Approaching Zero (26 page)

“And you did stab a guy in the face. I was perfectly within my rights to arrest you.”

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah, you did that already, Kathy.”

Silence.

“Is that what this is about, Spinoza? What kind of child are you? Can’t get what you want so you have to arrest it.”

“Believe it or not, Kathy, I actually care about you, but I know what happens to people who care about you.”

“That’s a low blow.”

Silence again.

“Look, I’m sorry. But when you hear what’s been going on you’ll understand why I need your help and I can’t bring you in the front door anymore. People at the station were suspicious enough of you when you came to Spooner’s interview. I can’t call you professionally because, well, you know why, and we can’t have people off the street sitting in on interviews. You’ll spend the night in the cells and be bailed in the morning.”

“That’s all right then! Have you get any idea what I’ve been through tonight?”

“None of that matters, Kathy. We have a serious lead and I need more information. I need you to help me get it.”

Kathy looked at him, wide-eyed, but didn’t protest this time.

“Aadidev Bhat—your Indian guru. I didn’t think much of it at the time and it was only when all of our other leads dried up that I thought I’d look into it. The remote psychic blocking thing is all over my head, so I had to take your word for the fact that he might be capable of either putting up a boundary in front of the memory of himself in others, does that make sense? Or consulting with someone else to give them this skill. Is that it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, none of this is a police issue, as we don’t deal in the spiritual side of life, but it definitely led me to delve a little deeper and I ended up consulting with police in Mumbai who were compiling a case against him.”

“Sexual abuse,” Kathy said matter-of-factly.

“No. Bones.”

“Bones?”

Spinoza nodded his head sharply and another crack of thunder broke the sky, followed shortly by lightning that momentarily illuminated the entire car. “You wrote it yourself on that note you gave me; something about the ingredients in his remedies. Bones, ground bones. Human bones.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Apparently ground bones have miraculous properties and people from around the world pay hundreds of thousands to receive his healing. Child bones, Kathy. Do you get it now?”

“Oh my God!”

“Police in Mumbai apprehended a runner delivering ground bone packages from the UK. Under analysis, the mixture contained bone fragments from Brixton O’Neal, Davy Schneider, Tanya Bolia, and three of the other children abducted from the Midlands.”

“This is sick. This is beyond sick. I’ve never heard of anything as dark as this, Spinoza. My God, children killed to make healing potions. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I know. We have the runner in custody though and I’m going to put you in with him. He’s just a kid, but we haven’t been able to get a word out of him.”

“So we’re looking for someone else.”

“Of course we are. Someone’s running things here, Kathy, and I know that you can either listen to this boy’s thoughts and trace him or do the psychologist thing that you’re so good at and talk him round. We need answers tonight. Heston Wellsey is still missing.”

“But none of this makes sense. I know what I’ll see in this boy’s mind—the bloody skull daisy. That’s the problem we’ve had all along. Whoever is behind this is protecting themselves—he’s obviously consulted with Bhat to remotely block any kind of psychic from discovering him, but how would he even know that a psychic would be after him? It’s not every day that a psychic works with the police to track down criminals. Why would he even think of needing that?”

“I have no idea and, to be honest, I couldn’t give a shit. All I care about is the win here. If we can save Heston Wellsey and nab this sicko then at least we’ve salvaged something,” Spinoza said seriously, but the answer he received came not from Kathy, but from the radio on the dash.

“Ah, would that it was that easy.” It was a low, gruff voice and Spinoza picked up the receiver to reply.

“Alpha echo Charlie two, please repeat.”

“Surprising how easy it is to shuffle into your radio waves, Mr Spinoza,” the voice replied and although it had a low and drawn-out tone, there was unmistakable glee behind the words as if the speaker was excited to be finally making his voice heard.

“Who is this?”

“The skull daisy,” Kathy mouthed.

