Kaleidoscope (9 page)

***

Hellam walked nonchalantly around the room with his gloved hands clasped behind his back. The room was empty apart from a broken porcelain sink which lay in pieces by one of the walls. The plaster was falling from the brickwork and a thick layer of dust lined the bare, concrete floor. The block of flats was located on the edge of town and had been abandoned for over a year as it waited patiently for fresh funding from the owners for its refurbishment - funding that Hellam doubted would ever arrive.

The door to the room suddenly crashed open and Kelser dragged Richards in and threw him to the floor. Richards' hands were clasped behind his back and secured with duct tape. He fell hard and dust billowed up around him, his face sliding across the jagged concrete. As the dust settled around him, Richards turned over onto his side and stared up with wide eyes at the two men standing over him.

"Good morning Carl," Hellam said pleasantly.

"You don't need to do this... I..." Richards blurted out.

As the dust slowly dispersed, Hellam began to see Richards' face more clearly. His right eye was swollen, almost completely closed and the skin around it a dark shade of purple. Blood fell from the corner of his mouth and Hellam watched as Richards craned his neck sideways, down to his shoulder and wiped it away, leaving a thick, red smear across his chin.

"Do what? What is it that you think we're going to do?" Hellam asked, his voice soft.

"I... I don't know. Listen, I haven't got anything on you two. I could just walk away from this and there will be no repercussions... I swear." Richards spoke the last two words softly and they faded away, as if lethargy had overwhelmed him. Hellam saw the hope drain from Richards face as the sudden realisation hit him of just how ludicrous his plea had sounded.

Hellam turned to Kelser, "Well?"

"He denied everything at first then came clean. He's been working on a case against you for a year and then managed to secure a recommendation from Gabriel Henson to allow him closer access to you."

"How did he secure that recommendation, blackmail?" Hellam asked.

Kelser nodded, "Richards told Gabriel that he had enough of a case against him for a conviction, but said he would go easy on him if Gabriel recommended him as a potential employee to you."

Hellam glanced over to Richards, still lying on his side and spitting blood onto the floor beside him.

"You manipulative little bastard." Hellam's face twisted in disgust. "What evidence has he accumulated so far?" he asked, turning back to Kelser.

"Not much from what I can gather. He has no hard evidence as yet, just his own eye witness accounts. He said he was attempting to gather witnesses, which is probably what he was discussing with Deacon when I overheard them talking. You didn't let him close enough to you for him to accumulate any real evidence... at least that's what he said." Kelser looked past Hellam and down at Richards. They locked eyes for a moment. "If he's lying, then he's very good at it."

Hellam turned away and walked slowly over to Richards who began inching away awkwardly, his hands scraping on the concrete.

"You're very good at your job Carl... tell me, what is your real name?"

Richards said nothing; just looked up as Hellam towered above him. He shuffled away until he was up against one of the walls, the bruised skin around his eye rubbing against the soft plaster.

"I understand your reluctance to disclose that information, I really do. But we'll find out somehow. There are a lot of people out there who are untrustworthy my friend. You, for example, are an untrustworthy human being. You misled me for your own ends and this is a very disappointing outcome. I had high hopes for you Carl."

Hellam crouched down next to Richards who could do nothing but stare. He heard Richards' fast, shallow breaths and saw the terror in his eyes. "But there are many other untrustworthy people out there. How do you suppose we managed to get the information about your deceit? We have contacts within the police force that are more than willing to disclose any information at the right price. I suppose that what we should all take away from this is:
never trust anyone
." Hellam said the words slowly and precisely so they couldn't be misheard. He smiled and leaned in closer so his face was next to Richards'. He breathed heavily through his nose and closed his eyes. "Never trust anyone," he repeated and paused for a moment as he scrutinised the bloody face before him. "I know you're scared Carl, I would be too if our positions were reversed, but this can all be over in a very short amount of time if you answer a couple more questions."

Richards remained silent and blood continued to fall from the corner of his mouth and onto his shirt.

"Do you have a family Carl?" Hellam asked.

Richards' eyes widened. For the first time, his terror was mixed with anger. "Don't go near my family. I'll kill you Hellam, I swear to God."

Hellam smiled, "I won't need to go anywhere near them if you answer my final question truthfully. I can be honest with you Richards; there is little point in bullshitting you about this. It is far too late to save yourself, but I can make it quick and if you answer truthfully I won't go near your family; you have my word." Hellam stood up and stared down at the beaten man by his feet. "Have you handed any incriminating evidence about my business practices over to your superiors?"

