Needing (7 page)

Langham stood and began his descent of the stairs. “Yeah, but if we tell him… You know what he’s like. He’ll poke his damn nose in, break the case and take all the credit.”

“Rather that than us being dead, man,” Oliver muttered, following him downstairs. Outside on the path, he asked, “You calling this in?”

Langham nosed about the garden, looking for God knew what. “Yep, so I guess Shields will hear about it anyway.”

“Exactly. So call it in directly to him, save you repeating yourself, ‘cause you know he’ll want the ins and outs of the cat’s arsehole if he hears the news from someone other than you. He can deal with this place while we head over to Alex’s—and you
are
going to tell Shields where we’re going, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, quit your fucking nagging.”

“Fuck you.”

Oliver turned away with a smile, leaving Langham to call Shields. As the detective rattled off what they’d been up to and what they’d discovered, Oliver faced the cottage and closed his eyes. Maybe, if he concentrated, Mark would come back, or Louise. They’d given him excellent information, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t going to be a cut and dried case. Okay, Louise had given Mark the notes, and Mark had investigated, finding out a whole lot of info he hadn’t expected. Louise had been killed over what she knew, Mark for the same reason, but how the hell did someone kill their own brother like that? Had Alex been changed so much by the experiments that he had lost the knowledge that Mark
was
his brother? Was he programmed to kill
anyone
who got in PrivoLabs’ way? Oliver thought so, but he also knew Alex must have been one fucked-up motherfucker before Privo had got hold of him. If the tale about the grandmother and those sugar strands were true, that man had serious issues he needed to deal with. They were spilling over into his kills, which meant the experiments hadn’t succeeded in taking away every part of him, the basic essence of who he’d been before.

So, what was the point in PrivoLabs’ experiment? To allow people to seem relatively normal until someone needed killing? To have them act as they would prior to the experiments, and some switch or whatever was flicked, turning the human lab rats into freaks who went about doing abhorrent things? The owner of Privo was one sick bastard—if it was even him doing this shit—and Oliver couldn’t wait to bring him down.

The snap of Langham’s mobile phone closing brought Oliver out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes and turned to face the detective, who grimaced as though it had caused him pain to speak to Shields. Oliver knew that feeling. He hated the wanker with a vengeance.

“Come on, we’ve got to wait for someone to turn up here then we’re going to Saltwater Street.” Langham strode towards his car and got in.

Oliver stared for a moment in shock. Langham usually made some caustic remark about Shields when he’d spoken to him. Something had pissed him off for him to just walk away like that.

In the car, Oliver asked, “So, what’s up?”

Langham started the engine, letting it idle while he stared ahead and flexed his jaw. Oliver watched the way the muscle flickered beneath the skin and fought the urge to lean over and lick it—lick up to that soft-as-fuck earlobe and suck it into his mouth. His cock twitched, and he brought the image of Mark dead on his bed to mind to stop his dick growing harder.

“You okay, man?” He kept his gaze on Langham.

“Will be in a minute. Just got to digest what that prick said.”

Oliver remained silent, unwilling to press Langham. When he acted like this, it was best to leave him be—he’d come around in his own time. After several minutes sitting in silence, though, Oliver grew antsy for an answer. The distant wail of a police siren prevented him prompting Langham again, and he sat with his mouth firmly closed until the cops arrived to secure the scene.

Langham spoke to them through his window then sped off towards the city. Still silent. Oliver clamped his teeth shut. Bit his lip. Rubbed a spot on his jeans as though they were dirty.

He couldn’t take this any longer. “Okay, so what did Shields say?”

“He knows I’m gay. That
we’re
gay.”

“What? How the fuck did
that
come up in conversation? What the shit has it got to do with this case?”

“Everything, according to him. Reckons we shouldn’t be working together if we’re fucking.”

“But we’re not!”

“No, but we will be.”

Oliver stared ahead at the road speeding beneath them. “But he doesn’t need to know that. We can keep it quiet. No bastard needs to know. We’ll deny it. Simple. They can’t prove anything unless they follow us around all damn day to see where we go and whether we stay over at one another’s houses. Fuck, we haven’t even
got
that far yet!” He sat quietly for a minute, then asked, “And like I just said, how did that come up in conversation?”

