Kaleidoscope (25 page)
Chapter 24
Article in the Surrington Post on
th
August, 2013
On Friday night, a local philanthropist was shot when police arrived at one of his properties, following a tip off regarding his alleged involvement with organised crime.
A spokesperson for the police confirmed yesterday that the man in question was Joseph Hellam, 39, chief executive of H.K Communications and the founder of The Hellam Foundation. His death is being considered a suicide.
Donating over
£
2,000,000 to local charities in his lifetime, Mr Hellam was a well respected member of the community. His impeccable reputation was tarnished when he was investigated in 2006, although no formal charges were apparently brought.
Two further bodies were also reportedly found at the scene, and both men are believed to have died from gunshot wounds. Police refused to comment when asked if Joseph Hellam was suspected of their murder. Although it has been confirmed that they are not searching for anyone else in connection with these deaths.
***
Extract from an article in The Somerset Mail on
A body has been discovered by police investigating the disappearance of Michelle Layne at the former home of lead suspect, George Langton, 61.
Michelle Layne went missing while walking home from a friend
’
s house in the
Somerset
village
of
Alderidge
. In spite of an extensive police search and wide media coverage at the time, Michelle was not found.
Mr Langton, recently discharged from hospital following an attempted suicide, is in Police custody, pending a hearing.
***
Extract from an article in The Surrington Post on
Deceased local philanthropist, Joseph Hellam has been linked to the production of murder films in both the
UK
and abroad.
Joseph Hellam committed suicide on Friday 16
th
August after allegedly murdering two unnamed men at his farm.
It is believed that he was making a real-life
‘
snuff movie
’
when police arrived at the property on following a tip off by one of his employees.
He has also been linked to a number of other 'murder' films, produced in
Sweden
over the course of eight years by a man known to Swedish authorities.
Trevor Chamberlain, Chief Superintendent for the Surrington police, spoke to this newspaper:
“
It is now beyond doubt that Mr Hellam kept a great number of things concealed from the general public. In my twenty two years on the force, I have never come across a case like this and I believe Joseph Hellam was responsible for unprecedented levels of criminality which involved drugs, prostitution and sadistic acts of murder.
”
Police continue their investigation into Joseph Hellam as more people come forward with new information
…’
Chapter 25
Kelser
th
August, 2013
The rain had begun to fall while Kelser was riding in the back of the taxi and he noticed the splashes hit the windscreen with increasing rapidity as he neared his destination.
"You don't want to stay here long," the driver had said as Kelser got out. "It isn't forecast to improve."
"I won't be here long," Kelser had replied.
Now, as he watched the car drive away, the rain lashed against his face. He turned and began to walk up the narrow gravel path from the car park with the smell of the sea circling around him. The wind swept sheets of water sideways and he pushed his hands into his pockets, wrapping his right fist around the gun and clutching the soft leather of the object in his left.
The path slowly died away and soon he was walking on short grass that covered the incline which led to the top of the cliff. His legs were aching when he reached the top. Not just his legs but his entire body; he felt so tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep.
He hadn't been to the cliff for a long time and as he reached the top, he looked at the spot where he and Hannah had sat all those years before. The rain fell as the sun rose in the distance and he remembered that beautiful summer's day, sitting on the blanket as they both gazed out at the vast quilt of water before them.
But then he remembered; that hadn't been him at all, it was an illusion. It was someone who looked a lot like him, even had some of his mannerisms; but no, it wasn't him.
The mask he had worn over the past five years had buried deep into his skin, absorbing and digesting the man who once existed - a good man. But Kelser wasn't good anymore - he was a killer, a monster. He remembered what Hellam had told him on several occasions; words that tore into him like the knife he had placed in Jonah:
You and I, we're the same.
Kelser didn't truly believe that; deep inside, he knew that they were worlds apart, but that held little comfort when he considered some of the things he had done over the past five years - things that could be ignored until they came to visit him when he slept.
He looked out at the sea, the waves rising and falling in pyramids of water as they were bombarded by rain. He walked towards the edge of the cliff, carefully stepping over the small, mesh fence and through some taller grass. A gust of wind threw more rain sideways and he narrowed his eyes, still gazing out.
He pulled the gun from his pocket and studied it for a moment. It looked very similar to the gun he had taken with him when he called on Jonah, but it wasn't the same one. That gun had long since departed but to Kelser both guns represented the same thing. Violence and death had surrounded almost every second of his waking thoughts during the past few years and he knew he wouldn't be able to escape them now. He was a man who had gone too far over to the other side.
