Kaleidoscope (24 page)

Hellam held the gun by his side and stared at the three cars as several doors opened and officers stepped out.

"Drop your weapon then turn and face the barn."

Hellam heard the fuzzy words, spoken through a megaphone by one of the men, as if they were thousands of miles away. He recognised the words but couldn't fully comprehend what they meant. He tightened his grip on the gun as a sudden thought hit him like a gust of wind, forcing a sharp intake of breath. He glanced down at the gun that Kelser had left for him then slowly turned his head. He looked through the open barn door and could see the two crumpled bodies lying motionless beyond. He looked back at the gun, realising that he would bet his life on the fact that the gun he was now holding, once held the bullets that were now residing inside Hal and Tyler.

Hellam could think of nothing else to do, so sniggered softly to himself as he contemplated that for a moment.
Bet your life would you?
he thought quietly. Several more prompts from the man holding the megaphone washed over him and he gently raised his head to look back at the cars. A thin, bitter smile formed on his face as he saw someone he recognised step out from one of the cars. He should have been surprised to see the man, but the truth was, he wasn't - not in the least. He glanced back into the barn for one final look at the two dead men before turning his head and focusing his gaze on the man he knew only as Carl Richards. Richards was standing next to the officer with the megaphone, a look of subtle contempt shaping his expression.

"Put the weapon down!" shouted the distorted voice again.

Bet your life?

Hellam raised the gun, considered shooting at the police before thinking better of it - he had already made his decision. He thought fleetingly about the man he had come to know over the past five years; someone he had grown to trust implicitly, with whom he had shared his darkest secrets. But he didn't allow the thought to linger since it left a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

Hellam's thin smile slowly expanded as he placed the barrel of the object which Kelser had said was a gift from Hannah, in his mouth. After only the briefest spark of hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

***

Carl Mayhew watched as the back of Joseph Hellam's skull exploded and his body collapsed the dirt below. There were shouts around him while several of his colleagues rushed towards the corpse, and the man holding the megaphone beside him picked up his mobile phone and began to call an ambulance. Carl didn't rush forward like the others however; he had known what Hellam was going to do as soon as he had seen him standing outside the barn with the gun in his hand - probably before Hellam knew himself.

He walked away from the cars and up towards the barn, shuffling uncomfortably as the healing bruise on his chest, left by the bullet which had been absorbed by the Kevlar vest a week earlier, sent a vibration of pain through his body. Several officers were gathered around the corpse of Joseph Hellam but Carl didn't even glance at them as he passed by. He stepped through the open door of the barn, walking slowly forwards as he took in the sight.

Three huge floodlights illuminated the space with their intense beams and Carl saw the camera pointing at a wooden chair between them. He walked around the back of the lights, carefully stepping over the cables and noticed the metallic table, grimacing at the objects of torture that lay on the surface.

He stopped when he reached the body that lay in a crumpled heap behind the camera; two gunshot wounds in the man's head released surprisingly little blood. Carl looked up and around the barn to a second body over by the wall, apparently shot twice; once in the chest and again in the head.

Where the hell is Kelser?
Carl thought silently.
Why would he leave Hellam with a gun?

He scanned his surroundings and saw another doorway on the far side of the barn so walked over. It led into a small partition that was poorly lit and he had to pull out an LED torch from his pocket to see clearly. He moved the tiny beam around the room until it fell on a cage, barely waste height and with thick steel bars. He walked over, studying it carefully. Inside the cage was sitting a small box with writing on the top. Carl moved the torch over the handwritten message.

‘
For Carl Richards, whoever you really are.

And sorry.

Sebastian Kelser.
’

Carl Mayhew was glad that he would never have to use his Richards identity again as he opened the door to the cage and lifted the box out then carried it back into the barn for further inspection.