“I mentioned Alex Reynolds, and he said he’d wanted to talk to me about him. Said the guy had called in earlier as a concerned citizen and told them we’re fucking. Said Alex thought that wasn’t right seeing as we work together. And he’s right, but fucking hell! This Alex guy knows
that
about us? How? We’ve never shown anything in public, and until earlier we’d never even shown one another. Has he been watching us since this started? Since he followed you as you left Louise’s death site?” He slapped the steering wheel. “That’s what the wanker’s done. He’s been keeping tabs on us. Shields said Alex had given him your licence plate number, lied and said he’d seen us kissing outside PrivoLabs.”

“That’s bullshit. We got straight into the car after we’d been there and drove off.”

“I know that, but Shields doesn’t. And let’s face it, he’d believe anything bad someone said about us. You especially.”

“Arsehole can find a cliff and jump the fuck off it.”

Langham’s rumble of laughter made Oliver smile.

“I love it when you’re riled,” Langham said.

“Yeah, well, that bloke rubs me up the wrong way.”

“I sincerely hope not…”

“Oh, shut the hell up and clean out your filthy mind. Pervert.”

They journeyed in silence after that, Oliver thinking on why Langham had got so upset over what Shields knew. Did that mean Langham cared for Oliver more than he’d thought? Were they headed towards more than just a hot and hard fuck, as Langham had put it earlier?

He hoped so, but if he were honest, he’d take whatever Langham gave.

In no time at all, they were driving down Saltwater Street, and the heavy feeling of foreboding made itself known inside Oliver. He tensed—it seemed every muscle in his body hardened. Taking a deep breath, he glanced across at Langham, who frowned at the dilapidated building Mark had described.

“Looks like no one’s lived there for years, although there’s a light on.”

Oliver stared at the house. It was similar to the pub in the hamlet, all wonky walls and concave roof, and he was surprised it still stood, what with the state it was in. It must have been here for over a century—the facade showed serious signs of wear and tear, and the brickwork was rough, not as uniform as the more recently built houses around it. He sighed, trying to shake off the air of oppression in the car, and moved to get out.

Langham grimaced. “If Shields does something about what he’s been told… If he makes it known… I’ll leave the fucking force before they tell me I can’t work with you or try and force me out just because my cock doesn’t go in some woman’s cunt.”

Oliver stared at him, shocked at the vehemence in his words. Langham wasn’t against women—far from it, he was polite and respectful—but his word choice in expressing his sexual preferences was so unlike him that Oliver was at a loss for words. How did he answer that?

“I’m sorry,” Langham said. “It just makes me see red, that’s all. I can fuck a woman, work with her as well at a push, but fuck a man and work with him? Hell no. It’s seen as different. Fucked if I know why, fucked if I understand why where I put my dick has any bearing on how I do my job, but there you go. The world is one messed-up place and I’m sick of it.”

“It’s all right. I understand.”

Langham sighed, keeping his gaze ahead. “I won’t let them prevent me from having a relationship with you. Not when it’s only just started. Before… Shit, it was just a waiting game, a
hoping
game, you know?”

Oliver did know.

“But now?” Langham went on. “No, no bastard’s pissing about with my happiness. I’ll have it out with that Shields wanker later, but for now we have work to do. Got to focus, because if Alex is in there and he turns nasty?” He paused, then, “We should have back-up, really.”

“But we’re only asking him where his brother is. We can feel him out and return with extra cops later.” Oliver had answered like an automaton—his real thoughts centred on what Langham had just revealed. He wanted to revel in the words, to roll them around in his head and inspect them one by one, but once again this wasn’t the time or the place.

“Yeah, but didn’t Mark say his brother had turned nasty in a second? That he’d crept up on him or whatever?”

Oliver nodded. “Look, there’s two of us. We can question the old lady if you think it would look better, make Alex think we’re not there for him in any way. Let’s just see how it goes, and if he turns on us…well, we’ll deal with it then.”

