Flesh and Blood (15 page)

Byron shrugged. “We as a family more than compensate society for those we utilize, through our extensive charity. That’s fair, isn’t it? Morality is a very old-fashioned idea. In today’s world of commerce and progress, it’s becoming steadily less relevant. Are you really telling me that the life of a work-shy benefits scrounger on a rundown estate is worth exactly the same as the life of, say, a great engineer or a medical consultant, someone who improves the lives of others, and pays their taxes?”

“Yes.”

He stood up straight, chuckling to himself, and walked back around to the other side of the trolley on which Liam was strapped.

“I’m sure you’re simply saying that for effect, young man. If you had both those individuals hanging from the edge of a cliff, you know perfectly well which one should be saved first. What if it was a rapist and Mozart hanging there instead, eh?”

“I’d let you drop, that’s for sure,” I growled.

As I spoke, one of my hands came free! I kept them as still as possible. Now I had to untie the cords round my ankles without either Byron or Emma noticing. Where had Emma got to?

Byron was warming to his theme. “The value of an individual is directly correlated to his or her education, job, disposable resources and so on, but society’s bleeding hearts stubbornly refuse to face the truth, and as a result we’re forced to work down here in secret instead of in a fully staffed laboratory.”

“So, you drug people into docility when you need them not to notice things, and to protect yourselves you maintain a network of powerful friends. Friends who are ignorant of the full truth, I assume?”

“Mostly,” said Byron, in a matter-of-fact tone. “The drugs are a personal fascination, as you can imagine. The pharmacological mixes required for our few regular patients makes an interesting hobby, although I’ve never been able to eliminate the occasional side effect. They almost all get a runny nose; it’s quite puzzling.”

At that moment, Emma returned carrying two of the serrated silver drills we’d seen earlier. Electrical cables were wound round them.

“They were in the top drawer,” she said, slightly out of breath.

“I did call after you,” said Byron.

“While I was searching, I had more time to think about cover stories for Liam and Jo,” said Emma, “and I’m thinking that there needs to be an Elton Gardens link, but I still can’t come up with a plausible one.”

“Not to worry,” said Byron, taking the bone saws from her and unwinding the cables. “We’ve got a day or two yet.”

“That’s a resource, too, isn’t it,” I breathed. “Ken Greenhill had the whole estate built in the first place. You keep it as a ready-made human dump, for taking victims and hiding crimes.”

Emma gawped at me. “Well, dur!” she exclaimed. “Why else would a place like that be found in a town like Hadlington? We don’t have to do much to keep it a dump – the people who live there manage that for themselves. It makes things much easier for the police, too. It gives them a terrifically high clear-up rate.”

“Especially with your uncle as chief constable,” I said. Facts from my research swam back into my mind. “Ken had that path built, too. You’ve even
got your own back-door route down to the estate.”

“Exactly,” said Emma.

The wave of hopelessness was beginning to swamp me all over again. I held my wrists together, trying to push aside the fear that was clouding my head.
Keep them talking
, I thought.
Let me think.

“I don’t care what you say,” I cried, my voice unsteady. “You won’t get away with this. You won’t!”

Byron chuckled. He plugged the larger of the bone saws into a wall socket. “We already have,” he said. “I’ve really enjoyed our chat, young man. Nothing like a spirited debate to stir the mind, eh? But now it’s time to get down to work, so do please keep quiet for a while.”

I let my mouth run on automatic. I didn’t even know what I was saying. “How can you be like this? How can you enjoy it? How can you get a kick out of cutting people up? Turning them into monsters?”

Byron paused, the bone saw held to the front of his lab coat. I suddenly realized why his gaze was so unnerving, so creepy: he barely blinked. “You obviously haven’t tried it.”

“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Sam,” said
Emma. “Daddy’s right, you’d change your mind if you held a living brain in your hands. It’s amazing. Break a piece of that brain off, hold that squishy tissue in your palm, and think of what it represents. Is this little piece of brain that person’s memories? Is this their ability to ride a bike, or write a poem, or fall in love? Life is right there, in your fingers.”

“But you’re sick, can’t you see that?” I wailed. “What kind of a person would make those horrible mixed-up animals? What diseased mind would do what you’ve done to Kat Brennan?”

Perhaps I’d given my thoughts enough time to clarify, or perhaps it was a moment of inspiration, but at that moment I saw I could untie myself without being observed. The trolley, with Liam lying on top of it, was quite close to me. The view that Emma and her father had of me was of my head and shoulders only. If I was careful, I could move my hands around and get at the knotted cords.