As he tore off the tape and opened the lid, the first thing he saw was a laptop sitting on the top of several brown documents. A small note was taped to the top of the laptop which read:
‘
Hellam's laptop. Details of films containing actual murders, sourced from a contact in
Sweden
, can be found on the hard drive of this laptop (decryption by experts will be required).
’

He placed the laptop on the floor beside him and looked at the first document. This one was the largest by far and contained a thick pile of papers in a brown cover. Like the laptop, there was a small post-it note stuck to the front:
‘
Bank records of accounts used for laundering money from several drug and prostitution rackets by Joseph Hellam, 2009-2013.
’

Carl flicked through the first few papers and found photocopies of bank statements for accounts based in the
Caribbean
and
Switzerland
. He turned and looked towards the barn door at the frenzy of activity outside. Several officers had now made there way inside the barn, one of them taking photos of the crime scene. He looked back at the document and frowned.

What good is this to me now? He killed himself for Christ sake,
Carl thought, still flicking through the documents.
Why did you leave him with a gun?

But Carl already knew the answer to that question. Kelser had
wanted
Hellam to kill himself; he
wanted
him dead and everything he had done during the past five years had led to that moment.

Carl looked at the next document, reading the note on the front first:
‘
Evidence regarding the murder of Michelle Layne by George Langton in 1995.
’

Carl's eyes widened as he opened the brown cover to reveal two pages of a typed document. It outlined a short history of Langton's life and as Carl scanned its contents, his shock only increased. He could barely believe what he was reading as he learned about Langton's dismissal from teaching and his subsequent move to the
village
of
Alderidge
. He read some sections twice but was still unable to work out how Kelser had discovered Langton was responsible for the murder. There was very little in the way of hard evidence, but the last line, handwritten in blue ink, rectified this with a simple and undeniable fact:
‘
The body of Michelle Layne can be found under the garden shed of George Langton's former residence on
Forest Road
, Alderidge.
’

Carl stared at the page for a few minutes, attempting to absorb this revelation.
George Langton?
Disbelief wrinkled his forehead.
Langton killed Michelle Layne all those years ago?
If what Kelser was claiming was correct, Carl had no doubt that the truth would soon be known. He called over one of the officers behind him and handed him the file on Langton.

"Get this checked out. We need to begin verifying the facts in this document immediately." Carl wondered where George Langton was at that precise moment but knew that they would be speaking very shortly.

He turned and looked back into the box. There was one document left which he lifted out, noticing that there was no note stuck to the front of this one. He opened it and saw a single piece of paper with a title in bold letters printed on the top:
‘
The confession of Lewis Foster.
’

Carl already knew the name well. He had never directly asked Kelser for his real name, but Carl had used his time during the past week to find out a little about the man he was relying on so much. After all, up until a week ago Carl had only known Kelser as a violent thug with unquestionable loyalty to Hellam. It was only when Kelser had pulled him aside after the Deacon job and revealed his past that he realised there was far more to the man. Carl had looked into the details of Hannah Jacobs' murder and gone to interview her former flatmate, Kelly Newham. Carl had asked her about Hannah's male friends and Lewis Foster was the first name she mentioned. She said that she hadn't seen or heard from him for a very long time.

Carl read the confession which outlined Lewis's involvement in Hellam's business and some of the terrible things he had forced himself to do in order to get close to the person who murdered Hannah. Around half way down the page, Carl noticed a name that he didn't recognise - Jonah.

He read on and discovered that this Jonah, together with one of the men now lying a few feet away with a bullet in their head, carried out the murder of Hannah Jacobs in her flat. Lewis confessed to killing Jonah in his home, giving the address and said that this was the person who originally informed him that Joseph Hellam had ordered Hannah's murder.

Carl shook his head, unable to take in every piece of information he was reading. He placed the documents back in the box, together with the laptop and sighed, slow and long; he was going to have his hands full during the next few weeks.

He picked up the box and carried it back to his car as the forensics team began to place small, numbered squares of plastic next to the various objects in the barn and the flash from cameras exploded around him. As he passed by, he glanced again towards the metallic table, and the instruments it held. He had known Hellam was a violent person, but could scarcely believe that even he was capable of an operation like this. Snuff films were thought to be nothing more than rumours; the stuff of urban legend, but here he was, in a place where they were going to film someone being tortured and killed.

