The Wilds (16 page)

He looked at the sack, it was the only place the shoe could have come from. He bent over and opened it up. He recoiled in horror at what he saw inside the sack. The mutilated body of Malcolm Morris, town drunk and pain in the arse. His throat had been ripped out and his face clawed, but enough of his features were visible for Ben to tell who it was. He instinctively reached into his pocket for his phone.

‘Oh, Ben dear,’ Came Mrs Pritchard’s voice from behind him. ‘I really wish you had just left that for me to deal with.’

Turning, he saw the old lady was stood a few meters away from him. She was holding a shotgun pointed at his chest.

‘What?’ Ben couldn’t manage anything else. None of this made any sense.

‘If you’d just left it to me, you could have been on your way to see your friends now,’ the old woman said, with a look of genuine regret on her face. ‘But I have to protect my boy, no matter how naughty he’s been.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Ben screamed at her.

The answer didn’t come from her mouth, it came from the barrel of the gun. As the cartridge exploded a shower of shot ripped Ben Lindley’s chest apart, his heart and lungs obliterated in a second.

Pearce left Jason with the custody sergeant to process him. He told the officer to get him in a cell and leave him until the morning; Pearce would deal with him then. Jason could tell that the custody sergeant knew there was something irregular about all of this, but he seemed to know better than to argue with Pearce. It never ceased to amaze Jason how much fear Pearce instilled in his subordinates. It was as though the entire Darton Police force lived in constant fear of falling out of his favour.

When Pearce left, the sergeant took Jason’s photograph and prints. All of his property, except the clothes on his back, were taken and locked away safely. They took his belt and shoe laces, just as a precaution, and took him to the cell.

The sergeant explained that if he wanted a drink or anything he should just shout, as they were not busy that night. Jason thanked him and settled down on the narrow cot built into the wall. Though the mattress was only a few inches thick, he was surprised at how comfortable it was.

He couldn’t believe that Pearce had gone this far. He had always suspected that the detective would find some reason to lock him up, even if just for a night, to scare him, or show him who was in control. Jason never expected it to be on a murder charge, that was ridiculous. Pearce knew that Jason had nothing to do with what was happening. The state his face had been in, the scratches gouged into his flesh. Surely Pearce knew that the killer was not a human being but a wild animal.

He had seen Pearce angry before, but never as out of control as he had been that evening. Jason couldn’t believe he had pulled his gun on him. He hoped to God that Pearce never had any intention of using it. The man Jason had known in his youth, the one he had idolised, would never have done that. He didn’t understand how Pearce could have changed so much over the years. Or was it Jason who had changed? The older he got, and the more he learnt about Pearce, the more he disliked him. Had Pearce always been this way, and Jason was just too young to see it?

Jason closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the custody suite. He heard police officers chatting at the desk, laughing and joking with each other. He heard a drunk singing Christmas songs, months too early, in a cell down the hall. A young man, possibly on drugs, was protesting his incarceration by screaming obscenities and pounding on the metal door. The officers at the desk were responding to this by ignoring him.

He thought about the fact that he had not been offered a phone call, then thought that the right to one phone call was probably another myth propagated by television shows. Besides, who would he call? His mother perhaps, she would then be on the war path. Holly, they were occasional lovers, perhaps more than that, but she was also Pearce’s right hand woman.

He found himself humming along with the festive drunk, and drifted off into sleep with memories of childhood Christmases, and his favourite uncle.

Vera Pritchard struggled to drag the bodies of Malcolm Morris and Ben Lindley into Milo’s barn. At her age it was a chore she could do without, but what else could she do? She constantly worried, as she grew older, what would happen to Miko when she was gone. Would the others take care of him? It was a constant concern for her, a worry that weighed heavier with every passing day. She knew she had to contact Harry, her eldest son; he would talk the others around. There was no way of knowing how much time she had left, and all of the animosity had gone on for far too long. Things had to change. She needed to know that Miko would be looked after when she was gone.

She left the barn and stepped back into the courtyard. Ben’s car sat there with the lights on and engine still running. She knew she would have to dispose of that, but it could wait. For now she would just hide it in the old tractor shed. She walked over towards the car and spotted Miko lounging on the front lawn. There was a large lump next to him that he was burying his face in, gnawing on something. Her heart fell. Not another one.

