The Reckoning on Cane Hill: A Novel (36 page)

I looked ahead, at the blackening sky above, just as the first fat bulbs of rain began to fall. They hit the windscreen hard. Within seconds, the storm was all around us. Pete turned on the wipers, smearing the water away, while the road outside suddenly sounded like it was fizzing with electricity.

I glanced into the side mirror. Behind us, the convoy of vehicles had turned on their lights.

‘Five minutes,’ Pete said.

Perhaps because of the television broadcast, Groves had been dreaming of the three victims he was supposed to have murdered.

Edward Leland.

Carl Thompson.

Laura Harrison.

The dreams were more vivid than he had become used to: bright splashes of colour playing in the blackness behind his closed eyes. He remembered the bodies as he had found them, tortured and burned and cut to pieces, and as he drifted slowly towards consciousness, his mind went further and he imagined that it had been him who had done those things to them. He pictured himself carving at Leland’s face, pressing Thompson’s head down into the burning campfire, cutting Harrison’s throat as he stared into her widening eyes. And why not? For all that trying to be a good, righteous man had achieved for him, he might as well have fucking killed them. God had abandoned him here regardless.

As he woke, he kept his eyes closed and turned the images over and over in his mind. They brought a savage twist of satisfaction with them. Because it had all been their fault, hadn’t it? Without them, and the terrible things they had done, everything would have been different. He would never have
been condemned to Hell. Tracing things back, he imagined himself still alive, his career intact, his beautiful son growing up ... perhaps even his marriage to Caroline restored, rebuilt into something they could both have lived with.

He thought about Caroline now. Since his death, he always imagined her in the blue and white spotted dress he remembered her wearing long before Jamie was born, when they had both been so young and the world had seemed full of love and hope. When snow had fallen in the height of summer, and it had felt like God was showing them both a wonderful secret.

And then he heard a faint click from one side of the room – a real sound this time. He opened his eyes and looked at the metal door to his cell. It had swung back very slightly, just an inch or so. It was as though somewhere a button had been pressed, an electronic lock deactivated, and the door’s weight had relaxed it backwards.

Groves eased himself away from the wall and took a step closer to it. Nobody came in. It just remained as it was, slightly ajar. Was this some kind of trick? Was he being taunted? He imagined reaching out to push the door wider, only to have it slam back cruelly hard against his fingers. He looked in the direction of the television, almost for guidance, but it remained blank.

He reached out slowly, his body trembling, until his palm rested against the cold metal. Nothing. He stepped forward, pushing with his whole weight, and the door opened wider with a steady screech of metal.

For the first time in two years, and with his heart knocking hard inside his chest, David Groves stepped out of his cell.

Hell

The rain was coming down even harder by the time we reached the entrance to Cane Hill.

As we pulled up on the main road, I heard a rolling grumble in the sky overhead. It was a sound that seemed to want to rumble over and crash like the sea, but instead it just faded away. The undergrowth amongst the trees to the left was nodding swiftly in the downpour, and a trail of water was racing along the edge of the verge, the soil sodden and moist, already beginning to dissolve and flow away under the force of the storm.

The driveway up to the compound was narrow and nondescript: perhaps wide enough for a truck to drive up, but neglected and overgrown at the edges. The ground was ridged and muddy, though. The light-brown soil had been churned up around the roughly parallel lines that marked the passage of countless vehicles.
Something
was still happening here. But if there had ever been a sign for the hospital while it was open, it was long gone now; all that remained was a single rectangle of white plastic, emblazoned with the words PRIVATE PROPERTY – and even that looked to have been left over from a much earlier age. It was tied to the trunk of a tree by the roadside with rusted wire, and hanging at a slight angle,
as though it had fallen into the undergrowth and been hastily reattached.

Through the sheen of rain, and the darkness from the overhanging trees, it was difficult to see any great distance along the trail.

‘All right.’ Pete picked up the radio mic, then spoke louder. ‘All right, everyone. Cameras and GPS on. DS Killingbeck?’