When Carl received the call from Kelser earlier that evening, and he told him about what Hellam had planned at the farm, he felt sick. Surely even Hellam wouldn't have anything to do with making actual snuff movies; killing people for the viewing pleasure of rich sadists around the world seemed like madness.

Kelser should have been waiting with Hellam, having agreed that when it was all over he would gladly hand himself in. Carl knew that sentencing would not necessarily have been light for Kelser; he had killed after all. But Carl would have made a personal plea on Kelser's behalf, citing the emotional distress he suffered after Hannah's death for his unique and extreme actions in exacting revenge on the men responsible. Not that Carl was under any illusions about how much sway his plea would have. He had allowed Kelser finish something the man had started five years earlier and by doing so, he was going against almost every basic rule in the book. There would be meetings in the weeks ahead regarding his questionable actions, and he would be extremely surprised if he came out of it with any future in the police force at all.

He looked again at the two dead men in the barn. He knew that Kelser had been the one who had killed them, but that wasn
’
t what everyone else would see. Carl suspected that the gun Hellam killed himself with was the same that had been used to shoot them, but he wondered if he would ever share that piece of information.

He stepped out of the barn, this time glancing at Hellam's corpse as he walked by, all the time thinking of Sebastian Kelser; or Lewis Foster as he now knew him. Whatever the man wanted to be called, by fleeing the scene he went against the agreement he had made with Carl. The death of Hellam and the two dead bodies in the barn were a direct result of his actions and, while bitter, Carl found it very difficult to truly blame the man.

‘
Don't take this away from me.
’
That was what Kelser had pleaded in the car just a week before and Carl could remember the expression on Kelser's face with such clarity; desperation and pain colliding behind hollow pupils.

And I didn't, did I,
Carl thought to himself as he gazed at Hellam's fragmented skull.
Death was too good for you Joseph Hellam
. The words repeated inside as he wished more than anything that Kelser hadn't left the gun.

Chapter 23

Lewis
– 20
^th
September, 2008

Lewis opened the door to Jannson's bar and stepped inside, pulling the collar up on his jacket. After only three months of living with the wound, he was still self conscious about the scar on the side of his face and didn't like the thought of people staring. He knew that he would need to get over that fear pretty damn quickly if he was going to get anywhere. The character that he had created over the past couple of months simply wouldn't care about something like that.

Lewis had moved to a different flat a few miles away from where he used to live and rented it under his new identity. He was able to pay cash monthly so the owner only required a couple of carefully altered bank statements, which bore the new name, for their records.

He severed all ties with his family and friends, telling them he was going away on another trip for a while. No one he had known in his previous life had seen him since he gained the scar and even to his own eyes, as he stared at his reflection, he appeared different regardless of the new addition. Something had changed in the way he looked and felt; even in the way he viewed at the world. He no longer felt like Lewis Foster and if anyone he knew was to give him a fleeting glance, he doubted they would recognise him. If they stared for a few seconds, then perhaps, but he would be careful and was confident that he wouldn't run in to anyone from his past. He couldn't afford for that to occur because he was no longer that man.

He strode up to the bar with confident nonchalance and ordered a glass of water, ignoring the disapproving glance of the bar staff. Having been playing the character of Kelser for over a month, and apart from the stares, Lewis had grown comfortable in his new skin. It had been easier than expected to make the transition to this ruthless thug, but whenever he felt doubt, he imagined himself back in Jonah's flat, pushing the blade between the dying man's ribs. That wasn't something Lewis Foster could ever do - but to Sebastian Kelser, it was second nature.

Lewis turned and scanned the room. The place was ornate, decorative, very expensive, and filled with thirsty patrons. He sipped his water and watched the door as someone entered. Like him, they seemed strangely out of place, surrounded by customers in expensive suits and dresses that were drinking vulgarly overpriced beverages. The man was large, obviously spending several hours a week lifting weights, and he wore a stretched, red t-shirt. He stumbled through the doors, laughing at something which eluded everyone else, and staggered towards the bar.