“Aren’t you impressed by our work on Miss Brennan?” said Byron. He clicked the switch at the wall socket. “Human-animal hybrids are a new line of research for us. We’ve achieved remarkable results in only a few months. There are two areas of
interest: first, the use of animal tissue, which is quicker to reproduce, as a short-term substitute for human organs; second, the genetic recoding of human tissue with animal DNA, to give us enhanced organs, with longer periods of use and greater biochemical efficiency. It’s this second area that’s the most exciting. A cross-species splice of chromosomes has shown us vastly improved rates of cellular growth.”

“Daddy,” admonished Emma. “Stop lecturing, it’s such a bore.”

“Sorry, darling,” smiled Byron.

“And it’s my turn,” she said, pointing to the electric saw.

“So it is,” he said. He handed her back the bone saw. She turned it on and it instantly buzzed into life, emitting a high-pitched whine as its blade spun.

I pulled at the knots behind my ankles. My fingers scratched and dug at the cords.

Emma stepped carefully towards the trolley, looking Liam up and down. The saw hissed in her hands.

“Rib cage or skull to begin with?” called Byron above the noise.

“I can’t decide,” said Emma. “He shouldn’t kick much either way, should he?”

“No, no, he’s well under,” said Byron.

The cords began to unravel. I glanced across to Jo. She was silent, curled up. Her gaze wandered around the room, terrified but distant, as if she was watching events unfold a million miles away.

Emma turned herself ninety degrees, to bring the saw into line with Liam’s head. The pair of them had their attention fully focused on him. It would still be a few seconds before I could get my ankles free. I had to distract them!

“How did you get here?” I shouted. “So fast?”

Emma switched off the bone saw. “Sorry, what?”

“When you caught us?” I cried. “Why weren’t you over the Atlantic?” I knew the answer, of course, but I hoped that they wouldn’t realize that.

Emma and her father glanced at each other, half annoyed at me and half amused.

“If you must know,” said Emma, “the plane had ‘technical difficulties’. All the other flights were full until late evening, so we just threw in the towel and came home. It was quite a shock when we got a call from Grandpa Godfrey saying we had visitors.”

“Yes, we’re going to have to beef up security now,” said Byron testily. “Father’s said before that
we’ve let it slide, what with that dog getting out the other week, so he’ll be crowing unbearably tonight. Absolute nuisance, you three. Now, please be quiet.”

I pulled the last of the cords away. I was free.

Emma restarted the bone saw.

What else could I do? I asked myself then, and I ask myself even now, what choice did I have? I tell myself that there was only one thing I could do, and yet my every last atom still shrivels and burns with guilt.

I felt shaky and unsteady, but I was no longer tied up. I had to act! I had to escape. Giving in was no option.

I had to, hadn’t I? It was my duty. I had to raise the alarm. I had to tell the outside world what was happening here. That much was clear. Absolutely clear. So what else could I do, except save my own skin?

Leaving my friends to their fate.

I still feel so ashamed. I can’t help it.

I’d taken them into that place. The worst mistake of my life. And now I would pay for that mistake, with their blood and my eternal guilt. I have no right to ask for forgiveness. I deserve none.

There was no way I could untie Jo without being seen, let alone remove the straps holding Liam to the trolley. Jo seemed completely out of it, I assumed through shock. I couldn’t pick her up and carry her, I’d never be able to move fast enough. It was highly unlikely that I’d be able to physically overpower Emma and her father, not only because there were two of them and one of me, but also because Emma, at least, was armed with a weapon I had no doubt she’d use. There was the question of them calling for assistance, too. I had no idea where Caroline and Ken were. I couldn’t cut the power to the basement – I didn’t know how; I couldn’t stab them with their own scalpels – every instrument was within their reach and not mine; I couldn’t crush them beneath the upturned trolley – in my terrified state, my strength was doubtful and the bone saw could be at my throat in a moment. There was no move I could make that they couldn’t block or counter with another.

My only hope of escape, the only advantage I had, was in surprise. The one thing it was within my power to do was to run, immediately, as fast as I could, and find help.

Leaving my friends.

All these thoughts crammed through my head in the single second it took for Emma to bend over Liam, the bone saw buzzing in her hands.

Byron had said they’d have to improve their security, which implied there might be loopholes. The locks on the front door had been nothing special, firmly secure from the outside but operable from the inside.

Everything was designed to stop someone getting
in
. They must have been so sure of themselves that they hadn’t paid the same attention to the possibility of someone getting
out
.

I gambled that their arrogance was their weakness. Byron had already said that the dog I’d seen had escaped from them, albeit temporarily. It must have happened while the Greenhills were dealing with whoever had made that terrible scream, the one that woke me up. Perhaps a door had accidentally been left ajar when the Greenhills descended to the basement, or perhaps a window had been open. Perhaps they’d let the dog have the run of the house anyway.

It flashed through my head. All I had to do was stand up, run into the basement’s first room, up the
stairs, along the narrow corridor, to the back door. I knew the way. If I couldn’t open the back door, up the other stairs into the main house, across the hallway, to the front.

