Kaleidoscope (17 page)
Suddenly a black limousine pulled up outside Jannson's and two men got out then it pulled away and parked in a bay further along. One of the men was dressed in a pristine black suit that looked very expensive and took off an equally expensive looking pair of sunglasses. The two men walked over to the table where Jonah waited. The second man was taller than the first, but older, and his face sagged around his cheeks.
Lewis sipped his coffee and stared at them as Jonah placed the phone in his pocket and stood up to shake hands with the man in the black suit, ignoring his older companion. Lewis frowned as a gradual sense of recognition dawned on him. He had seen the man in the suit before; perhaps in a newspaper article or on local TV - he wasn't sure. He couldn't remember his name but was certain he had been reported on due to some kind of charity donation and was relatively well known in the area. But why would he be meeting with someone like Jonah?
A man came out of Jannson's and spoke to all three men then disappeared back inside before returning seconds later with three drinks on a tray. As he watched the three men have their conversation and drink their drinks, Lewis withdrew his own mobile phone from his pocket and switched on the camera. As casually as possible, he raised it and took several photos of the three men, zooming in as much as the five mega-pixel camera would allow without distortion.
The three men chatted for around twenty minutes before the smart suited one stood abruptly. The older man joined him and they walked briskly towards the limousine where the man with the sagging cheeks opened the door, allowing the black suit to enter. Then, as they drove off, Lewis's attention was drawn back to Jonah who had returned to thumbing his phone. He contemplated getting another coffee, unsure of how long he would be waiting, but then Jonah stood and began to walk back along the street towards his house. Like before, Lewis allowed him to get a distance away and then followed him along the same route which they had taken earlier. He paused at the corner of Jonah's street and watched him disappear into his house. Lewis then returned to his car.
On the drive back to his flat, Lewis's thoughts continually returned to the black suited man. Where had he seen him before? It wasn
’
t too long ago, he was certain of that, and the fragmented images in his mind regarding the man were fuzzy and indistinct, but were there nevertheless.
The traffic thinned as rush hour passed and the roads became clear. When he arrived home, he parked up and took the stairs. As he opened the door and stepped inside, he pulled out his phone and studied the photo he had taken of Jonah and his two companions, questioning again why these two smart, apparently respectable men, would be meeting with him. It made little sense to Lewis and he felt his mind swirl as the new information clogged inside.
He grabbed a notepad from his bedroom and began to write fragments of a list which contained anyone who had been in some way linked to Jonah and Craig. Naming the people he knew, and describing of the ones he didn't. The list was short and made even shorter when Lewis crossed out Craig's own name - disregarding him for the moment.
He stared at the page and rested the pen between his lips while his eyes slowly narrowed then he booted up his laptop. He transferred the photo he had taken on his phone to the computer then printed a copy out on letter-sized paper and placed it on the table in front of him.
He stared at it for a moment, focusing on the man with the black suit. The familiarity with the features of the man had only grown stronger on the drive back and Lewis couldn
’
t stop wondering about him. He felt a subtle yet nagging sensation in his head and he found it impossible to ignore. Where had he seen that black suit before? The half-remembered article or news report about charity donations surfaced again and he thought for a few minutes before turning back to the laptop.
He double clicked on the internet icon and did a search for 'charity work, philanthropy, Surrington' then hit the return key. Thousands of results popped up in seconds but nothing of particular interest registered with Lewis. He clicked on the 'images' section and the screen was filled with small, thumbnail pictures associated with the search.
He scrolled slowly until he saw a picture about a quarter of the way down the page. The thumbnail showed a number of people, but Lewis centred in on the tiny pixels that interested him. He clicked on the image and a website for the local newspaper was displayed.
‘
Local businessman donates
£
30,000 to
Surrington
Hospital
.
