Mummy's Favourite (16 page)

The entrance to the deserted hospital had long since fallen into disrepair, but he'd put his own padlock on the new security gates. It took only a few seconds to remove the padlock and open the gate, but even so, he took his knife and keys, locking them in as he did so and leaving the handle of the knife in full view. They always did as they were told. The threat was too great to ignore.

The small country hospital with just a few red-brick wards was surrounded by the most beautiful woodland. He had been born there, many years before when the hospital had been fully operational, serving the immediate community that was clustered around it. He had gone there alone as a boy for the broken wrist he'd sustained falling from a tree and the jagged cut across his chin where he'd been thrown from his bike. His mother had refused to accompany him, even though he'd wanted her there, more than anything. She had never been there for him; even when he was in pain. Never. His body had been mended, but his spirit further damaged; each absence a nail in her coffin.

He tore his thoughts away from his mother to the job in hand.

The trees were still, motionless, the calm before a storm. They hardly dared move, as if waiting for the impending slaughter. He grinned at the thought, navigating carefully through the secluded, overgrown avenues.

No one overlooked the hospital. No one cared about it anymore. It had been left for years now to deteriorate and die. Only he came back, wanting to relive his memories. Only he walked the woodland trails at the rear of the buildings. He had never seen anyone else within the confines of the grounds. Everyone else heeded the asbestos warning notices and security signs to keep out. Children, too, kept away, frightened by tales of ghosts of the dead. The only dead there now were his own; still he was glad of the tales to keep out prying eyes.

He was driving slowly through the grounds now. The small internal roads were still in reasonable repair, though weeds had forced weak spots in the concrete apart and congregated in clumps along the edges. The evening light was just beginning to fade, the sun casting long shadows as it eased itself from the sky. Helena and Daisy should have long since been settled in the theatre in which Daisy was just starting a background role three times a week. The producers would wonder where she was, debate whether her absence showed a lack of commitment. Little would they know that their new protégée would never be seen again. Little would Daisy know just how short her rise to fame was destined to be.

Glancing in the mirror, he saw Helena's protective arm around her favourite's shoulder, pulling her close. Daisy was crying, noiseless tears that spilt down both cheeks, leaving streaks in her theatrical foundation. She didn't look so doll-like and perfect now. She didn't deserve her mummy's love. But she still fucking got it! Whatever she did and however she looked, she would always know her mummy loved her, only her, exclusively her. Abigail would never know her mummy's love like Daisy would. He had never known his mummy's love, like Tommy had. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair. It was wrong.

The road was coming to an end now. It ran into the small building that had housed the laundry. Part of the roof had caved in, but a good part of the building was still intact. He drove the car into the courtyard and turned to face his prey.

Both were white with fear. He could see their limbs shaking, the way they huddled together for comfort.

‘What are you going to do with us?' Helena whimpered; her eyes wide with fear. ‘Please don't hurt us.'

He said nothing.

‘If it's money you want I can get some for you. We haven't got much, but you can have everything that we've got if you'll just let us go, please.'

He didn't want her money and he didn't want her speeches. Her high, simpering voice was grating on him already. Ignoring her, he picked up the knife again and held it up so that its blade could be clearly seen, watching with pleasure as his captives shrunk as far away as they could possibly get from him.

He was acting out his own show now; the opening ceremony and Act One nearly concluded; the audience would be captivated at the next act. They would be open-mouthed with awe and expectation and he wouldn't disappoint. He would lead them through every twist and turn, every emotion until the finale, not grand and spectacular like the audience would be hoping, but final, full of pathos and angst until the light was finally snuffed out. He smiled at the thought. It fitted perfectly with Helena and Daisy fucking McPherson. Their first show would be their last; but now the show must go on. The stage was set for Act Two, the props prepared, the ending planned.

He looked at the knife, its blade so intensely sharp, and began.

Charlie had one last visit she wanted to make before heading home. She cast her eyes round the small, scruffy yard, its paving slabs slightly askew and cracked at the corners. A small pile of fast-food containers and crisp packets, blown in by the wind, nestled near to the fence and a wheelie bin lay on its side to the rear, its lid flopped open, yawning against the concrete. A couple of small circular urns sat at either side of the pathway, completing the run-down appearance of the yard, with dried soil and the remnants of golden marigolds from at least two summers previous hanging out over the edges. Stairs led up to a small open porch at the front door, with a set of buzzers positioned halfway down on the right side of the frame. The one at the bottom was lit up with the name
B Jacobs
, in faded black print.

The house stood in a backstreet of Brixton, bought cheaply at a time when the Brixton riots had left the area unwanted and uncared for. Years of regeneration, however, had now made Brixton, with its easy transport links to Central London and eclectic population, highly sought after. Properties bought a few years earlier had rocketed in price, along with the rents, leaving local people, on low wages, struggling to survive. Ben Jacobs fell into this category.

The house itself was large, valued at a million pounds at least if it had been kept whole, but even more divided up into separate residences. It was split into four flats. Ben's was on the ground floor. The curtains were still open, a window ajar and a TV was on in the front room, its moving picture flickering across the walls and out across the front yard.

Charlie wondered again whether she should have come. It was getting late and she hadn't been able to phone ahead as there was no number shown for him as yet, his mobile having been stolen during the robbery. She wanted to check he was all right though, and was hoping that her slightly spontaneous decision would be appreciated. Anyway, this was how she rolled, she never really planned ahead, believing that what was meant to be would be.

She leant forward and pushed the bell.

‘Who is it?' Ben's voice was loud in the quiet.

‘Hi Ben, it's Charlie, your very own personal police officer, come to check on your welfare.' She tried to keep the lightness in her voice but then wished that she had made it a little more formal.