Richards stared up at Hellam but said nothing for a moment.

"Remember," Hellam continued, "We will have no trouble in finding your real name Carl."

Richards paused for a moment longer and glanced over to Kelser who stood behind Hellam then shook his head and turned his attention to the floor.

Hellam smiled and nodded, "Good."

He took slow, leisurely steps over to the other side of the room, using his gloved hand to brush away some dust from his long, black coat. "Go ahead," he finally said to Kelser.

Kelser walked over and placed a foot on Richards
’
shoulder. He pushed hard and Richards rolled over onto his back. Richards began breathing faster and struggled to move away, but it was a useless effort. Kelser pulled out his gun and without the slightest hesitation, fired a single shot into Richards' chest. Richards grunted and rolled over to his side again, his back to the other two men. He made an odd gurgling sound as he writhed on the concrete below. Several seconds passed as he grunted agonisingly. Kelser raised the gun to finish the job but Hellam approached and placed a hand on his arm, lowering it. He smiled as Kelser turned to him.

“
You told him you
’
d make it quick,
”
Kelser said in his usual monotone.

Hellam tore his eyes from the writhing body and looked up to Kelser.
“
I think I might have lied.
”
His lips widened slowly.

Kelser nodded and turned back to Richards who continued to gurgle and grunt with pain.

Hellam watched in silence, alternating his gaze between the dying man and the killer, noting Kelser
’
s calm, almost ambivalent expression as the life drained away from the man by his feet.

After several long minutes, Richards
’
movements slowed then, after one final release of air, his muscles appeared to loosen and relax as silence filled the room.

Hellam stared at Kelser, who was replacing the gun in his shoulder holster, and a satisfied pleasure washed over him.

My own private killer,
he thought.

Kelser walked away from the dead body of Carl Richards and his boss grinned. Kelser didn't return the gesture; he just stared back with his emotionless, vacant expression.

"I'm going back to the office now. Will you require help to dispose of the body?" Hellam asked.

Kelser glanced down to Richards then shook his head.

Hellam took one final look at the body of the man who betrayed him, before leaving.

As he drove back to his office, Hellam thought about all the enemies that were out there, both known and unknown and how he required a man like Kelser for his ongoing survival. As his business practices expanded, the more enemies he would accumulate. Kelser was turning into a major asset and Hellam was becoming increasingly aware that he was the kind of man who could be involved in some of his more interesting business ventures.

Psychopath.

The word had fallen from the girls lips when she had confronted him. Her eyes had been like huge discs, staring at him - disbelieving. The word had stopped Hellam for a moment as he absorbed it, but then it was gone. Now as he thought about it, it made a kind of beautiful sense.

As he parked up outside his building, the vacant, unfeeling expression on Kelser's face as he killed Richards flashed in his mind. He realised something that he had always suspected about the man - Kelser was like him.

Chapter 10

Lewis

Lewis wanted to speak to Craig Blaine. He was certain that, in some kind of bizarre way, his mind would only be put at ease if he made contact with the person accused of killing Hannah. But he also knew that he had almost no chance of making contact with him whilst he was being remanded in custody.

It was a warm morning and he walked along the street, gazing at the pavement in front of him as his mind meandered through a series of thoughts. He had questions that demanded answers but had no way of getting them. What had Hannah found out about her boyfriend? Who was her boyfriend? What did Craig Blaine have to do with all of this - if anything?

A bus rattled past and the scent of diesel filled the air around him. He coughed and stepped away from the road as he glanced across and saw the building which contained Hannah's flat. He hadn't realised his aimless wandering had brought him this far and he stared up as cars rushed past, between him and the place where she had died.

He thought for a moment about the conversation that he had with Kelly the week before, and remembered that she had told him that Craig lived in his flat with his mother. Lewis didn't move as he contemplated something, trying to work out if the idea was absurd or just a very simple solution to his problem. He gazed up at the building as the thought lingered.

It wouldn
’
t be completely insane would it?

Finally, he looked down and turned his head until he found what he was looking for. He walked over to the shop and went inside.

When he emerged back onto the street, he was carrying a small notepad and pen and he walked briskly across the road to the entrance of the building.

Lewis took the stairs and went through a doorway into a long corridor. Hannah and Kelly had shared the flat at the end of the hallway and, as he walked slowly towards it, his eyes became fixed on the panelled wood of the door.

Behind that door was where it had happened.

