Stark Contrasts (An Adam Stark novel Book 1) (18 page)

Flashes of recollection flicker through my mind. Lying in the back of the car, the pain, a strange smell, the cops bursting in. Garry. The blood. Leo's throat. Nothing forms into coherence. Could she have been there? Could she have done all those terrible things? Yes, she knows a lot of fancy Ninja shit - even I would think twice about taking her on in a fist fight, but still...

The doubts gnaw at me. Maybe I did do it. Maybe I've induced some form of amnesia to avoid the truth. Maybe I'm going completely mad.

The more I think back, the more Sadie's involvement becomes plausible; well, at least in some aspects. There are anomalies, a lack of proper recollection on my part, but it
is
possible. I never even considered her when my suspicions about Garry and Abby surfaced. Sadie was not even on my radar. Apparently, she should have been.

The real kick in the studs is her disappearing act. The affair would have hurt her; infuriated her even. Was that enough? Was that what it took to make her turn on me, to try and set me up? Then again, maybe I did leave a hair on Jacobs’ person after our altercation. Maybe it was just a provocation from Stark - attempting to get me to fill in his numerous blanks. I need to be on my game as far as the interview mind games are concerned. Yes, emotional manipulations on Stark's part are much more likely.

My head is swirling. So many possibilities, alternative versions of the same truth. Unreasonable doubt. It's hard to concentrate, to find a way to deal with this.

What might I gain by passing the buck? Nothing appeals to me. They need to catch her themselves, then get her to confess. I'll go down for the small stuff, that's a given. Too much evidence and too many witnesses. But, I'm confident nearly all the big stuff can be dodged. Even the Jacobs thing will be ok...it's just the farm. Thing is though, how do I prove she was there when I don't really know if she was? She's a forensics expert: I'm pretty sure she'd have left nothing to work with. Not only that, but a single fibre, a hair or any other titchy thing like that; she could argue that I carried it in after close contact with her.

If it
was
her, then by fuck, she's been clever! I cheated on her, did some stupid, reckless things, and got caught; by her and my colleagues. I need to take my punishment, suck it up and leave her to it. I won't incriminate her or use her to try and get away with it. Stark will need to sort all that out for himself - if he can. I can prove enough reasonable doubt on the murders. I'll do some time but I'll manage.

The more I've turned things over in my mind, the more I realise the cheating was the worst of all the things I did. Our love was special; I should have been content. But, like so many idiots before me, a dick took control of my senses and I let him. I deserve to lose her.

If she did those things, she deserves punishment. As much as she might try to justify it, what she inflicted on Dwayne Clements and Luke Pritchard was over the top. They were just stupid, misguided kids and what I did to them was more than enough of a warning shot. If she killed Martin and Jacobs it was way, way too much - they were arseholes but they didn't deserve to be killed for it. Leo and his gang were scum and without her intervention, me and Abby would be dead. I don't weep for them but it unsettles me to think of her being so cold, so callous. I can't be part of her capture or punishment but if it comes, then so be it.

After my betrayal, the least I owe her is my silence.  

***

Stark spent another few days trying to break Welch but got nothing better than admissions to most of the petty stuff and denials of all the serious stuff; including denials of any knowledge of his wife's potential involvement. It was frustrating. Hargreaves pouted. However, plenty of actual and circumstantial evidence allowed them to try him for all the murders and mutilations - apart from Ernie Martin. No evidence emerged linking Welch to the trucker, despite Stark's certainty that he had some involvement in his fate. Meanwhile, the ports and airports came up blank - Sadie Watkins vanished.

The trial was a long and protracted affair. A complex case, with multiple witnesses and a plethora of forensics to sift through. Welch's lawyers were valiant and resourceful, arguing many of the serious charges away. Reasonable doubt came into play on more than one occasion. After eight weeks, the jury returned guilty verdicts for the assaults on Dwayne Clements and Luke Pritchard but not guilty verdicts on the mutilations. He was found not guilty of murdering Calvin Jacobs on the grounds his wife may have inadvertently contaminated the evidence with one of his hairs. However, as good as his lawyers were, they could not explain away the mass of forensic evidence suggesting he killed Leo Corantelli and his retinue. Welch claimed self defence, diminished responsibility, provocation and a number of other mitigating circumstances but, in the end, received four life sentences.

