Torment (Primal Progeny Book 1) (14 page)

All alone… He was screwed, and he deserved it. He had failed to save her and he deserved every last wretched moment of whatever sentence they chose to give him. He could not bring her back, it was too late for heroics.

His inner wolf pushed forward in his mind with such sudden ferocity that he visibly jumped in his seat.
‘But you can avenge her’
it insisted
‘and your family.’

In his minds eye he could see it clearly, it’s teeth bared and slaver dripping from it’s jaws. Its coal black, white peppered fur bristling. He wanted to submit to it, to let the beastly part of his nature win and guide him… But his sorrow was stronger than his rage. ‘If by some miracle we get out of this’, he promised feebly in an attempt at placating it ‘I shall tear him limb from limb.’

In his minds eye the greying wolf’s eyes blazed with anticipation, both sides of him longed to teach Varulv a lesson. Whether he had created Hunter’s own lupine side mattered to neither part of him.

His grief was not fading to be replaced by anger, but this new emotion was feeding off it and growing steadily stronger. His mind was a swirling vortex of sadness, fear, loathing and rage so strong it had his hair standing on end. Luckily for him it was cold in the starkly furnished room and that could be explained away as Goosebumps should anyone notice.

Trying desperately to focus on the situation at hand Hunter rubbed at his temples roughly in a vain attempt to clear his addled mind. He had to pay his full attention to his situation in the interrogation room to avoid slip-ups… And to ensure he got out of that place and soon. But what could he do? He would need a false identity. His mind raced to come up with a plausible story; but his thoughts were invaded by visions of Lucy lying cold and limp on the sodden barn floor. Screwing his eyes tight shut he fell into silent sobs. How dare Varulv have done such things to her and gotten away. How dare he do that to her and how dare he come back into his life, bringing even more carnage and chaos.

Hunter’s sobs intensified, the tears rolling down his cheeks now for his mother and father as well as his friend.

How dare he –

- Click. - The latch on the door was snapped open and it swung slowly inwards.

Hunter startled and turned to face the figures coming through the door.

That was it. It was time to face the consequences of his maker’s actions or lie his way out of trouble.

Chapter 14

The two figures entering the room stood for a moment in the doorway; and though they were heavily backlit and he could not see their faces, Hunter knew they were looking him up and down.

What a sight he must have been, soaking wet and filthy dirty, with blood and muddied water slowly drying on his bare arms. There was straw stuck to his shoes, and his damp hair had plastered to his forehead and stabbed defiantly at his downcast eyes. He had only looked up long enough to see there were two people coming for him, before dropping his gaze back to the scuffed tabletop.

The two stepped further into the room as he looked away, the first was the man who had bought him in and the second was (by the smell of her) the woman who had been on the far side of the double-sided mirror. With his nostrils flaring delicately at the sudden, cloying invasion of her perfume cloud into the room he almost gagged. He had not noticed her get up from the seat where she had been observing him; that did not bode well for the conversation to come. His senses were dulled by grief.

He did not want to be there, he needed to be alone and to be allowed to grieve without interference.  Alas this was not to be a luxury granted to him.

The pair stalked confidently to the table and seated themselves opposite him with purpose. The older man sat heavily and scraped his chair close to the table, folding his hands one over the other on the tabletop. The woman sat lightly and crossed her legs prissily, clasping her hands in her lap and staring at Hunter with a cold and ruthless glint in her icy blue eyes.

Hunter sneezed loudly into his knees, unable to move his hands to shield his face; and then apologised so quietly that neither heard him. The woman pulled a disgusted face and cleared her throat pointedly. Leaning forwards in her seat she straightened out her grey suit skirt and looked to her co-worker.

He was busy setting up a recorder to tape the conversation, and fumbling with the switch as she raised a disapproving eyebrow. She thought him incompetent, that much was plain to see.

‘Are we recording?’ She asked, her voice stern and as cold as her eyes.

The man flicked on the recorder and nodded silently, allowing her to continue without interference.

