Criminally Insane (36 page)

“Good,” Zamir said, shaking his head. “Now we can begin. Did you rape my grandson’s wife?”

Jack was barely lucid. The pain was warping his mind. He was shaking and gibbering. He couldn’t take it anymore, and he nodded in the affirmative, indicating that he had raped the woman. He didn’t remember much of it because he had been in a rage when he had killed her, but he usually raped them before he killed them, didn’t he? Yes, his mind answered, of course you did. He listened to his brain and muttered, “Yes.”

“You did?” Zamir took the hammer and grabbed Jack’s knees. He forced his trembling legs apart and handed the hammer to Sami. “Nail his bollocks to the wood.” Jack’s eyes widened as this new terror threatened. He kicked against the restraints and tried to twist his body away from the danger, but the straps held him fast.

“No, don’t do that, no please don’t do that, I beg you, please!” Jack bucked and writhed, but he couldn’t escape their grip. He gritted his teeth, and the veins in his arms swelled to bursting.

Sami laughed as he picked up a nail. He pressed the point against the wrinkly scrotum and then hammered the nail through the skin into the wood. Blood and plasma splattered over Sami’s fingers. Jack wailed in agony, his body thrashing in the air. “Another one,” Zamir ordered. Sami put a nail between his teeth for safekeeping and knocked a second nail through Jacks right testicle. Jack thrust his pelvis forward so hard that his scrotum ripped away from his body. Sami hammered the third nail through the purple head of his flaccid penis, stapling it to the crate. Jack couldn’t believe that he was still alive. The pain from his broken feet seemed to dissipate as this new agony erupted from his groin. His breath was nothing more than short gasps and his eyes rolled back into his head as his body convulsed in agony. He felt his skin blistering and popping as the acid burnt through each layer with increasing intensity. Zamir snatched the bottle of acid from the floor and tipped the burning liquid over Jack’s genitals. The skin began to blister and liquefy immediately. Jack’s head rocked back and his mouth lolled open, a dreadful screaming rasp echoing around the lorry. Zamir tipped the sulphuric acid into his open mouth, and the scream turned into a gurgle as his tongue melted and dissolved. The acid blistered his windpipe and burnt his larynx. His oesophagus ruptured, and the old Turk held his head back, pouring the contents of the bottle into his mouth and then into his eyes. Jack’s body writhed, convulsions racking him. The Child Taker twitched for at least three minutes before his heart finally gave up the struggle. Zamir watched him die with a sense of justice for his slaughtered family.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth
was the code he lived by.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” The vicar scattered freshly dug soil into the grave. Six feet below him lay the body of Detective Inspector William Naylor. Police uniforms filled the graveyard as far as the eye could see. Alec threw a handful of soil from the vicar’s box onto his friend’s coffin, then he turned and walked away without speaking to anyone. His emotions were spinning. Will had been his friend and colleague for years, yet he had betrayed him in the worst way possible. He had taken his wife. There didn’t seem to be any sense or reason to it. He was angry and terribly sad at the same time. He didn’t want to get involved in any chitchat until he was sure that his eyes wouldn’t give away the pain that he felt inside. He felt the eyes of fellow officers on him, and he could see the whispers on their lips as he neared them. The news that they had found his wife dead next Will Naylor had fuelled the gossip merchants for hours. Alec was struggling to cope with Gail’s death, but the manner in which she had died was inconceivable to him. It all seemed like a surreal nightmare.

“Funerals, eh?” Chief Carlton appeared on his shoulder. “They don’t get any easier, do they?” he added. Alec didn’t reply. He just smiled weakly. “Are you going to the Griffin for the wake?”

“No,” Alec shook his head. “If I have a drink now, I’ll never stop. I want to get back to the station. I’m better off keeping my mind occupied.”

“The commissioner wants you to oversee the case, Alec. I think it’s best that you are seen to be removed from leading the investigation, without actually being so,” the chief gave a knowing wink.

“I understand.” Alec knew the fact that his wife was now a victim meant that he couldn’t be seen to be investigating her murder. The senior hierarchy followed protocol but left him some room to be involved indirectly. “I spoke to him last week. He thinks the Bradley side of the case is far enough removed not to break protocol. It’s keeping me busy.”

