Wilderness (Arbogast trilogy) (27 page)

There had been an accident on the M8 just past the airport, which had held them up for 45 minutes. Moving at a slow crawl they left the carriageway to take a back road to the farm. Sanderson insisted it would be quicker and they bowed to his local knowledge. Travelling through the isolated single track roads Arbogast was struck by how bleak the landscape looked. Dead reeds and long grass were matted together with small islands of ice clinging on as the snow slowly melted away. Cattle roamed freely – once more able to graze in open pasture, free from the constraints of recent weeks. Life was returning to normal. They passed old farmhouses with modern bungalows built beside them; ostentatious gate mounting’s more reminiscent of Dallas, Texas than the nearby village of Houston, Renfrewshire. An old ruined farmhouse flashed by and before he realised why Arbogast had slammed on the brakes, the back tyres skidding on the ground frost.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rosalind said. Eric caught his breath as the seatbelt dug hard into his chest with the force of the emergency stop.

“I thought I saw something,” he said, reversing the car slowly back up the road.

Getting out, Arbogast stood in the middle of the road and stared at the building. ‘What was it that caught my eye?’ It looked like just another abandoned building. All that remained were the two gable ends and the front wall which was obscured by thick trees which had sprung up around the entrance and windows. The walls were black with age and thick with moss and then he saw it. There was a crack in the front gable end. It was new damage; he could see newly ground sandstone and the clean side of a recently displaced stone. A dirt track led round the back and Arbogast followed this round to get a better look. There stood the white Ford Mondeo. It had been rammed into the building and the front end was covered in rubble. Branches had been placed over the car and that was why he hadn’t seen it straight away from the road. He called in the forensics team.

“It probably won’t tell us anything we don’t already know but at least we will be able to confirm that Mary’s been here.” The two detectives twisted round in their seats, “It’s not too late to change your story Eric,” Arbogast said, “If you know where she is now’s the time to come clean.” Eric sat back in his seat and answered the question with a blank stare.

Mary ushered Onur into the shower block when she was sure they hadn’t been seen.

“I can remember when they built this place in the 1970s. We had a lot of people camping on the farm and we decided to put it up – my father said we could charge more that way and it seemed to make the place more appealing. For years I knew my dad had a hiding place, somewhere he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. I was always blindfolded when he took me there – he did things to me.” Her face clouded at the thought of what had happened, “But I could never work out where it was. And then not long ago it suddenly struck me that it might be here. The outhouse isn’t connected to a sewer so we’ve always had to use a septic tank, which we emptied regularly. Thinking about it, the tank was emptied far more regularly than it should have been, given that it was only really used at certain times of the year. And in here somewhere,” she said wiping away the dirt from the floor, “is the panel to get down to the tank, which might just be bigger than everyone thinks.”

Mary scanned the floor. She had never seen the entrance herself but knew it must be here somewhere. There was one tile with a metal edge instead of grout. She pushed this down and the tile sprang up. Beneath it was a horseshoe shaped handle which, when pulled up, revealed the way down to the tank.

“Voila, the trapdoor,” but whatever it was Mary expected to find she was disappointed. Below her was a deep tank which reeked of chemicals and human waste. Her nostrils filled with the stale stench of decomposing excrement but there was no sign of human life. Her disappointment was short lived.

“Did you travel all this way just to revel in shit?” Mary thought it was Onur speaking but it wasn’t. Behind them Karim had appeared with a Glock for company.

“Move and I promise you I will shoot.”

Arbogast, Ying, and Sanderson waited on the forensics team at the ruin before continuing to the farmhouse. Arbogast slowed when he reached the patrol car and Rosalind wound down the electric windows.

“Anything to report?”

The PC in the driving seat was the first to reply, “It’s been very quiet ma’am.” She could tell the officer was trying to impress her but ‘very quiet’ rarely did it.

“Eh, good work. For now you’re needed elsewhere. We found a car about a mile or so back and we need to close the road. Think you can manage that? We’ll be here for a while. I’ll be in touch when we need you back – should be about an hour.” As they the two nodding dogs retreated up the country road, Arbogast parked at the bottom of the dirt track to avoid trying to navigate the ice rink ahead.

Karim Kocack had taken his captives back to the caravan where he was confident he could not be seen from the road. He stood keeping a watchful eye over his prey in the lounge area, while his gun kept the peace.

“You had the right idea Mary, but you really should have stayed in hospital or done the decent thing and died on the bus, which was my intention after all.”

Mary had that feeling again. The one she had as a child. The one that meant it didn’t matter what she wanted as what was about to happen would happen regardless. She had gone from hunter to hunted in the blink of an eye and she knew that her efforts had been a complete waste of time.

“Push the table on its side.” Karim said, pointing the gun at Onur, “I’m sorry it has to be this way brother. I’m sure you had hoped for better, but if it’s any consolation you will soon be with your family.”

The table top was mounted on two steel poles. After struggling at first Onur managed to flick over the table towards the back wall, revealing the outline of another trap door, which had been obscured by the dark rubber tiling and the table itself.

“Now lift up the hatch please.” Onur hesitated for a second.

“Why is this happening Karim, why does it need to be this way?”

Karim flashed forward and dealt a glancing blow with the gun butt to Onur’s head, causing him to crash to the floor.

“Do as you are told brother, the time for talking is over.”

Onur pulled up the trapdoor which revealed a narrow wooden ladder with rounded edges.

“Down,” Karim said, “You first.” he pointed the gun at Onur who disappeared down the ladder and was followed by Mary. As Mary climbed down Karim pushed down on her head with the sole of his shoe. She cried out and fell. Karim was down the steps quickly; he had practiced this many times and was ready. He flicked on the light switch, which illuminated a narrow corridor which had two metal doors at the end. Karim pushed them forward and then threw Onur the key and told him to open the door.

