Criminally Insane (35 page)

Alec heard the telephone ringing in his dream. He was wearing a coat which was much too tight, and the boat he was on was sinking fast. Someone was behind him calling for help, but every time he turned around, they were gone. His dream made no sense, and it faded rapidly. The telephone rang again. He opened his eyes. They felt gritty and sleep held them together. He rubbed them with the back of his hands and looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock in the morning, and he was still on the couch. The television was on, but the movie he had been watching had finished six hours ago. The ringing continued, and he rubbed his hands across his chin, feeling the stubble there. He reached for his mobile and looked at the screen. “Morning, Alec,” the chief spoke first. “Are you okay?”

“Morning,” Alec yawned. “I feel like I was out on the piss until four o’clock. Another night on the sofa, what’s up?”

“Look, Alec, I’m sending an Armed Response Unit to your house. They should be with you in five minutes,” Chief CarltonCarlton babbled. “I don’t want you to panic, but pack some things, just enough for a few days…”

“Woah!” Alec interrupted. “I have just opened my eyes, I feel like shit, and you are rattling on about armed units!” Alec stood up and stretched. “Slow down and tell me what the hell is going on.” He walked to the curtains and looked outside. Daylight was creeping up behind the grey clouds, but the streetlights still glowed. The shadows in the park looked dark and foreboding.

“There have been some developments, Alec, and I think you may be in danger.” The chief took a moment before he tried to explain. “We transferred Howarth to the Cat-A unit in Manchester as a precaution. The cellular van was involved in an RTA en-route.”

“You are fucking kidding me!” Alec put his hands through his hair. “Don’t tell me that bastard is on the loose.”

“We don’t know what’s happened yet, Alec.” Carlton cleared his throat. “Traffic responded to an alarm call, found the van upended and there are fatalities at the scene. Look, there is much more to this, Alec. I need you to listen to me.”

“What fatalities?” Alec asked angrily. The chief was dancing around something. He was too tired to play guessing games. “Just cut the bullshit and tell me straight!”

“Howarth is not at the scene, Alec,” Carlton explained, sounding embarrassed. “The vehicle’s alarm was activated by the driver an hour ago, but when traffic arrived on the scene, they reported the guards shot, one fatality, and the prisoner missing. Look, this isn’t the reason for the call.”

“Did it crash or was it ambushed?” Alec didn’t feel like he was getting a straight answer. The fact that the guards had been shot was lost on his sleepy brain. The Category-A unit in Manchester held the most dangerous criminals. Gangsters and terrorists were always an escape risk whilst in transit. “Was Howarth the only prisoner on board, I mean who shot them, for Christ’s sake?”

“It looks like an ambush, but we don’t know who did the shooting. Howarth was the only prisoner,” the chief admitted. “Look, Alec, there is more.”

Alec heard the sound of sirens approaching. They weren’t far away. “What the fuck is happening, chief?”

“There’s been a fire, Alec.”

“A fire?” Alec was baffled, tired and irritated. “What are you talking about?”

“The fire brigade were called to an address in Woolton in the early hours of this morning,” the chief sighed. “One of my officers attended the scene and recognised the address as Will Naylor’s house.” Alec stayed silent. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingling.

“Fucking hell, chief, isn’t this a bit over the top?” Alec had a bad feeling. The sirens seemed much closer now. If Gail were home, he probably would have her pack some things.

“Did you hear what I said?” Carlton asked. “Are you there, Alec?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Alec watched an armed response unit turning into the street. The lights flashed and rotated in the half-light. “What has happened?”

“They think someone started the fire deliberately near the front door. There are signs of accelerant. They found the bodies of a man and woman on the stairs. It looks like they tried to escape, but the smoke overcame them on the stairs.”

“They?” Alec repeated. His voice was emotionless. “Who are they?”

“I’m sorry, Alec, there really is no easy way to say this,” the chief stalled again. His voice was thick with emotion.

“Say what?” Alec was becoming agitated. “Is Will okay?”

“Will is dead,” the chief said. There was no of saying it without sounding blunt. “I’m afraid he died from smoke inhalation.”

“Jesus wept,” Alec whispered. “Are they positive?”

“It is Will. That is definite.” Chief Carlton coughed nervously. “Look, Alec, about the woman.”

