Persona - A Disturbing Psychological Thriller (35 page)

‘Don’t touch the bullet wound, Jen,’ officers whispered. She looked at them, wanting to be hysterical but feeling only helpless.

‘What does it matter?’ she sobbed. ‘You-you let my father die. What was the point? Why did I do-do this to him?’

‘We’ll do everything we can to bring the murderer to justice, Jen. You have my word,’ a senior-ranking officer assured her.

Jen rubbed her face with her hands, trying to soak up the tears. ‘You can’t… He’s…Oh …’ She cuddled her father.

‘Jen, go inside. Staying out here will do you no good. Go back in the warmth, love,’ the same officer advised her.

Jen ignored him.

‘Mrs Edmunds,’ the senior officer addressed the widow. ‘Please take your daughter inside with you. It’s for the best.’

‘He’s her father,’ Mrs Edmunds protested, teary-eyed. ‘My…husband.’

‘I want to die,’ Jen bawled. ‘This should be me! I want to be in his place!’

42

Climbing down the stairs, Dave pinched sleep from his eyes. He pulled the newspaper from the letterbox, stumbled into the kitchen, and then poured himself some orange juice and sat down.

Glancing at the front page he dropped his glass, which smashed on the table.

Nathan Edmunds shot dead by a sniper…Suspect named ‘Zen’…No arrests…Ongoing torturing of victim’s daughter…
Jennifer Edmunds!

Dave rushed to the toilet and vomited into the bowl, the pain forcing tears from his eyes. Too weak to push himself back up, he crawled away from the stench.

‘Oh my God!’ he croaked. ‘Oh my God! Ryan, Ryan,
no
!’

He pressed his palms against his temples and squeezed them. He had to be in control. His thinking must be clear now, before it became too late to intervene. His limbs wobbled when he got to his feet and he had to lean on the door frame to keep himself up. He sucked in air, calmed himself down, and then descended the stairs with the help of the banister.

There was a picture, a photofit, that thankfully was misleading. It bore a small resemblance to Ryan, but Dave doubted a member of the public would see the likeness. Reading through the article, he noticed a photo of Ben. Again, he reassured himself it was of little use. Ryan had changed substantially - his features were sharper, his eyes darker and more menacing, and boxing had flattened his nose. Aggression had gifted him hard, rugged looks.

But there was still a huge risk. They couldn’t take Ryan away! He must see him before it was too late. Only he could save him. He threw on some clothes and dashed out the house.

Another persona! Ryan had been adamant that there were no others. Dave felt terrified and would have run from the nightmare had loyalty and need not dominated him. Ten years…Ten
fucking
years! A decade’s worth of secrets and denial! Could he make a difference now? Could he break through that barrier? He had to try...

The papers explained that Jenny had slept with Zen’s best friend, citing this as the reason for the torture. How could Dave have been so pig-ignorant? It had been obvious that Ryan had crippled Geoff, but he hadn’t let himself believe it. What else could possibly have happened to make four friends ignore each other? He’d never bought Geoff’s story, but he still felt ashamed at how willingly he’d dismissed the truth. Ryan had been partly responsible for that; forcing Dave to forget his past had clouded his thinking. Faced with the difficulties of exposing the truth, along with the lack of cooperation from everyone, he’d given up.

‘Damn it!’ he whispered, teeth clenched. If he’d persisted, tackling the mystery like he had any other, he could have prevented this. If Ryan had beaten Geoff so inhumanely then of course he wouldn’t let Jenny off scot-free. No one could have imagined he’d embark on such a campaign of terror, but perhaps vengeance had to be expected.

‘Psychological death’ was his goal, according to the paper. He pursued this by torturing those closest to Jenny, thereby burdening her with guilt, fear and regret. So far he’d hung her boyfriend from a tree (she had saved his life), tried to drown him two days ago, and now killed her father.

Fear tingled along Dave’s spine. What would happen? Were these his last moments on Earth? He summoned courage. Days ago, he had expected to die after making love to Ryan. If Ryan had felt hostile enough towards him to want to kill him, then Dave wanted to die. Ryan was everything to him; without him Dave had nothing. Ryan inside a prison cell would be the same as Ryan dead, so he had to save him. If he was killed in the process, it wouldn’t matter.

