The Keeper (37 page)

‘That kind of self-sacrifice can be damaging. Who looks after you while you’re looking after everybody else?’

‘My wife. My children. Myself.’

‘Sounds a little insular.’

‘To you maybe. Not to me.’

‘You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?’

‘No, I don’t, so let’s not. Besides, I’ve found a way you can finally be useful to me.’ He didn’t stop to think how that sounded.

‘Wow, thanks.’

‘You’ve spoken to DS Jones?’

‘Sally? Yes.’

‘You know what happened to her. You read the report, before you interviewed Gibran.’

‘I did, but anything Sally may have told me would be subject to patient confidentiality. I can’t discuss it with anyone.’

‘Appreciated, but all I want to know is whether there’s a serious problem there. Am I doing the right thing by letting her come to work, or should I re-think things?’

‘Isolation won’t help her, but I can’t say anything else. Understand?’

‘Understood. Loud and clear.’

‘Just don’t put her in harm’s way or expect too much from her.’

‘I won’t, but don’t underestimate her.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Listen, I appreciate the time out and the heads-up about Sally, but as you know, I’m standing in the middle of a storm here.’

‘And you need to get back to work.’

‘Sorry.’ He stood to leave, then paused, remembering the thing that had been playing on his mind since they’d first met. ‘I almost forgot – there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

‘I’m intrigued.’

‘Did Sebastian Gibran ever discuss James Hellier with you? His real name was Stefan Korsakov, but Gibran would have known him as Hellier.’

‘He did. Hellier was the one he blamed his crimes on – said he’d set him up, that he’d obviously spent years studying him so the police would think it was him and not Hellier who was the killer. Hellier seemed to be the focal point of his paranoid delusions.’

‘Clever bastard,’ Sean told her. ‘He switched the truth around. It was him who was using Hellier.’

‘So the police reports said.’

‘You mean what
my
report said?’ She didn’t answer. ‘He was an interesting character, James Hellier. I bet you would have liked to have had a chance to interview that one. You could have written a whole book about him.’

‘Why don’t you tell me about him?’

‘I can tell you that when I first met him I hated him. Then I was scared of him. But ultimately he saved my life …’ As if realizing he had let down his guard and come close to confiding, he broke off. When he spoke again, it was in his usual clipped, businesslike tone. ‘Truth is, I don’t really know how I feel about him. Time to go.’ He stretched out a hand to pick up the bill from its china plate, but Anna made a grab for it.

‘I’ll get this,’ she insisted, their fingers touching as they reached the plate at the same time, their eyes simultaneously flashing towards each other. Sean remained expressionless despite the sudden excitement he felt stirring inside him. He pulled his hand away, taking the bill with it.

‘My treat,’ he told her.

As Thomas Keller descended the stone stairs the syringe containing the alfentanil rolled from side to side on the tray. Keeping his thumb pressed on the precious transfer to prevent it from slipping away, he gave Louise Russell’s cage little more than a cursory glance as he crossed the room and crouched down beside Deborah Thomson. ‘I think it’s time, Sam,’ he said. ‘We’ve both been patient long enough.’ He placed the tray on the floor and picked up the transfer of the phoenix, showing it to her, anticipation and excitement coursing through him, and pride, pride at having rescued her from all the liars and manipulators. ‘This is for you,’ he continued, rolling up his sleeve to show her his identical tattoo, shaking the paper the transfer was stuck to, ensuring she was looking at it. ‘This isn’t a permanent one – you can have that done later, but this will do for now. Once you have this, we can be together, properly together.’

Her eyes moved from the ugly transfer to the syringe containing the clear liquid. Louise had told her he might use some type of anaesthetic on her. And then he’d apply the transfer to her arm, and then he’d come into her cage and he’d do things to her, things that horrified her, just as Louise had told her he would. She looked at the amount of liquid in the syringe, her nursing experience telling her it was almost certainly not enough to fully anaesthetize her, meaning he wanted her conscious. She forced herself to speak. ‘I need to get washed first,’ she said. ‘If we’re going to be together, then I want to be clean, for you.’

