Innocent Blood (14 page)

He pulled the van on to the waste ground, several streets away from his lodgings. He groaned with misery at his lack of progress, his body slumping over the wheel. Things were getting really difficult now and he knew the police were closing in on him. He could feel their presence like a rough noose slowly tightening around his neck. It had been so easy at the start but now there were so many obstacles. It had been a fairly straight road down which he’d travelled, but now this pathway had turned into a maze of cruel complexity.

He didn’t mind being caught when it was all over – in fact he welcomed being caught then, for there would be nothing else left for him. He would be happy to spend the rest of his days staring at the grey walls of a cell, knowing he had righted a great wrong, that he had carried out acts of justice in honour of his little girl. But to be apprehended before he had finished what he had set out to do would be a tragedy. The thought of this turned his stomach and tears began to stream down his face. More and more now, unbidden and unfettered emotion would overtake him without warning, shaking his body and causing a harsh tightness across the chest. He did not fight it. He allowed this strange passionate reaction to have its way with his body. He now considered it almost a cleansing process, as though the tears and the pain were exorcising his fears and doubts. After a few minutes, the tremors and tears subsided, leaving his body limp and his mind exhausted. He lay for quite a while resting across the wheel of the van, neither fully awake nor asleep, a kind of ease restoring itself.

At length he pulled himself up, dragged the sleeve of his coat across his face to catch some of the dampness there and then got out of the vehicle. Tomorrow is another day, he told himself, the cliché rebuilding his strength of purpose. He would act tomorrow, whatever. That girl would die tomorrow. With this thought firmly in mind, buoying up his spirits, he set off towards Eva Hodge’s guest house and a good night’s rest.

However, when he turned the corner of the street, a shock was in store for him. Parked outside Mrs Hodge’s house was a police car, garish and shiny, illuminated by the fierce amber glow of the street light. He froze for a moment taking in the scene and then instinctively he stepped backwards into the shadows, his horrified eyes never leaving the offensive vehicle for a second.

‘What the fuck,’ he mouthed as a faint whisper. They were on to him. But how? Well, the how didn’t really matter. What really mattered was that there was a police car outside the place where he had been kipping and no doubt there was a burly copper inside the house at this very moment, turning over his room looking for clues. That phrase caused him to give a twisted grin. It wasn’t ‘his room’ for Christ’s sake, it was just the place where he had hoped to hole up for a few days. Thank God, he had kept the stuff he’d taken in there to a minimum. But, nevertheless … they were that close to him.

Amid these thoughts, the question came again: how? How had the police found out where he was staying? What had he done wrong? How had he slipped up? God, he had to get the hell away from here. And fast.

In an instant he was running, running as fast as he could back to the van. Within minutes he was revving up the engine and the wheels where churning up the mud on the waste ground as the vehicle rocked and lurched forward. With a swaying motion, it bumped on to the road and it turned left away from Mortar Street and Mrs Eva Hodge’s place. Frank Hirst wasn’t conscious of the red Cavalier speeding past him in the opposite direction, the driver, his lean pallid face drawn in concentration. Equally, Detective Inspector Paul Snow had no notion that he had just driven past the man he was seeking, the murderer of three young girls.

It was half past midnight when Paul Snow eventually made his way home. As he drove away from Mortar Street he tried to assess objectively whether tonight’s surprise event had actually benefited the investigation or not. It was a close call. In one sense the net was closing in on Frank Hirst, but while they had sealed off one of his hidey holes, they had done it in such a fashion as to alert him to how close they were on his tail and, like a cunning, frightened mole, he would burrow a great deal deeper now and take more precautions. It was almost a guerrilla war scenario. They knew where he was likely to strike – or try to strike – but how he would do it and when were still questions for which they had no answers. Snow believed that Hirst was so dedicated in his mission to kill all those who had survived his own daughter, and only those, that he would not harm anyone else in his attempt to bring this to a successful conclusion. To kill or even injure someone whom Hirst would see as an innocent bystander would contaminate the purity of his cause. It had to be those who had cheated death. And only those. That was how Snow viewed it. He couldn’t be sure he was right or that Bob Fellows and his other colleagues would see it in the same light.