“What woman, who was she?” Alec was confused.

“Her car was on the driveway, and they found her driving licence in her handbag.” Carlton paused again.

“What are you trying to tell me, chief?” Alec’s throat choked and his eyes watered.

“The woman is Gail, Alec, I’m afraid she’s dead.”

Alec felt the wind knocked out of him as sure as if he had been punched in the guts. His knees trembled, and he felt bile rising in his throat. “Gail is dead?” he croaked. “How the fuck could she be at Will Naylor’s house?”

“We don’t know, Alec.” The chief coughed nervously again. “I am worried about your safety, Alec, hence the armed unit. They could target you next.”

“Someone set fire to his house? Yes, I can see why you were worried now,” Alec muttered. “You’re sure it’s Will and Gail? Have they got the right address?”

“Yes, there’s no doubt about it.” The chief was adamant. “I don’t know what to say to you, Alec, I know you and Will were tight, but Gail?”

“There isn’t much to say really.” Alec was choked. “It hasn’t sunk in yet. Were they fully clothed or naked?”

“I’m not sure,” Carlton lied.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Alec growled. “Were they naked?”

“Yes, Alec, but it might not be how it looks,” the chief said too quickly. “I think it’s linked to Jack Howarth,” he added. “It must be.”

“No, chief, Will wasn’t involved in the arrest.” Alec sat down on the couch as if a huge weight had knocked him over. He covered his eyes with his free hand, and hot stinging tears filled them. They spilled over his lids and trickled down his cheeks. He had to control a sob by biting his lip. All the angst of the case, the brutality of the murders, added to Gail leaving, had left his nerves raw and exposed. It had all built up over the last few weeks, and the news of this betrayal brought it all crashing down on him. The two most important people in his life had been cheating on him, sleeping together, having sex with each other, and then behaving perfectly normally to his face. Gail hadn’t left because she was lonely, she’d fallen in love with another man. A man who had given her all the things that he hadn’t. A man who had given her sex, probably the best sex she had ever had. He couldn’t remember the last time they had had sex. His hands began to shake uncontrollably, and tears streamed from his eyes. He couldn’t stop them running down his cheeks.

“Alec, I know this is shocking news, but I need to make sure that you are safe.”

The chief was making sense, but then he would. He hadn’t just discovered that his wife and his best friend had been lovers and had died in an arson attack. He waited until he had control of his voice again before speaking. Thinking about work was all he could do to soften the pain. “If Howarth planned that escape, then I’m Houdini. It was public knowledge that we had Howarth in custody, wasn’t it?”

“It was all over the late editions and the evening news,” the chief agreed. “It’s not important right now. Why does that matter?”

“Once he was arrested, it was obvious that he would be moved to a Cat-A unit,” Alec thought aloud. There was a loud knock at the door, and Alec could see armed officers walking up the path. He was conscious that his eyes were red and full of tears. “Zamir Oguzhan threatened Will at the station. If he knows that Howarth killed his grandson and his family, and he blames Will for keeping their bodies in the morgue, then this could be retaliation. It would take a well-armed team to knock over a cellular van with an armed guard on board. Oguzhan’s organisation could carry out a job like that.” The officers banged on the front door, but their knocking was louder this time. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Do any of the team know about Will and Gail?”

“Yes, rumours are flying around the station. We can’t keep a lid on something like that, I’m afraid, Alec.”

“No, I realise that, I’ll see you shortly.” Alec ended the call. He couldn’t decide whether he hated them or not. Half an hour ago, he had loved them both. Now he knew the truth, but it didn’t make any sense, or did it? He could understand why Gail had been unhappy, but of all the men to fall into bed with, why him? Why Will?

“Poor Will,” Alec wiped tears from his face, “you’re the talk of the town in life and death, my young friend, and your choice of women was shite. You always picked the wrong ones.” Alec ignored the pounding at the door and picked up a photograph of their wedding. Gail looked beautiful, but she always had. He touched her face with his fingertips. He put his back to the wall and slid down onto the floor. His legs buckled and the tears flowed down his face. His body trembled and shook as he looked at her picture, and the thoughts of their life together tumbled around his head. “When I find out who did this to you, they will pay. I promise you that. I did nothing for you while you were alive, but I promise you this one thing. They will pay.”

