Blood Moon (20 page)

When neither of the car’s occupants responded, Paul and Bruce opened the doors and hauled the man and woman out, with Pete and Stephen placing a firm grip on their arms as soon as they were clear of the vehicle. The four men hurried the two prisoners inside the station, and Stephen breathed a sigh of relief as the magnetic door closed behind them. Usually, if a prisoner was going to try something, it was in those critical moments between getting them out of the car and entering the station. These two, however, had offered no resistance of any kind. If anything, they’d almost jogged into the custody suite. Perhaps they were beginning to realise how much trouble they were in and were co-operating. That would make things easier on the custody officers, but wouldn’t do a damn thing to reduce the charges. His arm still throbbed from where the woman’s fingernails had torn through his skin. He was going to have to get a bloody tetanus shot, and for that, he was damn well going to make sure the pair of them were charged with assaulting a police officer, along with anything else he could make stick.

Bruce walked ahead of them and sat down behind his desk once more. He removed two plastic trays from behind him and nodded to the man. “Empty your pockets and put the contents in here. Then take your belt off and the laces out of your shoes and put them in here as well.”

The man smiled at the custody officer and lifted his arms to show the handcuffs, then shrugged. Bruce let out an audible sigh of frustration. “Officer Bacon, would you mind taking the cuffs off these two?”

Stephen took out the key to the handcuffs and was about to unlock them when something in the man’s demeanour made him pause. There was a tension about both prisoners. An eagerness that made him uneasy. When someone was arrested and brought into the station, they usually acted in one of two ways. Meek and apologetic, often in tears as the reality of their situation sank in, or loud, aggressive and threatening. The man and woman fell into neither category. It felt like they were waiting. Anticipating something. Like they were exactly where they wanted to be. And he didn’t like that one little bit. He caught Pete’s eye and a silent understanding passed between the two officers. Pete took a step backwards and removed his baton from its holster, while Paul retrieved a canister of pepper spray from his own uniform. If the prisoners felt like trying something, they’d regret it pretty damned quickly. Satisfied that all of the necessary precautions had been taken, he then unlocked the handcuffs on the man and woman in turn.

Bruce tapped on the side of the plastic tray with a pen. “Now, if it’s not too much trouble. Pockets, belt and laces.”

A grin played across the man’s face. “Of course, officers. Happy to oblige.” He removed the belt from his jeans, letting them fall to the floor, then stepped out of his trainers and pulled his t-shirt over his head. The woman followed suit, undressing in a matter of seconds. Neither wore any underwear beneath their outer garments.

Bruce put up his hands. “Woah, steady on now. If we wanted you to strip we’d have told you to. Put your bloody clothes back on.”

The woman stepped forward, an innocent smile on her lips. “Oh, but clothes are so restrictive, don’t you think? Don’t you prefer me this way?”

Stephen felt an icy finger of fear run up his spine. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. He glanced at Pete and saw his own suspicions mirrored on the other officer’s face. There was only one reason he could think of why their suspects wanted to remove their clothes. He grasped the man’s right wrist and snapped his handcuffs around while Pete stepped forward and grabbed for the suspects other arm. If he was right, then he needed to restrain these prisoners while he still could.

The man lashed out with his left arm, flinging Pete away from him as if he were a small child. He turned around, and Stephen saw that his eyes had turned a feral yellow and rivulets of blood were running down the man’s chin. He smiled at Stephen with a mouth full of bone razors. “I don’t think we’ll be needing the handcuffs. Tell me, Officer Bacon, will you squeal for me? Squeal like a little stuck pig?”

Chapter 13

31st December 2008. St Paul’s Church Hall, High Moor. 21:02

Screams echoed around the church hall. High pitched. Piercing. The sound of over two dozen children running riot. Sharon massaged her temples and wished she’d had the presence of mind to bring some painkillers with her. Or earplugs. Or a bottle of vodka. The New Year’s Eve crèche had been established a few years ago to give some of the town’s parents the chance to go out and see the New Year in without having to worry about finding a babysitter. Two local women, Tonia Brown and Angela Crawford, ran it every year, and as far as Sharon was concerned, both were either saints or completely insane. Possibly both. Tonia was currently playing a game of musical statues with some of the children, a tactic to burn off some of their excess energy, while Angela read stories to the younger ones. The rest of the little darlings were tearing around the place, howling like banshees.

One of the rooms adjacent to the main hall had been filled with camp beds and sleeping bags, to allow the children somewhere to take a nap, but the chances of it being used were slim to none, especially with the amount of treats available to them. Sharon’s job was to look after the tuck shop – which was, in reality, a collapsible table piled high with cakes, cookies, sweets and sugary drinks that the children could buy. She’d questioned the wisdom of this approach, and Tonia, a cheerful red-haired woman, had just smiled and explained that it was their little bit of fun. They could hand back tired and contented children at the end of the night, sure, but it was much funnier to return bouncing balls of frantic energy, pumped up with caffeine and sugar, to their often slightly worse for wear parents. As a result, she’d forbidden her young nephew any of the items on display, which had not gone down well at all. Matthew was refusing to talk to her, and when she’d offered him some fruit, he’d regarded her with an incredulous mixture of disgust and pity.

The mass of screaming children reached the end of the hall, then changed direction in the same synchronous way a flock of starlings might, stampeding straight towards her. Sharon thought for a moment that they might just crash into the table and send its contents spilling across the floor, but they all skidded to a stop just in time and began clamouring for the sugary treats, each yelling their requests and holding their money out in front of them.

Sharon felt her headache go up a notch, and she began to regret not taking Helen up on her offer. A curry followed by a hot, sweaty pub and deafening dance music seemed like a nice, peaceful way to spend the evening by comparison. She fought to keep the irritation out of her voice. “One at a time. Form a line or nobody will get anything.”

