True Witness (15 page)

Read True Witness Online

Authors: Jo Bannister

BOOK: True Witness
7.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“It's not important that you understand why I did it,” said Neil Cochrane. He was sitting on the straw beside Daniel with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms bridged across them, and his gruff voice had taken on an odd rhythmical cadence as if he were repeating a liturgy. “It's important you understand that I stopped. And, how hard that was.”
Daniel was, physically as well as metaphorically, at the end of his tether. He couldn't put any more distance between himself and the madman so he had to deal with him. He could hear the quake in his own voice but he made himself finish. “You had to stop. The police knew who you were.”
“The police!” He couldn't have got more scorn into the word with a trowel. “They knew nothing. They could prove nothing. Yes, they thought it was me; but there wasn't any evidence.
“That was half the pleasure, you know? Leading them by the nose. Knowing that they knew, and that they couldn't prove it. It didn't matter how often they pulled me in, how long they questioned me or how much time they spent searching my house. They were looking in the wrong place. They don't even know this place exists.”
Daniel's voice was only a breath, but there was just enough anger in it to show that he knew the answer. “So what was the rest of the pleasure?”
Cochrane looked at him sidelong, knowingly. “Now, how do I explain that to the likes of you? It was only after I split your lip I was sure there was any blood in you.”
Daniel gritted his teeth. “God in heaven,” he swore, “you're not claiming that buggering little boys makes you a bigger man than me?”
Momentarily surprised, Cochrane frowned at him. “You watch your mouth, sonny.”
“Or what?!!” demanded Daniel, reckless with despair.
“Or I'll make you wish you had,” rumbled Cochrane.
“You're going to kill me!” yelled Daniel.
The farmer considered. “I never said that.”
“You have to. I know what you did.”
Cochrane shrugged. “Everyone in Dimmock reckons to know what I did. Hear me out, and then we'll talk about what happens next.”
“I won't be your apologist,” spat Daniel. Even as he said it he knew he was probably cutting the only life-line he would be thrown. “I'm not going to tell your story to the Sunday papers. I'm not going to tell them you had an unhappy childhood and it really wasn't your fault and –”
Cochrane struck out, a casual swipe with the back of his hand that sent Daniel reeling in the straw. “Shut up,” he said mildly, “and listen.”
He hadn't meant to start with why. He didn't owe anyone an explanation. But he couldn't tell the story without at least touching on the reasons.
“They say rape isn't about love, it's about hate; not sex but violence. I can only speak for myself, but I didn't hate those boys. It wasn't love either, but by God I admired them. They're perfect at that age: smooth and untouched. No past, only promise – they can be anything they can dream of. And I wanted them. I wanted them so bad I could scarcely breathe.
“Don't think I didn't fight it because I did. I fought it till it filled the whole of my head, till I couldn't think of anything else. I was already a middle-aged man, I'd never known I had that in me – either the wanting, or the stomach to do something about it. It seemed to come from nowhere. Suddenly I was aware of these beautiful young boys everywhere, and thinking how I could get them alone, and what I'd do to them if I did.
“And sure I knew it was wrong. Leastways, I knew I'd be damned if people found out. But then, people round here never had a good word for me beforehand. I didn't reckon
their goodwill was worth having if it meant denying what every cell in my body was crying out for. But I was afraid. I knew what would happen if I was caught. I didn't want to go to prison. Men in prison have families, they have sons, they know there's no one looking out for them while they're inside. You go into prison for something like that, you better not count on coming out. Not all of you, anyhow. So I fought it.”
He sighed. “That boy who came to lift my beets: Jamie Wilton, his name was. The minute I set eyes on him the fight was over. It was only a question of when, and how, and what then.
“I wasn't stupid. I didn't look at him when he was about the place. But afterwards … I'd heard them talking, see, about what they did of an evening. This boy belonged to some sort of youth group. I found out when it met, and what time it finished, and I let him get half way home one wet night and then I chanced along and offered him a lift. He was glad to see me. Reckoned to know me, see.”