He took a step closer to the edge of the cliff, able to see the rocks below now then held the gun out in front of him and let go. He watched as it fell, colliding with the cliff face a couple of times before hitting the rocks below and disappearing into the frothing water.
He caressed the leather cover of the diary in his pocket and watched the sea crash beneath him. He was scared. It was an emotion he hadn't felt in such a long time and he had forgotten how fear could truly consume.
He thought about Carl Richards, knowing that by now he would be in possession of the laptop and the files. For some reason, he trusted Richards even though he didn't really know the man at all. But Richards had given him the opportunity to finish what he had started. And where had that trust got the man? Kelser imagined Richards cursing him for running and allowing Hellam to kill himself. Kelser allowed the guilt to roll over him, since the truth was, he had become desensitised to that emotion - he had to be.
Hellam had to die,
he thought to himself.
I couldn't allow him live.
But of course, he
had
allowed him live. He had allowed Hellam to make the choice; Kelser had only provided the means. But he had always known what Hellam would do because, when you know someone the way he knew Hellam, it is all too easy to read them.
Hellam was addicted to violence and torture but more than that, he was addicted to
control
. Once he had discovered what Kelser had done - who he really was - then all control was lost. For Hellam there was only ever going to be one way out and the thought of prison would never have been entertained.
He took another step towards the edge of the cliff, his feet hanging over the soft, grassy verge, and wondered why he allowed Hellam to pull the trigger himself. Kelser had already killed three people, why not the man who had ultimately been responsible?
He considered this briefly as the rain ran down his face. It was a good question; he had nothing to lose by shooting Hellam. But it had actually been Hellam's own words that prevented Kelser from finishing him.
‘
You and I, we're the same.
’
By pointing the gun at the back of Hellam's skull and pulling the trigger, it would have validated that statement in some bizarre way. It made little sense since, a few moments earlier, he had killed Tyler and Hal in cold blood. Nevertheless, that was the way he rationalised his decision in his own mind.
Kelser thought as the rain whipped his scar.
They were all murderers.
He felt sick as he thought about this and the slow realisation dawned on him of who he had truly become.
"But now you
’
re a murderer too." The wind carried the words away as it slammed into his arm, pushing him sideways and he moved his right leg to keep from falling. His foot slipped on the wet grass and he stumbled before regaining his balance. He stared down at the glistening rocks below.
He pulled Hannah's small, leather bound diary from his pocket and began to flick through the pages, allowing the rain to soak into the paper. He read occasional sections but absorbed none of the content; he had read those pages so many times over the years. He had taken in and contemplated Hannah's most personal thoughts in those pages - something that only added to the tormenting guilt he tried to suppress. But he couldn't resist her words.
Time is supposed to heal all wounds but it didn't feel that way to Kelser. He had missed her a little more with each passing day and the only thing that could prevent the pain from reaching beyond its already unbearable agony, was to wrap himself in her thoughts.
He skimmed through the pages until they had all passed and only the back cover of the diary remained. Droplets of water fell onto the brown leather and gathered then ran down, falling to the grass below. He shuffled his feet on the edge of the cliff and a strange sensation of hopelessness moved through him like a visiting ghost.
His eyes moved slowly over the leather cover and suddenly noticed a small, white triangle protruding from inside the leather pocket. He stared at it for a moment then used his finger nail to pull the piece of paper out and slowly began to unfold it. It was a letter and Kelser recognised Hannah's handwriting immediately as he read the date:
He looked down and read the first line that simply read,
Dear Lewis.
He began to read the letter slowly as water soaked into the dried ink. When he was finished he read it again, unable to believe the message it held. He checked the date again then scanned down the page, reading the last sentence over and over.
The sun climbed the distant pale blue of the morning sky as water continued to fall from retreating grey clouds. Kelser wondered why the letter had never been sent, but the mere question seemed insignificant somehow. He glanced behind him to a small patch of grass and remembered the memory that belonged to another man, but savoured it nonetheless. The past five years had consumed who he had previously been but the letter had suddenly allowed something to flicker and reignite inside; something that brought him a little closer to home. But even then, he was still light years away.
Sebastian Kelser held the soaking letter between wrinkled fingers and gently leaned forward. As he fell, Lewis Foster allowed the three words that had been written by Hannah, twelve years earlier, to carry him down.
'I love you.
'
