The Anniversary Man (5 page)

Authors: R.J. Ellory

BOOK: The Anniversary Man

12.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

′So you felt a breeze,′ he said.

′Yes, and then . . .′

He squeezed Nadia′s hand, and sort of tugged her toward him. There was something she needed to say, and she was having difficulty saying it. In that moment it did not worry him. He did not feel a sense of concern for what it might be. He did not suspect that she was leaving him, for such a thing had never happened, and he did not believe it could.

′Nadia?′

She looked back at John, and it was as she looked back that the pigeons rushed away for the second time.

She jumped again, started to laugh, and as she opened her mouth to laugh the shadow grew up behind her.

Dark. Black almost. And around the shadow was the smell of dogs, and the shadow obscured the streetlight, and it was as if someone had flipped a switch and suddenly there was midnight behind her.

She saw John′s expression change, and she frowned. A momentary flash of anxiety in her eyes.

John looked away from her, looked up, and it was then that he saw the vague impression of a face within the shadow. A man′s face. A face punctuated by eyes that seemed distant, expressionless, absent of light. Eyes that gave the impression that there was no-one behind them.

John smiled - an involuntary reaction, the smile you would give a stranger, perhaps someone that interrupted you to ask for the time, to ask for directions, for that was all it was. Wasn′t it? Someone late. Someone lost. Someone needing something.

And whoever it was just stood there for a moment, and didn′t speak, didn′t say a word, and John opened his mouth to ask what was up, and it was then that . . .

′He just raised his hand, and I could see there was something there . . .′

′But you didn′t know what it was?′

′Not then, not until he swung his hand down and . . . and he said that thing . . .′

Gorman frowned. ′He said something?′

John nodded. ′Yes. He said, ′′I am the Hammer of God′′, and that was when I saw that he actually had a hammer in his hand. ′

Gorman wrote in his book. ′And his face?′

John tried to shake his head, an involuntary response to the question, but found he could not do so without causing a sharp pain at the back of his neck. ′I didn′t see his face, not really. There was just darkness, and then the sense of someone′s face inside the darkness. It wasn′t like really looking at anyone.′

′And he hit Nadia first?′

John wanted to cry but he could not. His eyes ached with emptiness. The pain, the bandages around his face - he could feel them so clearly, but he could not feel the emotion that he wanted to experience. He had drifted back and forth through unconsciousness, and much of the time it had possessed the awkward uncertainty of dreams. The images. The sounds. The sudden realization of what was happening. The fact that this man had brought the hammer down upon Nadia′s head so swiftly, with such finality. Brought that hammer down upon her head in a single uninterrupted blow . . . a blow of such force that her head was split from hairline to jaw.

′She was dead before she even realized what had happened,′ Nurse Geraldine Joyce had told him earlier. ′Believe me, I know.′ Telling him this to reassure him, to make him understand that she had felt no pain, that the man with the hammer had been generous enough, big-hearted and compassionate enough to insure that when he killed Nadia McGowan he′d made it swift, definitive, precise and exact. Do it once. Do it right. That was his philosophy.

I am the Hammer of God.

′Yes,′ John whispered. ′He hit Nadia first . . .′

And for a moment, a handful of seconds, John did not understand what had happened.

There was no point of reference. There was no way for him to explain what he was seeing.

The shadow rose up behind her. A man. A man with a face, and eyes in that face which looked at him with such blankness, with such absence of light, that there was no way of determining what it was that the man wanted. He just stood there, and there was a half-smile, an awkward little half-smile, playing around the edges of his lips - the kind of expression you′d expect from someone who was about to tell you a joke, a humorous anecdote, and they knew the punchline and they were just about to hit you with it.

But he didn′t.

He stood there for a moment, and then his hand came up to his side, and he raised his arm and brought it down with such force, and the hammer connected with the top of her head, right there behind her hairline, and for a moment she seemed to feel nothing at all, and after a second, perhaps less than a second, a thin line of blood, needle-fine, as thin as thread, wound its way from the point of impact and started down the side of her nose, and then the flow increased, as if someone was slowly opening up a faucet, and the expression on Nadia McGowan′s face changed, and whatever light might have existed there behind her eyes seemed to dim, and John sat there trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and then the blood was running down her cheek, and then there was blood running over her eye, and Nadia, panicked by the sensation, instinctively raised her hand to brush it away.

And the back of her hand touched her cheek, and it was as if the movement caused her to lose all sense of balance, and she leaned sideways just in time for the man to say that thing again: I am the Hammer of God.

The voice was calm and self-assured, and then he brought the hammer down one more time to connect with the side of her head, a point just above her ear, and the sound was like something dropped from a great height, the sound of something reaching the sidewalk after a seven-floor descent, the sound of something so powerful she would never come back from it . . .

And even as John Costello felt her hand slip from his, even as he rose from the bench and tried to stop her falling, he saw that arm raised up one more time, saw the momentary light of a yellow streetlamp reflected in the steel head of the ball-peen hammer, and heard him say for the third time . . .

′I am the Hammer of God.′

′And that′s when he hit you?′ Gorman asked.

For a little while John didn′t speak, and then he looked at Gorman closely, looked at him as if trying to understand reason and rationale.

