Eye Snatcher (24 page)

But as Adrian watched them go into those Booths toilets, he knew for a fact that a kid like Beth Turner couldn’t keep her filthy little lips shut. No way.

So he’d gone in there and shut them for her. Made sure enough evidence was in there to implicate Pervert Selter completely.

And when he’d wandered out, he’d just played the mental nutcase idiot again. Gone back to that vacant, distant son of a bitch disguise that allowed him to get away with all of these joys, all of these pleasures.

It was all too easy.

More cyclists emerged from out of the cycle path. This time, a family of three. A young girl with a pink helmet on. Adrian licked his salty lips. She’d be perfect. An ideal release. And wow—nabbing her right in front of her parents. That would be a new level of kidnapping. A new level of murder.

Truth be told, there were some parts of his murderous escapade that were just for laughs. Andrew Wilkinson’s involvement—wow, what a beautiful coincidence. He’d taken his car into servicing at Galaxy on the Monday. Little did he know, Adrian’s old friend Darren Hopps worked there. The old friend that once paid Andrew Wilkinson’s family a little finger-cutting visit when the sick fuck messed about with his son, when he saw what happened in the garage with that girl…

So he’d had some fun with him. Paid Darren to keep his car a little longer than usual. Got him to drive it around Long Lane, where he knew for a fact kids hung around on bikes, and he knew for a fact was home to a few derelict old flats that were in CCTV blind spots.

Catching Janine Ainscough was all too easy.

Killing her was even easier.

But now his heart pumped fast again. The red hue came over his eyes. The urge to hunt. To capture. To kill. It had always been there. There’s nothing he’d been able to do to suppress it, right from when he was a little kid and he’d chop the feet off his pet hamsters. As for the Eye Snatcher moniker, he found that vastly out of proportion. Yes, he liked to take eyes out, collect them, but the media made out like it was all just for show. Like he did it to shock the public.

He smiled. Fuck the public. He took eyes out because he loved the look in them when his victims realised they weren’t going to see the final things he was about to do to them.

Granted, he might have to hold off the disembowelling and the eye removal now that Andrew Wilkinson was going down for the murder of the last three kids. The things a man does to keep his family safe…

There was his social worker too. Jed Green. Well, it was safe to say Adrian had people under his thumb. He had friends in the right places.

He had his disguise—a nutcase—and he exploited it. He knew it wouldn’t last forever, he knew it wouldn’t go on, but he’d die doing what he loved. That was something else he believed in.

Besides, he didn’t believe in God or heaven. Might as well make the most of the things he enjoyed on earth. Otherwise, what was the point?

Hopefully his victims believed in God, anyway. Anything to comfort them.

His legs were starting to cramp when he saw the little boy emerge out of the cycle track.

His heart beat fast.

The boy was on his own. He was wearing a silver helmet. Pushing a matching silver bike beside him which looked way too big for him. His hands were scratched. The chain had come off the bike, and the front tire looked flat.

The red hue completely covered Adrian’s eyes as the kid approached the pelican crossing.

He licked his lips.

Time to get to work.

Being 8.30 p.m. on a Monday, Brian knew he should be back at home with Hannah right now, but there was only one place he could possibly visit.

He got off the bus number four at the stop after New Blue Brook. Ran into the newsagents, picked up a shitty old temporary phone with ten quid credit and barely any battery on it. Walked down the street, the cold air frosting out of his dry mouth. He held his phone to his ear with his shaking hand, waited for Brad to answer.

“Yeah? What’s up, Brian?”

“Brad, you need to get a warrant for a search on bus four CCTV for the day of Beth Turner’s disappearance right now. And you need to get officers down to New Blue Brook. We’re arresting Adrian West—”

“Woah, woah, woah. What you talking about? We’ve got Wilkinson in. Samantha said you were obsessing about the case not being over, but it’s done. He’s confessed.”

Brian tensed his jaw as he made his way to the New Blue Brook gates. “Adrian West. The… the bus number four. It wasn’t the bus twenty-two that broke down that day. It was the bus four. The private funded bus four. And…” He steadied his breathing, tried to get his thoughts out in a comprehendible manner. “Adrian West is the Eye Snatcher, Brad. Not Andrew Wilkinson. Adrian West is—he’s Damien Halshaw’s dad. I’m certain of it.”

