The Christmas Killer (37 page)

‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered with her lips. She couldn’t move her jaw.

Jake rubbed her shoulders mechanically as they held each other. She was injured, he knew that. But how badly?

He pulled his head back to examine her as best he could in the darkness of the crypt. He could see a deep bruising stain on the top of her head, visible against her silver hair. He could feel the wetness. Scalp wounds bled like a bitch, but that didn’t mean they were serious. He had freed her before her jaw had been completely broken, before her eyeballs bulged and burst out of her skull. But she was old; how quickly could she get over what had happened?

She might never recover.

The thought came like a punch, and he felt weak at the knees. He could not let her slide away from him again. He needed her to keep a grip on herself just a little longer.

‘Mom, there are some questions I have to ask – some things about my past I have to know.’

She did not respond except to repeat her whisper: ‘I’m so sorry …’

‘Melanie!’ He snapped her real name. He needed to break through the barrier. ‘My real mother? What was her name? Why did she leave me with Lumley?’

Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

‘Melanie, please … I need a name,’ said Jake.

She didn’t reply.

He persisted. Jake wondered if the doors were closed completely. Another name might jog her memory. ‘Did you know someone named Johnny Cooper? Did
I
know him? Were we friends?’

But Jeanette just continued to mutter apologies to no one in particular.

Jake was sinking into despondency when he felt her arms tense around his shoulders. Too late he was aware of a change in the light, as if someone was moving in the shadows behind him. He tensed his shoulders to throw Jeanette out of harm’s way, but then he felt a blow like the kick of a mule.

It hit him right between the shoulder blades, and he crumpled to the ground, face first.

Jake kicked out backwards, like a wild bull. It was a blind strike, but the feel of a shin bone beneath his heel was wonderful at that moment.

‘Damn you,’ gasped the priest as Jake heard him stumble back.

Jake took the opportunity to spin on to his back. Father Ken was standing about four feet away from
him, a big slab of stone in his hands. It must have weighed twenty pounds. Jake said a silent prayer of thanks that the man wasn’t twenty years younger. If he had been strong enough to aim it at Jake’s head instead of his shoulders, the fight would have been over at the first blow.

As Father Ken raised the stone, Jake started scrambling away. He heard the grunt of effort from the old man as he heaved the stone.

It was like being stamped on by a crazed horse. Jake felt his left shoulder buckle, and from the pain shooting through him knew the joint had been wrenched from its socket. He was on his stomach now, his left arm mangled and somehow wrapped around his left leg. He felt Father Ken sit heavily on his back. He tried to move, but his arm was dead under him.

Then he felt the chain going around his neck …

The priest was strong. His gnarled hands were tightening the links, drawing the chain tighter and tighter around Jake’s throat. Jake felt an intense pain as his Adam’s apple yielded to the pressure of the chain, a sensation like crawling flame to the side of his neck as Father Ken’s weapon constricted his jugular, cutting off the blood supply to his brain. He couldn’t breathe, and he felt his energy draining with every heartbeat. Then a milky cloud descended over his eyes, and the pain went away. His head was twisted to one side, and his mind swam. He could hear nothing over the roar in his ears.

Then Jake felt the chain loosen. Felt the weight of the priest lift as he fell off Jake’s back.

Jake rolled to his right, avoiding his damaged left arm. He struggled into a sitting position. It felt like he was swimming through syrup. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to draw in gulps of oxygen. His mom was attacking Father Ken, plunging what Jake could now see was a kitchen knife into his torso over and over again. It had to have fallen from his pocket during the scuffle.

Jake staggered to his feet, ignoring the agony in his shoulder as the blood and feeling flowed again through his body. He gazed at the surreal sight of his mother stabbing at the priest over and over again to the beat of the pounding in his head, which made what he was seeing seem distant.

‘Forgive me, Father,’ she was screaming. ‘Forgive me, Father.’

And she kept driving the knife into the back of the priest, even as he crumpled to the ground.

