Rules of Honour (10 page)

One of the men was holding a chain.

Another carried a stool
.

Yet another a gasoline can.

They walked behind him and Peterson did not have the courage to look. He heard the stool thud into place and then one of them step up on to it. When he heard the links of the chain rattling over the ceiling beams he closed his eyes. He was still standing thus when the chain was looped round his neck.

‘Take a step back, Charles.’ It wasn’t the big one now, but a stocky man whose face held more than a touch of the Orient in it.

Peterson mewled, but did as he was told.

‘Now step up.’

‘No, please. Oh God, no!’

‘Do it!’

One of those behind him, the one who had carried the gasoline, grasped Peterson by his shoulders and pulled him back and up on to the stool. As he did so, the man snapped. ‘My name is Tennant. I want you to take that name with you when you die, so you know who it was that killed you. Motherfucker, you deserve worse than
this
for what you forced my sister-in-law to do.’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘You don’t, huh?’ Tennant struck him in his lower back. ‘You don’t remember raping a young woman who was so ashamed she took her own life afterwards?’

‘What? Who . . . your sister-in-law? But . . . but you’re an American!’

‘So was she, you sick bastard!’

‘They were the enemy!’

The big man suddenly held up a hand. ‘Finally we’re getting to the truth.’

‘No,’ Peterson cried. ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m not admitting to—’

Tennant struck him in the back again, pain flooding him, digging into his liver like a lance.

The Asian holding the chain reeled in the slack. The screech of links over wood was harsh, like the breath that caught in Peterson’s throat. ‘Don’t . . . do . . . this . . .’

But they did. He stood on the stool, unbalanced and stumbling, but only for as long as it took Tennant to kick away the legs. The stool broke with a snap, tilted sideways and Peterson was suddenly dancing in space, the chain digging mercilessly into his throat. Blood pounded in his head, his eyes bulging, his tongue pushing from between his teeth.

He did not see, but some of the men turned away, sickened by what they bore witness to. Others only watched him coolly. Tennant was laughing. Even through the torment, Peterson heard one of them say: ‘Jesus, he’s not dying quickly enough.’

‘Don’t shoot him,’ Tennant snapped. ‘Let the bastard die in agony.’

‘No,’ said another, the soft burr evident, ‘we’re not animals, let’s just get this over with quickly.’

A gun blasted.

Chapter 13

We couldn’t look each other in the face.

Yukiko was sickened by what she’d related, while I was bilious for another reason. I’ve never been known for my liberal views; when it comes to rapists and murderers there is only one thing good for them in my opinion. But, I was gutted by the fact that good people had been pushed into doing something totally against their natures. It made me wonder now if Andrew had suffered the guilt of what he’d done. The burden he carried for the last four decades must have weighed heavily on him. At times when he and Rink had been at odds, I could imagine the reason why he didn’t approve of his son following my vigilante lead.

‘They summarily executed him,’ I finally said. My voice was flat. I wasn’t being judgmental. How could I be?

‘That was always going to happen,’ Yukiko admitted. ‘But things got out of hand.’

‘When Andrew shot him?’

‘No. That was an act of pity. Despite what Peterson did to all those children, Andrew wasn’t the type to torture the beast. To do that would be to stoop to
his
level. No, I’m talking about Tennant.’

‘What did he do?’

‘You might remember that one of them carried a can of gasoline into the cellar. Andrew brought it so that they could burn their clothing afterwards, to get rid of any trace evidence. Tennant had other ideas.’

‘He set Peterson on fire?’

Yukiko dipped her head, placed her hands over her face. ‘The flames were roaring behind them as the men fled the cellar. They were shouting and arguing and I could tell the decision to light the fire was
unpopular
. I saw Andrew strike Tennant before the others could stop him. I did not hear what was said, but I guessed that Tennant had doused Peterson and set him on fire . . . before he died.’

‘Jesus,’ I said, more a sound of disgust than prayer.

This revelation clarified two things for me. It explained why Andrew and Yukiko hadn’t remained friends with Tennant in the following years. Plus, it made sense of the modus operandi of Tennant’s subsequent murder. Whoever was responsible was re-enacting the killing of Charles Peterson.

‘Four of the original seven have already been killed,’ I said, conscious that Yukiko’s husband was one of them. ‘Andrew, Jed, Tennant, and Daniel Lansdale. Who are the other three?’

Yukiko bit her lip, deciding. She must have come to the conclusion that to keep these names from me was pointless. After all, her secret was out now, and the only way things could ever end was if she told me everything. ‘You met two of them already: Lawrence Parnell and Rodney Faulks. The final one is called Yoshida Takumi.’

Having met Parnell and Faulks, I immediately discounted them as having had any part in the murders – other than that either man might be next. But it was the first I’d learned of Yoshida and I wished to know more.

Yukiko made a sound of scorn, not for Yoshida but for my unspoken hypothesis. ‘There you go assuming things again, Joe. Takumi is a fine and noble man. He was there to avenge his sister’s honour. He is not responsible for what has happened since.’

‘It has to be someone who was there, Yukiko. How else would they have knowledge of how Peterson died in order to re-enact it?’

‘I assure you that Takumi is not responsible.’

‘How can you be so certain?’

‘He was injured during the Korean War, fighting for
this
country. He took shrapnel in the gut, but that is not what exonerates him from blame. Though indirectly it does. As he aged, his injuries came back to plague him: problems with his liver and pancreas. A side-effect being he became an insulin dependent diabetic. Complications have arisen in the last few years, blindness for one. Two years ago, he lost both legs to amputation. He has been in a wheelchair since, and is cared for round the clock by his granddaughter. Do you still think he is the one?’

‘Where is he now?’

