Epitaph (26 page)

‘I’m coming to get you.’

Paul heard the words reverberate inside the coffin and it was all he could do to stifle a shout of triumphant relief.

It had worked. His final gambit had been successful. He’d talked his way into release.

But it only begins now. You’ve still got to get past whoever’s up there. You’ve got to get away from them and they’ll be ready for you. Anyone who goes to these lengths to punish the man they think has murdered their child will be prepared for all eventualities.

But the first step was accomplished. The initial and most difficult aspect was taken care of. He had secured a way out.

Paul tried to breathe more slowly, knowing that time was now more his enemy than the maniacs who had imprisoned him. He lay still and began to consider what he could do next. He thought of each option, running it through his mind with the kind of consideration he’d become all too familiar with during his time below ground.

On the assumption that they actually manage to free you before you suffocate, what is your next move?

What if they’re armed?

Paul had considered the possibility but the prospect of facing a loaded gun seemed insignificant compared with what he’d already gone through. At least if his captors did have guns then he would have a chance to fight back in a way that he hadn’t had before. It didn’t matter what weapons they carried. At least, once he was freed from the coffin, he would have the chance to use his strength and power against them. This was no longer a battle of wits (which he felt he’d already won) but now it was to become a physical contest and he was confident of his own abilities in that area.

Why so confident? Your body’s stiff from lying in this fucking coffin for so long. Your right hand is virtually useless where you tore the nails and got that splinter jammed in it. In a fight you’ve only got one good hand.

But, Paul comforted himself, he had the strength that rage and desperation brought with them.

So you don’t think that their rage at losing a child matches that? They went to the bother of kidnapping you and putting you six feet under in a coffin. I’d say that you didn’t have the monopoly on rage.

He lay still, hoping to hear some sound from above. The beginnings of excavation or exhumation. The beginnings of his release.

So far there was nothing.

Now, think this through. Once they start digging you’ve got to have things clear in your mind. You’ve got to know what your course of action is.

Would they, Paul wondered, bother to haul the coffin from its hole in the ground? That was, he told himself, unlikely. It would take too much effort. Once the lid was off he could be dragged free, pulled from what was beginning to look like his final resting place. They wanted him out now as much as he wanted to escape. They wouldn’t waste time.

So, once the lid was prised off, what then? He wondered if he should just lie still and pretend to be unconscious so that they moved closer to him. If they did that it would make them easier targets. He could just grab them.

Both at once? How do you fight two people at the same time? You’re not exactly well versed in the art of brawling, are you? How many times have you ever hit a man, or been hit, for that matter? This isn’t the movies where the good guy knocks out his tormentor with one lucky punch.

If only he had some kind of weapon with which to fight back. A knife or a piece of wood. Anything.

If they’re armed it won’t matter.

But it was a big if, Paul told himself. Perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps they didn’t have weapons of any kind. They hadn’t needed them to begin with and they hadn’t expected they would. He might be lucky and find them even more bemused and off balance than he himself had been at the outset. This was not in their original scheme, he would have bet money on that. Digging him up again hadn’t been part of their plan. They hadn’t expected him to turn the tables on them psychologically; there was no reason to think they’d been anywhere near ready for the developments that were now taking place.

Don’t get cocky, for Christ’s sake. Just because you might have
outsmarted them once doesn’t change things that much. They’re still in control at the moment. They’re in control until the time you’re standing over them ready to call the police. Or kill them.

Paul lay perfectly still, the thoughts tumbling through his mind.

They deserved to pay for what they’d put him through. Maybe calling the police on them wasn’t retribution enough.

So what are you going to do, hard nut? Kill them both? Beat them to death? Stab them? Bury them alive?

For one insane but deliriously ironic moment that thought stuck in his mind and refused to budge.

Yes, that would be so achingly poetic and just. To bury them in the hole that they’d buried him in. Push their unconscious forms into this very hole and then shovel the earth on top of them. Once that was done he could stand there beside the grave for as long as he wanted, knowing that his tormentors were beneath him. Knowing that revenge had been exacted in the most apt and pleasing way. Paul even managed a smile. A smile of victory and anticipation.

