The Dark Place Page 7

  “Thank you, darling, though I doubt very much that you would fit into that category. You’re just being your usual sweet self. Anyway, one day we were down in the basement of their large house, doing so-called filming with his camera and mucking about with his magic tricks, when suddenly all the lights went out. Fused or something like that. Suddenly, Bobby volunteers to get a torchlight. ‘Hold this,’ he said. I reached into the darkness and he dropped his magic wand right into my hand, laughing. It wasn’t his magic wand, though, but his dick.”

  Karl almost fell off the chair.

  “It was the first time I felt a real dick,” claimed Ivana. “I mean, I’d felt my own, of course – before it went for the chop – but it was the first time I had ever held another boy’s. It was thrilling, and like magic, it changed me for ever, releasing all those feelings I had suppressed. The lie I had been living was finally crushed, and soon I discovered that I liked boys, I liked holding and sucking their dicks.”

  “Ahhhhh. That’s lovely, Ivana,” responded Naomi, almost motherly, looking as if she had just heard the greatest love story ever told. “Lots of boys go through that stage in their life, but for you it was probably a calling. Isn’t that true, Karl?”

  Karl remained motionless, sitting in the chair, fixed and hushed, momentarily undone by Ivana’s brutal honesty. He wished Naomi would stop bringing attention to him. In all honesty, the thought of sucking a dick, even if that dick had a vagina or would-be vagina parked next door to it like Ivana’s, was totally unappealing. For fuck sake, he wouldn’t even suck his own dick – not that he was boasting the possibility.

  To Karl’s great relief, Ivana continued.

  “Bobby had a secret shoebox full of photos of naked women. No one was permitted to see them. But one day, I stumbled upon them accidentally. Tiny Polaroid pictures hid inside an old rotting tree at the back of his house. Very shocking and extremely graphic. Dildos, spanking devices … things of that nature, all of the same woman.”

  “Well, at least he liked women, as well,” quipped Karl, trying to look on the bright side of things.

  “The pictures were all of his mother.”

  Naomi paled. Karl reddened.

  “Then one Saturday, we were all gathered for the annual hunt. It was horrible. All these adults roaming about like mercenaries in their camouflage clothing, shooting and slaughtering tiny defenceless birds. Absolutely disgusting people. My job was to go and chase out the grounded birds along with the dogs, when suddenly I looked back at Bobby, just in time to see him point his shotgun directly at his mother’s head and pull the trigger.”

  “Dear God!” whispered Naomi, placing her hand to her mouth.

  “Was she killed?” asked Karl, ignoring Naomi’s histrionics.

  “Yes.” Ivana shuddered.

  “What happened afterwards, to Bobby?” enquired Karl. “Was he arrested for her murder?”

  Shaking her head, Ivana answered, “No. He claimed it was a tragic accident. No one saw it happen – except me, of course. Besides, who would have believed me? His word against mine? I told my father what I had witnessed, and he belted me across the mouth, telling me if I ever dared to repeat that disgusting lie again, he would give me the beating of my sorry life. Shortly after that, Bobby was sent away to some posh school to learn medicine.”

  “And that was the last you heard of him?” asked Karl, not too sure where the connection was being made.

  Ivana looked at Naomi and then back to Karl before answering. “Remember about three years ago, when I was attacked and stabbed in the arm and shoulder, late at night outside Billy Holiday’s?”

  Both Karl and Naomi nodded. Karl remembered it well. Both he and Naomi had rushed to the hospital, fearing the worst.

  “You got a busload of stitches,” nodded Karl. “I had to take you home in my car. Do you know how long it took me to get the blood off the seats?”

  “He’s only winding you up, Ivana. Just ignore him,” said Naomi, giving Karl a withering look.

  “It was some right-wing, anti-gay nutcase,” stated Karl. “Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s what the media and the cops said,” replied Ivana.

  “What should they have said?” enquired Karl.

