The Silent Pool (23 page)

‘He put my daughter's life at risk. No one does that,’ growled Erasmus.

Dan sipped his wine. ‘OK, let's put that to one side, in a box marked “Who knows?” and let's say the Pastor is a maniac. There's still no reason for you to keep acting for this woman. We instructed you, you're off the case, in fact, staying on it is going to cause you to never get a job again in this city. So give her a call, apologise for looking at her tits, and call things off.’

‘I promised her I would find her husband.’

Dan rolled his eyes. ‘He's run off, it doesn't matter that his wife's a babe, show me a pretty woman and somewhere there's a man bored of fucking her.’

‘I still haven't found Stephen Francis.’

Dan slammed down his wine glass. ‘Fucking Christ, Raz, we talked about this, you got to let it go! It's my fault for getting you involved in it but you can stop acting for her, OK? The firm has told her there's nothing more we can do.’

‘Why would they do that? What about the uncle's account?’

Dan rocked his chair forward, he was clearly annoyed. ‘Lower your voice. Let's just say that there we don't want any distractions and an obsessive woman, however beautiful, is not conducive to the type of business that the Bovind Foundation wants to be connected with.’

‘I'm pretty sure Stephen is dead.’

Dan slowly put his wine glass down on the table. ‘Dead?’

Erasmus pulled the photograph out his pocket and placed it on the table. ‘Look at that photograph: six boys and Father Michael. Kirk Bovind is there. Malcolm Ford is here, now dead. Stephen is missing. Tomas was a refugee murdered by Frank Burns and the other one, Giles, we rescued from two men beating him up, maybe going to kill him. I need Bovind to tell me who this other boy is,’ Eramsus pointed at the young, blond haired boy in the photograph sat next to Father Michael. ‘Someone had Petersen beaten up and Jenna attacked in her own home. Either Bovind put someone up to it for reasons unknown, or, and this may interest you, he is next in line for the chop.’

Dan let out a sigh. ‘OK, I admit it looks odd but you have to look at the bigger picture.’

‘The Bovind account?’

‘Don't mock me because I am honest enough to acknowledge the reality of things.’

‘What about doing what is right?’

Dan shook his head. ‘Who is to say what is right? Have you spoken with the journalist again?’

Erasmus had tried ringing Rachel a number of times. Her office had told him she had taken a leave of absence and when he tried her mobile phone all he got was a busy signal. He didn't say it to Dan, but he was worried about her.

‘I can't get hold of her. I need you to get me in to see Bovind.’

‘That ain't going to happen in a million years,’ said Dan.

‘Then show him the photograph and find out who the other boy is?’ said Erasmus.

‘Boys,’ Dan corrected him.

‘What do you mean?’ said Erasmus.

‘Well, someone took the photograph, didn't they?’ said Dan.

‘Christ, that's what Petersen meant by “missing the obvious”. You're right. How could I be so blind!’

Dan smiled. ‘Sometimes you just need a crack litigator on the case.’

Erasmus couldn't help but smile back. ‘So will you do it, will you show the photo to Bovind?’

‘Not a chance,’ said Dan.

There was a buzz from Erasmus’ phone. The display showed that he had a new message from Pete. He picked the phone up and opened the message: Petersen is dead, murdered. Call me.

‘Fuck!’

‘What is it?’ asked Dan.

He held up the phone and showed the message to Dan. He paled.

‘Erasmus, it's time for the police?’

‘Not yet, and what would I tell them? Shit I was probably one of the last people to see Petersen alive. I need to speak to Pete first.’

Erasmus called Pete. He answered on the first ring.

‘Not on the phone. I want you to meet me.’

He gave Erasmus an address and directions and then hung up.

Dan looked concerned. ‘What is it?’

‘I gotta go,’ said Erasmus.

Dan leant forward and gripped Erasmu's forearm lightly. ‘Listen, I won't jeopardise the firm's interests but I am worried that you are getting into something here that could be dangerous. Will you keep me informed? If I can help, I will.’

‘You want to help, get me into to see Bovind,’ said Erasmus, before removing Dan's hand and running out of the building.

