Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (29 page)

"
I grew up in
those years, faster than I would have liked. I missed my childhood.
I had seen too much to have the innocent wonder of a child's
belief. I do not know if you remember mother, but I stopped playing
with toys at a young age, not that I ever had many.

I remember that day vividly, my toys would
not react to anything I did to them. They had no feelings. They
took their punishment and then lay there broken, mocking my
attempts to hurt them.

I threw them away and never, ever, touched a
silly child's toy again. It was my way of gaining control over
them.

Control was what I found myself craving. You
had no control mother, father could not control himself, but at
least he could control you. In my eyes that gave him power, power
to decide, power to feed his cravings at will.

At least he was living mother; it was more
than what you were doing.

I bet it came as a relief the day he made
the biggest choice of all for you.

It certainly changed my
life
".

After leaving Jo with Mrs. Watson, Bridger
had made his way back to the office. He was damned if he was going
to let Matthews dictate what he did today. He had too much invested
in this to leave it now. Grant looked up from the computer screen
as he walked in the door.

"Are you all right
Mike?
”
he
said, with a concerned look on his face. "Becky's just phoned from
the custody suite; she told me what happened back at the warehouse
with Jonas".

"The prick just pissed me off Grant; I was
out of order whatever the reason though".

"Well I didn't see what happened there Mike
so I'm not going to comment".

"Thanks Grant, are we any further ahead with
finding her location?", he said, as he looked towards the three
computer nerds who had now joined forces and were all huddled
around one monitor in quiet discussion.

"Those three haven't said much since
you was here last, I haven't seen or heard anything in the dialogue
to give us any clues yet. I have had John checking on missing
persons and friends of Marion to see if we can ID the male but no
luck. It seems he is an unknown at this stage. From what I have
heard so far, after she stopped dancing, is about his childhood
with his mother. It sounds like he grew up in an abusive home. He
blames his mother for it. I'm not sure what he has planned but I
bet it
’
s
not going to be pleasant".

"It seems everyone has a past they don't
want to remember", Bridger said, "Mrs. Watson is upstairs telling
Jo about when she fell pregnant with Marion. It sounds like her
family wasn’t happy with that either".

"The worlds a messed up place", Grant said,
as they both looked back at the image of Marion hanging limply next
to the comatose male, all bathed in an unnatural light.

Becky walked into the office behind them and
sat at her desk. Bridger looked over towards her but could not
detect anything in her neutral expression.

"I've booked Jonas into the cells, he
refused any medical attention, and before you ask, he hasn't made
any complaint, yet".

The tone of Becky
’
s voice made Bridger feel
like a twelve year old, reprimanded by the mistress for smoking
behind the sheds.

"Thanks Becky", was all he managed to
say.

Becky looked back at Bridger, but did not
say anything. He saw the slight shake of her head as she looked
down at her desk and began writing in her notebook. Bridger looked
away slightly embarrassed just as Brian Johnson walked into the
office.

"Change of plea at the 11th hour, guilty on
all counts", he said cheerily. "Le Cruick has been remanded in
custody for sentencing in a couple of weeks". The smile on his face
faded as he looked around the room, "Where are you at with the
missing girl", he said.

"Have a look", Bridger said, pointing at the
computer.

His eyes focused on the computer screen
nearest to him and widened slightly as he took in the macabre drama
playing out on the screen. "That doesn't look good. You had better
fill me in on what's happening Mike".

"To be honest Brian we have been chasing our
tails a bit, lets grab a quick coffee in the canteen", Bridger
said, "I need the caffeine hit".

As they made their way out of the office,
Bridger felt himself relaxing a little, Brian's calm confidence
boosting his mood. A fresh pair of eyes was maybe what they needed
to make sense of what had turned out to be a fast moving day.

"I don't want anything to happen to my
daughter, Constable". Mrs. Watson said. "Don
’
t let that man hurt her, I
don't think I could cope with that". She looked back at the screen,
reached out and touched the surface, stroking Marion's face through
the glass. She then quickly turned her head away and took a deep
breath, stifling more tears before they overcame her.

"How did your son die, Mrs.
Watson?
”
Jo
asked, wanting to get back on track.

"I don't want you to judge me Constable; you
must remember it was a different time in my life. I was a different
person. I am stronger now, which is why I will tell you. I haven't
spoken of that time to any one since it happened".

Mrs. Watson took Jo's hand in hers again and
looked into her eyes.

"I let him kill my son", she said.

Jo was unsure of what to say next so just
remained silent. She gave Mrs. Watson's hand a little squeeze in
reassurance.

"I need to tell you why though; you have to
hear what I have to say before you form an opinion on that".

"Okay", Jo said quietly

"He broke me; day after day he worked
on me with his words. Then his words turned to fists and he hurt
me. The first few years he was careful about where he hit me. He
left only bruises in places no one saw. After a while, he realised
that I would not say anything so he got careless. He hit me
wherever he pleased. He left whatever mark on me he felt like and
would smile while he did it. The only way I could cope was to close
myself off from the world. My son suffered more from my neglect
than from his father
’
s fists.

Daniel grew up a very unhappy child because
of me. You know I do not think I have ever seen a child that did
not know how to play. Daniel used to sit in his room with his toys
spread around him. He would be quietly mumbling to himself but not
really interacting with them. He could not play. I know it is
because of what was happening inside the wooden box we lived in.
Every day of his life, the box sealed itself that much tighter.
Layer upon layer of tape added to the outside until it completely
sealed. There was no escape for him. He was just a child. I was the
one holding the scissors, the one who could cut the tape binding
the lid. I was too afraid.