  “At first, I didn’t recognise the man who attacked me. He kept talking ever so calmly in the most chilling voice I had ever heard. ‘As far as I’m concerned you are dead to me, you filthy traitor and cunt of a whore.’” Ivana shuddered before continuing. “It was only afterwards that I remembered his eyes. They were the same eyes I saw on Bobby Hannah when he shot his mother. I think it could have been him, even though my attacker was tall and extremely masculine – a far cry from the Bobby of my childhood.”

  “You think? You’re not having selective amnesia, are you?” said Karl.

  “Don’t you dare start accusing me, Karl Kane! I told you from the moment I walked in here that I wasn’t one hundred per cent. But when I read in the newspapers about the young girl found cut open, almost surgically, I kept seeing Bobby’s face. And it wasn’t a knife that was used to stab me, but a scalpel.”

  There was a moment of silence in the office before Karl asked, “You think he’s used his surgical skills to kill these young girls?”

  Ivana let out a sigh. Her shoulders appeared to shrink. She seemed on the brink of tears. “It’s possible … I don’t know …”

  “I was going to ask why didn’t you go to the cops, but I suppose I could answer that for you, remembering how they treated you, as if you were the perpetrator instead of the victim, the time you were stabbed.”

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t come here earlier,” said Ivana, her voice a whisper. “You probably both hate me because I didn’t come with this sooner. I … I wasn’t sure … still not sure …”

  “We won’t hear you talk like that, Ivana,” said Naomi, hugging her. “It was brave of you to come forward, trying to help. Both Karl and I are so proud of you. Isn’t that right, Karl?”

  “Huh? Oh … of course we are. It took a lot of …” he almost said balls, but quickly decided against that particular word, under the circumstances “… courage.”

  “Look at the state of me,” said Ivana, wiping a small gathering of tears away from her face, snot from her nose, as she stood to leave. “All my make-up is running all over the place. I’m a total mess.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” soothed Naomi. “We’re going upstairs. I’ll have you looking as good as new for Vincent.”

  “There’s something else, isn’t there, Ivana? Something you’re not telling us,” said Karl, standing, looking directly into Ivana’s eyes.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You came here to clear your conscience by telling us half a story, as if –”

  “Karl!” shouted Naomi. “What on earth are you –?”

  “A half-baked story, Ivana, that makes you feel better? You don’t care about the young girls! You couldn’t give a damn about –”

  “I do!” screamed Ivana.

  “Karl! That’s enough,” threatened Naomi.

  “Tell me everything, Ivana! Not the bits that suit, but the bits that you fear, the bits that –”

  “Karl! Enough!”

  Ivana suddenly crumpled back down into the chair. “No … no, Naomi … he’s right. I haven’t been totally truthful.”

  Naomi’s face suddenly reddened.

  “Listen, Ivana,” said Karl, his voice now calm. “You might still be harbouring feelings for Bobby, for helping you discover the truth about yourself, all those years ago, as a wee boy struggling to face an inhospitable world. But that was then, Ivana. This is now. If you know where he is, for the sake of any future victims, you’ve got to tell me – now, before it’s too late.”

  Ivana’s sobbing began filling the room, as Karl continued relentlessly but calmly.

  “You were having a relationship with Bobby, before your sex change, weren’t you? Is that why he attacked you? He felt
betrayed that you had gone behind his back, become a woman, years later, the ultimate betrayal in the eyes of a very sick misogynist?”

  Ivana dipped her head, nodding. “Yes.”

  “Where is he, Ivana? You must tell me.”

  Ivana shook her head. “I can’t. They’ll put him in prison to be killed, and it will be my fault they sent him there. In school, I was a bully’s wet dream. I know what it’s like to be picked on, day after day.”

  “He’s not the victim, Ivana! He could be responsible for the murders of those young girls. You’d rather see more young girls butchered? Is that what you want? Did you really look at that poster of young Martina Ferris, her eyes?”

  “Yes! Yes … I saw them … still seeing them …”

  “Tell me where he is!”

  “I can’t!”

  “You can and you will!” exploded Karl, slamming his fists on the table, making both Ivana and Naomi jump.

