Epitaph (24 page)

‘I said, there’s more for you to hear,’ Paul called, raising his voice.

His words reverberated inside the coffin for a moment and he tensed, preparing himself for the silence that would signal his doom.

‘I can hear you,’ the voice said. ‘Carry on.’

It was a joyous sound for Paul and he relaxed instantly in the knowledge that his captors were still present. They had not deserted him yet. And while they were still there he had a chance.

‘I thought you’d left,’ he said.

‘Not until you’ve finished,’ the voice reminded him.

‘How long have I got?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s very warm in here. It’s getting harder to breathe.’

‘Just keep talking. There’s enough oxygen, if that’s what you mean.’

‘How much did the police tell you about the condition of your daughter’s body?’ Paul enquired.

‘Why?’

‘You said you saw it in the morgue at the hospital,’ he added quickly. ‘I wondered if you knew details of her injuries.’

‘Why don’t you tell me? What did you do after you’d raped her? Was that when you cut her up?’

Paul hesitated for a moment, putting one hand to his chest. It really was getting more difficult to breathe inside the box. The air had been muggy and uncomfortably warm for a while now, and he had to suck in really deep breaths now to feel as if he was anywhere close to filling his lungs.

Please don’t let me die now, he thought. Not when I’m this close to possibly getting out. Not after everything I’ve been through. Don’t let it end like this.

And who are you talking to? God? You’re wasting your time. The only ones who can get you out of here are the ones who put you in. If you can convince them. And if you can trust them.

‘Why did you cut her?’ the voice wanted to know. ‘Wasn’t raping her and then strangling her good enough for you? Or was it some other sick fucking fantasy that you’d had that you wanted to live out?’

Paul swallowed hard.

‘What did you use to cut her?’ the voice insisted.

‘There were some workman’s tools in the empty house when we first arrived,’ Paul explained. ‘They were in a big bag like a rucksack. There were hammers, saws and chisels. That kind of thing. I used those.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I wanted to. I thought about hiding her body. I was going to dispose of it. I considered cutting it up into pieces and dumping each one in a different place to make
it more difficult to find but I knew that would take too long.’

‘So you just cut her throat instead?’ ‘Yes.’

‘Was she already dead when you did that? Was she dead after you put your hands around her neck?’

‘I didn’t check. I thought that cutting her throat as well would finish her for sure.’

‘What about the blood? Didn’t you have to be careful not to get covered in blood?’

‘I was already naked. I just made sure that my clothes didn’t get splashed. I wiped most of the blood off myself with a handkerchief. There wasn’t as much as I thought there’d be. I had a shower when I got home.’

‘And then you just dumped her body?’

‘What else was I going to do? I’d finished with her.’

A bit of bravado in the voice there? Be careful. Don’t let them mistake it for arrogance or gloating. They could still change their minds about letting you go.

There was a long silence then the voice spoke once more.

‘When you raped her did you come inside her?’ it asked evenly, almost gently.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ Paul grunted.

‘I want to know.’

‘Yes.’

‘How long did it take?’

‘What?’

‘How long did it take you to come?’

‘I didn’t time it,’ Paul rasped.

‘How long?’

‘Four or five minutes, I suppose.’

‘Is that how long it takes you when you’re with your girlfriend?’

‘What the fuck does that matter?’

‘I’m curious. Does it take you longer to come when you’re fucking your girlfriend?’

‘This is bullshit,’ Paul snapped.

‘Does it take you longer to come when you’re fucking your girlfriend than it did when you were raping my eight-year-old daughter? Answer the question, you sick bastard.’

‘Of course it takes longer,’ Paul roared.

‘I wondered if you might be a bit inadequate in that department,’ the voice chided. ‘Perhaps that’s why you had to rape an eight-year-old because you can’t satisfy a grown woman. If you come after four or five minutes when you’re fucking your girlfriend then she can’t be very impressed with you in bed.’

‘It takes longer with her.’

‘Do you satisfy her? Do you make her come when you’re fucking her?’

‘For God’s sake.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why did you come so quickly with my daughter? Was it more exciting with a little girl?’

‘She was tight, it felt good,’ Paul snarled. ‘Is that what you want to hear?’

‘You sick fucker.’