“I know, I’m snowed under, too,” Carlton frowned. “This case has created a shit storm that is unprecedented in my lifetime. I’m chasing my arse around in circles with the press.”

“I know the feeling, you and me both,” Alec sighed. He took his mobile from his inside pocket and switched it off silent mode. “Do you know which idiot left his phone on in the church?”

“Not yet, but when I do find out, I will kick him up the back entry for you!” The chief took his phone out and checked the screen. “Graham Libby has called me and left a voicemail.” He frowned. “He never has any good news lately.”

“He’s called me, too.” Alec raised his eyebrows and showed the chief the screen. “Will you call him, or shall I?”

“You do it, Alec, let me know if it’s important.” The chief veered away toward his car. “If it is, tell me tomorrow. If it isn’t, tell me tomorrow!”

Alec waived and jogged through a gap in the low wall which encircled the graveyard. The roads would be gridlocked with mourners if he didn’t beat people to his car. He pulled his coat tightly around him to stop the cutting wind from reaching inside, but it had little effect. His fingers felt numb from the cold. A row of sycamore trees bent dangerously in the wind, and a Primark bag floated past him at speed. Alec remembered waiting for nearly an hour while Gail had shopped at the Primark on Lord Street. A semicircle of husbands and boyfriends had waited impatiently on the pedestrianized road outside while their partners hunted for bargains. Alec had gone inside the massive store once, but once was enough. It had reminded him of pigs feeding at a trough, pushing and shoving each other out of the way to get to the rails. Everywhere he had looked, garments had lain on the floor. The bag bounced off a Mini and took off high into the air. Alec watched it, part of him wishing he could float away from his shattered life. Maybe it was time to retire and take his pension. He could live cheaply in the sun somewhere and lick his wounds. His phone rang as he reached his car. Alec unlocked it and answered the call as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Alec?” Dr. Libby wasn’t sure if it was him or his voicemail. “Is that you or that bloody machine?”

“It’s me.” Alec tucked the phone under his chin and pulled the seat belt around him.

“How are you?”

“Fine,” Alec replied. He was far from feeling fine. What was he supposed to say when people asked? Gail’s death had turned his world inside out. How did you cope with such a shock to your system and still feel fine? “I was about to call you.”

“I didn’t know if you were working yet, so I left a message. Have you had some time off?”

“No.” Alec was finding it hard to indulge in small talk. Everyone talked to him differently now, as if he would shatter into a thousand pieces if they said the wrong thing. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Well, it’s good news, I think, depends on how you look at it,” the doctor began.

“Well, if you tell me what it is, I can make my own mind up.” Alec started the engine and drove slowly toward the exit. The car park was filling up with mourners returning for their vehicles. He waved at a group of detectives from the robbery squad. He hadn’t seen them at the graveside. “Look, I’m driving, so if you could get to the point, I’d appreciate it.”

“Yes, sorry.” Dr. Libby sounded irritated. “I’ve had a call from our guys in London, Hammersmith, to be precise. They found human remains in bin bags last week. The body was dismembered and there was no head or hands to get dental records or prints from, but their DNA tests have come back with a hit on the system.”

Alec waited as the pregnant pause dragged on. “Do I have to ask who it is, or are you going to tell me?”

“It’s Jack Howarth,” the doctor said flatly. He was disappointed that Alec wasn’t as enthusiastic as he had expected him to be. “I thought you would want to know straight away.”

“I’ll let the chief know, thanks for that.” Alec cut the call off and pulled the car onto the main road. The traffic was light as he drove away from the churchyard. Jack Howarth was dead. The world would be a safer place without him, but Alec felt nothing. There was no elation, no relief, just numbness. He turned on the wipers as a deluge of rain fell. The wind rocked the car as he drove through a tree-lined stretch of road. He thought about calling the chief but decided to wait. His hands were shaking and his bottom lip began to quiver. Hot tears ran from his eyes, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “Zamir Oguzhan did that,” he muttered to himself. “He killed Jack Howarth and he murdered my wife.” Alec had a feeling in his guts that he hadn’t felt for a while. There was a fire burning there and it felt good. Clarity returned to his thoughts. Zamir Oguzhan had killed Gail.

