Animal Instinct (20 page)

“They're Arab fanatics, aren't they?”

“Moslem radicals, dissidents like ourselves who seek justice against those who persecute us. Whereas we need finance, they have unlimited resources. Mark my words, these people ‘mean business’. If we can profit by offering them support for their cause, our cash flow problems will be solved. The day is approaching when our exploits at Guildford, Brighton and the other major cities will seem like bonfire night celebrations in comparison.”

Moran stroked the Kalashnikov affectionately. “You're a lucky bastard, Sean. By showing your support this past week, you have gained some credit with them. To be sure, you would want to be on the winning team when Armageddon arrives.”

*****

After Moran and his group had left in the minibus to play their ‘war games’ at the activity centre, Sean returned to the cellar to complete his line-cleaning programme. He was on ‘automatic pilot; his mind was focussed on more complex issues. Why had he allowed himself to be drawn into this fanatical world of Jimmy Moran?

I left all that behind when I sailed from Belfast all those years ago, he thought. Okay my life has not been perfect. I've done some bad things in my time, but I'm no extremist. What the hell would I do with a bloody Kalashnikov? Moran worships the fuckin’ object. The man's crazy. Damn his evil mind, I'm now not only complicit in my cleaner's murder, but also lying to the police to protect a complete psycho!

Sean finished in the cellar and returned to his flat to shower and change from his work clothes. He decided to attend the funeral; he had come to terms with his situation. Forget faking the register. It was time for confession, the moment for absolution, the opportunity to rid society of the Morans of this world. Prison would be no worse than the heavy burden of guilt that he now bore.

He had only been an accomplice in Mary's murder, a victim of circumstances, an unwilling participant. Surely, it would be a shorter sentence for him if he told the truth and collaborated with the police. At the same time, it could bring some relief to his overall anguish. On the other hand, living with all this guilt would be similar to a life sentence. He would seek out Inspector Massey at the end of the girl's funeral. The whole experience of being there and ‘coming clean’ would soothe his tormented mind.

Leaving a member of staff in charge, Sean drove through the rain to the twelfth century Norman church that stood in the centre of Moulton. There was nowhere to park; the roads were clogged on each side with vehicles. The rain had ceased and the cortege was leaving the main church entrance for the cemetery as he approached.

He turned into a tree-lined road alongside the far wall of the churchyard. The trees were laden with pink cherry blossom. I'll miss all this banged up behind steel bars, he thought as he searched for somewhere to park the car. He was beginning to doubt his own logic. The road led into a cul-de-sac at the rear of the cemetery. There was a space large enough to accommodate the Mondeo. Close by, he spotted a wooden lych-gate that gave access to the graveyard. The mourners were gathering around an open grave as he approached. He could see Massey and other police officers standing some distance away, sheltering beneath a large elm tree.

Sean melted into the background as the vicar prayed and the coffin was lowered into the ground. A well-dressed woman in a dark suit caught his eye. She was also looking at him with an inquiring gaze. Where had he seen her before? As the mourners began to depart, he suddenly remembered and, without hesitating, approached the woman before she turned away. He was correct in his recollection, but her words wounded him deeply. She walked away, leaving him in total distress. He spun round, strode purposefully towards the lych-gate and headed back to Winsford more depressed than ever. All his sound intentions had been undermined in seconds.

He felt nothing but emptiness. How could he face the world again? How could he face himself? Nothing else was real any more. How could he bear this heart-rending agony that he now felt? He was desperately sad…absolutely devastated. For the first time since he had discovered his father hanging in the barn, Sean wept inconsolably.

*****

It was almost midnight. The majority of customers had left as staff cleared empty glasses and cleaned the tables. Moran and his associates were asleep in their rooms in preparation for an early departure the following morning. Two customers, strangers, were lingering over their beers at the bar. Sean politely asked them to drink up and go. He was not in the mood for small talk. He dismissed the staff, ushered the strangers through the doors leading to the car park and locked up. He removed the till drawers and placed them with their contents in the safe. Having routinely checked the windows and toilets, he switched off the lights. Instead of retiring to the warmth and comfort of his flat, he descended into the beer cellar.