His eyes dilated fully before shrinking to black holes, his body shaking, almost unable to deal with her sudden acceptance of him. He frantically scratched at his forehead with the fingernails of his right hand, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw a little blood that seeped into the tiny lines of the thin skin. ‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘Of course, but forgive me, I need to make you safe first, for your own protection, you understand.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘What are you going to do to me?’

‘I’m going to protect you,’ he said, a confused look on his face, as if he couldn’t understand why she sounded so concerned and afraid. ‘I would never hurt you, Sam.’ She accidentally looked past him towards Louise, and his head whipped around to catch what she was looking at. Louise quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed the silent communication between them. ‘What’s she been saying?’ he asked Deborah, his lips pale, eyes burning with hatred. ‘She’s been poisoning you against me, hasn’t she? Fucking with your head, filling it with her lies.’

‘No,’ Deborah told him, ‘she hasn’t said anything and I wouldn’t believe her anyway. This is about us, not her. Forget her, please.’

‘I know how to punish dirty little whores like her.’ His words made Louise shrink into the furthest corner of her cage, her lips beginning to tremble as he moved towards her, fumbling in his tracksuit trousers for his stun-gun.

‘Forget her,’ Deborah called to him. ‘It’s me you want to be with and I want to be with you. She’s nothing to us.’ He stopped and turned back towards her, the fire of anger dampened by the expression of affection and desire.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘She’s nothing.’

‘Good,’ Deborah encouraged him like an obedient dog. ‘You were going to let me out, remember, so I can wash.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He took the key from his pocket, moved to her cage door and began to unlock it, then stopped short, years of self-preservation kicking in, saving him. ‘I’m sorry. I almost forgot. Before I let you out I need you to do one thing for me.’

‘What?’ she asked nervously, too many horrifying images flashing through her mind to focus on one in particular. She swallowed the vomit rising in her mouth.

‘I need you to put your hands through the hatch.’

‘Why?’

‘You have to trust me, Sam. You have to learn to trust me.’ He opened the hatch and waited for her to obey him. She knew she had to do it, or soon she would become Louise and then she would become Karen Green – nothing but a memory to those who loved her. Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes, but she managed to stifle her sobbing and hide her fear of him as she slid her hands through the hatch. She fought the desperate desire to look away, instead staring into his eyes, trying to push her mouth into a smile. He smiled back as he took a length of nylon wire from the pocket of his tracksuit top. She watched as he wound the wire around and around her wrists, tightly enough so she could feel the blood welling in her hands, but not so painful as to make her struggle and betray herself. Once the wire was wrapped around her wrists several times he twisted the loose ends as if he was securing a freezer bag. ‘There,’ he announced. ‘Not too tight is it?’

‘No,’ she forced herself to say. ‘It’s fine. Thank you.’

He wiped the sweat from his hands on to the back of his trousers and moved slowly to the cage door, turning the key that he’d left in the lock and swinging it open, one hand lifting the tray from the floor while the other snaked inside, offering her assistance. She placed her hands on his and let him guide her from the cage, praying that Louise was watching and ready as she allowed him to lead her across the room. She followed him behind the screen to the sink, his hand uncoiling from hers, placing the tray with the syringe on the little table as he stepped back, but only a few feet, watching her, licking the drying blood from his swelling lips. She looked away from him and turned the tap on, the screeching of the old metal soon replaced by the sound of running water. ‘I don’t want to get my clothes wet,’ she said.

He looked confused. ‘Don’t worry. Just wash your face for now.’

‘But I want to be properly clean for you,’ she insisted, calculating how best to play him. ‘I want to be as pure as I can for you. If you untie me I can take these clothes off, then I can wash everywhere.’

He felt his testicles begin to coil and tighten. The thought of watching her willingly undress and bathe in front of him, the water running down her slim body, following her curves, made him forget his caution. He stepped forward to untie her. But as he held her wrists he stopped, looking from Deborah to the pitiful figure crouched in the corner of the other cage, then back to Deborah. She sensed him hesitate. ‘You can watch,’ she told him. ‘You can watch me wash myself. I don’t mind.’

‘No,’ he said, stepping back. ‘It’s not safe for you yet. Some of their poison may still be in you.’