It is not right. I know that now. I
have
worked that out with the benefit of time. I have
developed a maturity since those days, I will never really get over
it but I have learned to live with it, in my own way. Daniel never
got that chance. I let him down. He paid the price that was my
debt. Sometimes I wish I had died that night as well.

I used to pray for death, Constable. It was
the only end I could see to my pitiful existence".

"What happened", Jo asked gently.

"It got so bad one night that I actually
called for help. After finishing with me, he had turned his
attention to Daniel. He beat that boy black and blue. After he had
had his fill, he left the house and went out drinking. Daniel was
crying in the bathroom. When I went in to see him, he was naked
from the waist down, his buttocks covered in faeces. He was
desperately trying to scrub his underwear clean. You see, Daniel
had lost control of his bowels while his father carried on hitting
him. He looked so embarrassed; tears and snot were mixing with
blood from his nose.

The poor boy was beside himself. Maybe it
was that sight that finally got through to me, I realised we needed
to reach out for help.

So I called the police".

Brian sat across the table from Bridger, his
demeanor more of a father figure than a colleague. Bridger had
found himself opening up to him over the cup of coffee, more than
discussing the case; he unburdened himself completely in a rush of
words. He did not feel embarrassed, he felt relieved. Two men, face
to face, no secrets, completely shut off to the outside world. To
anyone on the outside watching it would have been a weirdly
intimate sight.

"Jesus Mike, you have got yourself in
a tight situation. Are you holding up?
”
He asked the question without
judgment.

"Just about..., well as much as always I
think".

"You were in the army went
you?
”

Bridger did not understand the question.

"That was a long time ago Brian, I wasn't
really suited to the overbearing authority, to hard headed
according to my superiors".

"What I
’
m getting at is that you must have
learnt to take orders without question, whatever you thought about
them. This job can be like that sometimes. You just have to shut up
and take it".

Bridger looked at Brian; he seemed so in
control, level headed.

"Maybe it would have been better if you had
put your hand up for this job Brian. You did an exceptional job
relieving in the position".

"Well that's all academic now, putting
your personal life aside, it
’
s your job and you either have to man up and
do it, or do as Matthews says and go and hide in a corner waiting
to be transferred to the dark side... Are you up to it,
Mike"?

Bridger looked at Brian's face; he could not
see a trace of judgment in his expression. A face you could trust,
calm under pressure and he always listened.

"Let's get this done", Bridger said.

"Good man", Brian replied as he rose from
his chair, an indication to Bridger that it was time to get to
work.

"What are you going to do about
Matthews?
”
Brian was saying as they walked along the
corridor.

"I'm just going to ignore him for the
moment, stay out of his way and finish this job. I may have a
better bargaining position then if it comes to a disciplinary
hearing".

"That's not going to be an easy thing to put
behind you Mike. If Jonas makes a complaint you could lose your
job".

"He would be well within his rights to throw
me to the wolves Brian and I wouldn't blame him if he did". Better
not to think about that now.

The bright light went out suddenly leaving
the room in absolute darkness. It was a welcome relief to Marion,
not having to see that poor pitiful man in front of her. She had
tried to make a connection with him as she hung there, but his eyes
betrayed nothing except hopelessness. That was not what she wanted.
She wanted him to be strong. She wanted him to make her feel hope.
She had begun to feel like he was letting her down. He was a male;
he was supposed to be the hero. She wanted him to break free from
his shackles and come to her rescue. All he showed her was despair
and frailty. She hated this man.

Marion sensed some movement in the darkness,
a sudden shifting of air. She could hear the sound of shallow
breathing next to her ear, first one side then the other. She could
feel hot breath on her cheek, the disgusting wet sucking sound of a
tongue flicking in and out of dry lips. She knew it was the shadow,
invisible in the darkness. Marion bucked against her bonds; she
tried to force her hands to lash out against the darkness, hoping
to connect with something, anything to dispel the inhuman nightmare
he had become.

A strong hand gripped her wrist,
stopping her movements. The pressure was excruciating, somebody
thrust an object into her palm,
something hard, cold,
and cylindrical. She felt a hand close her fingers around the shaft
and held them closed. The hand released the pressure on her wrist,
the free hand now wrapping tape around her closed
fingers.

She heard a whisper in her ear.

"
A gift
mother, the power to help yourself
".

Then the shadow was gone.

"Something's happened to the feed", Grant
said urgently. "We've lost the picture". He was now staring at a
black screen, the last image of Marion still fresh in his mind.

"According to this, the feed is still
live," Sam said, indicating a row of numbers flashing across the
bottom of his computer. "The lights must have gone out. Can you
hear anything?
”

Grant turned up the volume and lent his head
closer to the computer monitor.

"You’re right I can still hear some
movement, it doesn't sound like much is going on though", Grant
said.

"How much noise does a murder actually
make?
”
John
said. "It's not like on the telly is it? One thrust of a knife in
the right place. You wouldn't hear that would you".

"Bloody hell John,
let
’
s hope
that's not what is happening", Becky said; "Besides it doesn't fit
with what's already happened. I don't think he's finished yet, this
mad man has more in store for poor Marion".

The room went quiet, the two computer geeks
either side of Sam had lost all colour in their faces. The more
slovenly of the two, Jack Woolich, looked like he was about to
vomit. They were all looking at the computer screens, waiting for
the lights to come on, hoping it would make John a liar.