′Can we go back for a moment?′ Gorman asked. ′After he hit her for the second time? I′m interested in anything else he might have said.′

′If he said anything else then I didn′t hear it.′

Gorman wrote in his book again. ′And then?′

John tried to stand, tried to reach out toward her, to hold his hand up as some sort of defense against the blows that were raining down, but the Hammer of God turned and came at him like a flash of lightning, and he broke the force of the first blow with his hand, and his wrist was shattered, and then the second blow struck his shoulder, the third his arm, and by this time John Costello was bleeding and screaming, and he knew that he was going to die . . .

He fell sideways, his knee against the edge of the bench, and for a moment he was caught in indecision, in the conflict between self-preservation and his instinctive need to protect Nadia from further attack - even though he knew in that very moment that the blows must have killed her.

He tried to get up, to put his hand on the back of the bench, but the hammer came down and glanced off his ear, down the side of his neck, broke his collarbone, dropped him to the ground like deadweight.

It was then that he heard screaming.

Someone screamed.

It was not Nadia, it was not himself. The sound came from across the street . . .

And the fact that someone across the street had seen the attack, the fact that some woman across the street had seen what was happening and screamed, was the only reason that he survived.

The hammer came down one more time, was already on its way when the woman screamed, and it connected with the side of John Costello′s face, and there was enough force brought to bear against the jaw beneath his ear that his nervous system shut down.

He saw nothing then. Nothing at all.

Everything went cold and lightless, and there was the smell of blood and there was the smell of dogs and there was the sound of running feet.

John Costello didn′t wake up for a long time, and when he did the world had changed.

Gorman turned as the door opened.

Nurse Geraldine Joyce. ′Enough now,′ she said quietly. ′He needs to rest.′

Gorman nodded, stood up. He leaned toward John Costello. ′We′ll talk again,′ he said, and then he thanked him for his time, and told him that he was sorry about the girl, and then he walked away from the edge of the bed and went through the door without looking back.

He came four or five times in the subsequent days, and they talked about the same handful of minutes over and over again.

It was Nurse Joyce who brought the paper on the following Wednesday.

She left it on the edge of the small table beside John Costello′s bed, and he saw it when he woke.

JERSEY CITY TRIBUNE

Wednesday, 5 December 1984

City Arrest in Hammer Killings Case

A statement released by the Jersey City District Attorney′s Office today confirmed earlier reports that an arrest has been made in the recent hammer murders case. Though the name of the suspect has not been released, Detective Frank Gorman of the Jersey City Police Department Homicide Task Force was quoted as saying ′We have reason to believe that the individual in custody can give us some important information regarding these recent murders.′

Jersey City has been terrorized by the deaths of five teenagers in the last four months, beginning with the brutal killings of Dominic Vallelly (19) and Janine Luckman (17) on Wednesday August 8th, subsequently the slaying of Gerry Wheland (18) and Samantha Merrett (19) on Thursday October 4th, and the fatal attack on Nadia McGowan (17) on the evening of Friday, November 23rd. All the killings are believed to have been carried out by the same person. The young man who was with Nadia McGowan at the time of the attack, John Costello (16), suffered serious head injuries but was reported as stable in Jersey City Hospital.

Frank Gorman came after lunch. Stood in the doorway - silently, patiently - and waited until John Costello spoke.

′You got him.′

Gorman nodded.

′He gave himself up?′

′No, not exactly.′

′What′s his name?′

Gorman shook his head, stepped into the room and walked to the edge of John′s bed. ′I can′t tell you that just yet.′

′What happened?′

′We followed a lead . . . we found his house. We went there, knocked on the door, he opened it, and that′s when he confessed.′

′What did he say?′

′He said the same thing. I am the Hammer of God.′

′And he confessed to the attacks.′

′He confessed to attacking a total of three couples. You were the last ones.′

′And what happens to him now?′

′He gets psych evaluation. He gets all the routine things. He goes to trial. He goes to Death Row. We execute him.′

′Unless he′s declared insane.′

′Right.′

′Which he will be.′

′There′s a good possibility, yes.′

John Costello was quiet for a little while, considering. Then, ′How do you feel about that?′ he asked.

′About the fact that he might be declared insane and not be executed?′

′Yes.′

′I try not to feel anything about it. Why? How do you feel?′

John hesitated, and then he frowned, almost as if he was surprised at his own answer. ′I don′t feel anything either, Detective Gorman . . . I don′t feel anything at all.′

′Is there anything else that you can remember now? Anything else that you remember him saying?′

′Why does it matter now? He′s confessed.′

′Because it might give us a better understanding of what was going through his mind.′

′Why would you want to know what was going through his mind?′

′Because we are trying to find everything we can that will convince the District Attorney and the judge that he knew what he was doing. That he had some sense of awareness of his actions. That he was really aware of what he was doing.′

′Why? So you can prove he was not insane?′

Gorman nodded. ′Yes. So we can say he was responsible for the consequences of his own actions.′

′So you can execute him.′

′Yes.′

John Costello closed his eyes. He tried to think, but there was nothing.

′No,′ he said. ′I′m sorry, Detective . . . I don′t think he said anything else.′

WARREN HENNESSY/FRANK GORMAN-ROBERT MELVIN CLARE INTERVIEWS. SECTION ONE (PAGES 86-88).

WH:
So, Robert. Tell us again, tell us what the deal was with the hammer?

RMC
: What do you want to know?

WH:
Why they had to be killed with a hammer.

FG:
Yes, Robert. Why the hammer? Why not just get a gun or a knife or something?

RMC:
Part of the ritual.