Nate Bradley held a Glock 17 in his left hand. He caressed the barrel lovingly with his right. The gun felt cold to touch, yet it was familiar and comforting to hold. He knew the police were outside watching, but he didn’t care. There didn’t seem to be any answers to his questions or any finishing line ahead. He had tracked and killed the dealers directly responsible for supplying the drugs which had killed his son and destroyed his wife. His partnership with Patrick Lloyd had been madness, but then the world was mad. The newspapers told him that Patrick Lloyd was Jack Howarth. A notorious paedophile wanted for murder and kidnap. How had he not seen through his lies until it had been too late?

Nate had seen the evil that man could inflict upon man at close quarters. He had designed and carried out some of the most horrific torture techniques known to man, but it had been a means to an end. What Patrick Lloyd had done had been evil for the sake of being evil. Nate had caused suffering in order to extract information. It was his profession, his job, his legacy. Intelligence officers across the planet used his techniques. Human suffering had meant nothing to him back then, but suddenly that had changed. He had thought that killing the dealers responsible for his loss would somehow stop the pain, but it hadn’t. It was still there. Pain and guilt oozed from every pore. Nate wasn’t sure which was worse, the pain of losing his family or the guilt for the years he had neglected them. Had he caused them to take the path they had chosen, or would it have happened anyway? He couldn’t answer the questions.

He pressed the barrel of the gun to his temple and squeezed his eyes closed. His finger wrapped around the trigger, and he felt the sensitive mechanism budge slightly. A few millimetres more and his pain would stop, he could be with his family and the agony would end. There would be no more hatred, no more questions and no more guilt, just peace. He longed for peace, an end to the gut-twisting grief he felt night and day. His hand was steady, but his finger refused to move the final distance. He just couldn’t end it now. He wasn’t scared of death, when it came he would embrace it, but now wasn’t the time. He would know when the time was right. He didn’t know how he would know, but he would. He was convinced that he would.

Nate put the gun into a polystyrene box moulded to house it and then placed the box back under the floorboards where it couldn’t be found. He slid the carpet back into place and walked to the window. His living room was neat and tidy. It was over a week ago that he had returned home and an army of police had descended on him. They had searched his house, confiscated his computer and telephone and questioned him at the station for twenty-four hours. Nate could hardly remember any of the questions they had asked. Despite all their theories, they had nothing to hold him on. His home was clean, and they had returned his computer and telephone to him. The superintendent in charge of the case knew he was lying, but there simply wasn’t any proof. They had put him under surveillance, but Nate went about his business as if they weren’t there. He hadn’t moved the drugs from the lockup after killing Leon Tanner because no one would stumble across them. Nate had taken the money from the lockup and along with the holdall full of cash which he had snatched at the docks, he had parcelled it up and posted it to the headquarters of the charity Help for Heroes. He wasn’t sure how much there was, but he reckoned it was close to four hundred thousand pounds.

He moved the curtain slightly and peeked through the blinds. Two detectives were watching his house from a black Nissan. They were less than a hundred yards up the road. He wasn’t sure who had taught them their surveillance skills, but he was sure that they needed more training. He closed the curtain and headed into the kitchen. A radio stood next to a silver microwave, and a boy band that he couldn’t recognise crooned an irritating ballad. He switched it off and opened a cupboard above the microwave. He took a glass tumbler out and then reached for a half-empty bottle of Bells whisky. It had been full an hour ago. He twisted the top off and poured the amber liquid into the glass. It helped to silence the questions in his head. As he took a sip, he heard a tapping on the kitchen window. His heart beat faster as he turned toward it. The light reflected off it and at first, all he could see was his own reflection. He thought about running for the Glock, but it was too far away. A fraction of a man’s face appeared at the window and he tapped again. Nate thought he recognised the man, but the shock stopped him from moving. The man pointed to the back door, indicating that he should open it. Nate sipped the whisky again and thought about his next move. The man knocked again, but this time it was louder.