’
Lewis looked at the picture, which was larger and had greater clarity now. It showed a representative from the hospital and several nurses standing in one of the wards and shaking hands with a man in a dark suit. Lewis glanced down to the print out on the table beside him and saw immediately that it was the same man. He read the caption underneath.
‘
Francesca Williamson shakes hands with Joseph Hellam after receiving
£
30,000 for six new dialysis machines for the renal centre at
Surrington
Hospital
.
’
"Joseph Hellam," Lewis said under his breath, suddenly recognising the name. He had heard it many times and couldn't believe he had forgotten so easily. Joseph Hellam was well respected in Surrington for his philanthropy and due to the fact his businesses had helped restore certain, dilapidated areas of the town.
"Why would you meet with someone like Jonah?" The words left his mouth slowly, almost as if, by saying them out loud, they would provide some kind of revelation. But the answer didn't come and simply hung there as he gazed at the laptop screen.
He turned away, forgetting about Joseph Hellam for the time being and picked up the print out. He became absorbed in the blocky pixels which formed the three faces. Jonah
’
s thin smirk drew him in and Lewis focused in on the man he was gradually becoming obsessed with. Had Hannah seen that smirk moments before she had died? Had that incomplete hand been one of the ones which had squeezed the life from the woman he loved?
The room around Lewis faded away until all that existed was himself and the photo. His mind conjured pictures and scenarios of death and revenge; a fantasy that lived only inside his head. Then he remembered the gun and tore himself away from the photo, wrenching his thoughts back to reality. He slowly turned back to the computer screen and began to type several more searches into Google and YouTube.
Chapter 18
Hellam threw the silk sheets to one side and sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The master bedroom in his house was large but sparsely furnished: king size bed, bedside table, huge mirror covering one wall and a large television hanging on another. The morning sun penetrated the curtains and the scent of freshly cut grass flowed in through the open window; Eugene, his gardener, had obviously been busy. He walked into the en-suite bathroom, had a shower, a shave, and dressed in one of his usual dark suits before going into the kitchen. He flicked on another large TV and half-listened to the morning news as he made coffee.
He enjoyed the peace during the mornings, before his two housekeepers arrived, and he had the place to himself. He felt tranquil and relaxed during that time more than any other, and he had a chance to consider what the coming day would bring. His thoughts drifted to Hal and
Tyler
and the barn and the task that they would be completing for him that evening. He closed his eyes and pictured the scene as the smell of coffee filled the room.
He picked up his phone and dialled Kelser's number. It was answered after a couple of rings.
"Yes Mr Hellam?" Kelser said.
"Kelser, could you meet me for breakfast? I want to discuss the details regarding this evening with you."
"Yes, of course."
"Meet me at Darcy's in an hour, it'll be quiet there."
Hellam pushed the 'end call' button and turned his attention to the news.
***
Darcy's Caf
é
was
quiet, just as Hellam had predicted. It was a small place and set back from the main street in a narrow alleyway, but it was reassuringly expensive and both the coffee and food were exceptional in Hellam's opinion.
Kelser was already waiting for him at a table in the far corner, away from the single other patron, when Hellam arrived and they both ordered their food immediately.
"The food here is excellent, have you been before?" Hellam asked after they ordered.
Kelser shook his head and poured himself a glass of water from the jug on the table. Hellam knew that Kelser wasn't a man who enjoyed or participated in small talk, neither was Hellam for that matter and he decided to move straight on to business.
"Filming will take place at
tonight. I want you to meet Hal and Tyler at the farm."
Kelser nodded slowly and gazed through his boss as Hellam continued with the instructions.
"You won't need to worry about the filming technicalities; Hal and Tyler will deal with all that. I just want you to... put on a good show, you know what I mean."
A single further tilt of Kelser
’
s head reassured Hellam and he leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper.
"Make it last," he said slowly, his voice thin and lined with sheets of ice. "Make her suffer. I want to see her pain."