‘You said you wanted to know everything and that’s what I’m telling you.’ He knew he was dangerously close to losing control of his temper. ‘I came quick because it
felt good. If she’d had tits I’d probably have wiped my fucking dick on them when I’d finished. How’s that? Are you getting all of this on your tape recorder? This is what you wanted to hear. This is why you put me in this fucking coffin so I’d tell you everything, and now, when you hear it, you can’t take it.’

‘I hope you die in fucking agony.’

That’s it. You’ve pushed them too far.

‘I did as you asked,’ Paul added quickly. ‘I’ve co-operated with you. I’ve told you everything.’

‘Then you’re no good to me any more. You’ve served your purpose.’

Paul felt a chill envelop him.

They’re going to leave you. Just like they always intended to. It wouldn’t have mattered what the fuck you told them. You were never getting out of this coffin alive.

‘You wanted all the details,’ he said, his voice as even as he could keep it.

‘What else do I need to know?’ the voice chided. ‘Did you honestly think that we were going to let you go after you told us what you’d done? You fucking idiot. You believed that? You actually thought you had a chance? As if we were ever going to let vermin like you carry on living. You’ll die where you are now, you bastard.’

‘And if I do you’ll never know what I did with what I took from her.’

That’s it, Paul thought. Trump card played. Now you have to wait.

And pray.

And what if they don’t go for it? What if they don’t swallow it? Don’t want to play ball? Or any other cliché that you care to use? Then what? Death inside this coffin, that’s what.

But that was always going to be the outcome, wasn’t it? Why not try one last, desperate gamble?

And this was really desperate.

‘What are you talking about?’ the voice enquired. ‘What do you mean, what you took from her?’

‘I took something and kept it,’ Paul insisted. ‘Something that belonged to your daughter.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Am I?’

‘The police would have told us something like that.’

‘Perhaps the police didn’t know what I took either.’

‘What was it?’

‘I’ll tell you when you let me out of this coffin.’

‘Tell me what it was that you took from her.’

‘When you let me out. That’s the deal. If you leave me here you’ll never know.’

Paul allowed his head to rest against the satin. Inside the box he could smell the acrid odour of his own sweat mingled with the dampness of the wood that he’d come to know so well. He felt hot and sticky and he knew that the tainted air he was breathing was running out by the minute, but at last he felt a strength he hadn’t experienced before. A belief that he hadn’t dared embrace up until this moment. A belief that he was actually going to escape this wooden prison. Through his own wits and bravery he was going to get out. He was sure of it. Not just optimistic or misguided in his confidence. He was sure.

Don’t get cocky. Not now. Not when you’re so close.

‘Tell me what you took from her,’ the voice insisted.

‘Let me out first,’ Paul challenged.

Be careful.

‘You can’t dictate to me,’ the voice told him.

‘You wanted to know all the details. I’m willing to give you the last detail when you release me. Not until.’

‘This is a trick.’

‘No, it isn’t. I took something from your daughter after I killed her. I kept it and only I know where it is. I’m the only one who can show you where it is. Let me out and I’ll take you to it.’

‘Why would you take something?’

‘I wanted a memento.’

‘You bastard.’

‘Something to remember her by. Something to look at when I felt like it.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘The police will tell you. Murderers usually keep something that belonged to their victims to help them relive the crime or to help them remember what they did.’

‘No. I don’t believe you.’

‘You’d never forgive yourself for not knowing. For not letting me show you.’

‘You could still be lying.’

‘After what I’ve told you? How much more detailed could I have been?’

‘Then tell me what colour school uniform my daughter was wearing when you took her.’

Paul felt as if his body had been injected with iced water. He shuddered involuntarily, his chest tightening.

‘I can’t remember that,’ he said, trying to retain the bravado in his voice.

‘You remembered everything else,’ the voice reminded him.

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Then you’re lying. You were making everything up. The whole time you’ve been in there you’ve been lying to me. You’ve been telling me what I want to hear just so I’d let you go. You haven’t been telling me the truth, you’ve been telling me what you thought I wanted to hear to try and save yourself.’

‘No one could know what I’ve told you unless they were there.’

‘Then what colour school uniform was she wearing when you picked her up?’