Jack felt a hard slap to his face, and his teeth cut the lining of his cheek. He tasted blood in his mouth. “Open your eyes,” a foreign voice ordered. Another stinging blow hit him, and he opened his eyes and looked around. He didn’t like what he saw. He closed them again, trying to drift off to his special place. A bottle of smelling salts cleared his senses and dragged the clouds of unconsciousness away from his mind. “Open your eyes,” the voice bellowed. Another slap rocked his head to the side. Jack tried to speak, but the face guard hindered him. “Are you Jack Howarth?” a different voice asked.

Jack turned to the voice and looked into the cold watery eyes of an old man. He looked foreign. He looked like Salim Oguzhan, but much older. “Oh, fuck,” Jack tried to say. The old man was smartly dressed. A heavy slap sent a bolt of light through Jack’s brain. He looked at the man who had hit him. He was a man-mountain with hands the size of shovels. Jack tried to move, but they had tied his hands above his head. The straps and restraints fixed by the police were still there, but his new captors had repositioned them. His paper pants were gone. They had hung him from the ceiling and stripped him naked. The sensation of travelling and engine noise told him that he was in some kind of lorry. The size of the space around him made him think that he was in a large container, probably an articulated vehicle. There were several large crates built from new wood. The scent of resin drifted in the air. The big man punched him hard in the stomach, and the blow forced the air from his lungs. He rocked backwards like a human punch bag. Jack gasped for oxygen, choking on the face guard.

“Answer the question.” The big man grabbed his cheeks and squeezed them hard. The face bar dug into his lips, and Jack felt his lungs wheezing for breath. “Are you Jack Howarth?”

“Take that thing off his face.” The old man waved a hand. “I don’t want him to choke to death.”

Clumsy fingers fumbled with the straps at the back of his head, and the mouth guard fell away onto the floor. The relief was welcome; he sucked in air greedily. “Who are you?” Jack spluttered. “Why am I here?”

“Are you Jack Howarth?” the old man asked calmly. “Answer me, or Sami will hurt you.”

Jack thought about giving a smart answer but thought again. “Yes, I am Jack Howarth.” He spat congealed blood onto the floor.

“Do you know who I am?” The old man raised his eyebrows.

“No, I haven’t got a clue.” Jack tried to smile, but it turned into a sneer. “I’m figuring you’re not my parole officers.”

The old man smiled and nodded his head. “Funny,” he pointed at Jack with his index finger, “very funny indeed.” His smile faded quickly. “My name is Zamir Oguzhan.”

Jack swallowed hard and kept eye contact with Zamir. “Am I supposed to know who you are?” He sounded confused but a flicker in his eyes gave his lie away.

“You murdered my grandson, his wife and my great-grandchildren, Mr. Howarth.” Zamir pointed his finger again and wagged it from side to side. “Family is everything to me, and you slaughtered them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack looked surprised at the accusation. “I was arrested for murder, yes, but I killed my partner in a fight. I don’t know anything about your family.”

“Oh dear,” Zamir frowned. He looked at his minder and shook his head. “Until we know that you killed Salim for sure, we can’t exact our revenge, Mr. Howarth. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Jack said shakily. “I don’t know your family.”

“The police are convinced that you are their murderer,” Zamir shrugged his shoulders. “Am I supposed to think they got it all wrong?”

“They get it wrong all the time,” Jack insisted. “Honestly, I killed my business partner because he was ripping me off.” Jack nodded his head and looked both men in the eyes. His eyes flicked from one to the other. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“I’ve been reading all about you, Mr. Howarth.” Zamir walked past Jack. He was out of view, but Jack heard the rustling noise of paper moving. “You’re famous, look!” Zamir held up three different newspapers, all leading with the story about the capture of the ‘Child Taker’. A dated photograph of him appeared on the front pages. “I’ll read this to you, shall I? It may jog your memory. ‘Jack Howarth, people trafficker, known paedophile, was arrested on suspicion of the murder of Louise Parker. Police sources are indicating that they will further charge him with the murders of Salim Oguzhan, his wife and two children.’ It goes on. Shall I read on?”

