Chosen (20 page)

‘Did he rape his own sister?' Pearce asked in horror.

‘I don't think so,' Nash held up a bundle of letters. ‘These are letters written to him by Sassy. She sounds completely besotted with him, more than happy to consent to the incest.'

‘And the girls he's abducted since then?'

‘Don't you see? They're replacements. Each one, a new Sassy; that's why they had to die. They had to die, because Sassy died. It was history repeating itself. Charleston couldn't let a replacement live when Sassy had died. I bet he believes he wasn't responsible for Sassy's death. If he thought that, it would destroy him. So, he rejects it.'

Nash stopped abruptly. He pictured another room. A group of young women, their faces staring impassively, sitting in eternal silence. Complete and immaculate, their beauty preserved for all time. They were close. They had to be. Charleston would want them near him.

‘We're no nearer to finding them,' Pearce's voice contained a hint of desperation. It broke Nash's spell.

‘I know, but they must be close. He'd need his collection of dolls nearby, so he could play with them whenever he wanted.'

‘In the hall, Mr Nash, I spotted a big aerial photo of the house and grounds.'

They examined the image, huddled closely together. Pearce pointed towards a large building near the edge of the photo. ‘What do you think that is? It looks like a barn or cattle shed.'

Nash felt a cold shiver run through him. ‘It's not a barn. At least I don't think so. Remember the name of the house.' He pointed to an outline in the photo, where the land formed a depression. ‘I think that's the quarry. That could be the old quarry office.'

‘You think that's where the girls are?'

‘I do, and that's where Charleston will be.'

‘I'll call for back-up.'

‘Not yet. If we delay and that costs lives, we'd never forgive ourselves. We're on our own. We've got to reach that place as fast as possible.'

‘What if we're too late?'

The tone of Nash's reply made Pearce shiver. ‘I've broken enough laws tonight; one more won't make a difference. If he's killed them, I'll save the nation the cost of a trial.'

Johnson secured the back door behind them. They felt relief being outside again. ‘There must be a track. The quarry's on this side of the house, so the path should start somewhere round here.' Nash headed across the drive.

‘Mr Nash, the garage and the rest of the gardens are on the other side. If you remember from the photo, all there is on this side is more shrubbery.'

‘What's your point, Jimmy?'

‘What's that for, then?' Johnson's torch beam picked out a gate, halfway along the interwoven fencing.

‘Jimmy, I don't know where we'd be without you.'

‘Probably in one of your own nicks, on a burglary charge.'

The gate opened easily. Pearce spotted a narrow gap in the bushes, far to their left. It was the beginning of a path.

The darkness was intensified by the woodland. Their route grew steeper with almost every stride. It was clear they were descending into the quarry. Nash glanced back; the trees and shrubs they'd passed seemed higher, more threatening. He turned hastily to concentrate on the track.

After ten minutes, the path levelled out. Nash guessed they'd reached the quarry floor. ‘We can't be far away,' he whispered.

Johnson's torch picked up the outline of a pitched roof, against the cliff face. The track took a serpentine course across the old workings, but eventually led them to the front of the building. They examined it by the light of the torch. The office was much larger than they expected, built of stone and looked well nigh impregnable. The windows had been secured with solid steel shutters. No casual trespasser would have been able to get inside. There was a door at one end of the façade.

‘What do you think, Jimmy?' Nash whispered.

‘It's not going to be easy.'

Pearce interrupted, ‘Shine your torch over there a minute, beyond the end of the building.'

The torch beam picked out the distinctive outline of a silver Ford Mondeo, parked close to the end of what Nash guessed was the old
quarry road. ‘Charleston must be inside. This is where we'll find the girls. Let's get on with it.'

Johnson inspected the door closely. ‘This is a bit different. See those locks, Mr Nash? They're going to be tough. The two Yales need to be turned together, after the mortise lock's been opened. That's easy enough with keys, almost impossible with picks, not without making a hell of a din. I'm going to need your help, so we don't attract attention. We call it aiding and abetting,' he added.

‘What do you want us to do?'

‘I want you to hold the picks in the top and bottom locks in the engaged position 'til I'm ready to unlock the third. Then I want us to turn all three together.'

Five minutes later, Nash and Pearce held the slender picks in position, their fingers trembling slightly with the effort. ‘I'm going to count to three. As soon as I do, turn the picks. Ready. One, two three….'

‘My dearest, this is the most pleasant surprise. I never dreamed I'd see you again, let alone be near you. Be with you; together again. It's nothing short of a miracle.'

