The Dying Place (8 page)

‘CCTV any good?’ Murphy said, pressing the button on his keys to activate the central locking.

‘Not sure yet,’ Rossi replied, opening the passenger door and getting into the car. ‘I know there’s a few cameras around the cross near the Sefton Arms pub, but not the other side. Depends which way they came in. It’s not like we could tell if he was killed anywhere else in the area, unless there’s blood.’

‘Doesn’t mean we don’t look,’ Murphy said, turning the ignition. ‘We need to organise a bit of a search, I think.’

‘Seems like a lot of effort. Probably going to turn out to be an argument got out of hand.’

Murphy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for traffic to pass so he could pull out onto the main road. ‘I’d usually agree, Laura, but there’s a few things wrong here. The fact he’s been missing over six months. The placing of the body at the church …’

‘Like an unwanted baby,’ Rossi murmured.

‘Sorry?’

‘When you hear about these abandoned babies, you know, where the mother is too young or whatever, they leave them outside churches, don’t they?’

‘I’m not seeing your point.’

Rossi sighed, pressing the button to half open her window. ‘It could be that Dean Hughes was left at the church because they thought he’d be looked after there.’

‘Possibly. I think the damage was already done though, don’t you?’

Rossi shrugged and turned to look out the window. Murphy stared ahead, trying to get the cogs within turning.

Concentrating hard to stop the demons coming back in.

The Farm

Five Months Ago

Goldie had become used to life there pretty quick. It was the same all the time, really. Days spent in the quiet, waiting for the evening, when the ‘fun’ would begin. Three meals a day. Anything they wanted to read.

Okay, there was no TV, PlayStation, or even Xbox. No iPhone, Samsung … fuck, he’d take a Nokia at some points, just to be able to speak to his mum or something. He reckoned he’d even phone her first, rather than check Facebook or Twitter.

His muscles ached in so many places, he’d given up trying to work out where it hurt most. He’d caught sight of his face on one trip into the farmhouse. It was becoming harder, older.

Scarred.

Goldie was inspecting a fresh mark on his right thigh when they brought in the Bootle lad. Just dumped him in there, without a word.

They’d been getting a bit more light in the Dorm than in the first couple of weeks, so Goldie could see him fine. Dean, the other lad, wouldn’t have seen shit. He was in his usual position – lying down on his bed, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. He’d barely spoken two words to Goldie in the month he’d been in there with him.

Just shut down.

‘All right lad?’ Goldie said, standing up slowly, his thighs burning from overuse, his calves numb. It seemed too little a thing to say, but what the fuck else could he say? The lad had no idea what he was in for.

‘Who the fuck are you? What’s going on?’

Goldie held his hands out in front of him. ‘Calm down mate. It’s them out there you want to be pissed off with, not us.’

‘Us? Who else is here?’ the lad replied, standing up fully now. ‘Youse best tell me what’s fuckin’ goin’ on, or there’ll be fuckin’ murder, you get me?’

Goldie put his hands down. Curled them into fists instead. ‘Look,’ he tried a softer voice, but it didn’t really work. ‘Look, we’re in the same boat. I’m Goldie, the lad over here is Dean. We’ve been taken by a bunch of nutters who want to give us some kind of army training or some shite …’

‘Well, I’m MC Cray-Z. And MC Cray-Z doesn’t take any shit, you get me?’

‘You’re called what? Where you from?’

‘Bootle. What’s it to you?’

Goldie shook his head. ‘I’m not calling you MC Fucking Shit. I’m just gonna call you Bootle for now. That all right?’

‘This is bollocks …’

‘No,’ Goldie replied, taking a few steps towards him. ‘It’s not. It’s as fucking real as it can get. But you need to calm down, otherwise …’

‘Or what? What’re you gonna do about it?’

Goldie almost smiled. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to him like that when a gun wasn’t being trained on him.

‘Listen. I’ll give you one warning,’ Goldie said, stepping closer, five yards away from Bootle now, taking in his full five foot five figure. Small man syndrome exuding from every pore. ‘One warning, given what you’ve been through. But I won’t give you another.’

Bootle took a step forward, hands shaking, sweat on his forehead.

‘Do something,’ Bootle said as he stopped in front of him.