“They’re stitching me up!” Jack’s eyes filled up with tears. He knew he was in terrible trouble. The anticipation of the pain that was coming made his stomach cramp. Sheer terror gripped him. He knew they were going to hurt him. The memory of Father Thomas pulling him along the corridor by the scruff of his neck crept into his brain. The priest who had dragged him night after night into his stinking office seemed almost real, as if he was next to him. Jack could smell his sweat, he could feel his fetid breath on his neck, he could taste his semen at the back of his throat. He remembered the anticipation of the pain he was about to endure, and it occurred to him that those memories drove him to do the things he did. They frightened him so much that he relived them by hurting others. It was role reversal. He was the predator in a bizarre fantasy world where he lived and breathed his own pain and the sweet pain of others. It was all about helplessness and suffering. It was about knowing that no one was coming to help. “It wasn’t me who killed your family, it was Patrick Lloyd,” Jack began to whimper.

“Patrick Lloyd, Patrick Lloyd, let me see, because that name rings a bell.” Zamir scanned one of the newspapers. “Ah yes, here it is. Patrick Lloyd. ‘It is alleged that Howarth lived for several years under the guise of an ex-soldier, Patrick Lloyd.’”

“They made it up!” Jack’s lip quivered. He looked at the Turks, pleading with his eyes. “It was the other bloke, what’s his name?”

“I’ve heard enough, make him admit it,” Zamir said to his minder. The big Turk dragged a wooden crate over to Jack and picked up a claw hammer. “The sooner you admit what you have done, the sooner you can say sorry and begin to pay for it. Everything has a price, you see?”

“That would make a nice coffee table.” Jack nodded toward the crate. He spoke as if they were friends chatting in Ikea. “It’s not my cup of tea, but a bit of dark wood stain would do it.” He removed his thoughts from the painful reality he faced. Something came into his head, and he looked like he had had an idea. “Nate something, the guy’s name was!”

The Turks ignored his jabbering. Sami bent down and grabbed Jack’s ankles. He lifted his feet from the floor as if they were straws and dropped them roughly onto the crate. His body bent at the waist as if he were sitting in mid air. Jack heard a nail ping onto the floor.

“Clumsy muffin,” Jack laughed, but it was the laugh of a nervous frightened boy. It was the laugh of a boy who knew that he was about to spend the next few hours at the mercy of a drunken priest. “You’d better pick that up, or it will ruin the Hoover when you tidy up.”

“I know you killed my family, and we will kill you in return, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” the old man smiled. “What people are telling me is that you killed Salim because you wanted to know where he kept my drugs, it that right?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “I didn’t kill him, but I know who took your drugs, and I know where they are. Let me go and I’ll take you there.”

“You are going to die, Mr. Howarth,” Zamir said seriously. “Have no doubt in your mind about that. All that concerns you is how long it will take for you to die. You can tell me what I need to know, or we can make you tell us the hard way.”

“There’s not much incentive for me in that package, really, is there?” Jack chuckled. “If you let me go, we could discuss a cash bonus for the return of your drugs, maybe?”

“You are a funny man, Mr. Howarth.” Zamir didn’t smile. His eyes looked into Jack’s soul. “Make sure he can’t move them.”

Sami took a four-inch nail and pinned it through the leather ankle restraints. He hammered it into the crate and then pulled the straps. “He’s going nowhere, left or right first, funny man?” the big man sneered. His accent was much thicker than Zamir’s.

“Left for love, right for spite,” Jack whispered. “Nate something, what was his name? Where did he put all the drugs? I can’t remember!”

Sami held his left ankle and pressed his foot flat against the wood. He smiled at Jack as he aimed the claw hammer. Jack closed his eyes and waited for the pain. The hammer came down and splattered his little toe across the crate. The nail clung to the hammerhead along with a lump of pink skin. Bone turned to pulp beneath the force of the blow.

“Nate Bradley did it!” Jack screamed in a high-pitched whine. His body twitched and convulsed with the pain. The anticipation had been as bad as he had expected, but the pain was far worse. “Please don’t hurt me. His name is Nate Bradley!”

“Do all of that foot.” Zamir was losing patience.