The bone saw was lowered over Liam’s forehead.

I jumped to my feet, the cords that had bound my ankles clasped in my hand. Lashing out wildly, I whipped the cords against the bone saw. It was almost knocked from Emma’s hands.

The pair of them were so surprised, they took a second to react. By the time Emma thrust the saw towards me, I was a few centimetres beyond her reach. Byron, fury twisting his face, charged around the trolley to block my path.

I was too quick for him. His outstretched fingers slid against my coat, but I was ahead of him.

I pelted across the basement and up the stairs. A bellow of rage followed me, stabbed at my pounding heart, quickened my pace. At the top of the stairs I turned and rushed along the corridor. I could see the back door. Light was spilling along the stairs that led up into the house.

I dared not look back.

I was at the back door when a fist suddenly
pounded into my back, level with my kidney. I howled with pain. A hand took hold of my hair, sharply pulling my head back.

Caroline Greenhill’s face was beside mine, her eyes ablaze. “Nice try,” she hissed, through gritted teeth.

The cords from my ankles were still in my hand. I slashed them across her face. She leaped back with a screech, releasing her grip on me, a thin line of blood welling on her cheek.

“You little
shit
!”

My fingers trembling, I gripped the bolts on the door and heaved. They snapped back and I flung the door open.

It was night. The freezing air tore into my face and hands.

I raced out on to the grass and only then did I look back.

Caroline was in the doorway, on her knees, her hands at her cheek. Emma was behind her, with her arms round her mother’s shoulders. Behind Emma, barely visible in the shadows, stood Byron.

Emma’s voice chased after me, cutting through the darkness, fiery with glee. “You belong to us, Sam Hunter!”

I almost stumbled, my heart was racing faster than my feet. Then I heard the back door slam.

How the hell I got over those tall garden railings, I don’t know. Adrenaline launched me at them, and with my legs scrambling I clambered to the top. I fell off the other side, landing awkwardly on my back. The place where Caroline had punched me was throbbing with pain.

Gasping, I got to my feet and ran across the grass. Lights were on in all three of the houses in Priory Mews.

As I ran, I searched in my coat pockets. My keys were gone, and so was my phone. The Greenhills must have taken them. Disposed of with other victims’ possessions. No doubt all the photos I’d taken had gone the same way.

However, they’d missed the little notebook, from their archive, that I’d tucked deep into the back pocket of my jeans. It was small, and slim, it made no bulge. Phone and keys they’d expected and looked for, the camera, too, but not this notebook. We’d closed the archive up behind us and left it undisturbed; they might not have realized we’d even been inside it. I pulled the notebook out, and turned
it over in my hands a couple of times. It had bent where I’d sat on it, but was intact. I returned it to its hiding place.

I hammered at my front door. “It’s me! Let me in! Quick!”

I kept looking back, past the glow of the street lamps, into the dark, watching for movement. What were they doing?

“Hey!” I hammered louder. At last, I could see Dad’s shape through the frosted glass, plodding along the hall.

“Hello,” he said cheerily. “Where’ve you been all day, then? We were trying to call you.”

I pushed past him and rushed into the kitchen. I snatched up the phone, and took it into the living room. As the dial tone burred in my ear, I looked out of the window at the street.

“Are you all right, Sam?” said Mum. She was watching TV. “Could you not stand there? You’re in my way.”

Nothing out the front.

I returned to the kitchen, switched off the light, stared out across the back garden. Everything was dark and still.

Mum and Dad appeared and switched the light back on.

“Have you got your school project done, then?” said Dad. “Where in town did you go?”

“You’ve been such a long while, we were starting to get worried,” said Mum. “Is everything all right?”

“No, everything’s not all right,” I said.

They smiled their drugged smiles at me. What cocktail of medications was running through their veins, I wondered. I wanted to yell at them, but I could see it would be a wasted effort.

My hands were shaking as I held the phone.

I was about to dial 999, when a cold sensation of doubt suddenly stopped me.

Emma’s uncle was chief constable, for God’s sake. Also, I knew from the Halloween Ball that at least one of Leonard Greenhill’s colleagues was drugged. If I called the police here in Hadlington, would someone make sure that my story was ignored? Would the Greenhills’ influence turn me into a malicious liar?

No, I had evidence, right there in my pocket.

Evidence that I’d have to hand over, if I was going to be believed. Evidence that could be quietly
returned to its owners.

Was
that
why the Greenhills weren’t chasing after me?

I’d have to be silenced, wouldn’t I? What if the police turned up, here, right now, summoned by the Greenhills? What if the police found something illegal planted in my room? What if I’d walked into a trap?

What if I couldn’t even trust Mum and Dad? How far under the Greenhills’ control were they?