The voice came over the radio. ‘Here.’

‘I want your team to take the lead.’

‘Roger that.’

‘We might be encountering a metal gate, possibly electrified, some distance along.’

‘Not a problem, sir.’

‘We go second. Other two vans in behind.’

The team commanders confirmed.

‘Right,’ Pete said. ‘Let’s go see if anyone’s home.’

He reversed slightly, and a few seconds later Killingbeck’s van pulled around us and eased on to the trail. I watched it as it turned in, knowing that Sasha would be in there – that she was part of the team taking the lead – and tried to shake the feeling that she was in danger. It was stupid and irrational: they were far more qualified than us to deal with any obstacles we might encounter. But I could still sense the beginning of the panic in my chest. I fought it down.

Everything will be fine, Mark
.

Of course it would.

Pete followed a moment later. I heard the mud squelching beneath the tyres as we set off up the slope, and the sound continued as we rolled steadily forward. Almost immediately, the world grew darker around us as the car was encased by the surrounding trees and foliage. Fronds and branches swiped against the sides. The car undulated as it went. A short distance in front, I could see the red lights of Sasha’s van.
Everything will be fine
.

I turned to look out into the trees, but couldn’t see far between them. In some places the undergrowth had grown up
into a waist-high tangle that would be impossible to make your way through on foot. It was far wilder than the woods closer to the city. These didn’t have even that vaguely civilising presence to constrain them.

Greg said, ‘Good place for an ambush.’

‘You’ve seen too many films,’ Pete said.

‘I’m just saying.’

He was right, I thought. We had no real idea what we were driving towards here, only how organised these people had been in the past. Maybe that was partly why I was keeping an eye out to one side, half expecting an attack from the trees, albeit still far more worried about what might happen in front. Despite the sheer number of officers we had with us, I was nervous, as though – even as mob-handed as we were – we still weren’t prepared for whatever was to come.

‘Any idea where the gate would be?’ Greg said.

I shook my head. ‘Far enough away from the buildings to keep them out of sight, but it must be fairly close. Big area to fence off otherwise, if it goes all the way round.’

‘Slight bend in a bit. That would be a good spot.’

I looked at the tablet, and he was right. The trail leaned to the right about two thirds of the way up. Less than a minute later, I felt Pete pull the car to a halt. The van in front had stopped.

Pete and I got out, and I was struck immediately by the force of the storm. I pulled the hood of my coat over my head, but it didn’t help. My feet fought for purchase on the muddy ground as we made our way around the van, fingers of rain tapping me everywhere.

I recognised the scene from the photograph in the forum: the twin metal struts at either side of the road; the solid slab of metal resting between them; the fence extending into the impenetrable woods. To the right, I saw the buzzer panel mounted on a short pole in the treeline. Two of Killingbeck’s team were already crouched around that, the rain bouncing off their helmets, a toolbox by the side of them. Three others were
standing by the gate itself, waiting. I couldn’t tell which of them was Sasha. They were all concentrating on the job at hand.

As
you
should be
.

Killingbeck flipped up the visor on his helmet as we reached him. The rain spattered off the top.

‘Two minutes.’ He swivelled at the waist to check. ‘Two minutes?’

‘Yes, sir,’ one of the officers kneeling by the intercom called back. The other had erected a small umbrella over the device and was wiping it down with a cloth, working nimbly even wearing thick gloves.

A moment later, sparks began flashing and flickering through the air like dandelion seeds.

The corridor Groves found himself in was so narrow that the open door almost entirely blocked it off to the right-hand side. He closed it behind him, so that he could see in both directions. The walls were made of old stone and were thick with green moss. Lights in oval plastic cases had been strung along them at head height, wired together with dirty cabling. To his right, the lights were off, and the corridor became lost in darkness only a few metres away from him. To the left, the route was illuminated, and he could see all the way to a turning a short distance ahead.

There was something on the floor there.

No
.

The light from above didn’t quite touch it, but even in the gloom, Groves recognised it. He stood very still for a moment, staring down the corridor. Somewhere behind him, water dripped and echoed.