Hellam thought he saw the vacancy of Kelser's facial expression falter for a second; almost as if he was trying to suppress a gnawing emotion that was forcing him to do something. Was it a repressed smile? Could it be true that Kelser was excited by the prospect of torturing that innocent woman to death?
Of course you are
, thought Hellam,
because you and I, we're the same.
Their food arrived and they both ate in silence for a few minutes while Hellam studied his new prodigy between mouthfuls. He suddenly decided to share something that had been lingering in his mind a lot lately.
"You know..." he said, washing some bacon down with a sip of coffee, "...A former girlfriend of mine found some of those films on my laptop."
Kelser looked up and Hellam immediately noticed his shock
–
at least an expression as close to shock as Kelser ever approached.
"She was snooping around and stumbled across them while at my home one evening and do you know what she called me?" He paused and again, leaned in close. "A
psychopath
, she called me a psychopath." His voice was incredulous at this and he glanced around the caf
é
. "She became hysterical and started shouting, as if she had been given impromptu permission to psychoanalyse me. She knew immediately that the films were real and couldn't believe what she had found."
"What did you do?" Kelser asked in a whisper.
"She left, I let her go. What else could I do? She was shouting like a mad woman and I'm not going to tolerate that in my own home."
"You let her go? Did she not go to the police?"
Hellam smiled and pushed the last fried mushroom into his mouth. "I called her an hour or so later, after she had calmed down a little. I tried to reason with her and convince her that the films contained actors and that it wasn't real. She didn't believe me of course, but I think that bought me some time."
"Time for what?"
Hellam gazed at him, "The only solution that presented itself."
"Who did the job?"
"Hal, together with another man. They paid her a visit when she was alone and performed the job extremely well. They even pinned it on her simple minded neighbour. I wish I could have been there to see her face as they did it. That prying bitch deserved everything she got from those two. In fact, she deserved far more."
Kelser raised one corner of his mouth into a smirk and continued to eat his food.
"She couldn't understand those films like you and I can," Hellam continued, enthusiasm growing. "She couldn't understand how people could pay thousands for each one, or how they could enjoy witnessing such suffering. But she was missing the point completely, don't you agree? These films are about being human and about the lengths of human suffering. They are
not
just films of death - they are works of
art
."
Hellam suddenly became aware of a subtle change of atmosphere between them
–
a levelling of like minds. He felt a certain satisfaction at finally finding someone with whom he could confide his darkest secrets
–
someone who could understand. At that moment he became convinced that they were two lost souls colliding, finally able to share their obsessions.
"This one will certainly be a work of art," Kelser quipped, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Hellam grinned and called the waiter over to ask for the bill.
***
George Langton stared at the empty bottle of Seroxat pills that was resting in his hand. His vision blurred momentarily, and then returned. He wasn't sure how many pills had been in there, but was certain there had been enough; it was a relatively new bottle and some days he forgot to take them at all. He tried to screw the plastic cap back on, but he couldn't line it up correctly so threw the bottle and cap across the table of his lounge. They rattled across the wood and fell to the carpet on the opposite side, not making a sound. Langton leaned forward, swaying, and finished the glass of vodka in front of him then grabbed the bottle of clear liquor and leaned back in his chair.
"I'm sorry," he said for the hundredth time that morning to the ghost that lived inside his mind. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... to..."
Tears began to fall from his already swollen eyes and he wiped them away with an unsteady palm. He lifted the bottle, which inexplicably seemed heavier each time he drained some of the liquid away, and took several long gulps. He felt nauseous but knew he could keep it down; he
had
to keep it down. He tried to focus through the tears but saw several versions of the room around him and each one began to spin slowly.
"I didn't mean to... I'm sor..."
His head fell back and his hand relaxed, releasing the bottle which fell to the floor by his feet and bled the rest of its contents onto the soft carpet.
Langton's eyes closed. The final tears were liberated and inched their way down.
***
Burning.