Deborah knew her face betrayed her disappointment and only hoped he misinterpreted it, that his sick mind actually thought she was saddened by his physical rejection. ‘You’re right,’ she lied. ‘Let’s be careful.’ She began to cup water in her bound hands, bringing it up to wash her face, trying to sense his position. Carefully she dabbed her fingers on to the bar of soap and pretended to massage it into her face. ‘Ow,’ she suddenly winced.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘My eyes,’ she complained. ‘I’ve got soap in my eyes. It really stings. I can’t see.’ He felt anxiety begin to creep up his spine, thin strands reaching through the bone and wrapping themselves around his spinal cord, transmitting the sense of panic to every sinew in his being, freezing him where he stood, smelling a trap, but unable to overcome his instinct to help the woman he loved. ‘Please,’ she implored him, ‘I need a towel. My eyes are really burning.’ Tears of frustration and sorrow blurred his vision and he moved towards her, snatching the towel from the screen and handing it to her searching fingers, smiling as she rubbed the cloth into her eyes, the pain clearly easing.

‘Is that better?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Thank—’ Deborah broke off mid-sentence, slamming her right knee into his groin. It connected with his testicles, bending him double. Memories of childhood fights with her brothers flooded back to her. Only this time she wouldn’t be pulling any punches – not when her life depended on winning. She drew her knee back again and launched it towards his face, aiming for the bridge of his nose. He saw it coming and moved just in time, but the knee still connected powerfully with the side of his face, splitting the inside of his cheek wide open and loosening several teeth. He coughed on the blood that ran down his throat and struggled to keep his bearings, feeling nails gouging and scratching at his eyes. By the time he realized the onslaught had stopped it was too late, the searing pain in the side of his neck replaced everything else, making him moan and whimper like a wounded animal. His hand shook as it moved to the source of his agony.

Deborah released the syringe, leaving it embedded in the side of his neck. She’d aimed for his jugular but missed, although she’d still forced the liquid into his body, praying that if it was an anaesthetic it would at least slow him down, even if she hadn’t pumped it straight into his bloodstream. The sight of him bloodied and wounded, pawing at the syringe that hung from his neck was both appalling and terrifying. Her will to survive was screaming at her to run before the tide turned, before his rage made him rise again with the strength of a madman, adrenalin driving him forward through his pain.

A woman’s voice cried out from behind her: ‘Get the key, Deborah. Get the key!’ Louise was clawing the wire of her cage door, trying to shake it open with what little strength she had left in her body after days without food or water. Deborah looked from the woman to the wounded beast crawling on the floor, still trying to pull the syringe from its neck. The muscles had constricted around the needle, making it difficult to budge. The smell of fresh air drifted down the stairs and into her face, fuelling the urge to run. ‘Hit him again and get me out of here. Deborah. Deborah,’ Louise screamed, sensing the other woman’s intentions.

‘I’m sorry,’ Deborah mouthed at her. ‘I’m so sorry …’ And then she ran. She ran past the wretch on the floor, who made a grab for her ankle, the touch of his damp skin making her squeal more than scream. But his grip was weak and he couldn’t stop her. When she got to the stairs, she tried to climb them three at a time, but her bound hands threw her off balance and she fell forward, both shins crashing into the harsh edge of a stone stair, the pain making her call out as she dragged herself back to her feet, running up the stairs again, trying to be more careful. Fear of what was behind her made her reckless and uncoordinated as she grew closer and closer to the oblong of light above, its brightness making the tears sting her eyes so painfully she had to close them. And all the while Louise’s voice screamed after her:

‘You fucking bitch. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me here. I hope you die, you fucking bitch. I hope he fucking kills you. I hope he fucking kills you.’

The staircase felt like an unconquerable mountain as she stumbled up the last few stairs, slipping again, smashing her kneecap, the pain as it fractured punching the remaining breath from her chest. Gripping the knee in both hands, she tried to squeeze the pain from it. Movement in her peripheral vision drew her eyes down into the darkness: a shape was emerging from the gloom below and beginning to climb the stairs, lolling from side to side, arms outstretched, feeling for the walls either side of the staircase as if drunk or blind, his head too heavy to lift. She didn’t have the strength to scream, the only sound that escaped her mouth was an exhausted whimper as she pulled herself to her feet, the injured knee rendering one leg little more than useless as she tried to run.