A pause on the other end of the line.

“Brad, are you listening?”

“This is just… It’s crazy talk. You can’t be—”

“Adrian West takes bus journeys on the number four. The number four that goes from New Blue Brook to the dirt track. To Booths. To—to Long Lane and… and to Ashton. He takes bus journeys, Brad.”

“A lot of people take bus journeys—”

“The fucking CCTV,” Brian said. “Get that CCTV right this second before something else goes wrong. Because I swear to you, if Andrew Wilkinson goes down for this murder, more children are going to die. Please. Trust me here.”

The sound of glasses clinking in the background. Of a woman laughing.

“Wait. I thought you were at work?”

Brad stuttered. “Brian, I… I’m out. I’m on an, erm…”

“Your dates aren’t as important as the lives of innocent children,” Brian said, as he turned the corner and walked down the road into New Blue Brook Hospital grounds. “I’m at New Blue Brook. You get that CCTV checked from the bus. Or at least get someone to check that CCTV.”

“What are you going to do?”

Brian stopped. Looked across the car park at the modern, glass-front of New Blue Brook. “I’m going to catch a killer.”

The shitty phone cut out of battery before Brad could protest.

The reception area of New Blue Brook was quiet, empty. Nobody was at the desk. There was a distant sound of chatter from the ward up ahead, but the one Brian needed—Bridgewater—was on the right.

Brian made his way to the glass door of the Bridgewater ward. Through it, he could see the canteen area, a television with nothing on the screen. The lights were dim. The place was dead for the night. Dead, silent.

Just how Brian needed it.

He looked at the security card scanner on the side of the Bridgewater door. That was a problem. He needed to hang around. Hang around and wait for somebody. He knew if he as much as told reception who he was, they’d go demanding a warrant, and he didn’t have a warrant—nor the time to get one right now.

Looking over his shoulder to check all was still clear in the almost medicinal looking reception area, he did the only thing he could and reached for the little black button above the keycard reader—the doorbell to Bridgewater.

He pressed it. Listened to it ring on the other side.

He waited a few seconds. Waited for a sound. Waited for movement.

Nothing.

He cursed under his breath. Walked around in a circle in the middle of reception. He was fully aware cameras were on him. He was fully aware that he didn’t have long here, especially after being dragged out of here once in the past already. He was fully aware what breaking the rules again might mean for his career, for his life.

But not breaking the rules might mean the brutal murder of another innocent kid. It was worth breaking the rules to prevent anything like that.

He went to press the bell again when he saw someone at the other side of the glass door.

It was a bald bloke. Quite chubby, a little on the short side. He was wearing a Liverpool football shirt from about five seasons ago. It was tucked into his Nike trackie bottoms, which were tucked into his black Adidas trainers like he was wearing some kind of onesie.

He looked at Brian with glassy, drugged-up eyes.

Brian lifted a hand. Forced the best smile he could. “Let me in? I… I forgot my card.”

The bald guy kept on looking at Brian. Kept on staring, distant, vacant.

Brian scratched the back of his head. Looked over his shoulder to check all was still clear. Coughed. “Look, I… I don’t wanna sleep outside again. Let me in, right?”

The bald guy’s open, gormless mouth twitched a little.

Then he nodded his head. Started walking in the direction of the door.

Brian felt adrenaline rush through his body. That’s right. Keep walking. Keep walking…

And then the bald guy stopped. Started walking away.

“Tell social,” he said.

Brian frowned. “Tell… Hey, come back here!”

“Tell social,” the bald guy mumbled.

Brian banged against the glass door. His skin tingled. “You don’t have to tell social. You can just let me…”

A man emerged from the corner on the right. He looked quizzically at the bald guy at first, asked him what he was doing out in the corridor at this time.

The bald guy pointed at Brian, and the man looked through his glasses, right into Brian’s eyes.

The brown leather jacket. The narrow, black-framed glasses. The short brown hair and the slight figure.

Jed Green, Adrian West’s social worker.