  “Karl!” shouted Naomi. “There’s no need for –”

  “Where is he, Ivana?”

  “I … I …”

  “Where?”

  “Okay … okay …” whispered Ivana. “I’ll tell you where he might be.”

  It was a good fifteen minutes before Ivana confessed all that she knew, her face a map of tears and destroyed make-up. Naomi tried her best to comfort her by holding her tightly, whispering soothing words into her ear.

  “There now, Ivana. It’s all over. It’s okay. You’ve been so brave. It’s okay.”

  “Naomi’s right, Ivana. You have been brave to come forward,” admitted Karl. “Who the hell knows what I’d have done under the same circumstances?”

  “There … there’s one other thing,” sniffed Ivana. “I don’t know if it is important or not.”

  “Yes?” asked Karl, wondering what the hell else could be added to this hellish tale.

  “When he was young, Bobby was an expert hunter and tracker.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Nothing contributes so much to tranquillize the mind as a steady purpose.”

  Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

  He sat naked on a mound of sand and scraggy grass, watching the sea drain from the deserted shore. The drainage was leaving behind a solid emptiness weighing heavily on what remained. A bone-white moon kept intermingling with ghostly orange clouds, giving the night sky a dark red hue. The ozone coming off the shore brought a stench with it, not unlike the smell of blood now webbing in his nostrils.

  As a boy, he loved visiting the seashore, catching crabs, turning them on their backs while he opened them up, seeing what made the creatures tick. But not tonight. Tonight, he was here for a totally different reason …

  Standing, he walked back to his car, casually opening the boot, all the while feeling the moon washing over his naked body. Tiny electric shocks ran under his skin.

  Delightful.

  Hordes of gathering night moths suddenly brought a susurrus whisper to his ears. Their sound was reassuring, calming, and he began removing the carpet topping, exposing the blackness below.

  The girl’s body was wrapped tightly in black bin lining, like a putrefied mummification. He could clearly see the nose stressing the texture, and the little “o” made by the startled mouth.

  Bending, he leaned into the car’s boot and kissed the startled mouth. It gave him fresh, redeeming shudders of electricity. Scooping the body up in his arms, the dead weight made his massive arm muscles bulge with strain. He listened for a few seconds to the quietness before proceeding towards the sandy tongue of shore. His movements were slow and deliberate, like Frankenstein’s godless creation slinking into the night.

  The shore’s edge was firm, but the more he progressed outwards towards the sea, the less stable the sand became, shifting its wet particles to accommodate his weight. Twice he almost stumbled, but the dead weight in his arms helped him to balance.

  It was ten minutes later when the cold sea water finally reached just below his chest. He could feel its deceiving strength while buoying the body on the surface with one hand, ripping the bag open with the other.

  She stared up at him from within the bag, one lifeless eye seemingly focusing over his shoulder at the moon. Her other eye was gone, and the empty socket was collecting water that rushed out and ran down her grey cheekbone as she bobbed in the sea. More water rushed to wash away the remnants of blood attached to the body, exposing a pale scar snaking from the hollow of her throat to the middle of her chest: the vestige of a furrow caused by deliberate and cruel hands.

  Without warning, a baptismal wave suddenly swept over him, stealing the body from his grip. He struggled for control, but lost his balance to the surging water.

  A few seconds later, she was gone. Free at last.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “He’s an oul butty o’ mine – oh, he’s a darlin’ man, a daarlin’ man.”

  Sean O’Casey, Juno and the Paycock

  “What are you going to do about the information Ivana gave us yesterday?” asked Naomi, sitting with her feet up on the sofa, a copy of Northern Woman by her side.

  “Not much I can do except give it to the cops – which I did, early this morning, while you were snoring your pretty head and hangover off,” said Karl, handing her a steaming cup of coffee. “I gave the info as an anonymous, concerned citizen, using my best Humphrey Bogart to disguise my own voice.”

  “You didn’t call Wilson personally?” asked Naomi, a puzzled look appearing on her face. “I assumed –”

  “You should never assume. Always remember that assume makes an arse out of u and me.”

