We Are the Hanged Man (47 page)

'Why are you doing this, Gordon?' she asked.

Her voice was shaking. He'd spoken to Light more than anyone else in his life, and he had never heard her sound like this. He didn't like it. He'd always been drawn to her strength, her lack of fear, her independence.

And although his words to her in the past had been many, he would never speak to her again.

'Gordon, please.'

Her voice was thin, and he despised her for it.

They had been friends, albeit Durrant's notion of that was quite perverse in itself. He had never thought of her in a sexual way; he had never imagined her naked; he had never dreamed of having her lying before him, his to do with as he pleased.

Her body was not as beautiful as Lol's; he was not so attracted to the lines and the stretch marks, the breasts that spread out a little more over her chest. Yet he was consumed by lust and, although he did not think it at that moment, would have had any woman.

He leaned over her, his erection already engorged and damp and aching, put his hands as support on the side of the table and thrust his enormous penis inside her.

She squealed.

There was a knock at the door.

Durrant stopped mid-thrust, his face directly above hers. He grimaced. Saliva dripped from his mouth and landed on her cheek.

'Did you hear that?'

Constable Crowthorne turned to the crowd of television people behind him. The squeal had been quite evident in the still, grey morning. Constable Webb knocked again. He stood closer to the door, but there were no other sounds from inside.

'Maybe you people should wait back a moment,' said Crowthorne.

He looked at Claudia.

'No fucking way,' she mouthed at him.

Her look said it all. Hadn't needed the words.

'Did you pick up the scream?' she asked the soundman, leaning in towards him.

He answered in the affirmative with his eyebrows.

'Fuck, yeah,' she said.

She was pumped. Once this was in the bag, and they had made the shows they would be putting out over the next two evenings, there was a fair chance she would be able to go back to New York and accept their offer on her terms, demanding a lot more money in the process.

Webb and Crowthorne looked at each other.

'We ready?' asked Webb.

Crowthorne nodded. General acknowledgement between them that there was no getting rid of the cameras and, if they'd both been asked and had been prepared to be honest, they would have admitted that it made the whole thing even more exciting.

Crowthorne banged on the door this time.

'Open up!' he shouted, but they were no longer waiting for a response.

Webb tried the handle, door was locked. Together the two officers took a pace back and then put their shoulders to the door. There was a slight groaning of wood, but nothing more.

They were in front of the cameras. They had to make a better job of it next time. Another nod between them

The lock clicked. Cher, standing at the back, gasped, putting her hand to her mouth in a wasted affected gesture. She wasn't on camera.

The two constables stared at the door, waiting for it to open. Suddenly they felt very nervous. The door did not open.

'Hello?'

'Shit…'

'Come on,' urged Claudia behind them. 'Come on.'

There was a restlessness about the group of nine. Claudia and the cameraman could not wait to enter, excited by the chase. A couple of the others – Xav and Cher – did not think for a second that this would actually amount to anything. It was all for television; they weren't really going to be standing here if there was the possibility of a genuine serial killer being behind the door.

For the rest, they were scared, in particular the policemen, who suddenly got that feeling of impending dread. They were both thinking the same thing. They should retreat and call for back-up.

'Come on,' urged Claudia from the rear. 'Come on,' she repeated.

Another glance between the constables, then Crowthorne leaned forward, lowered the handle and pushed open the door.

There was music playing. A slow, mellow jazz version of
Rockin' Chair
recorded in the 50s.
Hoagy Sings Carmichael
. None of them recognised it.

They hesitated as they looked at the empty room, then Crowthorne felt the nudge of the camera at his shoulder, as the cameraman was pushed forward by an enthusiastic Claudia.

Crowthorne stepped into the house, Webb behind him, followed immediately by camera and sound. Each of the Three Musketeers hesitated, and each of them felt Claudia's hand at their backs pushing them forward.

Hattie Morris, her stomach twisting horribly into a tight hard ball of fear, fought the urge to run off back along the beach and entered last.

*

They walked into the centre of the room, looking around in wonder. For a moment, Crowthorne and Webb forgot that someone had opened the front door for them and that that person wasn't in the room. The rest of the troupe filed in behind, and were immediately struck by the curiousness of the place.

Hoagy Carmichael played on, quiet, forgotten, the source a small, old-fashioned turntable.

'Holy fuck,' said Webb.

Crowthorne did not respond. His mouth was slightly open.

'This is fucking weird,' said Webb. 'Are we looking for this kind of thing?'

He turned to Claudia, who was staring around the room, a curious smile on her face.

'Is this anything to do with the guy you might be looking for?'

