Relics (29 page)

The light flickered again, and this time she decided that enough was enough. She’d been at the museum since three that afternoon, having left Clare in the capable hands of Wendy Barratt, a neighbour from across the street. Now, as the hands of the clock reached 9:45, she decided to ring her home and tell Wendy she was on her way.

Kim had spent most of her time at the museum carefully packing and labelling the stone tablets and skulls as well as the scores of other relics which she’d examined over the past couple of weeks. Now they were all secure in wooden boxes. She wondered what would become of them and the other relics found at the dig now that work there had ceased. That decision would be up to Charles Cooper, but her attempts to contact him throughout the evening had proved futile.

She gazed at the box containing the tablets, her eyes narrowing slightly. Although Kim had sealed it herself, one corner looked loose, as if it had been prised open slightly with a chisel. She picked up the hammer which lay nearby and banged each nail twice to ensure that the lid was adequately fixed on, then she returned to the staff room and picked up the phone, dialling her own number. She waited for the receiver to be picked up.

The wind shrieked around the building.

She waited.

Finally she pressed down the cradle, waited a moment, then dialled again.

The ringing tone sounded loudly once more.

Twice. Three times.

No answer.

Kim tapped on the worktop with her index finger, waiting.

Waiting.

The lights suddenly went out and, as they did, there was a tremendous hiss of static from the phone, so loud that she held the receiver away from her ear.

The line was dead.

Kim dropped it back onto the cradle, cursing the storm. She bumped her shin on the stool as she turned, waiting for the lights to come back on.

It was a full minute before brightness once more flooded the room.

She rubbed her eyes as the fluorescents flashed on, illuminating the staff room and the laboratory beyond it. Kim swallowed hard and took a step into the other room, her eyes fixed on the box which held the stone tablets.

There was a pungent odour in the air, like burnt wood, and she waved a hand before her as she moved into the lab, her breath coming in short gasps.

The lid of the box lay on the floor, the nails twisted and bent.

As if the lid had been torn free with great force.

There were dark patches on the lid and sides of the box.

Like burn marks.

The house was in darkness.

Kim brought the car to a halt, pulling up the collar of her jacket as she climbed out, shivering as the wind swirled around her.

Perhaps some power lines actually had come down. Maybe that was why not one single light burned in her house. She approached the front door glancing to her right and left. The houses on either side were both well lit, and the street lamps too were on.

Why was it only
her
house which remained in darkness?

She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out the key, turning it quickly, walking into the hallway.

The house was as quiet as a grave. The only sound Kim heard was her own muted breathing as she pushed open the sitting room door, reaching for the light switch.

The lights came on instantly.

The television set was on too, but the sound was turned off:

On the nearby coffee table was a mug of tea. Full but cold.

‘Wendy,’ she called, wondering where the child-minder had got to.

Kim moved through to the kitchen, flicking on that light too. The fluorescent sputtered into life, bathing the room in a cold white glow.

‘Wendy,’ Kim said again, softly, her voice almost a whisper.

She felt the first twinge of fear then. As if cold hands were being placed on her back and neck.

She turned and headed through the sitting room, towards the hall and the stairs. She tried the light at the bottom but it merely flickered once, then went out.

The staircase remained in darkness.

Kim began to climb slowly, her eyes never leaving the black-shrouded landing.

‘Clare,’ she called, feeling a much stronger fear now.

Was her daughter alone in the house?’

There was no answer.

‘Clare!’

Still nothing.

She reached the landing and paused before her daughter’s room.

There was a dark stain on the white paintwork of the doorframe, visible in the dull sodium glare from the street lights which penetrated the landing window.

Kim froze, her hand shaking as it hovered near the dark smear.

She touched it and almost screamed.

It was blood.

The smell was unmistakable.

From inside her daughter’s room there was a thud, followed by a low moan.

Kim gritted her teeth until her jaws ached; then, bracing herself, she flung open the door, her shaking hand reaching for the fight switch. She felt more of the sticky fluid on the switch. The light came on, and she saw that there was blood on the walls, too. And on the sheets, which had been ripped away from the bed.

