Concrete Evidence (46 page)

Ryder looked thoughtful. “Brian Taylor, Brian Taylor,” he frowned. “Ah!” he nodded. “I know exactly who you mean.” He eyed Barton with suspicion. “I understand from the news that he is deceased?”

“Yes.”

“You killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my,” he lifted a hand. He looked impressed. “You do look very different without hair. I never would have recognised you.” He paused thoughtfully. “You shot him, right?”

“Yes.”

“Was this the gun you used on him?”

“No.”

“Shame,” he shook his head. “I like a weapon that has history, don’t you?” he watched Barton for a reaction. “When a weapon has been used for its original purpose, they take on an entirely new character. They’re no longer just a piece of steel. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“I bet you do. You’re a killer after all.”

“I am.”

“Poor Brian.” He said thoughtfully. “I’m curious. Did he tell you anything else?”

“Yes.”

“Please expand. I get tired very quickly these days and my patience wears thin.” He picked up the mask and sucked deeply again. “Emphysema,” he explained cordially. “It’s chronic. I’ve been a smoker all my life but not for much longer,” he smiled thinly. “They say I have months.” He gestured with his hands. “Anyway, you were telling me?”

“Taylor told me that a man called Tod Harris might have abducted Simon.”

“Tod Harris.” Ryder shook his head. He sucked oxygen and frowned. “Slow down. You need to assume that I haven’t been following the news from home for a long time. At least until Tod was arrested. That gained my interest. Explain it to me.”

“I was accused of kidnapping my nephew and sent to jail but they released me on appeal.”

“I remember that.” Ryder seemed genuinely interested. “What exactly came to light on appeal?”

“An alibi.”

“That will do it every time.” He paused and took another blast of oxygen. “And as the ‘falsely’ accused uncle, you’ve taken it upon yourself to solve the mystery of your nephew’s disappearance to keep you in the clear?”

“Something like that.”

“What made you focus on Brian Taylor?”

“His mother lived next door to Simon.”

“And?”

“He has a record for kiddie porn.”

“He was always a bad apple,” Ryder sighed. “I knew him when he was a juvenile but you know that already don’t you?”

Barton nodded that he did. “He pointed me at Harris as another possible suspect.”   

“Did he indeed?” Geoff frowned. His breath quickened and he put the mask over his face. He breathed in and out for a full minute before he could continue. “Taylor was a rogue but Tod Harris was a different animal altogether. He had pure evil running through his veins.” He sucked oxygen again. “Did he offer any proof that he wasn’t lying?”

“He said that Harris had kept his library book.”

“And did you find this library book?”

“I knew where to look.”

“Of course you did.”

“I showed it to his mother and explained a few things.”

“How did she take it?”

“She gave it to the police.”

“Did she now?” he paused and narrowed his eyes. “And how did you persuade her to turn her son in?”

“It wasn’t that difficult.”

“I’m sure.” Ryder stood up. “And did you persuade her to testify?”

“She hung herself.”

“Did she? Very clever.” He put the gun to the back of Barton’s head and patted him down. “I think you’re a very resourceful man.” He muttered as he searched his pockets. “You shot Brian, persuaded Mrs Harris to turn in her own son and then kill herself. I need to be very careful around you. What have we got here?” He held up a bundle of cable ties. “We might as well put these to good use.” He said fastening one of them to Barton’s right wrist. “I assume these were for my benefit.” He added as he slid the tie tightly around both wrists. His breathing was laboured again. “What did you come here for, Mr Barton?” he asked. “To kill me?”

“No,” Barton lied. “To find out where Simon is buried. Harris is locked up but he’s not talking. The police were looking for an accomplice called Rob Derry. Taylor indicated that you were pulling the strings. I didn’t expect to find him here.”

“When he was young, Tod Harris always worked alone. Whatever he did, he did it by himself. As far as I’m concerned, his accomplice doesn’t exist.” Ryder walked back to his chair and sat down heavily. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The air rasped in his lungs. “Do you know why I left the UK in such a hurry?”

Barton contemplated his words carefully. He couldn’t tell him what he really believed. “No.”