CHAPTER 29

The last time Erasmus had felt this lit up was in Afghanistan, walking through a deserted marketplace looking for the members of his patrol he had been separated from after a firefight. His central nervous system was jacked to the max, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Everything seemed sharper, more vivid as he drove to meet Pete at an address in the south of the city.

Erasmus turned off Allerton High Road following the sat nav and immediately it was if he had left the city behind. The restaurants, bars and shops of the High Road were replaced by a narrow lane lined with blackberry bushes, it was as though he had stumbled down a country lane in the middle of the city. Its incongruity jarred, adding to his sense that something had changed, that the stakes had just been raised. In the growing darkness a few hundred yards up on the right hand side of the road Erasmus could see red brake lights and then a dark figure step out of the car. As he got closer Erasmus could see that the figure was Pete and he didn't look happy.

This was the address Pete had given him: St Mary's. An old, boarded up, red brick Victorian school building, the type that looked like an old chapel or workhouse.

‘What happened to Petersen?’ asked Erasmus.

‘He had his head smashed in by a hammer and was bundled into a freezer.’

‘I always told Miranda DIY was dangerous. Do the police have any idea who did it?’

Black humour, standard issue for the British Army, was always deployed in the face of horror. It was another trait Miranda had grown to hate. Erasmus had come to terms long ago that training to kill people and dealing with its psychic consequences did not dovetail perfectly with maintaining a healthy relationship.

‘No, Petersen's mother was also found dead at the scene. The police are working on an assumption that she saw the killer and could identify him. Maybe those guys found out where he had holed up and came to finish the job.’

‘It doesn't feel right. If they wanted him dead why not kill him before we arrived yesterday?’

‘We interrupted them. If it is them, though, there are two witnesses who can identify them: us. Is it time to take this to the police?’

‘No. Think about it, Pete. We broke into his house, my DNA will be scattered all over that kitchen as will yours and we drove him to his sisters, where he was killed. Who else knew he was there? You know the plod go for the obvious suspects every time, because it usually is them, well that's us, this time. We're on our own for a bit here.’

Pete nodded. ‘I thought you might say that. That's why I asked you to meet here. Thought you may want to take a look in here,’ said Pete, gesturing towards the building.

Erasmus read the Latin inscription on the wall above the doorway:
Fides et Deus
.

The door itself was battened down with steel plates. They were covered in a generation's worth of graffiti but Erasmus could pick out among the swirls of colour a huge, red goat's head painted on the steel. It gave him the creeps.

‘This is the chapel where Father Michael's Faith in the Community Group used to meet back in the day, around about the time that photograph was taken,’ said Pete.

‘You're damn right,’ said Erasmus and he pushed open the rusty iron gate.

Pete followed.

The grounds were overgrown and brambles blocked the path up to the steel plates that had been bolted to the brickwork over the door. They made their way around the side of the building following a path that they could just see in the gathering gloom.

A sodium streetlight came to life and cast a dim orange glow, making it slightly easier to see where they were going. The windows to the side of the building had steel plates covering them like the front door and Erasmus could see that there was no way they were getting through them.

There was an outbuilding to their left hand side. Where the door used to be there was just a black hole. Pete disappeared into it and a few seconds later whispered for Erasmus to come through.

Erasmus ducked through the doorway. The room smelled of stale urine and damp. It was dark inside and he could only see the rusted beer cans, shattered glass and foil wrappers that littered the floor immediately under his feet.

Pete lit a match.

In the eerie gloom Erasmus could make out a rotten oar that lay broken in the middle of the floor. It was charred and blackened, and more burnt silver foil wrappers and broken glass lay around it.

Pete looked back at Erasmus. ‘Junkies,’ he whispered.

‘Come on,’ said Erasmus, and they slowly backed out of the building and made their way back towards the rear of the main building.

It had begun to rain softly. Erasmus turned around and saw that Pete had slipped the hood of his fatigue jacket over his head.