‘Oh wow, Charlie, this is a nice surprise. Hang on! It might take a few minutes. I've got to retrieve my crutch that I managed to throw at the TV earlier.'

‘No worries, take your time.' She heard Ben clattering around and the odd curse as he tried to get to the door and was immediately guilty that she hadn't given him advance warning. A few seconds later his head appeared at the window.

‘Here, let yourself in! My crutch is wedged underneath the table. And don't disappear and go getting another key cut, though I'm sure you'd like to?'

She caught the keys that were lobbed out at her.

‘You wish.'

She opened the external door and then the door to Ben's flat and was hit with the smell of cigarettes and beer. Taking a deep breath, she walked through, looking around sadly at the disarray. Clothes and dirty food plates lay on various surfaces and a pile of empty cans were stacked haphazardly next to the chair that was obviously Ben's favourite. A small wooden table stood in front of the chair with overflowing ashtrays, crushed, empty cigarette packets and a can of Special Brew.

‘Excuse the state of the place.' Ben was yanking at the crutch which was stuck firm between the table and the TV unit while balancing on his good leg. The table was tilting precariously as he pulled at it. ‘Had a bit of a weekend of it. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have been more prepared.'

Charlie lifted the table carefully, allowing him to free the crutch. He shoved it under his armpit and hobbled over to his armchair, falling into it heavily.

‘Thanks. You seem to be making a habit of being around at the right time to rescue me.' He smiled at her a little sheepishly. ‘Perhaps one day I'll be able to return the favour.'

‘Yeah, I'm really sorry. I should have given you more notice but there wasn't a number to get you on and I was concerned.'

She stared a little too long at his face. It was still swollen around both eyes, with a small row of stitches holding together a jagged cut across the bridge of his nose. The swelling had gone down a little from the night of the robbery, although it still looked extremely painful.

‘I have to say your face is still a right mess.'

‘You say all the nicest things,' Ben gingerly ran his finger over his nose. ‘It's broken but at least it's straight so I won't have to have it operated on. I think they've done me a favour actually because it's been broken before and it's straighter now than after the last time.'

She smiled. ‘Always look on the bright side.'

Ben broke into song, ‘
Of life
.' He started to whistle the rest of the tune and she joined in the duet, finishing it together.

They started to laugh.

‘Help yourself to a beer if you want one. Or are you still on duty?'

She moved across to the kitchen area, which was even dirtier up close than she had realized, and decided beer from a tin in the fridge was infinitely better than a cup of tea from one of the mugs left lying stained and dirty in the sink.

‘Thanks,' she tugged on the ring-pull and took a large gulp of cool beer. ‘I'm not on duty now, though really I'm here in my official capacity to see how you are. I probably shouldn't have come like this, especially on a weeknight but I've been rushed off my feet all day and I wanted to check how you were and, like I said, I couldn't phone.'

‘I've got a new number' Ben fumbled with a small, basic phone. ‘It's all I could afford, but at least I can be contacted now. You can have the number if you want? You could store it under the title “boyfriend”.'

She shook her head at him in mock rebuke but, not for the first time, felt slightly uncomfortable. Ben liked to tease, but she wasn't sure whether there was an element of truth in what he was intimating. Maybe she shouldn't have come?

‘I'll store it under “Ben”.' She tapped the number into her phone. ‘And I'll update the crime report.' She tried to get back to a more formal footing.

‘OK, officer!' Ben took the hint. ‘And now, what do you want to talk about?'

‘I'll tell you what's happening with your case first,' She made herself comfortable on the sofa opposite Ben. ‘And then, we can talk about anything you want to.'

After a few minutes chatting, her initial doubts disappeared. She was glad that she was there, although still a little worried about the ethics of visiting a victim when off duty. Ben was so easy to be with. She admired his tenacity and positivity.

Seeing Ben in his dirty flat though made her even more determined to be a support for him, but first she needed to catch the cowards who had targeted him.

She was painfully aware, however, that she had still to identify them.

And so Act Two began. The walk through the woods had calmed him. Daisy and Helena were silent with fear. He could see it in their faces. The gags helped of course, not a word or scream able to pierce through the thick wadding. Their hands were bound too, not only individually but also to each other. They would never be able to run or fight, never mind escape.

They walked ahead of him so he could watch their every movement. Helena was slim, a bit too slim in fact, with a gracefulness in her movement that had obviously been inherited by Daisy. He liked a bit more weight on his women, a decent spread of fat across the top of the hips and buttocks, like his mummy in fact. She'd had that slight sagginess of skin across her stomach and hips from giving birth. He thought back to his childhood and what had made his mummy happy. He would try it on Helena.

The pits were almost in sight now. He would walk them right over the spot where Julie and Richard lay buried. How funny would that be? How fucking funny? They would have no idea that they would soon be facing the same fate.

He led them across the other pit, feeling the knife twitch between his fingers as they did so. He missed visiting them. There was still a faint smell of death in the air permeating up from the soil. Helena wrinkled her nose at the scent, a small gesture that brought a smile to his face. She would soon be surrounded by her own. And then they were there. He ordered them to stop and then walked past them into the small copse of trees. The fading light seemed to peter out completely within the hanging boughs. He could hear every step he took, every movement of theirs. Bending down, he lifted the branches to one side and swept the leaves from the surface of the pit. It was ready. He was ready.

He'd cleared a small area next to the pit, but within the copse of trees, to squat in. It was large enough for them all to huddle together, hidden from the outside. He pushed them forward into the space and removed the ligatures binding them together.

‘Try anything and Daisy dies,' he mumbled towards Helena as he loosened the cord around her hands and mouth. ‘Now strip.'

Panic swept across her face at the words and he felt himself instantly excited.