No. You’re getting overconfident again. Cocky bastard. It’ll be your downfall. Don’t underestimate these fuckers. To go to the lengths they’ve gone to they could quite possibly be mad and madmen don’t play by the rules.

He nodded to himself, aware that the knowledge of his impending release was overriding any other thoughts inside his head. He knew that he had to control his elation no matter how hard that was. The struggle so far had been psychological. From the time the coffin was opened, it would become physical.

Or would it?

His hands and feet weren’t tied. Once the lid was lifted, he told himself, he could burst free, clamber out of the grave and run like hell. It wouldn’t matter where or in which direction as long as it was as far as possible from the grave and his captors.

He could take them by surprise. They wouldn’t be expecting that. There was no need for a fight. No need for physical confrontation if he could run quickly enough. The idea appealed to him more than a battle with his captors but he considered he might have no other choice but to fight.

Then use everything you’ve got. Your strength, anger and frustration. Channel it all into fighting back. Show these bastards what a mistake they made messing with you in the first place.

He clenched both fists, wincing when he felt the pain from his right hand. However, that pain was rapidly overshadowed by the continued thoughts of freedom. Surely it couldn’t be long now.

He took another mouthful of thick, bitter, reeking air and prayed that he was right.

‘You stay here,’ Frank Hacket said, turning towards the door of the Portakabin.

Gina was already on her feet.

‘But you said I had to help you,’ she protested.

‘I’ve got to get him out of the coffin first,’ Frank reminded her.‘I’ll come back when I’m ready. When it’s open.’

‘I want to help, Frank.’ ‘It won’t take me long.’

As he spoke he dug his hand into one pocket of his jacket and pulled out the pillowcase he’d stuck there when they’d first arrived. He’d removed it from the head of Paul Crane just before he’d closed the coffin lid.

‘What are you going to do with that?’ Gina wanted to know.

‘We can’t let him see our faces.’

‘If we’re going to kill him what does it matter if he sees us?’

‘Do you want him looking into your eyes when you
push a knife into his throat? Do you want him staring at you when you’re smashing his head in with a brick?’

Gina held her husband’s gaze for a moment then shook her head.

He brandished the pillowcase before him.

‘Talk to him,’ he instructed.

Gina looked vague for a second then she sat down at the microphone, but her eyes were still on her husband as he stood by the door of the Portakabin.

As she watched he pulled a hypodermic needle from his other pocket. It was already filled with clear fluid.

‘There’s enough here to subdue him,’ Frank said. ‘Not as much as I gave him when I broke into his flat but enough so that we can keep him under control once we get him out of the coffin.’

He slipped the needle back into his pocket and headed out of the door, closing it behind him.

Gina sat motionless for a moment, hearing his footsteps die away the further he got from the small building. It had been raining outside and his feet sploshed through the mud as he walked. She wondered if it would make disinterring the coffin more difficult and if it would take longer.

She turned back to the microphone.

‘This doesn’t mean you’re going to get away with what you did,’ she said quietly. ‘If you try and trick us we’ll kill you.’

‘You were going to kill me anyway,’ Paul answered.

Gina sat silently for a moment, gazing at the microphone as if it was somehow a conduit into the coffin. She wished she could see this man’s face. She wanted to look at him. She would have preferred to look into his eyes.
At first she wanted to see his fear as he realised that he was caught like a rat in a trap. She had wanted to enjoy his terror and his knowledge that he was going to die.

‘Tell me why,’ she murmured.

‘Why what?’ Paul asked.

‘Why it had to be my daughter?’

‘I’ve already told you. She was unlucky. It could have been anyone’s daughter.’

‘What makes you think you’ve got the right to take a life the way you did? No one but God has a right to do that.’

‘Do you still believe in God after what happened to your little girl?’

Gina actually managed a bitter smile.