One of the staff had switched off the motors and the gas pressure system. Everything seemed to be in order. At the bottom of the cellar drop, close to the steps that led to street level, there was a large bundle of heavy rope used by the draymen to lower barrels into the cellar. He sat on the soft mound of fibres and stared across the room.

Once again, he wept. He buried his head in his hands. How could he live with this? Time could never heal his pain. He reflected back to Easter. He glanced up the steps towards the cellar drop. He closed his eyes and relived the moment. It was like watching someone else, some stranger in a confusing dream.

The weather had been beautiful; life was good. He had been working in the cellar that morning. He had been in a happy mood, unaware that his life was about to be turned upside down by an act of madness.

She was standing there at the top of the steps leading down to the cellar; the girl who had suddenly appeared on that sunny April morning…a vision from heaven. She looked almost transparent in the bright sunlight. The memories flooded back.

“I've never seen a pub cellar before. Are all those barrels full of beer?” She craned her neck to peer further into the dank recesses. “I was waiting for a bus…they're never on time, are they? I'm afraid that my curiosity got the better of me. I'm sorry; I must be interrupting your work.”

“No bother,” said the stranger, leaning forwards on his brush. “Come on down and take a look around.”

Gingerly, the young girl descended towards the wet cellar floor. The man wiped his hand on his shirt and reached out to help her. Her beauty immediately enraptured him. She wore a delicate silky, summer dress. Her long blond tresses wafted gently in the breeze from the open doorway. The backdrop of bright sunlight, which cascaded down into the cellar, highlighted the contours of her shapely body, a stunning vision of beauty. He was totally mesmerised.

As she drew closer, a faint whiff of her Chanel perfume contrasted dramatically with the ambient yeasty aroma of beer. Everything which a man desires in his innermost sexual fantasy stood before him…alone and vulnerable.

The young woman pierced his fragile bubble of illusion. “I often wondered how it ended up in a glass on the bar.” She looked about her at the vast array of equipment, the cooling machine, the ring-main gas system, the line of glass fob detectors and the myriad of beer lines. They hung like strands of spaghetti before disappearing into insulated trunking and spiralling up to the dispensers on the bar.

She giggled as she looked across towards the intriguing bank of fob detectors. “It all looks very complicated. What on earth are those?” she asked, weaving between two lines of lager kegs.

He had been occupied with the process of cleaning the beer lines. Consequently, the floor was still wet from the water hose; a residue of excess cleaning fluid also increased the chance of slipping on the slimy surface of the floor. Unaware of the danger, she pressed forwards.

The man reached out to steady her. Too late! Her right foot shot from beneath her and she slipped backwards. He tried to prevent her fall, but only succeeded in partly cushioning her body as her head crashed against the nearest metal keg. A loose bottle of carbon dioxide gas toppled over and rolled towards the cask beer stillage against the wall.

The impetus of his intervention forced him down onto the floor, still clutching the now semi-conscious young woman. They lay there in an entangled heap. Though breathing normally, she was seemingly dead to the world. He lifted her onto an upright keg allowing her to fall gently backwards across an adjacent one by cushioning her limp body.

He felt her breath on his face. He was now breathing heavily, partly from the effort, partly from the position into which his action had precipitated him. His right hand was resting on her exposed left breast, his legs were entwined with hers. The hemline of her dress rested across her naked thighs, exposing pink briefs from La Senza. Suddenly he was aroused.

God, how I want her. Look at her. She is absolutely gorgeous.
Pressing his loins into her limp body, he stroked the long strands of blond hair from her face. She was irresistible. He pressed his face against her heaving breast, gently kissing the exposed pink nipple and allowed his hand to nestle in the warmth between her outstretched thighs. She groaned slightly but remained unconscious.

Normal human behaviour, moralistic logic and reason were swept to one side like leaves scattered in an autumn wind. Man's basic animal instinct took over. He was totally out of control. All common sense had been consumed by his irrational ardour. His emotions were running amok. He wanted her irrespective of the consequences.

