The Dark Place (3 page)

K
arl parked his car – a Ford Cortina GT – inside the hostel’s car park, before walking to the front door of the Victorian building on Victoria Street.

A CCTV camera began swivelling its metal neck as he pressed the buzzer cemented against the hostel’s crumbling wall. Seconds slipped away, but no answer from inside the building. He buzzed again, longer this time.

“I heard you the first time,
sir
. You really only need to press the button once,” said a bored voice from the intercom. “I’m security. How can I be of help?”

“I have an appointment with a Mrs Beverly Thompson, programme leader. Spoke to her on the phone about an hour ago.”

“It’s
Miss
Thompson,” corrected the guard. “Your name,
sir?
”

“Kane. Karl Kane,” replied Karl, detecting immediately the resentment in the
sir
.

“One moment,
sir
…”

Seconds turned to minutes. Karl was about to buzz again, when a loud click sounded, followed immediately by the front door sliding open.

Smell of over-cooked food immediately attacked Karl’s nostrils as he entered the small foyer of the hostel. White noise was everywhere, reminding him of schools and hospitals.

“The car park is for staff only,
sir
,” said the guard, housed securely inside an office shielded by wire-reinforced glass. “You really shouldn’t be parking that car there, at the front of the building – especially on a Monday morning.”

“Car? That’s not just any car. Do you know where that came from?”

No response from the guard.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, then.
The Sweeney
. Remember that classic TV show? That’s the actual car they used
in
the show.”

“I need to see some sort of identification,
sir
,” requested the unimpressed guard.

“Certainly,” replied Karl, pushing a business card through a slot no bigger than a Mars Bar. “They don’t make shows like
The Sweeney
any more. Nothing but so-called talent shows to show people with no talent.”

“I don’t watch TV,
sir
.”

This is more like a prison than a bloody hostel
, thought Karl, weighing the security guard up. The man was all glut and cheap cologne, and resembled Peter Lorre with a mouthful of teeth caramelised by too much nicotine and coffee.

Seemingly unimpressed at Karl’s business card, Peter Lorre asked for a photo ID.

Producing his driving licence, Karl slipped it through the Mars Bar, a wry smile appearing on his face. “If I were paranoid, I’d say you were trying to prevent me coming in.”

“Simply doing my job,
sir
. Keeping the residents safe,” said Peter Lorre, glancing at the licence and then at Karl’s face. “Okay,
sir
. Take the lift over there. Get off at the fourth floor. Miss Thompson’s office is directly to your right, the moment you step out of the lift. She’s expecting you.”

“Thanks,” said Karl, quickly pocketing the driving licence while heading for the lift.

The door to Beverly Thompson’s office was opening as Karl stepped
from the lift. A large, rotund woman with a face that could stop a raging grizzly bear in its tracks indicated with a wave of her meaty hand for Karl to enter.

“A private investigator? My,” smiled Beverly Thompson, indicating for Karl to sit in the chair opposite, “how exciting is
that?
”

“Not very,” replied Karl, making himself comfortable. “It’s not like you see in the movies, if that’s what you mean. More bills than thrills.”

“A bit like
Rockford
, then?”

“Well,
Rockford
was always in debt and trouble, so I guess you could say there is a similarity.”

“I loved James Gardner. Ruggedly handsome. You’re not unlike him, Mister Kane.”

“Yes, I get that a lot,” smiled Karl, quickly warming to Beverly’s bullshitting. “Though I’m more of a
Columbo
fan, myself.”

“I could never warm to him. Always annoyed me with that
one more thing thing
that he always did. Would you like tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, please, if it’s no bother.”

“Why would it be a bother?” asked Beverly, smiling, picking up the phone. “Alison? A pot of coffee, please, and some shortbread. Thank you, dear.”

The heady smell of flowers was overripe in Beverly Thompson’s office. Everything seemed covered in scent. Karl could feel a sneeze coming on.

“Now, Mister Kane,” said Beverly, returning the phone to the cradle, “you were asking on the phone about one of our ex-residents, Miss Martina Ferris.”

Karl nodded. “Her sister got in contact with me two days ago, saying that she’s worried about her. She hasn’t seen her in almost a month.”

“To be honest with you, Karl – I may call you Karl?”

“By all means … Beverly.”

“To be honest, Karl, we’re not permitted to disclose information about any of our clients – even ex-clients. Comes under confidentiality.”