Cochrane paused for a moment, remembering. Possibly savouring. “I kept him for six hours. I knew that when I was finished with him I'd have to kill him. I made it quick. Poor little sod was crying his eyes out, swearing he'd never tell, but anybody'd have said the same in his position. I stove his skull in with the first blow – there wasn't time for him to feel anything. I left him at the pier. It was on his way home from the church hall, see. I wanted the police to think he'd been there all along.”
He looked at Daniel then as a man might look at his priest, as if his confession somehow made them co-conspirators. Daniel felt his insides clench in resentment. But if he was alive because Cochrane needed someone to tell it would be madness to stop him. He kept reminding himself that listening wasn't the same as condoning.
Cochrane had expected more in the way of reaction. He watched Daniel, head on one side, waiting. Then,
disappointed, he shrugged. “So now I'd done what I'd dreamt of doing. I'd had him, and I'd killed him, and as the weeks went on I realised that I'd got away with it. And the funny thing was, as soon as I felt safe the wanting began again. I tried to resist, told myself I'd been there, done that, it wasn't worth the risk just to do it again. But when the chance came I could no more have walked away than flown.”
He stretched out his legs, making himself comfortable. “Peter Krauss. Funny name: foreign, I guess. I brought him here too. Kept him for three days.” He nodded at the giant tubular toast-rack to which he'd attached Daniel's ankle while he drifted in and out of consciousness. “Used that same chain, the same padlock, and bedded him down in that last cubicle. They're calf-racks, in case you don't know, left over from the last tenant here. Never used them myself, except for the boys. But it seemed kind of appropriate. What else were they except pretty young animals with a purpose to serve?”
“They were human beings!” blurted Daniel, the words torn from him by grief. “They were people's sons; but for you they'd have grown up to be people's fathers. They were desperately scared young boys, and you abused them and then you killed them. And you dare tell me you felt some kind of passion for them? You thought of them as cattle! You fed on their terror.”
He caught his breath and watched for Cochrane's big fist to swing at him again. But Cochrane only shrugged. “I don't expect you to understand. Another farmer might. We value our beasts, take a pride in doing them well, but we don't lose sight of what it's all in aid of. They're bred to be used. That boy was here to be used. When the time comes, the beasts go to the market and he went to the pier.”
He chuckled, bleakly. “The second time, that bloody town went daft. You'd have thought the Hellfire Club was meeting every night in the Temperance Hall, not just little old me scratching an itch every few months. You could hardly move
for police patrols and Neighbourhood Watchers and God knows what else. I thought I'd better lie low for a bit. Another five months passed.
“Then fate took a hand. I don't remember anyone try to hitch a lift with me before or since. He said he was heading for London because he'd fallen out with his da, and he'd left a note behind saying as much. It was like he was sent, and I'd have been crazy to send him back. I brought him up here.”
A shadow passed across the granite features. “Gavin. That was his name: Gavin Halliwell. He was nothing to look at. A scrap of a boy, he didn't look like he'd had a square meal for months, I could have picked him up in one hand. But by God he had gumption. He didn't beg, he fought me. Every time. I had to knock the stuffing out of him every single time.
“I found myself half-hoping he'd escape. He
deserved
to, you know? He deserved better than to be spitted and then have his brains beat in by an old goat with no self-control. But if I'd let him go I'd have spent the rest of my life in jail, and that was never an option. And – I was enjoying him.
“Then I came up here one morning and found him lying in his blood. He'd been groping around under the calf-racks and come up with a bit of glass. God knows how it got there – it could have been there for years. He'd tried to cut his foot off. But the glass wasn't sharp enough to cut bone and he passed out.”