He felt a wave of nausea as images conjured by his mind began to flash before him. He didn't want to think about Hannah's final moments, but as he approached the flat, he couldn't prevent the sickening sights and sounds from entering his mind. When he reached the door, he paused for a moment and stared at the wood then turned to his left and knocked on the door to the neighbouring flat.

After enough time had passed for Lewis to begin to think that there was nobody home, the sound of slow, shuffling footsteps were heard approaching from inside. There was the sound of light clinking as a chain was attached and then the door opened a fraction, creaking loudly on its hinges. A withered, wrinkled, and pale face stared through the gap.

"Yeah?" the woman inside said.

"Mrs Blaine?" Lewis asked, smiling.

"Yes, who are you?" Her voice was low and gruff; the sound of a life-long smoker and Lewis smelt the aroma of stale cigarettes drift out from inside the flat as he thought quickly -
my name?

"My name is
…
John," Lewis said, an awkward stilt in his words.

“
John?
”
Mrs Blaine said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“
Yes, John
…
Lennon.
”
He cringed inside as he said the words but tried not to let it show
–
this was a bad idea.

“
John Lennon?
”
The old woman asked, the suspicion rising as she stared him up and down through narrowing eyes.
“
Like the Beatle?
”

"Yes, I get that a lot,
”
Lewis said, attempting to brush off the obvious.
“
Listen, I'm from the Surrington Post, I'm sorry to bother you Mrs Blaine but I was wondering if you had time to answer some questions for a report I'm doing about your son."

Mrs Blaine sighed hoarsely, "No comment," she said and went to close the door.

"Please wait for a second," Lewis said, leaning towards the gap.

The woman paused, her eyes narrowing further as she scrutinised the man before her.

"I'm not here to badger you about your son,
”
he continued.
“
I'm here to present
your
side of things. All we've heard from the police is how your son was responsible for the terrible crime in that flat." He pointed his pen to the door of Hannah
’
s flat. "They don't want to even discuss Craig's side the story."

"That's right; they've already decided he did it. Well let me tell you this Mr Lennon, my son ain
’
t no murderer. He's been stitched up by those scum... he's completely innocent!" Her voice was rising and began to echo down the hallway.

"That is why I'm here. I want to make the public aware of Craig's side of things." Lewis felt a sudden guilt wash over him; he was giving this woman false hope.

Mrs Blaine looked Lewis up and down, her eyes still thin and suspicious, and she didn't speak for a moment. He began to feel uncomfortable in his role as local reporter and wondered if it was too late to abandon this madness.

"Okay, come in." She pushed the door shut and Lewis heard her unclip the chain, then it opened again. There was another loud squeak as the hinges protested violently. She turned her back to Lewis and began to shuffle down the corridor, towards the front room. Lewis felt the guilt again, but pushed it away as he entered the flat and closed the door behind him.

Lewis followed the elderly woman into the front room as the musty smell of ancient cigarettes enveloped him. At the time of their painting, the walls in the front room were presumably not intended to be the stained yellow that they now were. Mrs Blaine slumped down in a prehistoric chair which bore stained, torn fabric, and pulled an ashtray, which was sitting on the table beside her, a little closer.

"Sit over there," she said abruptly, pointing towards an equally tired sofa.

Lewis nodded and sat down as he removed the notepad from his pocket.

"How long have you and your son lived here?" he asked, glancing around the room.

A thick layer of dust was sitting lazily on the wooden mantelpiece which housed several small photographs. Lewis could see that the one nearest to him showed a large man standing with his arm around the woman who was sitting in the room with him now. They were on a beach somewhere. Lewis realised he was staring at a picture of the man who may have killed Hannah and his stomach tightened. He guessed the man was around 6'5" tall as he dwarfed his mother. He wasn't drastically overweight for his height but was thick set and there was a slight protrusion around his gut. His smile was broad and covered the width of his face but his mother bore a vacant expression and didn't even appear to be staring into the lens of the camera.

"Erm..." Mrs Blaine said and Lewis turned back to her. She pulled out a cigarette from a packet on the table, and lit it as her eyes moved around the room. "...Well, I suppose it must be about thirty years now. I moved here after my husband left - Craig was eleven when we moved in."

Lewis nodded and scribbled some lines in his notepad that were nothing more than indecipherable squiggles.

"What does your son do for a living?" Lewis was skirting around the reason for his visit, but he didn't want to appear too eager.