“Do you have a problem, officer?” Jed Green asked. He didn’t move. He just stayed stood at the turning of the corridor. Kept a hand on the bald guy’s shoulder. His face flushed more and more by the second.

Brian straightened his back out to look as authoritative as he could. “Where’s Adrian at tonight, Mr Green?”

Jed just looked at him. Stared at him. Face got more flushed. Lips got twitchier. “Do you have a warrant to be here?”

“I will do soon,” Brian said. “When my colleagues see the footage from bus four.” He looked at his phone for show. “In fact, I think they’ll be down here any moment now. So now’s your chance to open your mouth about your little patient. About what he’s been doing. How much does he pay you to go off on his accidental little walks at night, hmm? Or is it sex you prefer? Does he let you in on the action with the kids he kidnaps—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I suggest you drop that tone right this second,” Jed snapped.

Brian could see it. He could see the shiftiness in Jed’s eyes. The way his cheeks were a permanent red. But most of all, how much he was trying
not
to look guilty. “You’re hiding something. If you weren’t, you’d let me through this door right now.”

“I won’t let you through that door because you aren’t supposed to be here.”

He pressed a red button on the white-painted wall. An alarm sounded out in reception.

Brian felt a fire burning through his body. “You can call your security dogs on me all you like. We’ll be back soon. My colleagues will be here with me. And I’ll lead them in here. I’ll put the cuffs on you myself. I’ll…”

Jed turned away from the bald man and scuttled down the corridor to the right.

Footsteps behind Brian. A few sighs and tuts.

“This twat again.”

Brian turned around. Faced the three bulky security guards coming towards him, all bald and with similar faces, like they were some kind of bloody clones.

He prepared for them to grab him. Prepared for them to throw him out of New Blue Brook again. But he wasn’t going anywhere this time. Not until he’d been inside Adrian West’s room. Not as long as Jed Green was in this building.

Heavy hands on his shoulders, still aching from his confrontation with Darren in the woods. “You’re getting the fuck out of here,” one of the guards, who had onion breath, said.

“No he isn’t.”

The voice came from the doorway. A voice Brian recognised. A familiar voice. A voice that made his stomach leap.

Detective Sergeant Brad Richards was standing in the doorway with a printed-off warrant in his hand. Beside him was Detective Inspector Carter. They were both dressed in formal-wear, Brad in a suit too large for him and Carter in a red dress that looked bloody stunning on her.

But Brad had a warrant. He actually had a warrant.

One of the guards tightened his grip on Brian’s aching shoulder. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m Detective Sergeant Richards, this is Detective Inspector Carter. We’re here to search this place inside and out.”

The guards looked at one another. Grunted.

“The CCTV?” Brian asked as the officers approached.

Brad shook his head. “No trace it was ever even recording on bus four.”

Samantha pulled the guard’s hand from Brian’s shoulder. She smiled at Brian, almost like she was apologising. “Your two balaclavaed pals from Galaxy. They ‘fessed up. Adrian West is Damien Halshaw’s father.”

The three of them turned around. Looked in through the glass door to the Bridgewater ward. The three guards chatted, disgruntled, amongst themselves.

“So is one of you goons gonna let us in here or what?” Brian said.

Brian, Samantha and Brad rushed through the entrance to Bridgewater. The place smelled strong of sweat and disinfectant, and Brian’s shoes squeaked on the tiled floor with every step.

“He went around here,” Brian said, pointing around the corner and down towards the closed doors of the main ward.

A woman caught up with the officers. Short, with dark curly hair and a face that looked like it’d never figured out how to smile in her life. “Officers, there’s really no need for all this show at this time of night. It’s potentially upsetting—”

“I’ll tell you what’s potentially upsetting,” Brian said, staring down at her. “Adrian West butchering another kid.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “You’ve got the identity of the killer wrong before. Who’s to say you haven’t again?”

“Adrian’s room,” Samantha said. “Which room is he in?”

“We’ll be in and out like a flash,” Brad said, smiling at the woman. “No fuss. No upset.”

The woman shook her head and chewed her lip. “Room 249. You’ll… I’ll let you in. I can assure you Adrian will be in his room. He always is.”

Brian nodded. “Right. He was in there when Beth Turner was murdered, wasn’t he?”