‘You will not let it rest even after what I’ve just told you?’

‘It’s not that I think he’s responsible – how could he be? But I’m pretty damn sure that he’s in danger. No way am I going to allow him to face a murderer alone.’

‘He lives with his granddaughter as I said. I will give you his address.’

‘You said you telephoned to warn the others: you included Mr Yoshida in this? What about the granddaughter?’

‘I did not tell her. My words were for Takumi alone.’

‘I understand why you wouldn’t tell her, but if she’s with her grandfather then she could also be in danger. It makes things difficult for us. Me and Rink can’t watch everyone.’

‘There are the others, too. Lawrence and Rodney. They are equally in danger.’

‘And there’s you, Mom.’

We spun to find Rink standing in the doorway. His gaze looked haunted as he stared back at us. He rapped a knuckle on the door frame. ‘This old house has thin walls. And I’ve got good ears. I’ve heard everything that’s been said, even from the length of the hall.’

Yukiko got up. She looked like she wanted to go and hug him, but instead crossed her hands across her stomach and stood with her head bowed. ‘Despite what you heard, your father was a good man.’

‘I know, Mom.’ He glanced at me, and I could read the pain in his features, but it wasn’t at finding that his father had once murdered a man. ‘The truth is, there’s nothing he did I wouldn’t have done myself.’

‘That is what frightens me, son.’ Yukiko moved towards him and Rink opened his arms for her.

‘You needn’t be frightened. I won’t let this man hurt anyone else. Definitely not you: I love you, Mom.’ Rink hugged her, and it was touching enough that I was forced to turn away. I even blinked a couple of times so that when I looked back it was with clear vision. Rink bent so that he could kiss Yukiko on the top of her head, then he looked at me. ‘There weren’t seven people involved when Peterson died; there were nine of them. Rose Newmark and my mom were there as well. Rose died a few years ago and is free from this killer, but my mom’s still at risk.’

Yukiko shook her head, pressing away from him gently. ‘I was there when your dad was killed; the opportunity was there to kill me too. I do not think I’m in any danger.’

‘Mom, the bastard struck you in the head with his gun. I don’t mean to insult you, but you’re an old lady now, in poor health. What are the chances he expected you to survive? Maybe he thought that you were already dead, but once he learns otherwise . . .’

Chapter 14

Sometimes he could still feel his toes. Occasionally they tickled, and the sensation was a pleasant reminder. But at other times pain would flare, and if he could get up and run from it, he would. It was phantom pain only, residual memory imprinted on his brain, recollections from before the nerve endings were severed when the surgeons took away his legs. There was no escaping the bad memories.

He laughed at that.

No indeed.

For more than forty years he’d tried to put aside the shocking developments that had escalated in the cellar of the demolished concentration camp. As often as had all the others there – barring that borderline psychopath, Bruce Tennant – he regretted allowing his hatred and self-righteous fury to get the better of him. It was right that a monstrous child rapist had received his dues, and that the brother of one of the violated girls should bear witness when that happened, but still, it had been a difficult scene to stomach. When he was first contacted by Andrew Rington he did not know the man, but one thing he was sure of was that he was speaking with someone who was both honourable and admirable, despite the course of action he had suggested. Takumi was only a toddler when his family had been ‘relocated’. He was too young at the time to remember the events at Rohwer, but in the years following the war, when his family returned to their home on the West Coast, he had watched his once beautiful sister dissolve into a pitiful figure, a wreck of humanity hastened by neurosis and paranoia to an early grave. When Rington told him what his sister, Kazumi, had suffered at the hands of Charles Henry Peterson, he knew that the abuse was at the core of her suffering, and the disintegration of her self-worth. Her slow death sentence was imposed the moment that monster first laid his filthy hands on her. To avenge her he’d willingly gone along with the other aggrieved family members. They all burned with fury at the injustice that Peterson had gone unpunished, but none could have guessed what it would lead them to do.

After that night, once all had been sworn to silence, they had parted company. Takumi knew that some of the men were friends and that they would continue to associate with each other, but Takumi was a stranger to them, and glad that it was so. He had left the stench of burning flesh behind, and tried ever since to expunge it from his soul. But – like the phantom pain – it would never leave him. There was always something to remind him; that, he knew, was the way of sin.

He wasn’t surprised when Yukiko Rington telephoned yesterday. He knew his time on earth was nearing its end, and understood that he would be judged and made to pay for his wrongdoing before taking his final rest. His Buddhist teaching said: ‘For every event that occurs, there will follow another event whose existence was caused by the first, and this second event will be pleasant or unpleasant according to its cause.’ Well, however he tried to vindicate his actions in the cellar, there was no getting away from the fact that they were unpleasant. According to Yukiko, four of the co-conspirators had already been served their dues, and it would be only a matter of time until karma came knocking at his door. It was ironic that evil begat evil, and that it chose further evil to punish those involved. He wondered how that circle could ever close, but suspected that it was an impossibility.

His granddaughter, Melissa, had resisted him when he suggested she go out with her friends. She had told him the movie would last two hours, but that she would be gone for at least four. No way would she leave him alone for that length of time. Takumi had then played the ‘grumpy old guy’ card, and sent her off with a flea in her ear, snapping at her that he was quite capable of sitting in a goddamn chair for a few hours, and by suggesting otherwise she was being both dishonourable and spiteful. Melissa had acquiesced, but only on the understanding that he have his cellphone in his lap, her number on speed dial and only the press of a button away. It was a game they both played, but one that satisfied each that they had retained the upper hand. Takumi smiled at the memory of the kiss she’d laid on his forehead, before she had rushed happily to join the friends waiting outside in the taxicab.

He was happy that Melissa was out of the way. He was only sorry she would be the first to find him dead.