The media were predictably hyperbolic in their response. The morality and standard of modern policemen was called into question, crises invoked, and much hand-wringing and navel gazing indulged in. A couple of senior Met officers took early retirement. Promises were made to review procedures and tighten up on recruitment policy blah, blah, blah. Paranoia gripped the force for a time as colleagues began to look at each other with undue suspicion, but it soon subsided. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

Stark had seen it all before. It was hogwash. Steve Welch was nothing more than a bad egg; they cropped up in all walks of life and no amount of screening, psychological profiling or hysterical press reaction would change that. Perspective would have been a better thing to concentrate on. One officer gone bad among thousands of honest, decent ones did not a corrupt system make.

Stark felt a sense of pride in a job well done and, simultaneously, a sense of disappointment in a job half done. Lots of loose ends relating to the case were left hanging. They could find nothing of any note to link Sadie Watkins to the killing of Ernie Martin or any of the other crimes for that matter. In reality, Citizen V was probably still at large. Regardless of whether or not it was Watkins' alter ego, Welch remained adamant he never wrote any of the notes and never claimed to be on a moral crusade. It struck Stark that, in fact, the campaign Citizen V embarked upon was more like an amoral crusade. No matter her gripes and objections to the behaviour or attitudes of the victims, what she decided to inflict upon them was entirely unjustified.

The errant pathologist's name remained on a watch list, in the vain hope of her appearing at an airport or ferry terminal, passport in hand. But, if truth be told, it wasn't too hard for a resourceful or clever person to avoid all that and stay hidden. Sadie Watkins was both.

30. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Abby Hester was delighted. Garry was coming over as soon as he finished for the day. His wife might not be quite so delighted but that was not Abby's problem. She promised herself not to get involved with any more married men, but she couldn't control where her heart led her.

The court case dragged on for weeks and she and Garry got talking one lunchtime. When Steve was convicted, they went for a drink to console one another and well, it just happened. Garry was a sensational lover. He helped her forget all about that twisted freak, Steve Welch; the dumping, the kidnapping, the horrible, kinky sex he used to force her to take part in. The revelations in court about what he'd been up to while he was with her were ghastly. Garry, her knight in shining, made her feel safe again - smitten.

The room was perfect. Candles, soft music, incense wafting its aroma gently through the air. The food would be delivered any time; the oven ready and waiting to keep it warm until her lover arrived. She looked perfect; sexy and alluring not slutty. She sipped her wine and hummed along to the CD.

The doorbell rang. Abby grabbed her purse to pay the delivery boy his tip, pressed the entry buzzer and opened the door. She waited for the lift to come up or someone to walk up the stairs - no lift, no footsteps. Nerves started jangling, her heart pounded, nausea rose up in her throat. She closed the door and bolted it, the kidnapping suddenly all too vivid in her mind's eye. She went over to the window and looked down into the street below. Nothing out of the ordinary but also no delivery van. Abby picked up the phone and called the restaurant.

“Good evening, The Golden Halo, how may I help you?”

“Hi, this is Abby Hester, I have an order due to be delivered soon. Can you tell me if your boy is here at the moment?”

“Oh, hello, Ms Hester, it's John here. I'll just check for you. One minute please.”

There was a short interlude where she could hear the comings and goings of the busy little Chinese restaurant she had grown to love.

“Hello, Ms Hester?”

“Yes.”

“No, I'm afraid Ade isn't there yet. He should be about ten or fifteen minutes. Is that ok?”

“Yes, yes, that's fine, thanks, John. Sorry to have bothered you,” Abby replied nervously.

“Not at all, Ms Hester, it's never any trouble to help you. Are you ok?” The restaurant worker had picked up on her stressed tone.