'Fuck knows,' said Claudia.

The walls were lined with images of the Hanged Man. Images from throughout the ages. One or two larger paintings, but largely there were individual cards pinned to the walls. Whatever paint or wallpaper was underneath had been completely obscured.

Ando was the first to look up, and then the others followed. The ceiling was similarly plastered in the cards, although bizarrely these cards seemed lighter in feel; the borders were all pale, as though the ceiling had been decorated the way a ceiling normally would be.

And although the cards seemed to come from throughout the ages, they were all of the same tone; they all spoke with the same macabre intensity of the cards that had been sent to Jericho. The Hanged Man was suspended at both ends, and the Hanged Man was always a skeleton, smiling sinisterly out from the confines of the card, its eyes burrowing into the watcher.

The room was sparsely furnished, a small sofa against the far wall and another armchair by the window, a coffee table beside it. In the opposite corner from the door there was another table with the turntable and one small speaker.

The carpet was green and dull. Four doors led off, so that there were almost more doors than wall space. The doors too were covered in Hanged Men.

To the right was a small kitchen, the only part of the room that was untouched; yet it was small, functional, a hob and a sink, a couple of cupboards.

Crowthorne picked at a card. It was stuck to the wall. He ran his fingers over them. They had been neatly laid, each corner and edge set with precision.

'Fucking weird,' he muttered.

'Who opened the door?' said Cher into the awestruck silence.

It was a rhetorical question, as she was aware that none of them knew who had opened the door. It had just struck her that it was something they all seemed to have forgotten about.

Any curiosity or wonder they'd had was quickly supplanted by fear and a heightening of tension, as they all looked at the four doors which led off.

Only one of them was a little ajar, that to the left. The bedroom.

Crowthorne swallowed and indicated for Webb to go and check it out. Webb gave him a dubious look but turned towards the door.

It was then that he noticed the slight trail of blood on the carpet, where Durrant had hurriedly dragged Lewis' body out of the way.

The bedroom door was pushed open at that moment, and Durrant emerged. He had been in the act of putting his clothes on when the front door had opened, but then had had a last second change of mind.

Clothes would only give them something to hang on to in a fight.

He held in his hands an eight-inch knife that he'd grabbed from beside the sink on his way to unlock the door. He still had an erection, which was not gong to die down at the thought of committing murder.

The camera held fast on Durrant as the operator stumbled backwards. Cher screamed. Xav screamed.

'Oh my fuck!' shouted Claudia.

Ando, suddenly, seemed unperturbed.

'This is, like, part of the show?' he said with curiosity, while all around him were losing their heads.

Morris was closest to the door, and was the first to move in any direction other than back against a wall. Durrant had chosen which door to hide behind as it was closest to the front door and he needed to get it closed before anyone left.

He grabbed Morris as she was on the threshold, dragged her back inside and slit her throat in one balletic, flowing movement.

He closed the door in the same move in which he swirled round and tossed her body into the middle of the floor. Some of the blood from her neck splashed into his chest and stomach, some of it onto his penis.

Claudia's face drained of blood. Mikey, the cameraman, forgot the first rule of his job, and lowered the camera, so that he could stare in fear at Durrant with his own eyes.

'Is she really dead?' said Ando.

He wasn't sure yet what was happening, and didn't want to over-react in case it was all part of the show and it was a
Candid Camera
kind of thing.
Prank Patrol
.

Webb, and then Crowthorne stepped forward, ushering the others behind them. Durrant stood before them all, face impassive. Absurdly they were distracted by his nakedness.

'Is this part of the show?' asked Crowthorne.

He was looking at Durrant, but really speaking to Claudia. She didn't answer.

'You!' he said, half turning his head towards her. 'Woman. Is this part of the fucking show?'

'No!' said Claudia.

Suddenly she had her doubts. Was it part of the show? Had Washington set it up without telling any of them? She almost began to relax. This was why he hadn't come. Bloody brilliant bit of TV if that's what was happening, and it was always going to work better without him telling any of them about it. Even me, she thought. He did the right thing.

She looked at the cameraman, suddenly annoyed, and indicated for him to lift the camera. A feeling began to take over the crowd of eight that perhaps this was all a set-up. Morris wasn't really dead. That blood at her throat wasn't really blood.

Xav and Ando glanced at each other and then at Claudia. Waiting for direction.

Webb took a step towards Durrant, who stood in the same position, the knife held forwards.

'Put down the knife,' said Webb.

Durrant remained impassive. His eyes barely seemed to be moving, but he was choreographing his way around the room, establishing the order in which they would have to be killed.