‘Mom – no!’ shouted Jake, reaching out with his good arm.

Father Ken was crawling now, scrabbling desperately away. Jake’s mom walked up to the grovelling priest and bent down, her left hand on his shoulder, steadying herself. She raised the knife over her head.

‘Stop!’ howled the priest into the darkness.

Then the knife fell.

Jake stood in the open door of the church, trying to orientate himself. He had a blinding headache, made worse by the bitter cold, which seemed to slam against his skull. Blood vessels had burst in his eyeballs from the strangulation, and he knew it would be days before his vision settled properly. He thought his shoulder was dislocated, but the worst pain came from his finger. In the light he could see that it was badly swollen, and the top two portions were bent at an angle away from his palm.

He looked at the woman he had thought of as his mother. She was swaying slightly, and her hands and the front of her dress were covered in dark splurges of blood. There was livid purple bruising under her chin, and the top of her skull was still crimson.

She looked at him blankly.

‘Mom?’

There was no response. Her eyes stared into the middle distance, unfocused. Every minute or so she mumbled, ‘Forgive me, Father.’ Jake wondered if she was addressing God or Father Ken. Maybe it was no
one at all. Maybe she was trapped in a catatonic state, repeating the phrase because her mind was like a stuck record. She was in her own space now, and Jake knew she might not be coming back from there.

It could not be put off any longer. She needed an ambulance. Jake reached into his pocket and groaned in agony. He had to use his wounded right hand because his whole left arm was useless. He gritted his teeth as he dug out his phone, then clumsily opened his list of contacts. Asher or Mills?

He chickened out and went for Mills. As he was about to dial, he realized the decision had been taken out of his hands. He could hear the distant wail of a siren. A moment later he heard the howl of a speeding engine and within a minute a black and white had skidded to a stop outside the church, lights flashing. Mills jumped out of the driver’s side, reaching for his gun as he ran towards the church. Another detective – a guy called Baynes, who usually worked the night shift – had got out from the passenger side and was matching him stride for stride. They had obviously been dragged out from their homes. More Christmases fucked …

Jake stepped out from the doorway into view.

Both detectives stopped and stared. Jake stared back.

Baynes looked at Jake’s mother and radioed for an ambulance.

‘Is she OK?’ asked Mills.

Jake shook his head. ‘She was going to be his next victim,’ he said.

Mills covered his mouth with his hand.

After a moment Jake said, ‘He’s downstairs.’

Mills nodded.

‘Alive?’

‘No,’ said Jake.

‘Was it Father Ken?’ asked Mills.

Jake looked stunned. ‘How did you figure it out?’ he asked.

‘The bodies in the graveyard,’ said Mills. ‘The only people with access to the graves were the parish priest, the gravedigger and three local undertakers. We had already eliminated the undertakers and the gravedigger. He was the only one left.’

‘Oh. And how did you get here so quickly?’

‘Colonel Asher has an APB out on you. But the dispatcher is sweet on me, and when your car was spotted she tipped me off. I think it’s better that
I
bring you in.’

Jake shrugged, wondering who, exactly, it was ‘better’ for.

Ten minutes after Baynes made the call, the ambulance arrived. Jake’s mom was laid gently on a stretcher and placed inside. She wasn’t responding to anyone. One of the paramedics asked her some questions but shook his head when he got no answers.

As the ambulance pulled away from the deconsecrated church Jake was pretty sure his own hopes were leaving with it. He would never get the answers to his questions. He would never learn who he really was.

But there were more pressing matters. How much of what he knew could he even tell anybody?

He turned to Mills, who was not looking comfortable. Beside him Baynes stood staring at the ground, clearly unsure of how to play this, and thinking it best to leave it to the day-shift detective.

‘You know I have to arrest you? You’re my partner, but you’ve crossed a line here, man,’ said Mills.

‘I understand,’ said Jake.

‘Colonel Asher will be here in a minute, and he still wants to burn your ass over everything else you pulled these past two weeks.’

Jake didn’t answer.