“Yes, I'm ok, thanks. I'll be better once the food arrives,” she forced a small laugh, “bye for now.”

“Ok, have a good evening, Ms Hester.”

She placed the phone back in its cradle and paced up and down the living room. A call to Garry from her mobile went through to voicemail but she decided not to leave a message. The paranoia and fear that swamped her after the abduction still gripped her at times like this. The therapist said it might take a year or so before she was free from its constant presence. She sniffed back a small sob and took another sip of wine.

When the doorbell rang again, she nearly jumped out of her skin. This time, she used the intercom - angry with herself for being so casual about it before.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms Hester, this is Ade from The Golden Halo. I have your order.”

“Ok, come up.”

She buzzed him in and once again opened her door. She could hear the delivery lad's footsteps as he climbed the stairs to her flat. Something made her glance down. A small gift box sat on the landing outside her door with the initials AH written on it in black marker pen. She smiled and picked it up. It must have been Garry. What a romantic so and so; even if he did scare the bejeesus out of her in the process.

She put the box on the hall table, tipped Ade, then took the food to the kitchen, carefully placing it in the oven. With dinner taken care of, she ambled back to the hallway and picked up her gift.

In the living room, Abby settled into an armchair and pulled at the bow wrapped around the brightly coloured, cardboard container. The lid popped open and she dropped the box in horror, almost vomiting in the process. She screamed and screamed and screamed until hoarse. Stuck fast in the chair, unable to move.

A frantic knocking at her door brought her back into some form of sentient thought. Her neighbour, Colonel Bartholomew, was shouting through the letterbox.

“Abby, are you ok? Abby, what the hell is going on?”

She got up and ran, crashing into the old man's arms, sobbing inconsolably, as soon as the door was open wide enough. His wife hovered behind him looking equally concerned.

“My dear girl, what on earth is the matter?” asked the older woman.

She could only point backwards. Mrs Bartholomew crept forward into the living room. Her shriek compelled the Colonel to go to his wife's aid; leaving the weeping, shuddering Abby clinging to the door frame.

“Dear god!” he exclaimed.

On the floor, next to a bright, red, gift box, lay a dismembered penis and testicles.

***

Stark looked at the note for about the thirtieth time that day.

To whom it may concern,

The world is awash with those who cannot understand right from wrong. They gloat about their indiscretions, confident they will never be challenged, never have to pay a price. Well, enough is enough. I was here to let them know that there is a price to pay and I showed them I wouldn't just sit back and take it.

Abby appears to have a penchant for married men's genitals. So I have given her some as a keepsake. Garry won't be needing them any more.

I have tried to teach my lessons directly to those who require them, but they are for all of you to learn from.

This will be the last of my lessons.

Yours,

A concerned citizen taking action.

Citizen V was back.

Garry Black's life hung by a thread as he underwent emergency surgery, but the poor bastard was in for a hell of a shock if he pulled through. Stark thought this had to be the work of Sadie Watkins. Abby Hester screwed her husband, then had the poor taste to follow that up by shagging his ex-partner and best friend. It looked like this tipped the already deranged pathologist over the edge.

The enigmatic ending was intriguing. Was she really hanging up her vigilante boots? Equally interesting was her still being in the UK. Stark convinced himself she fled the country when she first went missing. Instead, Sadie melted into the crowd in London and went unnoticed ever since. Then again, it was entirely possible she'd made a break for it this time. Who knew what identity she travelled under or how much she'd changed her appearance.

Abby Hester went into deep shock and was admitted to hospital; under sedation and the watchful gaze of an armed guard. Stark had no idea if Watkins was serious about retirement but thought it best not to take any chances.

31. Close To Me

The nursing home was an imposing building. Formerly the residence of some staggeringly wealthy Victorian doctor or merchant, with the appearance of a small castle. Towers, with conical, slate-covered roofs stood at each corner. The sandstone brickwork and pointing looked weather worn but in reasonable condition. Windows punctuated the frontage with regularity and a huge, wooden door set in an impressive porch welcomed the visitor and resident alike.