She turned to face Hunter as she spoke. ‘This is detective inspector Jaunt, accompanied by inspector Truman. This interview is being held with a suspect as yet unnamed in connection with the so called ‘wanderer murders. The time is –’

Hunter had looked up as she had begun to dictate and lost himself in the sickly scent of her perfume. It gave him a headache and he could not focus on what she was saying. Instead of using his ears he found himself intently studying the pair with his eyes. She looked older than he had expected, around 50 he guessed; but she had tried hard to fight the ravages of time. Her hair was bleached blonde and permed into a very 80’s style which hung around her shoulders. Her face was littered with deep lines around her brows and eyes, and her slim cheeks had a hollow appearance about them. He watched her red stained lips moving but did not hear a word of what she said for a moment, the thick scent of her numbing his mind until she raised her voice.

‘Are you being deliberately difficult sir?’ She snapped.

Hunter blinked rapidly to try and clear his head. His lupine self desperate to get away from her artificial stench. All that came out of his mouth was ‘huh?’

She scowled at him ‘I said, are you being deliberately difficult?!’

Hunter shook his head.

‘We have asked you more than four times now in this interview alone for your name.’ She continued ‘we cannot go on further without it, now what is your name?’ She stressed each of the last four words so aggressively that both men involuntarily shrank away from her a little.

Hunter’s mind raced, they could not continue without a name… Perhaps he could buy some time by refusing to give one?

Inspector Truman cut across his colleague and spoke words that stopped Hunter’s train of thought dead.

‘There’s no use trying to withhold it’ he lent forward onto his elbows on the tabletop as though he were about to impart some great secret. ‘We shall get our team to start digging immediately and find out that way if you refuse to open your mouth.’ The smile on his face belayed the sense of smarmy satisfaction that he felt, as Hunter swallowed loudly and darted his gaze from one to the other as he contemplated his response. After a moments frantic indecision Hunter cast his eyes back to the table.

Both officers glared at Hunter as his addled mind stumbled through his options before settling on a blatant lie.

‘My name.’ He almost whispered, his voice dry and cracked from disuse and the near constant tears.

‘Would certainly help proceedings!’ Jaunt snappily added, making his half-statement a sentence.

Hunter cast his eyes back to the table ‘my name is James Johanson.’

‘Ah!’ Truman exclaimed ‘We’re finally getting somewhere.’

‘Not that I see what difference it makes?’ Hunter almost whispered into the table.

‘The difference’ Truman stated flatly ‘is that if you are found guilty we can at least sentence you by the correct title.’

Jaunt cast a disapproving glance at Truman, they were not supposed to talk as though they had already sentenced the suspect and he knew it. Not that there was much chance in her eyes of the scruffy looking man before them being innocent. His shifty demeanour and something about the look in his eyes meant that he had ‘murder’ written all over him. Besides which, those scars had to have come from somewhere and there had been evidence in one or two cases of the wanderer’s victims fighting back.

Had her judgment not been clouded by disgust she might have realised that the wounds were too long healed for that.

She dictated what Hunter had said for the benefit of the recording. ‘The suspect’s name is James Johanson.’

Truman continued for her. ‘Now Mr. Johanson’ he said, fixing a steely glare on Hunter’s pallid face. ‘We have a lot to discuss, its getting late and some of us have homes to go to. How about a bit of co-operation hmm?’

Hunter nodded dumbly, painfully aware of the threatening tone of voice behind his seemingly harmless words. It was supposed to be good cop, bad cop wasn’t it? Not two angry inspectors… That was just his luck.

Jaunt cut in at this point. ‘Before we get into the serious questioning Mr. Johanson, I’d like to ask you a question which may be slightly off topic.’ Her eyes roamed over his scar littered body, taking in every old wound. ‘How did you come to be in possession of so many scars?’

Hunter’s answer was flat and bought the pain of his own attack to the forefront of his mind. ‘I was attacked by a dog when I was very young, I nearly died.’

Truman raised an eyebrow and addressed the recorder ‘for the record the suspect nodded when cooperation was mentioned, and his scars are too old to be of any consequence to the current case, we will not be getting side-tracked by ancient history.’

Jaunt lent back in her seat confidently. ‘Mr. Johanson you were found at the scene of the crime of a young lady’s murder this evening were you not?’