One thing was for sure. He had to organise tighter security for the two girls tomorrow. They were in greater danger than ever now. Bloody hell, he thought as he put his key into the lock, it already is tomorrow. He checked his wrist watch. It was 12.45. So much for my early night.

He turned the key but the door wouldn’t open. Wait a minute, he thought, I moved the key to the right. That would have locked the door. To test this theory, he twisted the key in the opposite direction and the door opened. Don’t tell me that I left in such a hurry that I forgot to lock the door. Snow cast his mind back to his departure earlier that night. He had a vision of himself locking the door. He was very particular about his own security. But was that a true vision or wishful thinking? He groaned quietly. He really was too tired to work it out but still a feeling of unease settled on him as he entered his sitting room.

As he did so, the table lamp in the corner clicked on, filling the room with a pale yellow light, by which Snow observed a figure sitting in the armchair by the fire.

‘What time do you call this?’ the figure said, leaning forward so that Snow could see his face. He had already recognised the voice before he caught sight of the features in the lamp’s glow.

It was Colin Bird.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked, his voice bristling with anger.

‘I’ve come to see you.’

‘How … how the hell did you get in?’

‘Oh, come now. I’m a policeman. I have my methods.’

Snow’s instinct was to grab the bastard by the throat and thump him hard, but despite being weary and angry he was sharp enough to realise that he may well come off the worse in such an encounter. Bird was taller and of a larger build than him. A different tactic was needed. With a swift movement, Snow returned to the door and switched the main light on, blinking as the shadows vanished in the harsh illumination.

‘Would you like to tell me what this is all about?’ He had tried to adopt a reasonable tone but he failed to keep the anger out of his voice.

Bird flashed him a smile. ‘It’s about you. It’s about you, Paul Snow. I wanted to see you.’

Snow shook his head. ‘You’re not making sense. You’re saying you broke into my house, the home of a fellow police officer, because you wanted to see me. That just doesn’t make fucking sense!’

‘It does to me, Paul. You must know that I have feelings for you.’

‘Feelings.’ A ghost walked over Paul Snow’s grave.

Bird rose from the chair. He was no longer smiling. His face now wore a pale mask of anguish. ‘Feelings. Yes, I love you.’

‘What!’ Snow shook his head in disbelief. Was this tragi-comedy really being played out in his living room?

‘I know you share the same feelings as me,’ Bird was saying, ‘it’s just that you won’t admit them.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t feel anything for you.’

‘Are you denying you’re gay?’

Oh, my God, thought Paul, not this again. He shook his head. ‘Yes, I am denying it.’

‘You bloody liar. No straight man goes to Sherwood’s. I know that. You’ve been there more than once. I made enquiries. And don’t come up with some cock and bull story about being on a case or carrying out some surveillance because I’ve checked up on you, DI Paul Snow.’

Snow paused. This was getting deep now and serious. Was he really in danger of his secret being exposed? How indiscreet had Bird been in his enquiries? The stupid bastard. Snow thought again: was Colin Bird just an infatuated fool or, indeed, was this a honey trap?

‘You are deluded, Colin, and you are acting in a dangerous and irresponsible fashion. Breaking and entering is a serious offence.’

‘But you won’t report me, will you, Paul? To do that would mean questions, awkward questions would be asked and maybe the truth would come out.’

‘The truth?’

‘About you. About you being a closet queer.’

Now Paul really wanted to smash Bird in the face. In essence he was threatening to expose him and to ruin his career. And what for? Some misguided, irrational crush he seemed to have on him. It was clear that Bird had no concerns about his sexuality being revealed and equally had no qualms about dragging Snow into the limelight along with him.

‘You are mistaken, Colin, and rather disturbed,’ Snow said evenly. ‘You have misread so much. You have to pack up these thoughts and discard them. Go home and get some rest. Take a few days’ leave. I won’t say a thing about this episode, but you have to forget about it. And forget about me. I don’t want to see you again or have you making any attempt to contact me.’