They reached the back of the building. There was a small yard back hidden from the road and it was clear that over the years people had used it as a drinking den. There were crushed and rusty cans of strong cider and lager everywhere, and the blackened remains of old fires. Erasmus looked up and saw that they had caught a lucky break. The windows had been covered in the ubiquitous steel plate but there was one on the second floor that had a small turn in the corner where somebody had tried to bend it back in the past. It was only a small gap and they clearly hadn't managed to get into the building but they had popped the difficult first bolt and Erasmus knew that he could get in. A drainpipe ran up the brickwork and passed within a foot of the window. The drainpipe had broken off some ten feet above the ground but, with help, Erasmus could reach it.

He pointed out the window to Pete and began looking for something that he could use as a lever on the plate. It didn't take him long to find an old iron bar.

‘I need a bunk up to the drainpipe,’ he said.

Pete looked at Erasmus like he had just suggested digging up his dead mother.

‘Come on, Pete.’

‘You are going to ruin your suit, Erasmus,’ said Pete with a shake of his head but he kneeled down and linked his hands. Erasmus put his right foot into them and was then heaved into the air. He stretched out his hands and grasped hold of a bracket that held the pipe to the wall and slowly let it take his weight. It began to give and Erasmus got ready to jump. It held.

Pete was panting slightly. ‘I guess we know the answer to the question.’

‘What question?’ said Erasmus.

‘Who ate all those pies? Get up there then. I can't hold you for ever.’

Erasmus nodded to Pete and then began to climb. The drainpipe was slippery but the brackets were spaced evenly every five feet and Erasmus quickly worked his way up towards the steel shutter. When he was level with the window frame he tucked the tip of his right shoe behind the drainpipe and then used his right hand to remove the iron bar from his belt. Erasmus took a deep breath and then swung out into the void keeping hold of the drainpipe with his left hand and then jamming the iron bar into the gap where the steel was turned up. He jigged his right arm back and the steel plate began to peel away like rotten orange peel. After a few seconds he had a gap almost wide enough to squeeze through. Never a fan of heights, Erasmus risked a quick look down. In the gloom he couldn't see Pete just the tangled, rusty pile of metal on which he would fall if he lost his grip.

He looked at the gap under the steel and decided one more pull was needed. As he prepared to swing out something heavy fell and just missed his face before landing with a loud thud below. He looked up and saw that the drainpipe was coming away from the wall, the top bracket had gone and the one five feet above him was peeling away from the brickwork. Another bolt began to work its way out of the brickwork as though pulled by an unseen hand. Erasmus realised he had maybe less than a second to save himself.

He swung himself out to the right just as the pipe came away from the wall, his left hand let go of the pipe as it fell towards the ground and Erasmus threw his right arm through the gap he had made. He used his momentum to slide through the opening before falling a few feet and landing with a thud on a wet, wooden floor. He felt the wood sag beneath him. It smelled like damp tobacco.

Erasmus stood up and poked his head back out of the gap. In the darkness there was a sudden orange glow and Erasmus could make Pete out fifty feet below, nonchalantly smoking. Erasmus whistled and Pete looked up.

‘You stay there, keep a look out. I'll take a look around.’

‘OK, but be careful’

Pete clearly hadn't seen Erasmus nearly die.

‘Er yeah, thanks Pete,’ said Erasmus, largely to himself.

In the bruised light he could make out the dark coloured shapes of old desks, the type where the chair was bolted to the desk. These probably dated back before the period when Stephen and his friends attended the place as part of Faith in the Community. It looked like an old classroom but the desks were sitting in a chaotic scattering across the uneven floor.

He took a step forward and felt the soggy floor yield. He would have to be careful. There was a reason this place was boarded up. It was clearly unstable and dangerous. He made his way across the room to a door on the opposite wall to the window. He turned the old brass handle, which was slippery to touch, and the door opened. He stepped through the door and it swung closed behind him with a soft wet
thwack
.

The light that he had been relying upon from the open window was gone and he was suddenly in darkness. Looking around he realised not total darkness as here and there through the blocked windows tiny shafts of pale blue moonlight crept into the room. Rain poured in through gaps in the roof making the place feel like the inside of a subterranean cave system. He shivered in revulsion at the rotting, decayed smell of it all.