“My health was already deteriorating. I could hardly walk up the stairs. Tod Harris became obsessed with my nephew, Brendon,” he looked at Barton for a reaction. “You know who Brendon was?”

“Yes.” Barton nodded. “But when I heard that the police were looking for an accomplice called Rob Derry, things fell into place. They were confusing before that.”

“Were they?” Ryder asked thoughtfully.

“I think that Harris invented a persona,” Barton paused. “He began to call himself Robdenn Derry.” He looked at Ryder to see if he was following. “It’s an anagram.”

“I worked that out.”

“Of course you did.”

“He thought that he had some kind of affinity with him?”

“Who knows what went through his mind.”

Ryder paused to breathe from the mask again. “We are who we are and we can’t change that. I knew what he would become so I took the opportunity to leave. Harris was a nuisance, impatient, childish, a fucking idiot!” His chest heaved and he coughed. He put the oxygen over his face and sucked deeply. “Tod Harris is a schizophrenic. He was obsessed with my family. I had him followed for a while; he spent a lot of time digging at his father’s grave.” He paused. “He was attracting attention. Attention that I didn’t want focusing in my direction. I moved here for some peace.” He took another breath. “It seems none of you can let me move on.” He pointed to the ceiling with the gun. “Bringing the boy here was like handing a bag of crack to an addict. Then the girl!” He shook his head. “I didn’t know where they were from and I didn’t ask. Maybe I should have.”

“And you just happened to have cages in your loft?”

“Oh, no,” Ryder shook his head. “The previous owners were dog breeders. The cages were in the backyard. It didn’t take long to rebuild them.” He sighed. “You’re sure that boy is your nephew?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I think you did.”

“I suspected.” He paused. He took another deep breath from the mask. “Now what do we do, Peter?” Ryder closed his eyes again. “This is all such a mess.”

“Leave the kids here with me and run,” Barton suggested. “You could be across the border before anyone knows that we’re here. Give us all a chance, you included.”

“Look at me,” Ryder sighed. “Do I look like a man who could go on the run and start over somewhere new?” he shrugged. I can barely walk to the bathroom to wash myself.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Peter,” he sounded sincere. “Get up.” Barton stood up, his hands fastened awkwardly behind his head. “Walk to the patio window.” Ryder slid the door open and stepped outside. The night air had a chill to it now. Barton stepped out and thought about running. He wouldn’t get more than a few metres before the shotgun brought him down and he couldn’t leave Simon in that cage. “There’s a spade over there,” Ryder gestured to a storage box. “Lift your hands over your head carefully and pick it up. Try anything silly, I’ll blow your head off.” Barton nodded and slid his hands above his head. Bringing them in front of him, the blood began to circulate again. “Where is your vehicle?”

Barton picked up the spade from the box. “Just off the road at the edge of the woods.”

Ryder gestured with the gun. Barton looked at a brick built barbeque wide enough to hold a full hog roast. The chimney was almost as tall as the villa. “I need you to dig a nice deep hole behind the barbeque.”

“Just the one?” Barton asked sarcastically. “It won’t be deep enough for three bodies.”

“Deep enough for one pile of ashes,” Ryder replied flatly.

“You’re going to burn three bodies on your barbeque?” Barton shook his head. “That will take time.”

“If I could dig a grave, those kids would have been dead years ago. So would you. Like I said earlier, I haven’t got long left. It’s not a permanent solution but it’s permanent enough for my needs.” He waved the gun again. “Now dig.”

Barton stabbed the blade into the ground and began to dig. Ryder looked weaker with every minute that went by. The topsoil was loose and broke up easily but he took his time. He shovelled the dirt into a pile in silence until he was knee deep. Half an hour had gone by at least. He stopped and wiped sweat from his forehead. Ryder was leaning against the brick chimney and breathing heavily. “You look like you need oxygen,” Barton said.

“I do,” he nodded slowly. “This is where we have to part company I’m afraid.” He waved the barrel of the gun. “Get out of the hole.” Barton stepped up onto the patio. “Around there near the barbeque.” He walked around the chimney. “Put the spade on the ground and kneel down.” Barton bent down to put the spade on the floor and their eyes met for a moment. Ryder aimed the Mossberg at his head and pulled the trigger.