Hunter nodded.

‘Did you know the victim’s name?’ She continued ‘and you’ll have to vocalise your responses Mr. Johanson. The recorder works only on sound.’

Hunter nodded ‘Lucy.’

Jaunt raised an eyebrow ‘and how did you come to know her name?’

Hunter’s mind raced, he needed to come up with something fast… Anything! ‘I… I saw her walking along the side of the main road.’

Truman’s eyebrows raised ‘is that so?’

Hunter nodded ‘yes sir.’

Truman visibly but silently snickered at this. ‘What, pray tell, was she doing wandering down the side of an unlit country back road so late at night and all alone?’

Hunter looked lost, raising his shoulders into what almost qualified as a shrug. ‘I… I’m afraid she didn’t say.’

‘She didn’t say?’ Jaunt interrupted.

‘No’ Hunter replied, his voice still coarse from crying and screaming. ‘No she didn’t say. She just asked for directions to the nearest village.’

Jaunt lent forward with a sneer of contempt ‘and you directed her to the closest abandoned building!’ She accused.

‘No!’ Hunter’s eyes widened ‘no I didn’t. I told her the right way.’

‘The right way to what?’ She quipped.

‘The village.’

She pulled a face suggesting disbelief and leant more heavily onto the tabletop to get closer to their suspect. ‘I feel perhaps we are missing some vital details here. Perhaps it would be prudent for you to recount your story from start to finish for us.’

Hunter looked her in the eyes for a split second as he answered. ‘Its not a story.’ Feeling the weakness of the lie as it exited his lips and hoping she did not detect it.

‘I’m sorry, your version of events from start to finish please Mr. Johanson, if you would?’

Hunter closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment before lifting his gaze and glancing from one to the other of them as he spun his tale. He had spent his entire adult life telling lies both large and small to protect his identity, but this was very different. His faith in his own ability to weave convincing untruths was waning by the second. Their eyes bored mercilessly into him as he concocted his fabrication.

‘Well… I am currently unemployed… And I spent the day driving around the local area looking for places with vacancies to apply to, but I had no luck. After a disappointing day I went home for something to eat and found I couldn’t bear the silence of my house.’ Here he had to frantically try to recall Lucy’s scent, to try and determine how long she had been dead. He continued after such a short pause that he could simply have been taking a breath. ‘I decided after a while to go for a drive to try and distract myself, and left my house at about six o’clock. I didn’t really have a destination in mind at that point; I just wanted to get out for a while. I drove around the country roads for about ten minutes before I saw her… She was walking down the side of the road with her shoes in her hand –’

Jaunt cut in ‘What was she wearing?’

Hunter rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I, I can’t remember…  I just have this image of her on the barn floor stuck in my mind…’ A tear rolled down his cheek.

Jaunt huffed and sat back in her chair ‘carry on.’

Hunter continued, his voice cracking now and then as more tears threatened. ‘She was walking down the side of the road and she was stumbling like she was drunk.’ The smell of alcohol had been clear to his heightened sense of smell. ‘She was stumbling and looked like she was in a bad way so I pulled up next to her and asked if she was alright. When I pulled up she looked scared… When I wound the window down she backed away from the car… Which I suppose is understandable… For a drunk woman to be afraid of a strange man…’

Jaunt raised an accusing eyebrow as he continued.

‘I told her I didn’t mean any harm and lifted my hands to show her I wasn’t a crazy with a pickaxe in my hand or something. I told her it was ok and not to panic, I just wanted to make sure she was all right as it was dark out and she was alone. She looked like she didn’t trust me but I was concerned you know? I didn’t just want to drive off and leave a drunken woman on her own in the dark to find her way. There are men out there less honourable than me, and plenty of ditches she could have fallen into and injured herself.’

The two officers looked at each other when he mentioned men less honourable, obviously both certain of his guilt.

Hunter continued despite this little exchange, ignoring it as best he could. ‘I tried to persuade her to calm down and let me drop her off at the nearest village but she was having none of it. I did manage to talk to her for about ten minutes or so and to get her name though; which is how I knew she was called Lucy.’