‘Internal Affairs are going to be all over you like flies on shit. What the fuck got into you, Jake? Breaking into the old asylum?’

There was so much he couldn’t tell Mills. So much he couldn’t tell anybody. He could never reveal how he knew it was Father Ken. That would involve revealing he was Fred Lumley’s son, and that was a can of worms best left unopened. Especially as Jake was the one who had killed him. Asher might speculate on the ‘ghost of Lumley’ roaming the asylum, but Jake wasn’t going to help him on that one. And, if anyone did manage to turn up anything about Lumley’s son, all they would find was a child named Bruce.

A car was pulling up now, and Jake watched as the colonel stepped out. His face was redder than usual, and he walked with his chest thrust forward. He glared at Jake for a long moment, then turned to Detective Baynes.

‘I’m going inside to look at the scene.’ He turned back to Mills. ‘Take Austin down to the station and arrest him.’

Mills nodded. ‘Sir.’

Jake felt like a man walking across shifting sands who suddenly finds he’s sinking.
Will I get out of this?

Could he make up a story to account for all the facts? He had stopped the Christmas Killer. There had to be some credit due for that, surely. He’d solved twenty-one murders in one day. Where was his pat on the back?

Yes, he’d withheld evidence, but he could justify that – a victim’s life had been at stake. His own mother. She was beyond making a coherent statement and would never be charged with anything. All they really had Jake for was breaking into the asylum.

A plan formed in his head so fast Jake was acting on it before he knew what its ultimate conclusion would be. He turned to Mills.

‘I want my phone call.’

Mills reached into his jacket pocket and handed Jake his mobile.

‘I need some privacy.’

Mills looked reluctant to step away.

Jake looked at him. ‘I’m not going to get very far with my gimpy shoulder, am I?’

Mills nodded, then moved away.

Jake called directory inquiries and asked to be redirected. After a long moment his target came on the line.

‘Councilman Harper? It’s Detective Jake Austin here.’

There was a long pause and a sigh before the voice at the other end replied, ‘Merry Christmas, Detective. What can I do for you?’

The voice was cold. Jake could feel the dislike crackling down the line.

‘It’s more what we can do for each other. I’ll start with the good news. We caught your wife’s killer.’

There was another pause, then a slightly incredulous ‘What?’

‘In the past hour. He’s dead. Case is closed.’

A silence on the other end, then another heavy sigh. ‘That
is
good news.’

‘The bad news is that I’m in a bit of a mess, and I need you to help me out of it.’

‘And why should I help you?’

Jake detected a note of apprehension in the councilman’s voice. He clearly did not like where this might be heading.

‘Because if you can help me make my problem disappear, then I can help you sweep Leanne Schultz back under the carpet again. And this time she’ll stay there. You have my word.’

The councilman took only a moment to reach a decision.

‘Is Colonel Asher there?’ he asked.

Jake handed the phone back to Mills.

‘He wants to speak to the boss,’ he said.

Mills took the phone and walked into the church.

Jake stood under a yew in the churchyard, looking down the leafy avenue. Soon Jake could call his family home from their hiding place. Things would calm down now that he no longer had a serial killer on his plate at work. In fact, he did not think he would have much on his plate at all for quite some time. Asher was likely to be furious at being outplayed like this, and would retaliate by keeping Jake sidelined even after he was medically cleared to get back to work – which, it being the holiday season, might not be for a few weeks.

So Jake would get to spend more time at home, which would make Leigh happy. And if Leigh was happy, Baby Jakey would be happy. And if Baby Jakey wasn’t screaming the whole place down, maybe Faith would level out.

Things might be normal again … whatever that was.

He turned back to the church. He saw Mills emerging from the doorway, a look of bemusement on his face.

‘Seems like Harper’s got your back,’ Mills said. ‘What did you say to him?’

Jake couldn’t meet his partner’s eye. Not just yet.

In a short hour he had slain the devil, then shaken another devil by the hand. And he knew things would never be the same again.