*************************   

It was still dark when the Grupo de Acción Rápida crept into position. DI Rind was the fifth man in the entry team; behind him were two members of the bomb squad. They moved in silence, hugging the walls of the one storey villa. Guardia officers positioned themselves at the front door as the entry team went around to the rear. The windows were covered by ornamental shutters and Rind noticed that some of the hinges were coated in cobwebs. They hadn’t been opened for a long time. Piles of decaying leaves had built up along the bottom of the walls and the grass was overgrown. As they reached the rear garden, they moved in tandem towards the back patio. Leaves and litter floated on top of a puddle of brown water.

The patio was twenty metres square and the tiles ran from the glass sliding doors which, led from the house to the garden. A wide brick barbeque stood at one end, an upturned Y-shaped chimney reached as high as the roof. The entry team split into two and crouched either side of the doors. Rind heard a dull whirring sound as they drilled holes into the doorframes and inserted snake cameras. They scanned the frames for wires or switches and then checked the area around the doorways for devices. The team leader studied the screen once more and then signalled to move in. They dismantled the handles with drills and then forced the locks quietly with wrecking bars. The doors popped with the minimum of noise and the entry team moved inside in a practiced formation.

The patio doors led into a wide split level living space that was furnished with expensive leather settees and goatskin rugs. The smell of must was overpowering. A thick layer of dust coated the Terracotta tiles that covered the floors. The team leader pointed to the floor indicating that there was no sign of footsteps anywhere. Weapons raised, they peeled off into the hallway that serviced the bedrooms. When the hallway door was opened, the smell of human decomposition hit them like a brick. The first three bedroom doors were wide open and they moved from one room to the next without disturbing anything.

The last room was closed. They split either side of the door and the team leader signalled for the snake camera. He inserted it through a keyhole beneath the handle and twisted it. His face stiffened as he stood up and he twisted the handle and opened the door. Rind looked over his shoulder. The stench in the room was rank. He heard the entry team leader call the building clear and then they stepped into the bedroom. The stench intensified and his stomach turned. On the far wall, the decaying body of a man was crucified upside down. Nails pierced his ankles and wrists. Dried blood ran in blackened rivulets down the wall. The skin on his face was leathery and brown; his hair was long greying and weaved into dreadlocks. The blackened eye sockets were empty. His body was covered in text that Rind couldn’t understand. The killer had carved words into every inch of the body bar the head. On the wall opposite the body was a full-length mirror, the words ‘
When you look in the mirror, what looks back at you?’
were smeared onto the glass in blood. Rind took the photograph of Geoff Ryder from his pocket and compared it to the leathery death mask of a black man. “I think don’t this is Mr Ryder, do you?” he muttered.               

******************************

              Peter Barton saw Ryder’s trigger finger move but nothing happened. “You left the safety on,” he said as he swung the spade in a wide arc. He hit Ryder with the flat of the blade above his ear and he collapsed into a heap on the patio. Barton was on him in a flash. He sat on top of his unconscious body and used the spade to split the cable ties. He picked up the shotgun and dragged Geoff Ryder into the villa by his ankles.

              When Geoff Ryder came around, he was in excruciating pain. His shoulder, arms and chest felt crushed and his breathing was more difficult than usual. He could feel that one side of his face was broken and swollen. The pain brought him back to his senses quickly. He was tied into his leather reading chair but he couldn’t fathom why he was in so much pain. Looking down, he saw a tyre had been forced over his shoulders and was wedged around his chest. Sharp barbs had penetrated his flesh making it agonising to move. Each breath meant that the weight forced the barbs deeper into his skin. The tyre was soaked and his shirt felt wet. He could smell lighter fluid and it was powerful enough to make his eyes water. As his head cleared he heard splashing behind him. “What are you doing?” he croaked. “Call the police. I’m ready to give myself up. You know that Brendon didn’t kill all those women, don’t you?”