Goldie smiled then.

Gamma
spoke first as they watched the camera feed from inside the Dorm. ‘We might have a problem here …’ she
said, nudging Delta.

‘What do we do?’ Delta
replied.

Gamma
looked around at the only other person in the small monitoring room. Tango chewed on his bottom lip for a second or two, then spoke.

‘Get Alpha.’

A minute or so later, Alpha bounded in, forcing his way in front of Gamma and staring into the screen.

Gamma cleared her throat. ‘Should we go and stop it?’

Alpha stepped back, rubbing at his face before folding his arms.

‘No. Let’s see what happens.’

Goldie didn’t know where the lad had got the strength from, but he was starting to tire already. It was probably down to the endless drills he’d been forced to do in the previous weeks. Muscles not having been given a chance to heal properly, now screaming for him to stop. Lie down and don’t move.

Bootle had his small hands wrapped around his throat, trying to choke him but not succeeding. Goldie had his chin ducked down low, meaning he could suck in air. All the time, he was concentrating on trying to prise away the grip.

It had started as it normally did for Goldie whenever he was in a fight. Quick movements forward and a closed fist punch to the side of the other lad’s head. That usually put them down, then he could jump them. Put the boot in and end it.

But this time he’d miscalculated, and only skimmed the top of Bootle’s head. Then he’d been surprised by the force of the little bastard’s rugby tackle as he was forced backwards onto the floor.

Goldie stopped trying to prise the hands away. Drew back his fist as far as he could, and drove it into the side of Bootle. Kidneys. Instant pain. Bootle’s hands loosened and Goldie took his chance. He pushed him away, letting him fall to the side, before punching him in the jaw, hearing a click or snap – he couldn’t tell which one – in his right hand. He ignored it, punching again, hearing the satisfying thump of flesh on flesh as he carried on. Bootle’s face started turning red as knuckles met skin, cuts forming around his eyes and cheekbones. Blood mixing with sweat and tears.

Goldie left him coughing and retching on the floor, stood up, and began stamping on the cunt.

He was in his socks, so he wasn’t doing as much damage as he’d have liked, but it didn’t lessen the pain he knew he was inflicting. Drawing his leg up, smashing his heel right into Bootle’s stomach. Then a volley into his bollocks, to really take his breath away. Then he moved up. He had a wicked right foot on him, when he’d played footy instead of getting pissed or stoned with his mates, and he lined up Bootle’s face as if he was about to fire in a free kick in front of the Kop.

Bang.

The sound was deafening in the small space, making Goldie jump and lose his footing.

A soft voice from the corner, that’s all he could hear after the ringing had stopped.

‘No … no … no …’

Goldie looked over the broken body of Bootle towards the door. The main guy – Bally-Suit – stood there, backed up with two others. Holding the rifle level with him. The bang had come from one of the other two rather than him, Goldie guessed. Bally-Suit wouldn’t have fired a gun without it being pointed at someone, Goldie reckoned.

Goldie realised he was shaking his head, moving backwards all the time. The fight disappearing from him.

He was in the shit.

Bally-Suit man had offered up the name Alpha as he’d tied him to the rack. It suited him. Better than what Goldie had come up with.

Alpha. He was the one in charge.

Goldie tried not to pay much attention to what was happening. Thought he could zone out of whatever they did to him, think above the pain.

It didn’t – couldn’t – work like that. He was restrained so he couldn’t make any movement at all. Every possible part of him was strapped down, tied together, and immovable. Lying spreadeagled in just the black boxer shorts he’d been given a pile of at some point – fucking Asda brand; he couldn’t believe he was putting his junk into something so shite – exposed and useless.

‘It’s a shame it’s come to this,’ Alpha said from somewhere to his left. Goldie couldn’t move his head to check for certain. ‘I knew you’d end up here at some point, but it is really a damn shame it was due to this. We simply cannot tolerate you lads fighting each other. It will not happen again. I hope the next couple of hours convince you of this.’

Goldie shivered as a cold breeze snuck under the wooden door that he could just about make out. Just the ridge at the top, if he really tried looking down. Otherwise it was just strip light, which burned into his eyes if he looked at it too long. Lighting up his face even when his eyes were closed.