‘Miko!’ she shouted as she marched towards him.

Miko raised his head, his face soaked in blood, an unidentifiable chunk of meat hanging from his mouth.

‘What have you done now?’ she yelled.

As she neared him she saw it was a young man, at least it had been until recently. As usual his throat was missing. Miko always either ripped out the throat or crushed the spine first. The young man’s face was untouched, but from his throat down to his navel he had been ripped to shreds. Miko had a fondness for the delicate internal organs, he would always try and eat these first. The rest of the flesh could be left longer, he didn’t mind if it had started to putrefy, but the insides had to be fresh.

‘You bad boy!’ she yelled and struck the side of his face.

He whined at the blow and sank to the floor and backed away from her. He looked up at her with watery eyes, and her anger disappeared. He had no idea what he did was wrong, to him it was natural. She smiled and got down on her knees. She stroked the top of his head and he nuzzled into her touch. The gunshot wound on his shoulder was still trickling blood and in severe need of cleaning before infection took hold.

‘I’m sorry, baby,’ she said. ‘It’s just you’ve killed so many lately.’

Miko rolled onto his back, his head resting on her lap. Vera couldn’t stay mad at him. She bent down and placed a gentle kiss on the end of his nose.

‘It’ll be alright, baby,’ she said. ‘Mummy will take care of everything.’

Karl woke in a panic from a nightmare he couldn’t remember. All details of the dream faded as soon as he opened his eyes; the only thing that lingered was the fear. He was drenched in cold sweat and his heart was thumping in his chest like it wanted to escape the prison of his ribcage.

The room was still dark, and it took him a while to realise he was not in his tiny flat in London, but in his childhood bedroom. He looked around the room, what little he could make out from the moonlight that seeped in through a crack in the curtains.

The glowing light of the alarm clock told him that it was half five in the morning. He didn’t need to be up for another few hours yet, but the residual panic of his dream told him that he would get no more sleep that night. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, feeling the carpet with his bare feet. He stretched his arms into the air and then sat there for a few moments.

There was a crashing sound from downstairs, the sound of glass breaking. Karl jumped to his feet and went to the door. There was another sound exactly the same. Was someone breaking in? On top of everything else that was going on was he going to have to deal with a burglary? He then heard sobbing. It was his mother, she was already up and downstairs. Karl ran down to find her in the living room. She was stood behind the sofa with her head in her hands. As he looked around the room he saw his graduation photograph on the floor, its frame broken and the glass shattered. Next to it laid another photograph of him.

‘Mum?’ he said gently. ‘What are you doing?’

She lifted her head from he hands and looked at him, her eyes were red and tear stained, but the furrows in the brow and the tensing of the cheeks were an expression of anger.

‘This is all your fault!’ she screamed at him.

Karl didn’t know how to respond.

‘What?’ he asked confused.

‘If you had been here this wouldn’t have happened,’ she said, her words barbed with venom.

‘You don’t know that,’ Karl said.

‘It should have been you,’ she said her voice faltering into sobs once more. ‘It should be you that’s gone, not him.’

The words were induced by grief, exhaustion, and booze judging by the empty wine bottle on the table. The sentiment was true, though, and that cut Karl deeply. It was not that his mother wished him any harm really, but she would rather harm came to him than to Phil.

‘I know he was your favourite, Mum,’ Karl said calmly. ‘Maybe it’s because I remind you too much of Dad, but I understand that I have always been second in your eyes.’

‘You both always got the same from me,’ she said.

‘That’s true,’ Karl agreed. ‘You always gave us the same pocket money, the same sweets, even made sure you spent exactly the same on us at Christmas, but you gave Phil more of your love and time than you ever gave me.’

She looked at him shocked at his words, it was as though she was preparing to deny them, but something in his face made her see he was telling the truth. She dropped to the floor and began to sob.

Karl rushed over to her and helped her up onto the sofa. She continued to sob, trying to speak, but not making a discernible word.

‘Shhh, Mum,’ Karl said putting his arm around her.

‘I’m so sorry, Karl,’ she said in gasps. ‘I never realised.’