‘I’ve never been very religious,’ she confessed. ‘I did like most people, I suppose. I only went to church for christenings, marriages and funerals. I always said I believed in God because I didn’t know what else to say. I believed in something. Not the old man sitting on a cloud looking down at everything from Heaven. Not that kind of God, but I always thought that there was something there. Some kind of all-powerful thing, you know, like a sort of superhero.’ She laughed but it had a hollow sound and echoed around the Portakabin like an afterthought. ‘I prayed to God when Laura was missing. I prayed that she’d come home safely. When I saw the police car pull up outside the house I prayed that they weren’t coming with bad news. When they took us to the hospital I prayed that it wasn’t her on the slab. I prayed that it was someone else’s daughter.’ She paused contemplatively. ‘Do you think I was wrong to do that? To wish that kind of suffering on someone else?’

‘No,’ Paul answered. ‘Anyone in your position would have done the same.’

‘Did you ever think about how what you did would affect the family of that child?’

The question was asked almost matter-of-factly, con -versationally.

‘No,’ Paul murmured. ‘You never think of the pain you’re causing others when you do something wrong.’

‘That’s true,’ Gina agreed. ‘You never think about it until it’s too late and they’ve already been hurt, and by that time there’s nothing you can do to make things better. No matter how hard you try you’ve still caused the pain and there’s no way to stop it hurting.’

‘Have you hurt people?’

Silence greeted the question and it remained unbroken for more than a minute.

Paul Crane shifted uncomfortably inside the coffin.

He could hear a slight hissing coming from the speakers but other than that there was no sound at all.

Now you’ve done it. You’ve pushed too far.

He took a small breath, feeling a growing pain in his chest.

‘Hello,’ he called tentatively.

There was still no answer.

You’ve fucked it up. This late in the day, when you actually had a chance of getting out, you’ve fucked it up.

Paul clamped his jaws together tightly, that all too familiar feeling of icy coldness spilling through him yet again.

‘Hello, can you hear me?’ he repeated, his tone more insistent this time.

‘I didn’t hurt them in the way you have,’ the voice suddenly intoned and Paul let out an audible sigh of relief.

‘Thank God,’ he whispered.

‘Not physically,’ the voice went on. ‘But I’ve hurt them emotionally.’

‘How?’ Paul enquired.

‘I’ve done things I’m not proud of to people I love.’

‘So have I.’

‘Who?’

‘My girlfriend,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘I’ve lied to her about things. I’ve betrayed her trust.’

‘I’ve done the same things to my husband and I’d do anything to change it. I wish I could start my life over again and not make so many mistakes.’

‘Don’t we all.’

‘They say that as long as you learn by your mistakes then it’s all right. I wish I could believe that.’

‘I swore to myself that if I ever got a second chance I’d grab it with both hands.’

‘People don’t get second chances.’

‘They do sometimes.’

‘Not people like me. I think my life was mapped out for me from the beginning and there’s no way I can change it.’

‘What’s so wrong with your life?’

‘No money. No future. No dreams, not any more. My marriage is a disaster. My life is a mess.’

‘Thanks to me.’

‘I wish I could blame it all on you but I can’t. My life was worthless even before you did what you did to my daughter.’

‘And will killing me make your life better?’

‘It’ll make me feel better for a little while and a little is better than nothing.’

Paul wanted to disagree but couldn’t find the words.

‘My girlfriend will be devastated when she knows I’m missing,’ he said at last.

‘It’s a bit late to expect any sympathy,’ the voice warned.

‘Avenging angels shouldn’t ask for sympathy from their victims, is that it?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s a line from a film. I can’t remember which one. It seemed appropriate. All sorts of lines from films have been going around in my head. Stuff from films and from songs, things I thought I’d forgotten. Memories from childhood and other times of my life.’

‘Good memories?’

‘Some of them.’

‘Better than mine, I bet.’

‘Is your life that bad?’

‘Bad enough.’