“I’m fully aware of that, Beverly, and I very much appreciate you giving me your time. I need to know if she had any problems, while she was here. Hopefully to give her sister peace of mind.”

“Strictly off the record?”

“Strictly.”

“Well … Martina wasn’t an easy girl to accommodate. At times she was violent towards staff and other residents. Despite this, we did our utmost to ensure safe and habitable surroundings for her. You know she ran away from here, quite a few times?”

“No,” lied Karl. “Really?”

“Oh, yes; but of course her sister wouldn’t have told you
that
piece of information,” replied Beverly, rather stiffly. “Despite all that, we welcomed her back with open arms, each time she requested a return. Can’t be too bad of a place if she cried to come back. Can it, now?”

“I hear what you’re saying.”

A young woman knocked on the door, interrupting the conversation.

“Ah, Alison,” said Beverly, smiling. “Would you be a dear, and pour for us?”

Setting the tray down, Alison began pouring a stream of coffee into a large blue mug for Karl.

“Sugar and milk, sir?” asked Alison.

“Black, Alison. Thank you,” said Karl, reaching for the mug before sipping it slightly with a nod of approval. “This is great coffee. Must get the name of it before I leave.”

“Glad you like it,” said Beverly. “I’ve been drinking it for years. Imported. Slightly expensive, but really worth it.”

Karl took another sip, longer this time. “I was wondering if I could have a look in Martina’s room, to see if there are any clues to her state of mind before she left.”

“Oh, the room was vacated weeks ago. It’s been repainted,” replied Beverly. “Actually, we have a new resident in that room, now.”

“What about Martina’s possessions? What happened to them?”

“That will be all for now, Alison,” said Beverly, once her delicate-looking cup had been filled.

Alison nodded, quickly leaving the room.

“Martina didn’t have many possessions, Karl,” continued Beverly. “One black bin liner, if I recall correctly. We held it for as long as we could, but when no one came to collect it, we had to dump it. Her so-called
caring sister couldn’t even be bothered to come by and collect it. We don’t have a lot of room, Karl, and can’t keep things in storage indefinitely. I’m sure you understand?”

Karl nodded, before taking another large sip of the fine coffee.

The next forty-five minutes were spent on small talk. Beverly, Karl soon realised, was as much of an expert on being evasive as he was on being intrusive.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to hit the road,” said a defeated Karl, standing, but not before finishing the coffee.

“I’m sorry it’s been a wasted journey for you,” smiled Beverly, standing also, extending her hand.

“I don’t think any journey is ever wasted – provided you finish it,” said Karl, returning the smile while shaking the outstretched hand. “Good day, Beverly. It was nice meeting you. And thanks for the lovely coffee.”

Outside the office, Karl pressed for the lift. Listened to the gears growling in the housing. A few seconds later, the lift door opened, revealing Alison.

“Thank you for the lovely coffee, Alison. It was –”

Alison thrust something into his hand before rushing onwards towards Beverly’s office, never looking back.

Karl could see Beverly Thompson staring at him from her office window, wearing a painted smile. Alison quickly entered and began collecting the tray and its contents.

Stepping into the lift, Karl waited until the door closed before glancing at the item in his hand. A note. Badly scrawled handwriting. He balled it quickly in his fist, seconds before the door opened, revealing Peter Lorre.

“Miss Thompson says you are to stay here,
sir
, in the lobby. She’s coming right down. Needs to see you urgently.”

Stepping out, Karl listened to the lift ascending.

Shit! Beverly must’ve spotted Alison’s clumsy sleight of hand!
Karl tightened his grip on the note. Wondered how to dispense of it, unseen by Peter Lorre.

The lift began descending. Peter Lorre refused to take his eyes off Karl.

Do the old cough trick. Hurry! Swallow it!

As he was about to bring his hand up to his mouth, Beverly Thompson suddenly stepped out of the lift and handed him a small package.

“Rio,” she said, smiling.

“Pardon?”

“Rio coffee. I had a spare package of it in one of my cupboards. Enjoy.”

Before he could thank her, she was gone, back into the lift, humming like a busy bee.

Outside, Karl allowed a breeze to cool his hot face. The package of coffee felt heavy in his right hand. The note in his left hand felt a lot heavier.