The children shuffled and jostled into something approaching a line. A pudgy blonde-haired girl had managed to push her way to the front of the queue and held out a pound coin. “I want some cake and a can of coke and one of those biscuits and…”

“You can have a can of drink and either some cake or a cookie for a pound, sweetie. Everything is 50p each.”

The girl’s brow furrowed and her face began to redden. “My mummy says I can have anything I want.”

This statement didn’t really come as much of a surprise to Sharon. The child had an arrogance about her, and from the rolls of fat that were beginning to jowl under her chin, she was clearly not someone who was told ‘No’ very often, if at all. She suddenly found herself quite glad that she and Phil hadn’t started a family. There was nothing like spending time around other people’s offspring to put you off having any of your own. She forced her sweetest smile onto her face and leaned forward so that she was level with the girl. “For a pound, you can have two things from the table, and really, any more than that and you’ll end up feeling sick anyway. Those slices of cake are quite big.”

The girl rolled her eyes, shoved her hand back into her pocket and produced a slightly sticky five pound note. “There. I want two slices of cake, and a can of coke,
and
a cookie. And make sure you give me the right money back. Mummy says that people like
you
will steal anything that’s not nailed down.”

Sharon’s eyes widened, and her temper began to bubble up through the cracks in her forced demeanour. “I beg your pardon? What did you just say to me?”

The child narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “You heard me.”

That was it. There was no way she was going to put up with being spoken to like that by anyone, especially not some fat, spoiled little brat. “Well, you’re not getting anything with an attitude like that, young lady. Go on, get out of the queue. I’m not serving you.”

The child’s face turned a darker shade of red. “You can’t talk to me like that. My mummy says…”

“Well, your mummy isn’t here, and to be honest, it won’t do you any harm to stay away from cakes for a while. Now stop holding the line up. I have cakes and sweets to give to good little girls and boys. The ones who have some manners.”

The child let out a high-pitched wail of frustration; a piercing shriek that seemed to start off at a frequency only dogs could hear, and then dropped down to a level that made Sharon’s fillings vibrate. The girl folded her legs up underneath her body, seeming to levitate for a moment, before her not inconsiderable bulk crashed down onto the wooden floor of the church hall. Sharon was a little surprised that the girl didn’t go straight through into the basement. As it was, the contents of the table leaped into the air a couple of centimetres.

Tonia, obviously quite experienced at this sort of thing, appeared behind the screaming girl and, catching Sharon’s gaze, rolled her eyes and made a face behind the child’s back, then kneeled down and put her hand on her shoulder. “Now, Bella, what’s all this noise about?”

Bella grunted at Tonia, her breath catching in her throat. A bubble of mucus had formed on her left nostril and was inflating and deflating in time to her sobs. “She… she… she won’t let me have any sweets.”

“Well, I’m sure that if Mrs Fletcher won’t let you have any sweets, then you must have done something?”

The mucus bubble burst and, with that small, moist explosion, Bella’s voice returned. “I didn’t do anything. She’s just a horrible, nasty, mean old bag and she won’t let me have any cake. She said I was too fat!”

It was all Sharon could do not to laugh as Tonia puffed her cheeks out and crossed her eyes. She bit her lip before forcing her words out, trying to maintain a serious tone. “I wouldn’t serve you, Bella, because you were rude to me.”

Tonia’s mouth fell open in mock surprise, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with sarcasm. “You weren’t rude, were you, Bella? Oh dear, what
will
your mother say when I tell her? I think she’ll be very disappointed in you.”

Bella mumbled something.

“Sorry?” said Tonia, leaning forward with her hand cupped to her ear. “Were you trying to say something?”

“Mm sorry,” muttered Bella.

Tonia winked at Sharon, “Don’t say sorry to me. You need to apologise to Mrs Fletcher for being rude.”

Bella looked up at Sharon with pure hatred gleaming in her piggy eyes and spoke with a voice that dripped venom. “I’m sorry, Mrs Fletcher. Can I have my sweets now?”

Sharon gave the child a smile that would have been better suited on a shark. “Of course, Bella. You can have a can of drink and one slice of cake. After all, we want to leave something for the other children, don’t we?”

Tonia’s cheeks were puffed out again, and she mimed shovelling cake into her mouth with two fists behind Bella’s back. Sharon couldn’t help it this time, and a snort of laughter escaped her lips. Fortunately Bella didn’t seem to notice. She handed Sharon her money, made a show of counting the change and stalked away with her paper plate and can of drink towards the back of the hall.

“Tonia, I can’t believe you just did that!”

The red-haired woman turned her eyes up and put on an innocent, almost angelic expression. “Why, Sharon, I have no idea what you are talking about.” She winked at her. “Give me a shout if any other little darlings start playing up.”

Tonia began rounding up the other children, deciding that now was as good a time as any for a snack break, and for the next ten minutes, Sharon busily distributed the remaining cakes, cookies and sweets to the eager children until only a few pieces were left over. Mindful that Bella was watching the rapidly emptying table with interest, Sharon noticed three young children – a girl of around 11 years old plus two younger boys – sitting by themselves. They’d not come to the table for food, and she suspected that their parents had packed them off to the crèche without any money for treats, most likely so that they could spend it down the
Sandpiper
or whichever dive they’d elected to spend the evening in. She put the last three cookies on a paper plate and walked over to the children.

“Here you are. I noticed that you didn’t come up with everyone else. I saved you some cookies, if you want them.”

The two boys looked uncertain and their gaze flicked to the girl. She smiled at Sharon. “No, thank you. We’re fine.”