Of her daughter there was no sign, but huddled in one corner of the room was a crumpled shape which she recognized as Wendy Barratt.

Kim rushed to the other woman who, she now saw, was bleeding badly from two savage wounds on her head. One of them, just above the right ear, seemed to be the worst of the two. The other had almost laid open her forehead, though, and blood had poured down her face and into her eyes.

‘Wendy, can you hear me?’ Kim said, frantically, squatting beside the injured woman. ‘Who did this to you?’

Wendy could only look at her with eyes full of fear and pain and gently shake her head.

‘Did you see who it was?’

‘No,’ she croaked, her eyes widening as she saw the amount of blood she was losing.

‘Where’s Clare?’ Kim demanded.

‘Oh God, I’m hurt badly. Get an ambulance.’

‘Where’s Clare?’ Kim rasped.

‘I don’t know.’

Kim felt her stomach contract.

‘Who took her?’ she demanded, her concern for the injured woman now secondary to her fear for her daughter. ‘Who took her, Wendy? You have to remember, please.’ Her voice had risen close to a shout. Unable to help herself, she shook Wendy. ‘Who took her?’

‘I didn’t see who it was.’

With one despairing moan the woman blacked out.

‘Oh God,’ Kim gasped, scrambling to her feet, blundering down the stairs, almost stumbling at the bottom. She crashed into the sitting room, tears brimming in her eyes. Tears of desperation and fear.

She snatched up the phone, praying that it hadn’t been cutoff, almost crying out loud when she heard the dial tone.

With shaking hands she dialled Longfield police station.

From the time she put the phone down until the time the ambulance screeched to a halt outside her house, each minute seemed an eternity to Kim Nichols.

She’d sat with Wendy, holding the woman’s hand as she burbled incoherently, occasionally drifting off into unconsciousness. Throughout that time, Kim’s only thoughts had been for her kidnapped daughter. Fear and foreboding such as she’d never experienced before filled her. When the emergency vehicle and its stricken cargo had finally left she’d begun pacing the floor.

Now, as she heard the squeal of tyres from outside, she dashed to open the front door.

Wallace hauled himself from the Sierra and sprinted up the path towards her, ignoring the pain from his injured leg.

‘It’s Clare,’ she blurted. ‘She’s been taken.’

‘Come on,’ the policeman said, unhesitatingly, beckoning her towards the car.

She looked puzzled.

‘Kim,’ he said, a note of urgency in his voice as he slipped back behind the wheel and re-started the engine.

She clambered into the passenger seat and the car sped off.

As the inspector glanced across at her he could see that her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed from crying. He tried to coax some more details from her, and tears began to course down her face. He squeezed her hand tightly.

‘We’ll find her,’ he said.

‘She could already be dead,’ Kim said, wiping the tears from her eyes with a sodden handkerchief.

Wallace didn’t answer.

The streets of Longfield seemed strangely deserted as Wallace guided the car towards its destination. Here and there street lamps had gone out, adding further darkness to the gloom which already seemed to hang over the town like a blanket.

The lamp outside Charles Cooper’s house burned brightly, though, and Kim looked up in surprise as she saw where they were. Wallace was already out of the car and heading towards the front door when Kim scuttled after him.

‘Why would Charles take her?’ she wanted to know, aghast at the prospect of her colleague being a kidnapper.

‘He would have known about Dagda, wouldn’t he?’ Wallace said. ‘About the need for sacrifices.’

Kim swallowed hard and watched as the inspector banged hard on the front door.

There was no answer.

The house remained in darkness, silent and defiant.

Wallace hurried around to the back of the building, Kim following breathlessly. Without waiting he drove one foot hard again the back door, hearing wood splinter under the impact.

‘What if you’re wrong?’ she asked.

‘Then I’m wrong,’ he said, using even more power against the barrier. It swung back on its hinges and crashed against the wall. Wallace stepped inside, moving quickly through the kitchen, flicking on lights as he went.