“Ah, Miss Smith. I love it when a plan comes together. How is your evening, dear? I had planned to send my guy to your house tonight, but it seems that enough people hate you already for you to be unsafe in your own bed. Most convenient. And now I’ve got you both together. I don’t think I would be overstating events to say that this has gone better than I ever could have imagined. Fancy you arresting the last woman you slept with!”

Before either could answer, he added, “Yes, it’s a wonder isn’t it. How does the man in the radio box know these things? Well, I know everything.”

“What do you want, you sick fuck?” Spinoza asked.

“Well, a little respect wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and a bit of company. On a night like this a man needs company, don’t you agree?” He actually paused to wait for an answer and sounded a little disappointed when he had to continue without one. “Of course, I’ve already started without you. It is a cold, cold night and a man needs someone with whom to snuggle.”

When the line was silent, Spinoza looked urgently to Kathy who was shaking her head. “Suri!” she suddenly panicked.

“Suri’s with my lot,” Spinoza told her. “They would still be there.”

“She was asleep. I told them not to disturb her. She was so upset. She’s been through so much.”

“They wouldn’t have…” He wanted to say that they wouldn’t have left her and that she would be okay, but the words strayed as he analysed the situation and weighed up the probability of someone slipping in and snatching the young girl from her bed.

“Guess again!” the voice told them, the delight bubbling on the surface of every single word.

Spinoza and Kathy gravely looked to each other again and were about to discuss things further when the sound of screaming invaded the car.

“Can you name that tune in one?” the deranged voice asked and then the screams took over.

“Kathy, get me the fuck out of here!”

Spinoza looked to Kathy one last time and could just see in the light from the street lamps that what colour she had left was dissolving.

“It’s Brady,” she said. “He’s got Brady.”

“I’m at the old clay house. I’m having an exhibition and you’re both invited. Tell no one and bring no one and your little playmate here might just live to tell the tale, but probably not. This is about to get interesting.”

Chapter 24

Spinoza jammed the car into first gear and spun off quicker than was safe, throwing Kathy against the door beside her, her handcuffed hands useless for support. And still the rain was relentless, hammering down on the car as if it knew that tonight was the night.

“You’ll kill us before we get there!” Kathy called out and before she could say more, her body was thrown against the seat in front of her and car horns screamed out in the road. Spinoza had hit something.

“You okay?” he asked and then fiercely spun the wheel and they were off again, slower this time, but still too fast for the visibility.

“Slow down!” Kathy appealed again, now practically on her side.

“We don’t know what this psychopath is capable of. Actually,” Spinoza corrected himself, “we know exactly what he’s capable of.”

Kathy managed to grip the seatbelt fastener behind her and finally stay upright.

“You know the old clay house?” Spinoza asked.

“I know of it.”

“It was a factory really. Been closed many years now—we pick up the odd junkie dossing there. They used to hand-make all sorts of pots and plates. Guess it’s all done by machines now.”

Kathy was barely listening, repeating, “Please be okay, please be okay,” over and over again.

“We’ll be there in five minutes,” Spinoza assured her. “Just sit tight.” And again the car skidded around a corner, barely missing the cars parked there for the night.

Kathy stared at the drenched window again, trying to calm herself, but her body had clicked into a new gear that she had no idea she possessed. It was as if her head had filled with liquid and she couldn’t quite hear or see properly anymore. And as fast as the car was actually going, the motion felt slow, as if they were travelling through a flicker-pad of the town rather than the real thing. She thought she might be sick, but there was nothing left to come out of her. She thought she might cry, but similarly, the wells were dry. All she could do was stare and hope that Spinoza got them there in one piece.

After what felt like hours, but was only four minutes, the car screeched to its final halt and Spinoza had the door open before the engine was off.

“Stay here!” he told Kathy.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Didn’t you hear him? He wanted both of us here, Spinoza. Come and let me out of these cuffs.”

“Kathy, I really–”

“Let me out, Spinoza!”