Langton gagged. He felt fire in the back of his throat and vomit lurched from inside him. He felt something in his mouth and pulled away but something else on the back of his neck prevented him from doing so. He gagged again and tried to open his eyes but it was too bright.
More vomit.
He realised someone was pushing fingers down his throat and tried to pull away again but felt that it was a hand on the back of his head that was stopping him.
"Ak...no, urgh..." he forced out, but the fingers remained.
The third gag was harder and he coughed, spluttering around the gloved fingers in his mouth then finally he was released. He rolled over to one side and continued to splutter his throat clear.
His head throbbed and there was a voice coming from miles away, carried by a wind of distortion, but Langton didn't care about that. He tried to roll again in an attempt to get away, but it was impossible now; he had been drained of the last ebbs of any remaining energy and he lay on the carpet as confusion and pain engulfed him.
He tried to open his eyes again and fought against the intensity of the light around him. The room was circling him like a waiting vulture as he lay motionless. The walls were awash with blurred shapes and colours. He heard the voice again and it sounded louder this time; closer, more urgent. There was a sudden sensation of air on his right cheek and he felt someone's breath brush against him.
"Welcome back," the voice said.
"Wha... who are you?" Langton managed to force out as he turned to look at whoever was beside him. He felt movement and saw a blurred silhouette beside him elongate; whoever they were, they were now standing over him. There was silence for several years and Langton felt himself slipping away into unconsciousness again. A sharp pain burned his cheek as the gloved hand slapped.
"I'm just a concerned citizen," the voice said slowly.
Langton widened his eyes, "You... you basta..."
The shape moved away as Langton tried to focus on him, but it was no use anyway. It was so damn bright and the room wouldn't stop moving. He felt so tired - he just wanted to sleep this nightmare away.
"It looks like I got here just in time," the man said. His voice was calm and displayed neither kindness nor hostility. "Why would you go and do something like this?"
Langton managed to raise a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes but his vision remained obscured. "You know why... you know better than anyone..."
The shape moved slowly around him and sharpened slightly so Langton could see a vague outline of the man, but the details were still obscured. The blinding light curved around him, distorting him into some kind of monster.
"But why George? You were home free; I no longer required your services. You had already given me everything I wanted." The voice was low and sincere, at least to Langton's swaying consciousness.
"I don't give a shit about what you wanted, you..." Langton felt his stomach tighten and thought he was going to throw up again but the sensation subsided. He suddenly felt the pain in his head throb violently and raised a hand to his forehead, but then, like the nausea, it slowly evaporated.
"Why then?" the voice asked.
"You brought it all back. Perhaps... maybe I hadn't forgotten about what I did but I had pushed it away. I had found a way to convince myself it wasn't true." His voice cracked while his throat continued to burn. "Then you sent me those letters and it all came back. She won't leave me now... this is the only way."
The silhouetted figure before him crouched down and leaned in close. "Where is she George? Where did you put her body?"
"F... fuck you," Langton spat.
"If you truly feel remorse for what you did to Michelle Layne then you should tell me the truth." Again, Concerned Citizen's voice was calm and showed no signs of hostility.
"I can't," he spluttered. "People can't know. My family, they think I'm a good man, I
am
a good man for Christ sake."
The figure swayed in the rotating room before him and lowered his voice. "You are
not
a good man George, we both know that."
Langton felt fresh tears fall and he sobbed pathetically, turning his head away and burying it deep into the carpet.
"And what family? You have no family."
The words carried blades and they sliced into Langton
’
s flesh. "Please, don't make me..."
"You are, and always will be alone. But Michelle Layne had a family; Michelle Layne
still
has a family. I should have told them what I know years ago, but I'm like you George - selfish. I had things to do before I could let them know about how you murdered their daughter. But now those things are almost complete and the time has come for you to tell me where you buried the girl."
"No, no, please," Langton sobbed, wishing he could burrow through the floor and fall into infinity.
"Tell me where you put her."