The smell reached him as he came to the sitting room.

A cloying odour which he thought he recognized.

He slowed his pace, moving more quietly now, listening for any sounds of movement from upstairs. Kim followed, her heart thudding against her ribs as they began to climb the stairs. This time Wallace did not turn the light on. They climbed in darkness, one of the steps creaking in protest, the sound echoing through the silent house.

The smell was getting stronger.

He paused as they reached the landing, peering into the gloom, trying to make out the dark shape ahead.

Kim stifled a gasp.

The inspector fumbled for the light switch at the top of the stairs and the sixty-watt bulb burst into life.

This time Kim screamed.

Dangling by his neck from the attic trapdoor was Charles Cooper.

The step ladder which he had used to climb up lay beneath him, kicked aside before he jumped. Wallace approached the body, reaching out to touch the cold, rigored flesh. He ran appraising eyes over the corpse, trying to ignore the smell as he stood close by.

Cooper’s eyes bulged in their sockets, the flesh beneath them blackened, the skin of his cheeks as white as milk. He’d obviously been dead for some time, thought the inspector. The rope was thin and poorly suited for the job. It had cut deeply into the archaeologist’s neck, drawing blood which had caked hard over the hemp itself. There was no knot at the back of the neck. Cooper had probably choked to death. Dark stains at the front and back of his trousers had dried stiffly and Wallace saw a puddle of stale urine beneath the body. A swollen tongue protruded from his mouth like a bloated leech.

Wallace exhaled deeply and looked around at Kim, who was standing at the top of the stairs, her gaze lowered slightly.

It took the policeman a second or two to spot the piece of paper sticking out of Cooper’s trouser pocket. He pulled it free and unrolled it. Kim looked up as he began to read the note aloud:

‘I realize that suicide is the coward’s way out, or so they say, but it takes more strength than anyone knows to take your own life. I know I am going to die soon. We all will.’

Wallace frowned, looked at Kim, then continued reading:

‘No one would have believed me anyway if I’d told them what I had discovered in the chamber of skulls. I knew how to stop this horror, how to prevent it, but I could not bring myself to take the lives of children. Someone else may have seen the writing on the wall of the chamber. If so, then I pray that he has the strength. I am sorry for the children but there is no other way. If there is a God, let him help us all. The children in the chamber must die but l cannot do it. When the end comes I don’t want to see it.’

Wallace folded the note and slipped it into his pocket.

‘Jesus,’ he murmured. ‘Come on.’ He gripped Kim’s arm and together they hurried down the stairs.

‘If Cooper couldn’t kill the children then he might have an accomplice,’ Kim said as Wallace snatched up the phone from the hall table. He dialled and waited for the receiver to be picked up at the other end.

It was finally answered and he recognized Sergeant Dayton’s voice.

‘Listen to me, Bill,’ he snapped. ‘This is Wallace. I want a car sent to Dexter Grange now. If the men can’t find Dexter there, then tell them to search that wood nearby.’

‘But guv,’ the sergeant began.

‘Don’t argue with me,’ Wallace said . ‘Do it. I also want another car to meet me at the archaeological site in twenty minutes. Got that?’

‘I can’t do that. The Chief Inspector told me to disregard any orders you gave me,’ Dayton protested.

Wallace gripped the receiver so tightly it seemed he would snap it in two.

‘Fuck Macready. Just do it. Do what I tell you, Bill, please.
I think I know where those kids are
.’

There was a moment’s silence at the other end.

‘Did you hear me?’ he repeated.

‘The cars are on their way, guv.’

Wallace managed a small grin of triumph. He told the sergeant to send an ambulance to 12 Elm Street but didn’t say why and, before Dayton could ask, Wallace had replaced the receiver.

He and Kim dashed out to the waiting Sierra.

‘And don’t forget, make it convincing,’ said Gary Webb. ‘Dexter’s no fool.’

‘What if something goes wrong?’ Laura Price wanted to know.