“No, no, no, please!” Jack screamed. He heard Louise Parker’s screams in his head. She had used the same words he had. ‚Please don’t hurt me again!‘ the cries rebounded in his brain, ‚please, no!‘ The voices of Salim Oguzhan and his children joined his own screams, and their faces twisted in agony flashed through his mind. The screaming reached earth-shattering volumes as the cacophony of their voices deafened him. Their suffering mingled with his own. The hammer fell again and again, smashing nails and splintering bones against the wood. Each blow sent a violent jolt through his body, and he felt as if his joints would rip apart. Blood and flesh splattered the big Turk’s face, but he carried on hammering Jack’s toes until they were nothing but a bloody mush with no recognisable shape remaining. The screams that Jack could hear were his own. Tears streamed from his eyes and snot dribbled from his nose. The tendons in his neck looked like they would snap at any second. Saliva hung from his chin and he babbled incoherently even after the hammering had stopped. His body shivered visibly and blood flowed across the crate, soaking into the wood.

“Is that funny, Mr. Howarth?” Zamir tilted his head and smiled properly for the first time. “Can you see the funny side of that? Maybe your coffee table idea wasn’t such a good one, what do you think. This is very messy.” Zamir pointed to the bloody mush that had once been Jack’s foot. “Have we got anything to clean up this mess, Sami?”

Sami laughed and walked past Jack. He heard the big man chuckling and the sound of wood creaking. Jack opened his eyes and looked at the old man. “Kill me, please?” How many times had he heard that? How many times had Louise Parker begged him for death, how many? The names and faces of his victims flashed onto the big screen in his mind. How many were there? He remembered telling the bishop that he wanted to die because Father Thomas had repeatedly abused him. When he had finally plucked up the courage to tell someone about his ordeals at the hands of the priest, he had chosen the bishop. The bishop had listened intently and pretended that the story concerned him, but instead of offering words of sympathy and helping him, he had scolded him and called the priest immediately. They had explained that the priest was teaching him humility and punishing him for his evil behaviour. They had warned Jack that if he repeated his wicked allegations to anyone, the police would throw him into an asylum for the remainder of his life. After caning his bare backside, the men of the cloth had then taken it in turns to bugger him over the desk. Jack had never mentioned his abuse again, what was the point? It just made things worse. He must be evil because the bishop had told him he was and punished him for it. As the years went by, the lack of humanity shown by the men who had educated him had rubbed off on him. Brutality made the strong strong, and the weak weak. Jack had become the abuser, not wanting to be the abused ever again. “Just kill me,” he wailed. Had he he shouted that here in the present, or was it a scream from his past life? He didn’t know.

Sami returned with a bottle. “This will clean up the mess, and then we can see how your coffee table looks, eh, funny man?” He poured the sulphuric acid over the ruined foot, and the liquid hissed and bubbled frantically as it dissolved flesh and bones. “We use this stuff especially for cleaning, funny man.” The Turk stood back and put his hand over his nose as the noxious fumes hit him.

Jack’s screams reached a new pitch, which he hadn’t known was possible. He could not have imagined that such pain was physically possible to endure without the body switching off. His head felt like it was going to explode. He wondered if any of his victims had screamed as loud or as long. His mind tried desperately to reach that place where he went to avoid pain and strife, but he couldn’t find it. It was gone. The door was closed and the key thrown away. The agony in his foot seemed to be spreading through his entire body. His muscles began to twitch involuntarily.

“Was that funny, Mr. Howarth?”

Jack shook his head from side to side, dribbling spittle from his chin onto his chest. “No more, please!” he whimpered. “The drugs are in a lockup at the back of Smithdown Road. It’s the one with the brown door. Just kill me, please.”

“We haven’t started yet,” Zamir laughed. “When you admit that you killed my grandson and his family, then we can begin, simple.”

“I didn’t kill them,” Jack whined. He sobbed like a baby. “Please believe me.”

“Do the other foot,” Zamir shrugged to Sami. Sami picked up the hammer.

“No, no, no, please, no!” Jack wailed. The hammer crashed down onto the remaining toes repeatedly. Blood and bone sprayed into the air like a pink mist rising. Sami seemed to enjoy the torture as much as Jack once had. He could see that glimmer in his eyes. Only his big toe remained intact when Jack broke. “Okay, okay, I did it!” His words were barely audible. “Please stop, please stop it!”

“What a shame to stop now!” Sami laughed. “Fuck it! I’m not leaving just one toe. That is just sloppy.” He slammed the claw hammer down five times more until the big toe was goo. Jack’s screams became a howl of anguish and saliva globules shot high into the air. He thought his heart would explode through his chest.