She was trying to remember what had happened. Where was she? What was going on? She listened, heard the gently caressing tones with complete bewilderment. She could make little sense of what he was saying. Who was he? Who did he think she was? She didn't recognize the voice, couldn't place the accent. It didn't help that her head was muzzy. She realized there was some sort of hood over her head. She attempted to move, but could feel the restraints, knew she was tied to a chair.

The voice came again. ‘Be patient, my dear, for a while. I have things to do before we can be together. My dear, my darling, Sassy, returned to me. You and I, together again as we were always intended to be. In the meantime, you must relax. I have something that will help you.'

She realized she'd been given an injection. Was this going to be the end? She opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late, consciousness deserted her before she could utter her desperate appeal for help.

He was both excited and confused. Confused by what had happened. So excited the need overpowered him, caused him to ignore the sacred ritual. He'd wanted this for so long. Now he was overwhelmed by the prospect. He wanted Sassy, and he wanted her now. His excitement grew, and wouldn't be denied any longer. His desire was almost out of control.

His hands trembled, as he measured the liquid into a glass of
water. After stirring it, he placed it on the draining board then hurried back to the room behind the kitchen. He went to one of the bound, hooded figures. As he untied the ropes, he removed the hood and carried her through to the nursery, laid her on the bed and undressed her. When she was naked, he savoured every curve, stood looking at her until the ache in his loins grew unbearable.

He brought the glass, raised her and supported her as she sipped at the drugged liquid. Then he gently lowered her back on to the bed and walked softly from the room. The glass remained unwashed on the sink, as he hurriedly cleaned his teeth, and returned to the nursery. He stood, drinking in her beauty, the beauty that in a few minutes would be his. Then he began to unbutton his shirt, slowly at first, but with increasing haste as excitement threatened to engulf him.

Something distracted him; it was no more than the faintest whisper of sound, but enough to make him pause. Listening, one hand on the last of his shirt buttons, he heard it again, a soft, scraping sound. He tiptoed back into the kitchen, quietly closing the door behind him.

Once inside, he heard it again, much louder this time. His desire turned to rage. Someone was trying to break in. At any second the intruder would be inside. His fury was as strong as his frustrated desire. Anger and panic combined. They fuelled his movement, as he raced to the door of his workshop and flung it open.

 

‘Jimmy, get yourself into hiding. Viv, follow me.'

‘Ready, Mike.'

Nash waited until Jimmy had hidden in the bushes; then opened the door slightly; blinking in the sudden brightness. He thrust the door wide and stepped through into a kitchen. There were three doors leading from it. He selected the one at the far end of the room and walked as quietly as he could, then gently turned the handle. It was a child's nursery. As the door widened, he saw Clara lying on the bed. Her clothing had been removed. Nash thought they were too late. Then he saw the rise and fall of her breasts. She wasn't dead. Relief flooded through his whole body. He heard a sound behind him, and turned slowly.

For a split second, the two men faced one another. Hunter and prey, but which was which? Nash saw Charleston's face distorted by rage. Saw the gun in his hand. Saw the barrel lift and, almost in slow motion, saw the whitening of Charleston's finger as he squeezed the trigger. He flung himself to one side, as the gun bucked and reared in Charleston's untutored hand. Shot after shot rang out. One, two, three, four, five, Nash counted the shots. He felt a searing agony in his chest.

Pearce tore through the outer door, in time to see his boss slump to the floor, blood staining his shirt. Charleston spun round and raised the gun. A click, then silence. The chamber was empty. He flung the weapon aside. Pearce was nearly on him when Charleston raised a lump hammer, and brought it crashing down on Pearce's skull. He collapsed over Nash's body.

Charleston walked forward, unrecognizable from the mild-mannered estate agent. His expression a raging, maniacal fury, as he raised the hammer to finish off the interfering fools.

He froze. It began as a wailing moan: a sound like no other. It grew in volume. The screaming howl of a thousand demented souls, a banshee wail. Whatever the awful thing was, it was coming closer. His rage was gone, replaced by fear, then panic as the sound grew more dreadful with every decibel.

His nerve broke, he ran from the building. Still, the sound pursued him. Ever louder, ever closer. He dived for the car, and flung himself into the driving seat, desperate to escape that awful thing. It was gaining on him with every second. He fumbled with the ignition key and careered wildly up the quarry road, in his panic to escape.

Jimmy stepped over the threshold and stared at the two bodies. Hearing a groan he gently eased Pearce to one side. Kneeling, he checked the DC's pulse and for a moment got no response; then he felt a feeble flicker.

He turned his attention to Nash. He was in a bad way. A large patch of blood was staining his shirt and the floor alongside him. ‘Mr Nash,' Johnson wailed. ‘Mr Nash, are ye alive?'

