not ask them for fear of him answering so she kept quiet and just relished the warmth of his contact. He stroked her hair, soothed her. He had assumed the role of protector and she felt so unworthy of his sympathy. Any unresolved anger or hatred she had towards her own abusers didn’t matter any more; nothing mattered but Parker. Thoughts of herself disappeared entirely, now all she wanted was to protect him at any cost. She was filled with a new hate. She wanted to avenge Parker, she wanted to know who perpetrated these horrific acts, who had hurt him like this? With every fibre of her being she wanted them to pay.

‘It’s OK. Abbey. it will all be OK,’ he lied. She felt his hesitations and his chest heave as he placed a hand on her head again, smoothing her hair in comforting strokes.

‘When I was ten years old my parents died. My grandfather was my only living relative and so I came to live with him on his estate. He was a wealthy, well-respected man. I had met him maybe once before. My father hated him. He was the history teacher at the private school before he came to work at the museum.’ Parker’s voice was calm and monotone, as though he were reading a menu; emotionless, cold.

‘He was the director, right?’

‘He was. I thought he chose to work there because he loved the museum, my father used to talk about it a lot. My grandfather put me in Churchill School for Boys but I struggled. I had been home-schooled up until that point, with my parents’ work it had made more sense because they had to travel extensively. I was in a strange country and I didn’t fit in with the kids at that place. My grandfather was a disciplinarian. He liked rules and he made it very clear that I was disappointing him. We didn’t get on well.’ He took a deep breath and turned his shoulder ever so slightly, just enough so that she couldn’t see the expression on his face.

‘What did you do?’ She thought of her father and how lucky she had been. She went to put her arms around Parker but he stepped away even further, she looked at his hands and saw him squeezing his fingers anxiously.

‘I started skipping school and I made friends with a boy. His name was Nathan. He had been living on the streets for months. He had run away from home. Sometimes I would let him come over to the house and take a shower or have a hot meal. One day my grandfather had a call from the school saying I had called in sick and he came back to find Nathan in my room in just a towel and he completely lost his mind.’