‘We call this a rack, but it’s not like the old racks they had hundreds of years ago. Those ones … Jesus. You wouldn’t believe the pain they could inflict. They’d tie you down and stretch you out, tightening the ropes and making your bones dislocate and break. Destroying your limbs. Tearing them right out.’

Goldie started shaking … as much as he could, anyway. He tried again to move, but it didn’t matter. He could move a finger – maybe two – but not much more than that.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to stretch you out or anything like that. No. This is purely about instant pain and punishment. But also … hopefully … redemption. I don’t want to destroy you. I want you to get better, understand?’

Goldie opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by the gag which was shoved in his mouth as he opened it. His vision was obscured by a thick piece of sock-like material being placed around his eyes.

‘Good. Then we’ll begin.’

Goldie tensed as he heard the flick of a lighter. Clenched his eyes tight and tried to block out the pain.

Burning on his chest. Fuck, his chest was on fire. He tried to see, but the harsh light overhead stopped him. Screwing his eyes shut, he thought of home, of his streets, of anywhere but there.

He tried screaming, but the gag inside his mouth turned it into a mumble in the darkness.

Some sort of vice was attached to his head. Goldie felt it tightening, the bones of his skull being forced together, screaming in agony as he thought of his head exploding. Alpha seemed to know the limits though.

It wasn’t his first time, Goldie thought at one point. Oh fucking shit –
it wasn’t his first time.

The needles were the worst. That’s what he guessed they were. Sharp, piercing pain in the skin between his fingers and toes. A bang as he imagined the thin pieces of metal being hammered through, then more agony as they were removed and covered.

He cried behind the covering over his eyes. Goldie hadn’t shed tears in as long as he could remember, always believing nothing could break him.

He was wrong.

After a while, the torture stopped and the numbness which had crept over him disappeared, bringing fresh waves of nausea as the pain kicked in once more.

‘That’s probably enough, Alpha … don’t you think?’

The voice came from further away, but even in the agony-induced state Goldie was in, he could hear the fear behind it.

‘Not nearly enough for this piece of shit.’

‘Okay … it’s just, well … we’re not really equipped for putting him right if you go too far.’

Goldie listened, barely able to match the words being spoken to a real conversation.

‘Would that be so bad?’

‘Of course it would. We’re not here for … for that. Are we?’

Goldie heard a sigh.

‘It’ll do for now, I guess. What do you think, Mr Gold?’

Goldie tried to nod his head, but it screamed in response as he tried to move it. Alpha tutted and removed the blindfold from his eyes.

‘Good. Well, Omega here will clean you up and have you back in the Dorm in no time at all. I hope we won’t have to do this again anytime soon. I trust you’ll behave yourself from now on?’

Goldie tried blinking, but the strip light above him refused to allow him respite from the pain as it burned into his eyes. He kept his eyes partially closed as he squinted above him, Alpha’s covered face looming into view.

‘I think we have an understanding now, don’t we? We’re not messing around here. You will be taught how to behave. It’s a shame your parents have failed so badly in this area and that we have to resort to such extreme measures, but it takes time and punishment, you see? Probably not now, no, but soon. Soon you’ll all see.’

The dark face moved away then returned, closer this time. Whispering into his ear.

‘The next time, I take a finger. Then we can really start to see what you’re made of.’

He moved away again and a few seconds passed before another masked face replaced him. Goldie wanted to believe he saw pity in the eyes of this one, but he didn’t know the difference any more.

He didn’t know anything.

7

The first day was winding down, the light fading outside in the early May evening. Murphy and Rossi crossed the incident room, heading back towards their office. There’d be a short meeting before they left for the day, but other than the list of names they’d accrued, there wasn’t much else they could do. Overtime was currently a dirty word in the station, and unless the DCI suddenly got pressure from above, Murphy couldn’t imagine they’d change that for a single victim. Especially when he knew what most minds in the hive would be thinking.

Some scally kid had got what was coming to him.

It still troubled Murphy. Any death still had that effect on him. Sometimes he wondered if he had been born in the wrong era. It seemed to Murphy that there were more victims than ever that supposedly deserved their fates, in a growing number of people’s opinions. Even if they were only a few years on from being nothing but kids. Not having a clue what the reality of their actions could eventually lead to.