Langham fumbled with his seatbelt, cutting the engine once he’d freed himself. “Fucking mental becoming a cop. Dad always said that. Too much of a risk. Unpredictable people. Yet here I am, walking into something that could be the end of me, taking a damn civilian in with me. Maybe you ought to stay—”

“Fuck you. I am
not
staying in the car. We go in together. Besides, you might need me. I might pick up on something in there.”

The detective sighed. “What-fucking-ever. Useless arguing with you.”

With both of them out on the pavement, Oliver said, “Come on. Let’s get this over and done with.”

They walked, heads down, along the path made of broken patio slabs, the cement between crumbling, gone in places. Oliver got a dose of trepidation—it filled him, growing from his toes right to the top of his head, a cold, spiteful fear that left him shaking.

“Something’s off here as well, man. Fuck!”

Langham reached the front door first. “Like what? Tell me.”

“Like at Mark’s place. I don’t think Alex is even here.” That piece of knowledge eased Oliver’s mind somewhat, but the fact that something hinky was going on inside those walls still bothered him. “It isn’t clear what’s going on in there, but we’re going to find more than we bargained for. I feel it.
Know
it.”

“All right. Calm down and concentrate. I’ll knock, okay?”

Oliver nodded and watched Langham lift a tight fist and bang on the door. Once again, no one answered, and they waited for a moment before Langham knocked again.

“Fucking déjà vu,” Langham said, knocking a third time. He walked to the window, another living room Oliver would bet, and held his hands over his eyes to peer inside. “No angry visitors in this one, but the old woman’s asleep on the couch.”

Oliver knocked—hard and insistent.

“No movement from her,” the detective said.

“Probable cause to kick the door down?”

“Yep. I could have thought she was dead, know what I’m saying?”

Oliver nodded, and Langham walked back to the door. It took several kicks to the wood for it to give in and admit them. Langham went first, as always, and rounded the doorframe to their right, entering the room the old lady was in. Caught up in the adrenaline rush of entering a house without permission or a warrant, Oliver didn’t catch the sense of a new death. Not until he stood in the centre of the living room behind Langham, whose wide frame blocked Oliver’s view of the old woman. He peered around him and recoiled at the sight. She sat on the sofa, head against the back, her mouth filled with those fucking sugar strands, nose held closed with a clothes peg.

Alex was one sick bastard.

“Jesus,” Langham breathed, pulling out his radio and calling in her death.

Oliver reversed to the doorway, wanting to put distance between himself and the old lady. He didn’t think he could take her spirit latching onto him and spilling the last moments of her life. In the hallway, he waited for Langham to join him, and they followed their usual pattern of scouring the lower and upper rooms before coming back down to stop at a door positioned under the stairs.

“Mark said his brother lived down in the basement, right?” Langham asked.

“Yep. But he isn’t down there. I’d say he fucked off once he killed the old woman. But we’d better check anyway, right?”

Langham nodded, opening the only door they hadn’t tried. Oliver sighed. Something evil was down there. Langham switched on the light, revealing surprisingly clean plastered walls that turned halfway down. Oliver steeled himself to face whatever it was waiting for them and followed the detective down stairs that creaked every time they stepped on them. The sense of dread grew stronger as they rounded the corner, the light from the stairway giving scant illumination, highlighting only the floor directly before them. The basement could be small or large, for all Oliver knew—the blackness beyond that slice of light hid absolutely everything—and he felt along the wall for another light switch. His fingers brushed over the protruding plastic switch, and he flicked it on.

Sound exploded, like frightened jungle birds, all caws and startled shrieks. Oliver cursed and jumped, squinting in the burst of light to try to get used to the brightness.

“Oh, fuck me sideways,” Langham said, moving forward at speed.

Oliver stared ahead at several cages holding children whose ages ranged from about four through to eight. “Oh my God. I wasn’t expecting… I didn’t know… Shit!” He walked towards them, smiling to put them at ease, but they continued squawking, their pitch rising, as did their volume. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Langham fussed with a padlock, trying unsuccessfully to get it open. The children had retreated to the backs of their cages, looking stunned and frightened to death. What the hell were they doing here? Had Alex been hiding them for PrivoLabs? What kind of outfit
were
they, to not have them at least kept secure in a proper environment? Not that keeping them locked up like this was right, but fuck, in a basement? In cages?