Bird gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Are you so much of a coward? You cannot admit to me in the privacy of your own home where your feelings lie?’

‘They certainly do not lie with you.’

‘They might, if you gave them a chance. I’m a very caring person, Paul. We could be good together.’

Paul shook his head. ‘This is madness.’

‘The only madness is your denial. You need to stagger out into the daylight and release your inner passion. It’s not wrong, you know. It’s only other people who say it is. People who have no idea.’

‘I have no inner passion like yours.’ The words came thickly. Paul hated himself for uttering them. They were a lie and in making such a claim he was committing an act of self-betrayal. But he had no alternative. Long ago he had sworn never to leave that very restrictive closet into which he’d been born. Homosexuals were either pilloried or parodied and shunted to the periphery of society. They were viewed as the unclean by the general public at large. The press and media presented them as mincing clowns or evil sex fiends. Anyone who was of that persuasion in a position of authority from bank managers to politicians to magistrates was fair game for blackmail, exposure and trashing in the press. Great delight was expressed when outing and destroying the career of the closet gay. Snow should know. He had been the victim of blackmail and he vowed it would never happen again.

‘How can you say that?’ Bird said, rising from the chair. ‘It is a lie. You know it is a lie. We can share the secret together. I am not here to harm you. I am here to love you.’

Paul took a step back. His mind was a whirl. His usually self-contained nature, precise and practical, was thrown into confusion. He had no ideas, plans or procedures for such a situation. Not only was it unique but it had very dark and far-reaching connotations. He found himself saying, ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Oh, Paul, it is you who is being ridiculous. If you would just let your guard down, think what wonderful things you could experience: real companionship, love and sex.’

‘Get it into your head, I have no feelings for you. No feelings!’ Snow was shouting now and the words echoed round the room.

Bird took a step forward. ‘Give it a chance. I know deep down that you want to.’

Paul gave out an exasperated groan. ‘Just go, will you.’

‘Not until you admit to me …’

‘I will admit nothing. This is crazy talk.’

Bird grabbed hold of Snow’s arms and thrust his face so close, he could feel the warm breath on his cheek.

‘I don’t want to hurt you or upset you. Can’t you see that I care about you?’ He leaned forward and to Snow’s horror he realised that the man was going to kiss him. There was something now in Bird’s features, particularly his eyes, that Snow noticed for the first time. Perhaps it was only being exhibited for the first time. It was madness. Snow had seen it in the eyes of criminals. That slightly wild glassiness in the pupils that indicated that the person had lost touch with reality and was inhabiting his own twisted world. Whatever they were doing, no matter how wrong it was, they believed it was right. Bird had that same look. The man had lost it.

Snow acted quickly. With a powerful jerk of his arms, he thrust Bird away from him. The action was so violent that Bird fell backwards, knocking the armchair sideways in his fall, landing flat on his back on the carpet with a gasp of surprise. For some seconds both men remained still, as though they were appearing in a film that had been freeze framed. In reality they were each held by the bizarre nature of the events that had just unfolded: events that were both tragic and farcical. They had shifted into surreal territory. After a few moments Paul moved forward and extended his hand in an offer to help Bird up from his prone position. The offer was refused with a vicious swipe of the hand and a snarl.

‘You bastard,’ Bird roared, dragging himself to his feet. His whole demeanour had changed now. The shoulders were hunched aggressively and his features seemed to bloat with anger. ‘You’re going to regret this, you spineless bastard,’ he said, the voice a subterranean growl. ‘I’ve gone out on a limb coming to you like this and you just kick me in the teeth. I express my feelings for you and in return you attack me …’

Snow shook his head vigorously. ‘I didn’t attack you … I was trying to stop you doing something stupid. Look, I’m sorry you feel this way but you have misread the whole scenario.’

‘Have I? Have I really? So you’re not gay. You’re not shit scared that you’ll be ousted as PC Pansy and you’ve not just spit in my face …’

Snow was at a loss for words. He knew that whatever he said would only fuel Bird’s anger. He just shrugged his shoulders and sighed wearily.