Voices (Whisper Trilogy Book 3) (20 page)

“He didn’t look like a man with sense when he was trying to break the car window.”

Truman leaned the back of his head against the interior of the ambulance. “What the hell do we do about him?” he said, nodding toward Isaac.

“We need to take him with us.”

“Hey, I’m all for tryin’ to get to the bottom of this, but I don’t think that’s a smart move.”

“We can’t just leave him.”

“Why not?” Truman said. “Maybe it’s better. Get us some real protection from this guy. He’s a god-damn psycho.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I know this is hard, but trust me, I’ve experienced this before. We need to take him with us. I need you to trust me, Truman.”

“Look, don’t be sayin’ I don’t trust you. I’ve helped you so far haven’t I? It’s just that things have changed. Shit’s got real now. Just look the fuck outside.” He glanced out of the door at the police cars parked along the side of the road, beacons flashing in silent warning. “This is serious shit, lady.”

“More than you know,” Emma fired back. “Now, are you going to help me or do I have to do it all myself?”

“What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“See over there?” she said, nodding toward the side of the road at a silver estate car.

“Yeah?”

“Driver left the keys in the ignition. He’s over there being interviewed by the police.”

“So?” Truman said, getting a nasty feeling he knew where this was going.

“So, it’s only, what, ten, fifteen feet from here to there?”

“No way,” Truman said, shaking his head. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? With all these cops around you want to steal a fuckin’ car?”

“Borrow. Just to get us clear of here.”

“No way! That’s crazy. You know how this will look for us?”

“If you want to stay here you can,” Emma said, climbing out of the ambulance. “Good luck explaining who you are. And that Isaac isn’t my brother like I told the police.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait just a second. You’re going anyway?”

“Well I’m not staying here. You said so yourself, we’re in serious trouble once they find out we lied about who we are. Once they know we’re not the kid’s family, it’s over for us.”

“Goddamn it, it looks like I have no choice.”

“Good. Now grab Isaac and let’s get out of here.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“Nobody is even looking at us. Come on; let’s go now before it’s too late.”

II

He watched them from his place in the trees as they made their escape, the cold in his bones no worse than the black pit of emptiness inside him. The air was crisp and fresh, and he longed for the time when it would be filled with the stink of blood and death. He asked the voices in his head how he could stop them from leaving, and they responded by telling him that the boy could wait. He grabbed the mobile phone from his pocket. He’d found it in the doctor’s car and had taken it along without thinking. Now, he dialed a number, not sure if it was his own doing or if it was the will of those who controlled him. He waited to see if the line would connect, counting the number of rings, prepared to dial for as long as it would take.

“Hello?” the cautious voice said on the other end.

“It’s me,” he said, speaking to his brother for the first time in over three years.

“Henry? Where are you? Do you know what you’ve done?”

“If you want to stop it, the death, the killings, the brutality, you know what you have to do.”

“Henry, listen to me, I want to help you but I can’t unless you let me.”

“If you want it to stop, then all you have to do is find me.”

“Tell me where you are. Let me help you,” Dane said.

“You know where I’ll be. You know where to find me.”

“Henry please—”

Henry ended the call and tossed the phone into the undergrowth. The voices had spoken, and there was a more pressing matter to attend to. He asked them where they wanted him to go, and they spoke the answer he had longed to hear. They were sending him home.

CHAPTER 23

Police swarmed over the Edgeware Road address where Henry Marshall had massacred Isaacs’s adoptive parents. The house had been ringed by yellow police tape, the whole scene illuminated by the revolving red and blue beacons of the half dozen police cars and two ambulances that were on scene. Curious neighbors stood on doorsteps, faces wearing worry and concern at the events in their otherwise quiet neighborhood. Petrov pulled up at the edge of the tape and climbed out of the car, taking in the scene. Warren waved him over and Petrov ducked under the cordon after showing his badge to the officer keeping the public at bay.

“It’s a fuckin’ mess in there, Alex,” Warren said, taking a cigarette offered by Petrov.

“Any sign of the kid yet?”

“No, not yet. Although we have it confirmed that it was Henry Marshall who did this.”

“Jesus,” Petrov said, looking at the house. “That’s bold, really bold. Are we sure?”

“Half a dozen people saw the kid charging down the street and jumping into the car, and Marshall getting into his vehicle and giving chase. It’s him.”

“How the hell did he slip the roadblocks?”

“Damned if I know, but he did.”

“So where are we on this? What’s the timeline?” Petrov asked.

“Come on up to the house, its better you see it for yourself.”

Warren led the way, Petrov following behind, avoiding the crime scene officers in paper forensic suits milling around the property. They went around the back, where a white tent had been erected over the door, and ducked inside, Petrov immediately seeing the scale of violence.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. No matter how many crime scenes like this he saw, the brutality of man never ceased to confuse and depress him.