Her delicate skin was so smooth to his touch, warm, inviting. His own body was reacting more with every touch; he ached from the swelling in the area of his crutch. He unzipped his jeans and raped her. The impetus of a mad moment of sexual gratification was over in an instant. Rolling to one side, he slumped to the damp concrete floor. For several minutes, he sat there exhausted but exhilarated against one of the lager kegs. The young woman slid from the keg onto the floor; there was no reaction.

His head was all over the place. It was how he had experienced his first sexual encounter. He had stolen an illicit act of self-indulgent pleasure. Despite the instant relief, guilt and remorse now flooded his confused mind. He pressed his head back against the chilled casing of the metal keg. Slowly his senses returned. As the sunlight from the open doorway illuminated the dark recesses of his thoughts, he reacted to the reality of his situation.

Bloody hell, he thought, the world and his brother are out there! All his actions now became mechanical. He bolted shut the hinged flaps which opened onto street level from the cellar. He raced up the steps to the bar and closed the door behind him. The cleaner, he thought, she's still here!

Free plays from the jukebox resonated as he entered the public areas. The cleaner was immersed in polishing tables and jigging to the music. Slightly relieved, he busied himself behind the bar whilst attempting to plan his next course of action. Fifteen minutes later the cleaner finished and left the premises.

Before his thoughts could return to the situation in the cellar, the doorbell suddenly interrupted them. A large dray wagon, laden with his weekly delivery had pulled up outside. He opened the front door to the pub.

“You're not due until tomorrow,” was his first reaction.

“C'mon, guv, it's Easter weekend. Tomorrow's Good Friday. We're a day early,” came the reply.

Shite, he thought, the fuckin' cellar! “Sorry,” he said. “I'd forgotten. Just give me a minute and I'll open up the cellar drop.”

Adjacent to the cellar were two small alcoves, one of which housed the original but now defunct central heating system for the public house, the other held empty cartons. He raced back downstairs, where he dragged the half-naked limp body into a convenient space amongst the boxes. He returned to gather her shoes and shoulder bag that were scattered amongst the kegs. He threw them out of sight into the alcove. Opening the wooden flaps to the street, he nervously allowed the draymen access to the cellar to make the delivery and collect the empties.

“There's a leaking CO
₂
gas bottle here,” said one of the burly draymen as he adeptly humped a barrel of beer onto a stillage. He bent down to pick up the errant cylinder. “There's a heavy leak from the valve. You'd better stick it outside in the yard as a precaution.”

The publican nodded, but was reluctant to leave the two draymen alone in the cellar. If she suddenly wakes up, I'm in the shit, he thought. Eventually, he signed the despatch note, they left and, somewhat relieved, he closed the doors to the delivery hatch. His thoughts turned to the young woman. She was still comatose in the alcove.

His mind was in full flow. I could tell her that she slipped, passed out and I revived her, he thought. She seemed lifeless. Suddenly he panicked. There was no pulse.
Shit
! S
he's fachiri dead!
He tried to resuscitate her without success. She was indeed dead, suffocated by the excessive carbon dioxide that had flooded the cellar floor from the broken valve.

In desperation, he spun round clutching his head. “Fuckin' hell, what a bloody mess!” he cried. He glanced at his watch. Bar staff would be arriving soon. He had to hide her. In his distressed state, he formulated a tentative game plan to dispose of the lifeless corpse.

*****

In the yard behind the public house, there were two ‘wheelie bins’. One was almost full of black plastic bin liners containing rubbish from the pub. Maybe he could hide the body amongst the bags in one of the bins until he could find some way of disposing of it later that day. Wearing special gloves designed for use with chemicals in the cellar, he carried the body to the yard. He decided to strip it bare and separately dispose of all her recognisable belongings, clothing, shoes and shoulder bag.

Taking two new empty liners, he forced her soft warm corpse headfirst into one and doubled her legs into the other. Using a roll of adhesive tape that he had brought from the cellar, he bound the two together, wrapping more tape around the improvised packaging to secure the two plastic sacks.