Paul could hear the despair in her voice despite the distortion imposed on her voice by the speakers.

‘Your girlfriend will know how I feel when you’re dead. She’ll know what it’s like to lose someone she loves.’

‘But she wouldn’t even have known I was dead, would she? Not if you’d left me to rot in this coffin. My body might never have been found. People would think I’d just disappeared.’

‘I used to think that was what I would have wanted with Laura. You know, that she’d just disappeared. I thought I would have been able to cope better if there was just the slim chance that one day she’d be found. But then I thought it was better to know than not to know. That’s the only reason we’re letting you out. That’s why I need to know what you took from her and where you hid it. Then it really will be over.’

‘And you’ll kill me?’

Gina didn’t answer. She merely stared blankly into space, tears coming to her eyes. She ran a hand through her auburn hair, her fingers shaking slightly.

‘Wouldn’t you do the same in my position?’ she asked. ‘If someone had done the same thing to your girlfriend, wouldn’t you want to hurt them? Kill them?’

‘Yes,’ Paul said without hesitation.

There was a long silence finally broken by Gina.

‘You said you hurt her, lied to her,’ she reminded him. ‘What did you do?’

‘I cheated on her.’

‘Who with?’

‘With some other women. There were two or three one-night stands but she forgave those. She never found out about the affairs. If she had I think she’d have finished with me.’

‘Do you blame her?’

‘No, I don’t. I would have deserved it.’

‘How many affairs were there?’

‘Two.’

‘Are they over now?’

‘One is.’

‘And the other one?’

‘I see her a couple of times a month.’

‘Do you love her, this woman you’re seeing?’

‘No.’

‘So it’s just sex.’

‘Yes.’

‘So you’re using this woman, too?’

‘We’re using each other. I get what I want and she gets what she wants.’

‘Do you even know what she wants? Do you even care?’

‘We have a good time together. I like her.’

‘Is she good in bed?’

‘I’m not an expert.’

‘You’ve had plenty of women by the sound of it. Were they good in bed? Were they better than this woman you’re seeing now?’

‘They were different. All of them were different.’

‘Every woman’s the same, isn’t she? I thought men like you looked at them all in the same way. Three holes to use and not much else, is that it?’

‘No, it’s not. That’s not how I look at women.’

‘Really?’

‘Your husband might be the same as me. How do you know he doesn’t think of women like that?’

‘I know him. He’s not like that. He’s got more respect for women.’

‘But you haven’t got any respect for him, have you? If you had you wouldn’t have hurt him the way you said you have.’

‘I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t want him to find out I was cheating on him.’

‘So you had an affair?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I wanted something more out of life. Some excitement. Anything other than the usual drudgery and disappointment.’

‘And your husband found out about it?’

‘He did the first time. He doesn’t know about the affair I’m having at the moment.’

‘Are you frightened he’d throw you out?’

‘I know he wouldn’t.’

‘You seem very sure.’

‘He obviously loves you. He was willing to kill for you.’

Paul found himself surrounded by silence once again. He could hear the sound of his own heartbeat. The pain in his chest was still there but he tried to ignore it, fearing that the extra stress might bring on the heart attack he was so terrified of. He stroked his chest with one hand and hoped that the pain would diminish.

‘Don’t try and judge me,’ the voice offered.

‘I’m the last person to judge anyone,’ Paul conceded.

‘You don’t know anything about me.’

‘I know something. We’ve been talking for long enough.’

‘Long enough for you to confess.’

‘That’s what you wanted. I told you what you wanted to hear.’

‘I wanted to hear the truth.’

‘The truth hurts.’

‘Very funny. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’

‘If I was that clever I wouldn’t have let myself get caught by you and your husband.’

‘You would have been caught eventually,’ she told him.

‘But not by you,’ Paul murmured, his words muffled by the thick and oppressive atmosphere inside the coffin. Every breath now tasted bitter to him. It was as if the air was solid and he was trying to digest it rather than inhale it.

Then, above him, he heard something.