The story dominated the high-street newsstands and the TVs in the shops. Dave recognised a distraught-looking Jenny giving interviews on several channels. She’d not changed much in ten years. Police were appealing for witnesses through every medium available. Ryan’s photofit was pasted everywhere Dave looked.

Purposefully he walked on, cursing Jenny, her family and Geoff for not cooperating with him. This might have been avoided. All of them, himself included, were responsible for cultivating this beast - they’d allowed time and freedom to devour Ryan’s sanity. Prevention was better than cure, and so long had passed since Zen’s creation that now Dave faced a colossal challenge. He’d have to brace himself for a horrific ordeal, one that would drain every ounce of his strength and perseverance. It had taken a great deal of effort to undo ‘Col’s’ impact on Ryan, and that persona had existed for three months. Now he was confronted with ten years!

When he got to the station, his train was about to leave, so he ran to a carriage and slipped inside, oblivious to the fact that he’d been followed from his home.

After hearing of the murder, Andre had driven to Dave Pickett’s street and had observed his house through the night. There had been no sign of life until seven-thirty, when Pickett had pulled the daily paper from his door. Ten minutes after that, Pickett, looking terrified, had bolted from his house.

Andre nestled into a seat ten rows back from Pickett’s. Wearing a baseball cap and clear-lens glasses, he opened the Financial Times close to his face.

Andre had probed Jen for information about Zen’s contacts and she had mentioned this scumbag. Pickett had been Ben’s best friend and was an ex-police officer. He was a promising line of enquiry.

Dave Pickett – Metropolitan police officer 1990 to 1994. Dismissed for making an ‘inappropriate comment’. Andre had laughed when he’d read that. Evaluations had praised Pickett for being a conscientious, meticulous officer who prided himself on his professionalism. Then, one time in the canteen, another officer who was sifting through heaps of paperwork complained that his investigation couldn’t be more fucked up. Pickett had responded, ‘Yeah it could – you could get a female officer to deal with it.’ Many officers had been present at the table, including two WPCs, and each had either ignored or laughed at the comment, but one WPC, sat in the corner of the canteen, had taken offence and reported Pickett. When interviewed at police Complaints, Pickett had admitted he made the comment, and it had been deemed serious enough to warrant dismissal.

Pickett took the tube to Fulham Broadway, and then walked about five hundred metres before turning into a brick alleyway that served as an entrance to several blocks of flats. Moments later, Andre stood at the far end of that alleyway, and watched Pickett approach one of the buildings. Andre pulled his mini-zoom binoculars from his pocket, and focused them on the intercom as Pickett moved his hand towards it. The binos offered up to seventy times magnification. Shifting position slightly to clear his view, he registered seven, six. Andre returned the binos to his pocket, backtracked onto the main road and then pretended to check a timetable at a nearby bus stop. Minutes later, Pickett exited the alleyway and headed back the way he had come, without noticing Andre.

Andre waited a couple of minutes and then resumed his position at the end of the alleyway, out of view of the building’s windows. Within five minutes an elderly lady entered the area from the opposite end and turned towards the block. He sauntered up to her as she fumbled for her key and she startled, staggering backwards. He quickly put her at ease by showing his warrant card, telling her he was police and that there was nothing to worry about. He asked to be let into the building and she happily obliged, inserting her key into the lock without asking questions. When the door clicked, Andre pushed it open, and let her pass through. She smiled, moved to the lift and pressed the button. Andre waited beside her and felt his pulse quicken. The lift rang and they entered. She informed Andre she lived on the first floor, so he pressed one and then seven. When the lift stopped on the first floor, she thanked him and left. The doors closed and the lift ascended.