‘Jimmy?' The sound was a mere whisper. ‘Where's … Charleston?'

‘Driven off, like a bat out of hell.'

‘The … girls?' Nash coughed, and flecks of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Johnson scrambled to his feet and crossed to the nearest open door. A naked girl lay on a bed. Johnson saw her chest move. Without thinking, he gently placed the duvet over her. He opened another door and noticed the cloying, powerful stench of formaldehyde. Inside the room the sight was appalling. He felt his stomach churn with nausea; hot bile raced upward to his throat.

The room had eight occupants. All but one stared at him with dead eyes, in impassive silence. It seemed a lifetime before Jimmy recovered enough to move. He began to walk slowly forward, with the reverence of someone inside a church. He glanced fearfully about him as he approached a hooded figure lashed to a chair.

He removed her hood, untied the ropes at her wrists and ankles and gently laid her on the floor. She was breathing, but Jimmy was unable to rouse her. He hurried back to Nash, glancing fearfully over his shoulder as he went.

The detective's face was distorted by pain.

‘I've found them,' Jimmy gulped. His voice trembled as he continued, ‘All of them. Two alive, but I can't wake them. I think they've been drugged. The others,' Johnson paused, ‘they're all dead. All dead, Mr Nash,' he repeated, his voice tinged with hysteria. ‘But they're sitting round a big table like guests at a bloody dollies' tea party.'

‘Viv? What … about—?'

Jimmy looked back at Pearce. ‘I think he's dead. He was hit on the head.'

Nash's voice strengthened with anger and grief. ‘No, no!' The fearsome pain in Nash's chest was worsening. He winced as he spoke, a fresh wave of pain threatening to engulf him. ‘Mobile … pocket. Super …' he gasped and fought to continue, ‘… Pratt … tell him … get … Mexican … he'll know—'

‘You lie still. Whatever you do, don't try to move or speak anymore. Leave it to me. Call it part of my promise.'

He retrieved Nash's mobile phone and keyed in 999. There was no response, no tone. He checked the screen, ‘no network coverage'. He looked round for a telephone, there was none.

Jimmy swore under his breath. ‘I'm going to have to leave you. I can't get a signal. I'll have to get out of this quarry.'

‘Careful,' Nash warned; his voice noticeably weaker.

Johnson stumbled from the building, his torch illuminating the narrow track as he dashed back in the direction of the house. He barely noticed the branches that whipped against his face, his arms, his legs as he ran. He paused to try to phone again. The same error message came up. Jimmy realized Bishop's Cross was outside the range of the nearest cell. He'd no alternative. To get help, he'd have to go back into the house and use the landline.

His fear increased sharply, the instant he opened the gate. The house that had been in darkness when they left was now ablaze with light. At the far side of the building, Jimmy could see Charleston's silver Mondeo next to the double garage. Johnson was no coward, but there was no way he was going to enter that building with an armed maniac inside. He'd already witnessed what Charleston was capable of. Yet he had to reach that phone. A thought struck him. ‘Why not?' he muttered.

Jimmy watched Charleston dive into his car and reverse at breakneck speed towards the front of the house. He swung the car round and went hurtling down the drive. Jimmy waited for it to slow down, he's travelling too fast, Jimmy thought. But as the car approached the gates they began to open. Charleston obviously had a remote control.

The headlight beam shot first skyward then traversed an arc back towards the ground. Totally out of control, the vehicle plunged across the road, first on one side, then its roof, then the other side. There was a loud crash; then a few seconds silence before an enormous bang was followed by a leaping, dancing sheet of flame that engulfed the car instantly.

Jimmy ran to the house. The back door was wide open. He summoned the ambulance, then spoke to an incredulous Superintendent Pratt. As soon as he rang off, Jimmy raced back to the quarry.

Nash was barely conscious. ‘Let me try to help you, Mr Nash. I'm going to try to stop you bleeding so much. Here, I'll use this clean towel. You'll feel a mite pressure on your chest. The ambulance is on its way and I've spoken to your boss.' Jimmy rambled
on, trying to stop Nash lapsing into unconsciousness, beginning to feel the effects of the shock. ‘I think Charleston's dead. He panicked, drove out of control. The car caught fire after it crashed. Unless he got out of the car, he'll be barbecued.'

‘That … awful … noise?' Nash struggled to speak.

‘Spooky, wasn't it? I set it off. Maggie gave me her house keys by mistake. It's her personal attack alarm. When I heard the shots, I pulled the pin. Worked a treat. Charleston bolted as if the hounds of hell were after him.'

Jimmy watched, as Mike's eyes began to flicker then closed. ‘Mr Nash, Mr Nash.'