The door opened beside Kathy and Spinoza reached behind for the cuffs. Kathy leaned forward and her hands were finally freed. She didn’t even bother to grip and rub the wrists. She was out of the car as soon as she was free. And together with Spinoza, she was running through the rain to the entrance of the old clay house.

The clay house was situated on an industrial patch on the edge of town that buyers had consistently viewed over the years before dismissing. It stood under the shade of various imposing, Victorian factories and workhouses with windows blown out or boarded up. The clay house itself was an apologetic little structure compared to its neighbors, standing only two floors tall with wooden doors more commonly seen on a farmhouse. The windows here were also boarded up and there were no signs of life, so Spinoza and Kathy darted to the front door.

“God, look at this.”

Kathy leaned in to what was clearly a daisy nailed to the door, but on further inspection she could see that it was a fragment of bone holding it in place. Spinoza raised his fist to knock on the wooden door, but Kathy reached out to stop him. Instead, she silently reached out to turn the rusting, bulbous handle. It budged heavily in her hand and the door edged slowly forward. Spinoza and Kathy cautiously entered and forced the heavy door shut behind them. The silence after standing in the violent storm rang in their ears and they shook themselves free of as much water as possible as they looked around the ancient, candlelit space. They both wanted to charge forward and find this maniac, but they were aware that they were in his territory now and would have to take it slowly. They would have to play by his rules and the first part of the game was to find him.

The clay house actually looked much bigger inside, but was disappointingly gutted so that none of the original charm remained. As a sightseer, one might trace their fingers across the markings on the walls to get a sense of where the workstations would have been and where the massive kiln would have resided. Nothing remained but the earthy aroma of clay and sweat and Kathy and Spinoza had no interest in any of it anyway. The empty space that faced them gave them no idea whatsoever of what they should do next.

Spinoza silently indicated that he was going to split off to the left to investigate the shapes cast by the tea-lights dotted around the floor, while Kathy naturally veered to the other side of the room. The light was just bright enough for outlines to form—an old, stowaway nut and bolt here, a piece of broken pot there. And then Kathy saw something that she knew had been left there for them.

“Spinoza!” she whispered and the DCI appeared at her side to see the daisy at her feet. Looking off into the distance, they could see more—a trail, a daisy chain. They slowly and carefully followed it, all the time feeling that eyes were upon them, laughing at them for playing the game so well and delivering themselves to their own fate so willingly, but they had no choice. Brady was everything.

“Here!” said Kathy and another candlelit outline came into view at the end of the trail: a heavy looking trapdoor with a massive, rusty ring handle. Spinoza applied himself to the job with rigour, pulling at the handle with everything he had, and only managed to raise the door by a few inches. It was only when Kathy helped him, dragging at the handle with him, both of them groaning deeply with the strain, that they managed to open it, revealing a darkness that forced both of them to pause. The lightning sent flares outside once again and Kathy and Spinoza silently asked of each other, eye to eye, if they were up to it. With no words spoken and a grim resolve pasted to his face, Spinoza switched on the light on his mobile and shone it down the shaft. They could clearly see the ground and the ladder leading down to it, so they exchanged another silent agreement and Spinoza began to climb down. Kathy followed behind and could see nothing but the thin beam of Spinoza’s phone showing up snatches of old brickwork.

“This way,” Spinoza told her.

“How do you know?”

“Look down.”

Spinoza shone the torch to the ground and Kathy could see that the trail had not only continued, but there was now a carpet of daisies ahead of them leading the way.

“Stay close,” Spinoza told her and they slowly began to move through the cold and breezy walkway, which seemed to lead to indefinite nothingness. Kathy was aware as they walked that there was no way of knowing which building they were now under. Was there anyone else alive who actually knew these tunnels existed? The thought chilled her, but she filled her head with Brady to keep her strong. Brady would have powered down these tunnels for her, in her combats with a flamethrower and a belt full of grenades. All she had to do was keep calm, follow the route and… and… then she had no idea, but whatever it was she would do it.

  After they had walked for some minutes, a reddish glow was forming in the tunnel ahead of them.