‘It’s alright, Mum,’ he said rubbing her shoulder. ‘Phil was always here for you, I know that, and I don’t resent him for it. If he is gone, though, Mum, all we have left is each other.’

‘I love you, Karl,’ she said. ‘You know I do love you, don’t you?’

‘I know, Mum,’ he said, feeling a tear run from his eye. ‘I know.’

Jason was woken by a knock on the cell door. He sat up and saw the custody sergeant looking at him through little window on the door.

‘Morning, Mr Flynn,’ the sergeant said cheerfully. ‘This is your six thirty wake up call.’

‘Six thirty?’ Jason said groggily. ‘Do you always wake people up this early?’

The sergeant shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘ DCI Pearce asked us to have you up and ready to be interviewed for half seven.’

‘Great,’ Jason said rubbing his eyes. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘If you want to do your ablutions, I’ll get you some tea and toast,’ the sergeant said.

Jason nodded

‘That’d be nice thanks,’ he said. ‘There’s no way I’m shitting in that bucket, though.’

The sergeant laughed.

‘If you can hold it a while I get someone to take you to the showers, you can use the cubicle in there,’ he said.

Jason thanked him, the sergeant nodded and closed the window on the door. Jason stood up, feeling the need to stretch his legs. He looked up and saw that the dim lights of dawn were creeping in through the barred window. He walked a few laps of the cell. That was another thing to cross off his experience list, spend a night in a cell. He hoped, though, that it would be the last. Pearce had it in for him, but surely after calming down he would see how ridiculous it was to be holding him for these murders.

It was half past six. Pearce wanted to question him at half seven. Jason wondered if he would manage to get out of the station in time to pick up Karl at half eight. He doubted it, he also doubted he would get the opportunity to let him know.

He wondered if Linda had got home in the end. Pearce had stopped him before he could check the office, or call Joe back. If she hadn’t arrived surely he would have let the police know. He thought about asking the sergeant when he returned, but would that incriminate him? He decided it was best to wait and see if Pearce mentioned it.

The sergeant brought him a cup of tea and some buttered toast, which he slid through the hatch at the bottom of the door. Jason took it and thanked him. He sat back down on the cot and ate his first, and hopefully last, breakfast in a police cell.

They had sat there on the sofa for some time. His mother had hugged him tightly, as though she never wanted to let go. Then Karl had made them both a cuppa, and his mother had offered even more apologies for the way she had treated him. He had told her that this was a new start, a time to change things. They both hoped that Phil would turn up alive and well, but either way the two of them would face it together.

Eventually as the sun began to light up the lower portion of the sky, Karl told his mother to go back to bed and get some rest. She looked haggard, older than he had ever seen her look. He didn’t want to be worrying about her as well.

‘Are you going back to bed?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I’m awake now, besides Jason Flynn is picking me up later. We’re still trying to find some answers.’

‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Well, when I get up I’ll go to the shop and get us something nice for tea.’

Karl smiled.

‘That’d be great,’ he said.

She hugged him once more and then kissed his cheek.

‘I do love you, son,’ she said.

‘I love you, too, Mum.’

After she had gone back upstairs, Karl switched on the TV. The BBC breakfast news had started. He watched as he cleaned up the broken glass from his mother’s earlier outburst. They told him how the economy seemed to be on the mend finally, but they had been saying that for months, and living in London he was still feeling the pinch of the recession himself. Then there were stories of soldiers injured in the Middle East who were seeking more support, that the government was, as yet, denying them. Another familiar face of television from his childhood had been arrested for allegations of child abuse. Another flu epidemic was on the cards for the winter.

He wondered how anyone managed to start the day in a good mood watching the news. It was an endless stream of scaremongering, reminding us all how terrible the world was, and that there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Yet here, in Darton, was a place he had always thought of as so distant from the real world. A place where the events of the world held little sway and where life never really changed that much for anyone. He knew now, though, that he was wrong, the horrors of Darton were as real as those anywhere else.

He got himself a bowl of cereal and he sat on the sofa and watched the television. The news was becoming too much to bear so he clicked over on to one of the children’s channels and watched some old Tom and Jerry cartoons. They still made him laugh as much as, if not more than, they had in his childhood.