Andre dipped his hand into his coat pocket and took out the Glock 17. He screwed an Abraxus 9mm semi-automatic pistol suppressor onto the end of the barrel and then concealed the weapon by tucking part of it in his pocket and part in his sleeve. He curled his fingers around the pistol. The silencer was screwed on tightly and the gun was fully loaded and made ready. He slipped his finger through the trigger guard. The Glock had no exposed hammer or manually applied safety catch, using a ‘safe action’ trigger feature instead, which prevented the weapon from discharging itself when dropped and which was disengaged by trigger pull. Several users complained about the increased danger of negligent discharges, but the Glock was designed for professionals and responded to force applied. It was Andre’s preferred handgun.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He smiled. Him or Zen…only one would survive. This was life. This was why he was here…Unhelpfully, the lift bumped along its ascent. Three…Four… Andre’s muscles were tensed, his expression determined. Five…Six… Zen had hit Edmunds with a 7.62 round fired from a sniper rifle at seven hundred metres. The bullet had penetrated his skull. This was a formidable opponent, one Andre must not underestimate – emotionless, committed, competent - perfect competition…Seven… The lift stopped. Andre drew free his pistol and aimed at the centre of the opening as the doors parted… No one was there. He lowered the weapon, crouched down, moved to the edge of the lift, then briskly pivoted round the corner and took aim along the corridor… Clear. He dashed back, moved to the other side, and did the same there…Entire corridor clear. He stood up, took a deep breath, and then turned right at the corridor. Zen’s room was two along – seventy-six. He edged closer, looked at the door, assessing the lock to be a weak one. This was it. Zen would be waiting.

He rammed his foot into the deadlock and then backed up against the outside wall. The door swung open. No shots were fired. Finger on trigger, he spun round into the room…Empty.

Andre waited till he was certain no one would leave their room to investigate the break-in, and then closed the door. The room was quite bare; there were no photos. A wardrobe, securely locked, stood in the corner. Knowing it would contain Zen’s arsenal, Andre shook it, and heard the unmistakeable clatter of weapons. He moved to a set of drawers, noticing that the top one was secured with a padlock. He fixed the pincers of his mini bolt cutters onto the shackle and squeezed the handles shut. The lock snapped and fell to the floor. He pulled the drawer open and then learned about Ryan Haynes. There were documents in that name along with Polaroid photos of Ryan indulging in all manner of sexual activity with many women. Andre stared at the images, memorising the face of his quarry. The photofit was misleading.

Shuffling through the papers, he found a number of flight receipts, all detailing Denver International as the destination. Suddenly Andre knew exactly where he’d find Zen…

The prospect of flying to another country to kill someone excited him. In truth, he would have been most disappointed if he’d killed Zen in this block of flats. It would have been too easy. He had geared himself up for a real contest.

43

Stacey couldn’t take him back after that. She’d been wrong. Not about his need - Ryan needed her more than anything; she was the only one who could understand him, who could save him. It was fate that she’d been wrong about – they weren’t meant to be together and had no future.

Soon, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing and he would constantly knock on her door, but she’d ignore him. Despite his suffering, she could not be expected to forgive him. She had tried so hard with him, and considering the circumstances, had shown a huge amount of empathy.

His façade was much stronger than she was and she couldn’t fight it. Look at the pain he’d caused her!

It wasn’t the case that she’d failed. She’d not been capable of remoulding him. She was an innocent, caring girl and had succeeded enough for him to show her his heart, but glimpses of the real Ryan were all she’d achieved. It was his loss. He could have begun a new life with her if only he’d possessed the strength to listen to her.

Black Forest town in Colorado Springs.

Twenty-five Pinewood.

When Andre had called Jen on her mobile, she’d responded to his questions like a robot, asking ‘Why?’ just once. He had told her he believed Zen was at that location and had urged her not to inform the police. They would mess up everything. Only he could end her nightmare. Again, he had assured her he would do that. As expected so soon after her father’s death, that had not sparked any hope in her tone and further information had been just as hard to extract. He had just about managed to jot down a description of the address, directions, basic layout of the area, climate, sunset and sunrise for the time of year and flight information. However, when he had asked her where in the area he could acquire a handgun fitted with a silencer, she had perked up quite a bit and had given him her uncle’s phone number, stating that he had an interest in guns. Andre had advised her to contact her uncle and explain the situation, but she told him that her uncle knew about Zen and would be willing to help Andre. She would speak with her uncle and brief him on developments.