Cochrane's lips compressed to a thin line. “That was the end of it. Not the police, not the idiots in town – that. I'd taken these boys because they were fresh and perfect and I wanted them; and two of them I'd smashed to pulp and the third I'd made desperate enough to butcher himself.
“I put him down there and then. I didn't feel to have any choice, but I didn't want him waking up still in chains. I knew it wasn't safe to go to the pier again so I left him at the dump. I felt badly about that, too – he deserved better. But I promised him it would end with him. There wouldn't be any
more. I couldn't afford to let him go but I hoped it would be some consolation that he'd bought other boys' lives with his courage.”
“Oh yes,” hissed Daniel, “that must have made all the difference. To him, to his family …”
Cochrane rose in an abrupt movement and stood over the younger man, staring down at him. The meagre yellow light of the oil-lamp chased anger and disbelief around his face. “I can't make you out,” he said roughly. “Do you
want
to die? You
know
what I'm capable of. You're not much more than a boy yourself, if I took the padlock off you still couldn't get past me. I could kill you as easy as scragging a chicken for the table. I could do other things first. You
know
that. And you sit there, not only passing judgement on me but telling me about it!
Do
you want to die?”
Daniel was shaking; he knew it was audible in his voice and hardly cared. “None of them wanted to die. They had all their lives ahead of them. Wives, children, careers – you didn't just kill them, you robbed them.
And
you desecrated the bodies. There may be lower forms of life around but you need to turn over stones to find it.”
Cochrane snatched his hand back and Daniel flinched. The farmer frowned. “You
are
afraid of me. Of course you are. Then why are you trying to provoke me?”
Daniel swallowed. “Mr Cochrane, I know you can kill me. I can't stop you. And yes, I'm afraid. But since nothing I can say will alter what you're going to do, you might as well know that I despise you with every fibre of my being. I want you to be aware of that when you're smashing my head in with your wheel-brace.” It took him two breaths to get that out.
Cochrane shook his head, deeply perplexed. “You remind me of that boy – Gavin, the last one. You've nothing in the world to fight me with, you know you're going to lose, and you still won't give in. I've known plenty of tough men, and I wouldn't have said you were one of them. But you are, aren't
you? If I sawed you in half you'd have the words ‘You can't make me' running right through.”
Absurdly, perhaps half hysterically, Daniel wanted to laugh. He still believed at his heart's core that he was going to die here. Cochrane couldn't afford to let him leave. He believed he was going to die and he didn't think there would be anything heroic about it. He was telling Cochrane what he thought of him because (a) he didn't think he had anything to lose and (b) he wasn't sure he'd get another chance. He was glad to have got it out without breaking down. If Cochrane wanted to see him reduced to a sobbing, quivering jelly begging for mercy, he'd probably get his way. But for now, for just this minute, Daniel still had command of himself. “Are you finished?”
The killer looming over him shook his head slowly. “No. I'm just coming to the important bit.
“I'm not a man of many virtues, but I gave my word and I always meant to keep it. You can say it was in my interests too – that bastard Ennis was getting too close for comfort, if I'd made the least mistake he'd have had me. But I'm not sure how much difference that made. I'd been careful, I'd have gone on being careful – I think I'd have gone on getting away with it. Only I gave my word, so I stopped.
“They call it Cold Turkey, don't they, when it's drugs. That's how it felt – like I'd been high on something for months and now I'd had my last shot. Knowing was like ice-water in my veins. Knowing I couldn't do it again, I wanted to more than ever I had before. I was crazy with wanting. I found myself looking at people I knew – the apprentice at the abattoir, the boy who was seeing practice with the vet, even Motson's boy down the agricultural suppliers and he's got a face his mother couldn't love.

Other books

Immortal Mine by Cindy C Bennett
The Rice Mother by Rani Manicka
Hoofbeats of Danger by Holly Hughes
Broken by Lisa Edward
Who I'm Not by Ted Staunton
Spellstorm by Ed Greenwood
The Prometheus Project by Douglas E. Richards