“Please don’t kill us,” Mary said, sobbing, “I’m only here for my father.” But her cries went unheeded and the metal hinges creaked as the door opened. Out of desperation Onur lunged at his brother but had been off balance from the start. Karim kicked hard and caught Onur on the legs forcing him face down. He then grabbed him by the shirt and pulling him along, threw him head first into the blackness. He pointed the gun at Mary, “Now you – unless you would prefer to do things the hard way?”

Five minutes later Karim was sitting upstairs in the lounge. He placed a book in front of him and an empty cup for effect. He could see the shapes of three people approaching the caravan, all of them unaware of the welcome they were about to receive.

22

Secrets of 1985

It was quiet now and the silence carried its own warning. It was impossible to say how long it had been – alone in the darkness she had lost track of the time. She knew what she was expected to do and was always keen to please, given the alternative. There was no-one to miss her at home, where she was mostly ignored, and when her father came there was little to do but obey. It hurt if she resisted and so she had learned to accept it and now did what she was told. All that she had for comfort was a bed of cushions from a discarded couch and an old, sodden mattress which carried the now familiar smell of decay and parental dereliction. After several hours the hatch opened and he appeared like a fallen angel, with the stars sparkling behind him. She could feel his breath as the cold night air breezed through the room, expelling old air and bringing an end to her long wait. Mary could see his smile and soon she knew that she would taste his fury.

Bishopton, February 23
^rd
2010

Mary woke up from her nightmare and realised that despite the memories this wasn’t the way it had happened before. She knew this was the same place. This was the first time that she knew exactly where she was – that she now knew how close to home the abuse had been – close enough to the house that someone should have heard her scream. This time, though, she had company. When she had felt the weight of the boot on her head she had slipped on the ladder, landing roughly on her left arm. She lay there at first, too scared to cry out, the memories of her childhood flooding back. The pain too seemed familiar, but she had been too weak to resist then. Mary fought back tears and tried to focus. In the darkness she could hear a rustling but she couldn’t locate the source. The blackness was all consuming, the sense of seclusion absolute. She could see nothing. After what seemed like an age something reached out and touched her leg. She cried out then quickly clasped her hand over her mouth, surprised she would have been so quick to give herself away.

“Is that you?” she said to the darkness.

“I think I am OK,” Onur said, “I thought Eric was my friend. How can he know my brother?” The voice trailed off leaving Mary fearful of what was happening. The shuffling noise again caused her to shift her position; to try to look for the wall she knew wasn’t too far away. Perhaps if she could find some sense of proportion this wouldn’t seem such a hopeless nightmare.

“He’s my father,” Mary said, whispering, “and he’s a bad man.”

As she sat in the dark Mary couldn’t quite believe how quickly her plans had unravelled. All she wanted to do was to find this place, make sure her father was with the child – then phone the police. Let him rot in his own hell, the same one that she had been forced to live in since the age of 5, one that nobody had ever believed.

“He is my father and this is his secret place.”

“This...” Onur’s words hung in the air like a knife poised for attacked, “...is his secret place – the safe place?”

Onur had agreed with Sanderson that his family would be safe in the secret place but this was not quite what he had imagined.

“My family is supposed to be here with me. Sanderson said we would be reunited but why is Karim here? I fear for our safety. My brother has brought me nothing but bad luck these last few months. He said he would save me but it seems he has other plans. You say you know this place – is there a way out – can we escape?”

“No I don’t think so. I have never seen past that door and I have been brought here many, many times. My father is a sick bastard – a child molester and rapist. He might seem like a good person but let me assure you he is a devious little cunt and not to be trusted.”

The words startled Onur as he began to realise the full extent of his situation. “My daughter is here already. I know this from what you have said.” Onur started to weep, “Oh god what have I allowed my family to become involved with. Kovan is only 5, she’s a child.”

Mary understood what he was going through, what they were all going through. She fumbled through the pitch blackness with her arms outstretched. Zombie like, she found Onur and took him in her arms. Together, for a while, they found solace.

A short time later they became aware that they were not alone. Their embrace was broken by a rattling sound, like metal on wood.

“Is there somebody else down here?” Mary said, trying to locate the source of the sound which had cut through the silence. Mary was startled when a light appeared by her side.

“Don’t worry it is only my phone,” Onur said.

Mary laughed, “Who are you going to phone – you’ll get no reception down here.”

“Yes but the light might help us.”

Onur must have landed on his phone and the screen to his blackberry was cracked and inky beneath the glass but the soft glow still managed to cast some light on the situation.

“It’s not very bright.”

“It’s better than nothing.”

He held up the handset to meet Mary, lighting up one side of her face like something out of a cheap horror movie.

“We can only see about a foot ahead but maybe it will help. I cannot say how long the battery will last so we need to make the most of the time we have.”

Moving together they crawled towards the source of the noise. They stumbled when they reached the mattress, the smell both familiar and repellent. Mary thought it strange that a simple smell could bring back so completely a time, place, and experience. Mary was becoming scared, very scared. The source of the rattling had been another door at the back of the room. Mary struggled to remember it. She was sure this had only been a single large room before but she could see that a partition had been built and they sat now in front of a door.

“It’s metal.”

Onur passed the phone to Mary as he tried the handle with both hands. It was a sliding door that had been built to slide inside the partition. Onur stroked the surface trying to get an idea of what he was dealing with.

“There are no hinges,” he said, knocking on the surface to gauge its thickness.

“Can we open it?”

They both jumped back, startled, when the door rattled again.

“Beni saliver, beni saliver,” The voice came from the other side of the partition.

“Beni saliver,” Onur said, whispering the words, “It’s Turkish. It means let me out – my god.”