After his breakfast Jason was taken to the shower room by one of the police officers. He used the toilet and then taken a shower. Though he had to put on the same clothes after, he still felt refreshed.

Then he was taken back to his cell. He waited there for a little while until the custody sergeant came back.

‘Alright, Mr Flynn,’ he said. ‘We’re going to take you to an interview room now.’

The door was open and Jason saw two other police officers stood behind the sergeant. They were big guys.

‘Smith and Willis here will escort you to the interview room,’ the sergeant said.

‘Is a two man escort inside the building really needed?’ Jason asked in disbelief.

‘Sorry, but it’s standard procedure in murder cases,’ the sergeant said.

Jason nodded.

‘Hopefully you’ll be released after interview,’ the sergeant said. ‘If not, though, we shall come back and collect you later.’

Smith and Willis stood either side of Jason as they walked him out of the custody suite and through the labyrinth like corridors of the Darton police station. Neither of them spoke to him, and the way they were watching him suggested they would be ready in a heartbeat if he tried to make a break for it.

They finally reached a door marked ‘Interview 1’. Willis knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ Holly’s voice from inside.

Jason’s heart sank.

Willis opened the door and they led him in. There was a table with four chairs, two on either side. Holly sat on the side nearest the door, a stack of files on the table in front of her. She turned as they entered, she looked at him with a mix of pity and shame. Pearce was nowhere to be seen.

Holly motioned for him to sit in the seat opposite her. He wandered over and sat down. She then turned to the two police men who had brought him in. They were stood either side of the door like sentries.

‘Thank you, constables,’ she said. ‘That’ll be all.’

Smith and Willis exchanged a look of confusion.

‘But, we can’t leave you alone with him,’ Smith said.

‘Of course you can,’ Holly said. ‘DCI Pearce will be here shortly. Besides, I’m pretty sure that Mr Flynn will behave,’ she turned to look at him. ‘Won’t you?’

Jason nodded emphatically.

‘Yes, of course.’

Smith and Willis didn’t look convinced.

‘Off you go,’ Holly said waving them to the open door.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ they said in unison. They left the room and closed the door behind them. Holly turned to Jason and shook her head at him.

‘Well this is a fine mess,’ she said.

‘You know I didn’t do this?’ Jason said

Holly smiled.

‘Of course I know you didn’t do it,’ she said. ‘So does Pearce, that’s not stopping him from trying to pin it on you.’

Jason leant on the table.

‘Surely he can’t,’ Jason said. ‘I mean, there can’t be enough evidence against me.’

Holly frowned.

‘There is quite a lot,’ she said. ‘Probably enough for him to charge you, but I doubt it would be enough for a court to convict you, though.’

‘Shit,’ Jason said.

‘He’s going to go after you hard in this interview Jason,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to not rise to it. Try and be as helpful as possible, don’t give him any ammunition.’

Jason smiled and nodded. He knew full well that if Pearce was to push the right buttons then there was no chance that he would be able to stay calm.

‘Should you be here?’ Jason asked. ‘Given our personal relationship.’

‘It’s a small town Jason, you know most of the coppers in this building. Plus let’s not forget about your relationship with Pearce.’

‘I’m not sleeping with him,’ Jason said with a grin.

Holly looked around, as if checking to see that no one was listening.

‘No one knows about that here,’ she said. ‘I’d prefer to keep it that way.’

‘Why?’ Jason said, his expression revealing his hurt. ‘Are you ashamed of me?’

Holly sighed.

‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘If anyone knew it would get back to Pearce, and if he knew then I wouldn’t be allowed in this room right now, and you would have no one on your side in this interview. Okay?’

He bobbed his head in response.

‘You know when this is all over, I think we should give us another chance,’ he said.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning, a proper relationship. Boyfriend/girlfriend. No more of this sneaking around,’ he said.

‘This isn’t the time, Jason,’ she said looking down at the file in front of her. Jason knew that there was nothing on that file she needed to look at, she just wanted to avoid eye contact with him. He leant further forward.

‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry this isn’t the right time, but I do. I always have.’

‘Jason!’ she snapped. ‘Not now.’

‘When then?’ Jason said. ‘Just lately you’ve been really shitty with me, Holly, and I want to know why!’