‘If you didn’t believe me then why didn’t you stop me earlier? You knew I was telling the truth and you know that now. You want to know what I took from her?’

‘What colour was her school uniform’

‘Fuck that,’ he snapped angrily. ‘Let me out of here now or you’ll never find what I took from her.’

‘He’s bluffing,’ Frank Hacket snapped. ‘If he’d taken something from Laura the police would have told us.’

Gina looked at her husband questioningly.

‘What the hell does he mean anyway?’ Frank persisted. ‘What could he have taken? It wasn’t an item of clothing. The police returned all her clothes. There isn’t anything else he could have taken. I don’t believe him.’

‘What did you take from her?’ Gina asked, leaning closer to the microphone.

‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ Paul Crane snapped back. ‘I’m not saying until you let me out of this coffin.’

Gina sat back in her seat once more and looked at Frank.

‘What are we going to do?’ she wanted to know.

‘Leave him there. He’s lying,’ Frank insisted.

‘And what if he’s not?’

Frank reached for a cigarette and lit it.

‘Let’s think about this logically,’ he murmured, glancing
at the microphone. ‘What could he have taken and kept? You saw her at the hospital morgue. We both saw her in the chapel of rest.’

Gina swallowed hard.

‘We can’t take the chance that he’s lying, Frank,’ she said meekly. ‘We’ve got to get him out.’

‘No way.’

‘We’ve got to. If that’s what it takes.’

‘And what are we supposed to do with him when we let him out? What do you think he’s going to do, Gina? Just climb obediently into the car and tell us where to drive him? And then what? He’s going to try and escape and if he does that we’re finished. If he gets away and reaches the police we’ll both spend the rest of our lives in prison. We can’t let him out.’

‘But we could drug him again. You could use the same stuff you used on him in the first place.’

‘If he did really take something from Laura then he’s got to show us where he hid it. Drugging him’s no use.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘Leave him in there. I told you, he’s bluffing.’

‘You can’t know that, Frank.’

‘I know. I can tell. He’d say anything to get out of that coffin. I’d do the same in his position. He’s trying to trick us into letting him out.’

‘I’m not willing to take that chance.’

‘Then you dig him up,’ Frank roared. His voice reverberated inside the Portakabin.

Gina saw the fury in his eyes but she wouldn’t be dissuaded.

‘I haven’t come this far to give up now,’ she said.

‘Give up what? It’s over, Gina. He’ll be dead in fifteen minutes. His oxygen will run out and he’ll suffocate. He’ll be as dead as our daughter. The daughter that he killed.’ His voice rose steadily in volume and vehemence as he spoke.

‘How can you be so sure?’ she challenged.

‘Sure of what? Sure he’ll be dead? Of course he will.’

‘No, I mean that he’s lying. I’m not taking that chance. I want him out of there, Frank. I want to know what he knows.’

‘Then you dig him up.’

Gina looked at her husband with a look of bemusement. She’d never seen him so enraged before and she knew that, over their years together, he’d had plenty of opportunities to vent that anger. His eyes were wide, his lips slicked with white spittle as he barked the words at her, almost daring her to speak again.

She regarded him evenly for a moment then got to her feet.

‘If it means finding out the truth,’

she breathed. ‘I will.’ She took a step towards the door of the Portakabin but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards her seat.

‘Sit down,’ he snarled.

‘Leave me alone, Frank,’ she rasped. ‘I’m going to dig him up. I want to know what he knows. Even if you don’t.’

‘This is what he wants. Can’t you see that? He wants us to believe him. That’s his only way out.’

Gina was on her feet now.

‘We can’t give in. Not now,’ Frank reminded her. ‘We’ve come too far and done too much. If we let him go now then he wins.’

She hesitated.

‘Is that what you want?’ Frank went on.

Gina was standing midway between the chair and the door, unsure of what to do next. Not certain what her next move should be. She felt dizzy as the thoughts swirled around inside her brain.

‘Just think about it,’ Frank persisted, his tone even now, his voice calm.

She nodded gently then returned to her chair.

Frank smiled and reached out to touch her hand. It was a gesture of comfort that she appreciated and one that she had not experienced for too long now.

‘Let me talk to him,’ Frank offered.