  “Ass. It’s ass, Karl. Not arse. I saw The Silence of the Lambs, as well.”

  “Yes, but this is the Belfast version,” grinned Karl.

  “What’s going on with you and your brother-in-law, Karl? Something isn’t right.”

  “Ex-brother-in-law. A family tiff. That’s all. The less we see of each other, the better. Anyway, I spoke to Hicks about an hour ago, see if he knew what action the cops took. According to him, they’re not going to do shit.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “They said that Mister Robert Hannah is an upstanding member of the business community, and they more or less laughed at the suggestion that he could be involved in anything as terrible as abduction and murder.”

  “They’re not even going to search the address Ivana gave us?”

  “Mister Hannah is a generous contributor to the policeman’s balls. Bit of a contradiction, policeman’s balls, I know, but there you have it.”

  “Working-class kids against money?”

  “You’re starting to scare me, Naomi.”

  “I am?”

  “Your thinking is parallel with my own.”

  “Great minds and all that?”

  “Look, I’ve got to pop out for a little while,” said Karl, reaching for his jacket.

  “You’ve been popping out a lot lately,” retorted Naomi.

  “That’s what one nudist said to the other.”

  “Very funny. Where exactly is it you’re popping out to?”

  “To see a Mister Smith, my dear,” replied Karl, smiling, planting a kiss on Naomi’s cheek. “Hopefully, I’ll be back within the hour. Enjoy that lovely Rio coffee. Cost me a fortune.”

  “Be careful … please.”

  Seconds later, Karl went out the door carrying nothing but himself. It took him all of five minutes to locate the small, nondescript shop in Bridge Street, sandwiched between a shady-looking café and a dilapidated bakery short of dough. Outside the shop, a large painted sign proclaimed: We Open the Doors Others Can’t.

  Karl entered, immediately spotting a man in the far corner. The man had his broad back to Karl, and tiny sparks were dancing on either side of him as he bent into his work. Dust was everywhere. The heat inside the shop was horrendous. The man’s large bulk seemed to be blotting out all oxygen in the room.

  “Don’t do anything foolish, old man, and everything will be a-okay,�
� whispered Karl, leaning over the counter. “There’s a gun pointed right at your back. I want your wife or your money. The choice is yours.”

  The sparks stopped dancing. The man’s broad back stiffened. “You can have the money, but only on condition that you take the wife as well. She’s upstairs, shaving her chin,” said the man, turning slowly. He had the stocky build of an ex-boxer, his face mapped with tiny scars, missing teeth and a broken-down nose no longer in use.

  Karl grinned. “How’s business, Willie?”

  “It scares the business out of me whenever I hear those words from your mouth, Karl. It always follows with a request,” said Willie Morgan, turning to face Karl, a finished key in his hand.

  “How’s Isabel?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her in a week; I don’t like to interrupt her,” said Willie, reaching for his smokes, offering one to Karl before placing one in the V of his fingers. For such a stocky man, he held the cigarette rather daintily.

  “I’ve never had so many offerings of cigarettes since I gave them up,” moaned Karl, declining the cig. “How can you stick the heat in here? I’ve lost a pound just standing talking to you.”

  “I’m still waiting on your request,” said Willie suspiciously, scratching the splinters of the short silvery hair on his well-used face, while doing a quick search of his pocket. Winningly producing a lighter, he lit the cig.

  Karl listened to the paper and tobacco crackling, making him pine for the good old, bad old days of lung-staining enjoyment.

  “I need a favour.”

  “I knew it,” said Willie, shaking his head before inhaling deeply on the cig. “What is it?”

  “It could mean breaking the law,” supplied Karl. “No, actually, let me rephrase that. It will mean breaking the law.”

  “How do you know I haven’t changed since the last time you saw me? I could be an upstanding member of the community.”

  “The weather can change, Willie; not you,” said Karl, grinning.

  “For someone who was going to be a cop and whose brother-in-law is a top detective, you fly awfully close to the sun. One day, your arse is going to be melted, like Icarus. You know that, don’t you?”