He leant back in his chair. The door opened and Pearce entered. He looked a lot better than he had the night before. The clean suit helped, but also now the scratches had been cleaned and stitched they didn’t look as severe as they had. Pearce was still going to be sporting some pretty serious scars for the rest of his life, though.

He sat down and without speaking to anyone he set the tape recorder running.

‘Interview commencing at eight AM,’ he said speaking clearly. ‘Officers present, myself, DCI Pearce, and DI Holly booth.’

He stopped talking, and looked directly at Jason, there was a smirk forming in the corners of his mouth.

‘Did you have a comfortable night in the cell, Mr Flynn?’ he asked.

‘Wonderful,’ Jason said returning the smug smile.

‘You are a colleague of Linda Blake aren’t you?’ Pearce asked.

Jason nodded.

‘We’re colleagues and friends,’ he confirmed.

‘When did you last see Mrs Blake?’ Pearce asked.

‘Yesterday morning at the chronicle office.’ Jason replied. ‘I spoke to her husband last night. He said she hadn’t come home. I told him I would see if she was still at the office for him.’

‘Was she?’ Holly said.

Pearce looked at Holly, though he didn’t say anything, his expression was clear, she was to leave the questioning to him. Pearce turned back to Jason.

‘Well, Mr Flynn,’ he said. ‘Was Mrs Blake at the chronicle office.’

Jason shrugged.

‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘It was just after that call the you arrested me.’

‘Mr Blake reported his wife missing around midnight,’ Pearce said. ‘She hasn’t been missing long enough for us to do anything at the moment. However, given that you were the last person to see her, and the other things your charged with, I would imagine that you will be charged with her murder as well eventually.’

Jason felt himself getting angry. The insinuation that he was a murderer was insulting enough, but the fact that Pearce had already decided that Linda was dead without any investigation was too much.

‘I don’t have time for this shit,’ he said standing up. ‘This is a joke and I’m leaving.’

Pearce stood up.

‘Sit down, Mr Flynn,’ he said, his hand moving slowly towards his hip. ‘Please take this seriously. You’re here on suspicion of murder. We can’t just let murder suspects go can we? What would the local paper say.’

‘Sir, I think...’ Holly started to say.

‘I’ll handle the interview, detective,’ Pearce snapped at her.

‘Yes, sir.’

Pearce looked back to Jason, he pointed at the chair. Jason sighed and sat back down. He knew that Pearce was going to go through the motions on this and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

When Jason was back in his chair, Pearce smiled and sat back down himself. He pulled an evidence bag out of his jacket pocket. He slid it across the table to Jason. It contained the blood stained grass that he and Karl had brought in the day before.

‘Do you recognise the contents of that bag, Mr Flynn?’

‘Yes,’ Jason replied. ‘It’s the bloody grass we brought in to you.’

‘Whose blood do you think it might be?’ Pearce said.

‘We thought it could be Phil Morgan’s blood.’

Pearce furrowed his brow.

‘And what made you think that?’

Jason ran his hands through his hair. He was getting more and more frustrated.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘We found a pool of drying blood in the field opposite where his car was found. Karl and I told all of this to Detective Booth yesterday.’

He looked to Holly for support. She nodded that it was true.

‘At the same spot I found this?’ Pearce said pulling out another, larger evidence bag. This one contained Jason’s blood stained shirt, the one they had used to mark the spot.

‘Do you recognise this?’ Pearce said sliding the bag over to Jason.

‘Yes, it’s my shirt,’ Jason said. ‘We used it to mark where we found the pool of blood. We tied it to a stick and made a flag out of it.’

Pearce frowned.

‘What if I was to say I found it hidden in the undergrowth of the field,’ he said. ‘Almost as though someone was trying to hide evidence.’

‘I’d say you were a fucking liar!’ Jason shouted, banging his fist on the desk.

‘Calm down, Mr Flynn,’ Pearce said. ‘If the blood on this shirt comes back from the lab as being that of Mr Morgan, then that is more than enough evidence to charge you with murder.’

‘Fucking hell, Jon,’ Jason said. He couldn’t believe how far Pearce was willing to take this. ‘Is this just because I ruined your chance of getting a promotion by telling people what a bully you are? You’re willing to frame me for murder, just like you did my fucking Dad!’