“C
leanliness is next to godliness. Always remember that, Martina,” he sang, setting her down on the slick black tiles, before adjusting the showerhead so that the water sprayed over her filthy and bloodied body.

Martina sat terrified with knees huddled against her chest until he gently pried her legs apart to soap that most private area.

Finishing ten minutes later, he turned the water off. There was nothing but quietness, interrupted only by her heavy breathing.

“Good. Almost new again,” he said, smiling, scooping her effortlessly off the floor. “You really wouldn’t recognise yourself. All that weight you’ve put on instead of that horrible skinny frame you existed in. And spotless! My! Remember when you first came here, infested with fleas and lice? And that horrible stench of unwashed flesh and raggedy clothes? Now look at you. Practically reborn!” he exclaimed, burying his head in her wet hair, sniffing like a curious dog. “You smell so beautiful when you’ve washed. Yes you do do do!”

Martina tried speaking. Her mouth began leaking sounds, but the words dropping from it were like dull coins, as if she couldn’t
remember how to form language.

Gently, he placed her on top of a steel table. It was freezing. It chilled her immediately. She began shivering. Leather straps tightened themselves around her, like tentacles.

“Soon have you nice and warm. But first, there are a few more hurdles we must get over.”

From a large plastic container, he scooped up a handful of items and sprinkled them about her body.

Leeches.

She tried to scream, but nothing came.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said his voice hovering over her, his fingers dropping more leeches on to her body. “These are your friends, helping to eat all the bad flesh. Leeches get dreadful press. People associate them with death, not knowing they can be life savers, if guided correctly.” He continued placing the leeches strategically across her body. “That was very silly of you, trying to escape, a few days ago. Don’t you know there are only bad things out there, waiting?”

“Please …” Her teeth began rattling with the cold. “Jjjjust … just llllet mmmme go … I … I … wwwwon’t say a word … I … I ppppromise …”

“Don’t try to talk. You’re safe now, my dear. Everything is going to be fine. You must let our little friends do their work.”

Cupping her neck gently in his arm, he tilted her head slightly, easing a small amount of strange-looking liquid into her bruised mouth. The liquid punched its way to her stomach, staying down only for a few moments before erupting from her busted lips.

“Easy … easy …” he encouraged. “Don’t try to rush.”

He tried again, more successful this time.

“Good. Much better,” he encouraged. “Now relax and let the medicine do its job.”

Suddenly, her stomach was in turmoil. A sensation of growing pressure started in her gut, stabbing down into her bowels, seething like a geyser.

“I … I ccccan’t hold … hhhhold it in …”

“You can and you will!” he hissed, the tone of his voice suddenly
changing. “Control is
everything
… it always brings its rewards … control is god. Repeat that.”

“Control … cccccontrol is … ggggg … god …”

“Good! Now, again.”

Before she could repeat the words, her bowels let go, funnelling everything on to the steel table.

“Filthy creature!” he shouted, pushing away from the table, a look of revulsion on his face. “Now look what you’ve done! Can’t you even control your own shit!”

A mixture of shame and relief bit into her as the stench of shit and piss grew.

“I … ccccouldn’t help myself. Don’t … don’t bbbbbbe angry with mmmmme … Please …” Tears ran freely down her petrified face.

“Please! Please! Please! Always the
please
. Now I’ve got to wash you all over again,” he said, shaking his head with disgust. “This time, I won’t be so gentle.”

Opening a small medicine cabinet, he produced a long silicone tube.

Her eyes widened with terror.

“Please … nnnnot that … please … I … I’ll take mmmmy medicine … ppplease …”

“
Shhhh
. You must remain quiet and still. It’s only dangerous when you talk. Now, open wide.”

She thought of resisting, but remembering the last time she was foolish enough to try, quickly relented.

“That’s better,” he praised. “Nice and wide. Good girl.”

She felt the greased tube slide down her throat, worming into her stomach. She wanted to vomit, but the tube’s placement made it impossible.

He began pouring the brown liquid into a funnel attached to the tube’s other end.

Almost immediately, her stomach began swelling. She could feel the liquid rattling inside. She believed her stomach was about to explode.

Oh God … oh God … let him kill me … get it over with
…

Ah, much better,” he proclaimed, touching her stomach gently. “Much much better, indeed. You’ve almost reached the golden weight.
Soon. Very soon, indeed. Then it’ll all be over, I promise.”