Lewis continued to sip his water and watched as the man approached, stumbling and laughing several times while making his way over. When he got to the bar, he hit it with his fist.

"Hey, over here," he said through wide lips.

The barman grimaced as he walked over. "Yes sir?"

"Lager please," the man replied, pulling out several twenties.

Lewis looked at the money, knowing exactly how much the man was holding and then turned back to the door.

He waited for fifteen minutes while the large man drank his beer, noticing he took only three sips during that time, before he saw Joseph Hellam glide through the entrance with a tall, red haired woman on his arm. Somebody came from behind the bar and rushed over to greet him then led them both to a small booth on the far side of the room.

Lewis glanced at the red-shirted man beside him and noticed that he was also looking at Joseph Hellam. After a few minutes, the man placed his almost full glass of lager on the bar and glanced at Lewis with an almost imperceptible nod then began to walk over to the booth.

Lewis watched, leaning casually against the bar as the man flexed the muscles that were scarcely being retained by his shirt and fell into Hellam's table. There were raised voices after that and heads began to turn, which gave Lewis his cue.

On his walk over to Hellam's table, and his first instance of being in close proximity to the man who ordered Hannah to be killed, nerves never made a single appearance. Lewis felt confident and... something else that he couldn't quite place; almost as if he no longer had emotions at all - a ruthlessness that gave him a sense of power. But he knew that this was because he was no longer Lewis at all - he was Kelser.

He heard the argument as he got closer and was pleased with the man that he had only met a couple of hours earlier; he was putting on quite a show. They had met in another pub a few streets away. Choosing him was easy because Lewis wanted someone who was sober and physically intimidating. The man had accepted the task of causing trouble for Hellam surprisingly quickly once the
£
300 fee was mentioned and downed his orange juice as Lewis went over the details.

After following Hellam for so long, Lewis knew where he frequented and he would always make an appearance at Jannson's at some point on a Friday night; the location was perfect.

As he got closer to the table, Lewis saw a glimmer of fear in Hellam's eyes as he was confronted by the huge, throbbing veins on the large man's arms. Lewis savoured that fear, pleased that the sociopath could feel the emotion in all its glory.

Lewis put an arm around the man
’
s thick neck and pulled backwards, pushing his knee behind the back of his leg until he dropped. The large man grunted as he fell to one knee and Lewis grabbed his arm which he then proceeded to twist at unnatural angles.

'For three hundred, be as rough as you like. I'll make it clear when you can stop.'
The man had told Lewis in the previous bar, so he took him at his word. He lifted him up, guiding him by his restrained arm and neck towards the exit. They fell through the door and onto the pavement outside. Lewis released the man then forced the remaining
£
200 into his hand before pushing him away.

The man walked away a few steps then turned towards Lewis and grinned. "Good enough?" he asked as he walked away.

Lewis allowed the shadow of a smile crack his skin and formed a ring with his thumb and index finger -
perfect.
He went back through the doors and walked towards the bar where he continued to sip his water, holding his breath and trying to resist the temptation of looking over in Hellam's direction.

When, a few moments later, one of the bar staff informed him that Hellam wanted to thank him personally, Lewis allowed himself to breathe again. He walked back over to the table and, as he approached, he saw the casual smile painted on Hellam's face; a smile that he would grow to loath.

You killed her,
he thought as he made the final steps from one life to another; washing clean every micron of Lewis that remained.

"Thank you for that, can I buy you a drink?" Hellam said, smiling condescendingly.

"Just a water, thank you," Lewis replied.

"Take a seat, what's your name friend?"

Lewis studied the man sitting before him in the booth then glanced at the beautiful woman with huge, sparkling eyes beside him. As he sat down, feeling strangely at home in his new guise, Lewis wondered if, not so long ago, Hellam had been sitting in this very same booth with another woman - a woman who now would never open her eyes again. He felt something twist in his stomach as he thought of this but fought it back - he wouldn't let anger get the better of him anymore. He turned to Hellam and considered the question for barely a second before answering.

"Sebastian Kelser."