He started walking towards the turning.

His legs were weak, and he had to hold a hand against the wall as he approached, his gaze focused entirely on the thing on the floor. The world shook around him. When he reached the corner, he crouched down awkwardly and picked up the soft toy that had been left there.

Eeyore
.

He turned it over in his hands, marvelling at the texture, tears prickling his eyes now. For so long, there had only been rough stone to touch. This was the softest thing he could ever remember holding.

He pressed it to his face.

And then, from around the turning to his left, he heard the sound of a child laughing. For a moment, he didn’t look up – just kept his face buried against the toy, crying softly – but the laughter was unselfconscious and full of joy. He recognised it, of course. Jamie. The thought that his son might be here in Hell too was intolerable. How could that be possible? Even God couldn’t be that hateful, could He? Except Groves was no longer sure about that.

He stood up. The corridor ahead of him was indistinguishable from the one behind, aside from the laughter. He started along it, chasing the sound, moving more urgently now. He needed to find his son.

‘I’m coming, Jamie,’ he said.

The gate was open, and we were all back in our vehicles. If the people at Cane Hill hadn’t known we were coming before, they almost certainly would now.

‘There’s another trail,’ Greg said. ‘I’m sending through a new close-up.’

I checked my tablet and saw what he meant straight away. The driveway we were on led to the main compound, which the hospital building crossed from one side to the other. Before the drive reached it, however, a thinner trail led off to the right, circling around the edge and entering the top part, closer to the small building on the hill.

‘Passable?’ Pete said.

‘Hard to tell.’

‘It will be,’ I said. ‘The place is still in use. And this trail right here has seen plenty of activity. I think the church, if that’s what it is, is key. Charlie talked about being allowed out to see
the edges of Heaven. Going by the history of the place, that would be the main building. I bet the
sinners
are kept beneath the church.’

‘Right then,’ Pete said. ‘When we get there, we’ll take that trail, with one van behind us. Other two units keep to this one. Agreed?’

‘Yes.’

Killingbeck came on the radio.

‘Ready?’ he said.

‘Ready.’

Pete told him, and the other two commanders, the plan. There were a few seconds while everybody checked their maps.

‘Roger that.’

A moment later, Sasha’s van started off again in front, and then Pete set our car moving after them. It rocked gently from side to side with the terrain as we passed between the two metal struts, then Pete guided us around the upcoming bend. It wasn’t sharp – just enough to hide the trail ahead from anybody peering through the fence back at the gate – but the driveway opened up a little here, as though the trees had moved back a step. In less than a minute, it was wide enough for two vehicles side by side, although our convoy remained in single file.

A minute later, we reached the second trail. The first van continued on. Pete turned to the right, with one van following behind us. As the other two vans disappeared off to one side, I had the sensation of Sasha drifting steadily away from me, our lives bisecting along different paths that would never again converge, and I had a desperate urge to be closer to her. To reach out and pull her back towards me before it was too late.

It will be fine
.

The road was easier here, and Pete picked up speed as we went. We curled gradually around, and as we approached the far side of the compound, the land began to slope upwards, the ground disappearing a short distance ahead, replaced by a dark grey arch of sky. Evening had fallen.

‘Nearly there,’ Greg said.

I checked the tablet. The other two vans would get there first, I thought. Perhaps the officers were already approaching the front of the old hospital. I looked up as we moved over the top of the slope, the trees falling away behind, and then tried to take in the scene that was waiting for us.

I couldn’t even begin to make sense of what I was seeing.

‘What the hell?’ Pete whispered.

Groves found more soft toys as he went. He gathered them up and held them in the crook of his left arm, using his right to steady himself against the stone walls. Jamie’s toys. The ones Caroline always left at the grave on his birthday. Toys intended for the memory of an ageless little boy, frozen in time at the moment of his death. Groves could still hear him laughing now, but however hard he forced himself along, Jamie always seemed to be the same distance ahead, as though he was playing and running away. As though Groves would never catch up with him.