My trembling finger stayed poised over the phone.

“Are you hungry?” said Mum. “Did you have something to eat in town? There’s some lasagne left if you want it.”

“No, I had that,” said Dad.

“Have any of the Greenhills been here today?” I said, raising my voice to get their attention. “Please, this is very important.”

“No, why?” said Dad.

“Or anybody else, at all?” I said.

“Nope,” said Dad.

“How are you getting on with Emma?” smiled Mum.

I screwed up my eyes. Think think think! They knew I was out in the open, but they didn’t know
I’d got proof with me. What would they expect me to do? How would they make sure I was got out of the way?

“I’m a sitting duck here,” I muttered. “Why the hell didn’t I just run the other way? It would be the easiest thing in the world for them to frame me. They wouldn’t have to go anywhere near anything suspicious. Christ, they could even murder you two and make it look as if I’d done it! I’ve got to leave. Or would that look as if I’m on the run?”

“I think someone’s had a tiring day,” said Mum. “I’ll do you some beans on toast.”

“Shut up!” I snapped. “I’m trying to think!”

Mum folded her arms. “There’s no need for rudeness,” she said quietly.

I had to get a message out to somewhere safe, and quickly. That was it!

I knew who to call, but the phone sat uselessly in my hand.

“I can’t remember the number!” I wailed. “It’s in mine, it’s not on this one!”

“Which number?” asked Dad.

“Jo’s dad,” I cried. Saying her name sent a dagger through my head.

“That’s why we were trying to call you!” said Dad.

“W-What?” I said.

“Trying to call you,” repeated Mum. “Yes, Jo’s mum rang a bit before teatime. She was trying to find out where Jo had got to. She was awfully upset, poor thing.”

I felt the blood grow cold in my veins. “Why?”

“It’s her dad. He died this afternoon. Everyone thought he was on the mend, and some doctor came to visit him, and he had a clean bill of health.”

“Half an hour later, another heart attack,” said Dad. “Just goes to show. Could happen to anyone.”

“He was a bit fat, apparently,” said Mum. “You should take that as a warning and go on a diet, Richard. You’re asking for trouble.”

Without a word, I dropped the phone on to the kitchen table. Who to trust? What to do? Fight-or-flight.

I had to get out, while it was still possible, before the Greenhills’ plan, whatever it might be, could trap me.

“Have you got some money?” I said.

“There’s plenty in my wallet if you want it,” said Dad.

“I’ll … see you later, OK?”

“Are you going out again?” said Mum. “Thank goodness it’s not a school night.”

I scooped the wallet off the hall table, removed a handful of notes, and left the house. Outside, I kept well away from the glow of the street lights.

Looking back, the Priory stood, huge and silent, lurking in the dark. A few lights were visible behind curtained windows. The Renault stood in the drive. Normality. A family home. A house on a street in a town. Hiding secret things.

I had no sense that I was even being watched. It was as if they’d simply looked away, so confident that I wouldn’t be able to expose them that they needn’t give it another thought.

Whatever they had planned for me, it was going to be terrible, and final.

Someone was going to be coming for me, I thought. Someone, something, somehow. They had a fate in store for me, and I knew in my bones that it had already been set in motion.

I ran.

I would not give in, I would not give up. I would make my evidence public. They would pay for all they’d done.

My mind was so tangled, I barely knew what direction I took. I ran out on to Maybrick Road, then down the long path to the river. By the time I reached the riverbank, my lungs burned with the cold air. Clouds of breath fogged around me. A single lamp, the one I had seen Emma and her grandfather pass, cast a patch of yellow light across the black surface of the river.

The water rumbled and swirled, like a restless beast in its pit. Slender trees grew at the river’s edge, their trunks pushed and bent by the ceaseless flow.

I paused to catch my breath, then ran out on to the green metal footbridge. It clanked beneath me. The Arvan rumbled and roared, the glow from the lamp stretching my shadow into a long, dissolving smear against the night.

I ran down streets, into the middle of Elton Gardens. I wasn’t aware of having any destination, my thoughts were too confused, but I guess now that I was cutting across the estate to make for the town centre and the newspaper’s offices.

A few minutes later I arrived at the parade of shops that stood on one of the two main roads running through the estate. A couple of them were boarded
up, the plywood covering their windows scrawled with graffiti. There was also a small hair salon, a chemist’s and a newsagent’s, all closed for the night with shutters down. An off-licence and a chip shop at the end of the row were the only shops open. I sat on one of a line of broken wooden benches, cemented into the paving slabs outside the chippie.

‘Elton Gardens Fish Saloon’. There was a short queue at the high counter. A skinny woman in yellow Chinos was placing her order. An Asian man was tipping a bucket of chopped potatoes into the fryer. The clock on the wall above the counter showed it was just gone ten past nine.