“So, here’s how I’m guessing it goes down,” Warren said, who, unlike Petrov, was unaffected by the bloodbath. “Marshall comes around the back of the house. The guy on the ground there opens the door to take out the garbage. Marshall is waiting, slits his throat on the doorstep and gains entry. He shoves the husband down on the ground and puts the knife right there through his skull. The wife, she doesn’t move. Marshall drowns her in the sink then goes looking for the kid, who was hiding upstairs. Anyway, the boy escapes through the back door here and Marshall gives chase.”

“Not bad,” Petrov said. “Almost right, too.”

“You think you know better, Alex?”

Petrov nodded. “The husband died later. Probably when the kid was trying to escape. You see the smears in the blood there from his hands? You don’t do that if someone plunges a knife in your skull. You go down and stay down. My guess is, Marshall slits his throat when he opens the door and leaves him there bleeding out. He comes in and drowns the wife just like you said, then finds the kid. Chases him back down here. See the shoe print in the blood there?”

“Yeah,” Warren said.

“Size seven. My best guess is the kid is cornered here by Marshall, the stepfather has a little fight left in him and tries to help, and that’s when he eats the knife in the skull. It gives the kid enough time to run and get out of the house.”

“And that’s when he got picked up around the corner?”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, I see it now,” Warren said. “Marshall chases them. It seems they ended up heading out of town when Marshall runs them off the road. The car is a mess, and—”

“I know. I just came from there. The kid and the people he was with had disappeared before I got to them,” Petrov grumbled.

“Shit. Didn’t anyone think to stop them?”

“Why would they?” Petrov said, rubbing his temples. “Nobody knows who they are. They were just victims of a car accident waiting to be taken to hospital to be checked over. There was no need to detain them, not at the time anyway.”

“Jesus Christ,” Warren grunted. “What about Marshall? Any sign of him?”

“More than that. He was right there at the crash site. Apparently he was trying to get into the car. With everything going on, nobody noticed him leave the scene. I had to pull the men stationed in Oakwell away to help with the search. They’re out now looking for him.”

“So who are these people who helped the kid?” Warren said, looking at the devastation in the kitchen. “Jesus, it’s a real mess, ain’t it?” he added as he popped a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.

“We don’t know who they are,” Petrov sighed. “None of this is adding up, Warren.”

“Does it ever?” Warren said.

Petrov didn’t respond. He was tired, not just physically, but mentally. Over the last couple of years, he had found himself struggling more and more to switch off at the end of the work day. Of course, some of the things he saw would live with him forever no matter how much he wanted them to go away, but it seemed for some reason, the part of his brain that filtered out the usual shit that made living a normal life possible wasn’t working.

“You alright, Alex?” Warren asked, sensing how distracted his partner was.

“Yeah, I’m good, just struggling to process everything. Let’s get the hell out of here.” Petrov ducked back out of the tent covering the door, inhaling the fresh air, a light sweat forming on his brow. His brain felt as if it were pulsing in his head, a sure sign of a coming migraine.

“Why don’t you knock off? I can take it from here,” Warren said.

“I’m fine.”

“You look like shit.”

“Love you too.”

“I’m serious, man. You look like you need a break.”

“I can’t now, Warren, not with this thing unraveling the way it is. We need to find this kid and fast.”

“I know. I’ll tell you something; I wish we still had the death penalty here for when we catch that prick, Marshall.”

“Yeah, well, if he carries on being as bold as this, we stand a decent chance.”

“So what do we do now?” Warren asked.

“Stick around here and question the neighbors. You’re good at that. See what you can squeeze out of them.”

“What about you?” Warren said as Petrov walked toward the front of the house.

“I’m going to tell the Samson woman her kid is missing.”

“Why don’t you see if local law enforcement can cover it?”

“No, I’d rather do it myself. Besides, I could do with having a little time to think.”

“What the hell fuck do you think’s going on here, Alex?” Warren said.

Petrov hesitated, unsure what he wanted to say or how to say it. Some things, he reasoned, were better without words, or at least any form of committal answer.

“At this point, I don’t know. Let’s just play it by ear and see what we can find out.”

Petrov skirted around the house before Warren could ask any more questions. He ducked back under the tape, pushed through the crowds and got into his car.

PART THREE:

FULL CIRCLE

CHAPTER 24

Detective Petrov pulled up to the rundown apartment building and gave it a cursory once-over as he shut off the engine. He sat for a moment, composing his thoughts, taking a second to get what he wanted to say clear in his mind. He exited the vehicle, paused to take a look up and down the street and entered the building.

Some places were nicer inside than out, however this wasn’t one of them. The hallways were dark and dusty, the wallpaper cheap and a good few years past its best. He took the stairs to the fourth floor, paused outside room 413 and, after popping a stick of chewing gum into his mouth, knocked on the door. When no answer came, he knocked again, and was about to do so a third time when the door to the next apartment opened and a short, dumpy hag of a woman stepped out into the hall.