"Unemployed, he's a lazy little sod - lazy an
’
stupid. Not many people would employ someone like him. What is it they say about him? He's a little
slow
." Mrs Blaine emphasised the last word and then sucked on her cigarette, releasing the cloud upwards towards the ceiling, the way some people do to make them feel as if they're being considerate. She paused and glared at Lewis. "But he's no bloody murderer!"

Lewis nodded, and again scribbled something insignificant down in his notepad. It was becoming apparent that this woman didn't have a particularly high opinion of her son and Lewis glanced back to the photo. He wondered if the outward innocence and sincerity of Craig's smile in the picture could hide something more sinister.

"How do you know your son wasn't responsible for the murder Mrs Blaine?"

She took another drag on her cigarette as she shuffled in her seat.

"Because he was here with me. He hardly ever goes out an
’
leaves me in peace, except for the pub; he goes there now an
’
again. He's always around... he's been a burden on me since the day he was born, that boy."

She shuffled on her chair again, as if there was something uncomfortable underneath the cushion, and leaned forward, pushing the weight onto her legs and easing herself up with a grunt. She walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up one of the other photographs.

"Here," she said, handing the dusty frame to Lewis. "That was taken when he was twenty."

Lewis studied the photo which showed Craig standing in the room in which Lewis was now sitting. He wore a supermarket uniform and bore the same, huge smile as on the other picture.

"That was his first day at the first job he ever had," the old woman continued, moving back to her chair and stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray. "Twenty years old an
’
that was his first day at work! And do you know how long it lasted? Less than three weeks before he quit. He told me he had been fired, the lazy little sod, but I found out that he had just handed in his notice." She pulled out another cigarette from the packet and lit it before repeating her earlier phrase.
  
.
"He's been a burden on me since the day he was born, that boy."

"So Craig was in the flat with you all night?" Lewis said, trying to get back on track but Mrs Blaine didn't seem to hear the question.

"And you see all this mess that's going on now? Craig in custody because they think he killed someone? God knows what people in the other flats are saying about him... and
me
. He's been such a disappointment to me."

Lewis realised that Mrs Blaine probably didn't have too many people to talk to about her problems and was taking advantage of the opportunity he had given her to unload them.

"Mrs Blaine, please!" he said firmly. She stopped and turned to him with a subtle expression of shock. "I'm sorry," Lewis continued. "But if we could just get back on track."

"Well ask me some sensible questions then."

Lewis placed the photo back on the mantelpiece and returned to his seat. "What does Craig say happened that night?"

Mrs Blaine shook her head slightly, as if it was inconsequential what her son thought.

"He was in with me all night. I know that for a fact because he and I watched TV. I didn't go to bed until late an
’
if he had left, I would have heard him. Our front door squeaks like you wouldn't believe."

Lewis remembered the sound of the door from earlier.

"He's too lazy to oil those bloody hinges," she said, glancing over to the picture again. "Anyway, when we found out about the murder next door, he told me that he had heard someone walk down the hall outside that night. He said he got out of bed and looked through the spy hole. He said he saw two men standing outside that woman's door... you know the murdered girl."

Lewis glanced down to his notepad, trying to ignore the fact that this woman didn't even seem to know Hannah's name.

"Hannah Jacobs," he said quietly.

"That's it. Anyway Craig watched them for a moment, but they didn't knock on the door for a long time. Eventually one of them knocked, but by then Craig had lost interest and went back to bed."

"Didn't the police follow up on this?"

Mrs Blaine scrutinised Lewis again for a moment as smoke drifted from her nostrils. "You think Craig didn't ask them to? They weren't interested, they said that these men didn't even exist and Craig had made it all up."

"Did Craig say what the men looked like?" Lewis asked.

Mrs Blaine shrugged. "Yes, something like average height, average build... you know the usual. He did say that one of them had quite long hair. Blonde and straggly, he said. Oh and he mentioned that when the man went to knock on the door, he noticed that his little finger was stubby, you know, like the end of it had been cut off or something."

Lewis thought about this for a second but was interrupted when Mrs Blaine began to speak again.

"He told me that he'd seen that man somewhere before, the one with the blonde hair and stubby finger. He mentioned something about recognising him from somewhere," she paused as she inhaled more nicotine and leaned forward. She lowered her voice, as if there were secret microphones positioned underneath her ashtray, waiting for the valuable piece of information she was about to impart. "I can't think where he would have seen him though. He only ever goes to the shop round the corner for the shopping... well there an
’
the pub, like I said.
”
She paused and sucked deeply on the cigarette.
“
Yes
…
yes, now I think about it, I suppose he could have known him from the pub."