He rubbed his beard as he mulled it over. If the man was as old and frail as witnesses described, then he had nothing to worry about. As long as he didn’t allow him to read his fortune, that was.
‘Hello, can you open up?’ Will said, tapping on the back doors of the van. A scuffling sound ensued within, rusted springs creaking as the occupant shifted their weight from one end of the van to the other.
‘What do you want?’ a frail scratchy voice said from within.
Will grew confident in his abilities to apprehend the owner of the voice. But he would need more than an old man in an ancient orange van to justify an arrest at this stage. He needed an identity.
‘I’d like to have my fortune told,’ Will said, hoping to pander to the man to effect an easy arrest. He slid a twenty-pound note from the folds of his wallet and held it out to the frail figure as he cautiously opened the back doors.
He was taller than Will, with gaunt features and dry flaky skin resting on the shoulders of his coat. His beady black eyes darted from side to side as he eyed Will suspiciously.
Will relaxed, finding it hard to believe that the man before him was capable of hurting anyone, let alone murder.
‘I don’t call them readings any more, they’re prophecies, Mr …?’ the man spoke, bent over as he shuffled out of his van and onto the dirt track of the isolated laneway.
Will slipped his warrant card from his jacket pocket and flashed it at the man as he spoke. ‘Dunston. DC Dunston. And you are Bertram Bishop, I take it? Or should I call you “the Raven”?’
‘Bertram means Raven,’ the man said quietly, loosening his necktie.
‘This is an informal visit,’ Will said, hoping to put him at ease so he could persuade him to go for a ride in the police car.
‘In that case you won’t mind taking off your jacket and turning around. I don’t wish to hear my own voice played in a court of law.’
‘I’m not wearing any recorders. It’s not CSI, you know,’ Will said, removing his jacket and folding it over his arm.
‘Turn around please.’ Bert raised his hand and pointed his finger in a circular motion.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Will said, raising his hands palms upwards and turning around.
He did not have time to register shock as the shovel came down on his head. He only experienced a flash of white-hot light, before his knees gave way and he hit the ground.
[#]
The floorboards of the darkened room pressed unforgivingly against Will’s face as consciousness flooded in. Blinking to accustom his eyes, he emitted a moan of pain and confusion. Bound tightly, he lay on his side, fighting the sour taste from the oil-stained rag wound tightly against his mouth. Pain sliced through him as he jerked against his bindings. He was ensnared. Warm, sticky blood trickled from puncture wounds in his wrists and ankles, and he tried to breathe through the haze. The pain from his bindings competed only with the pounding of his head. With building dread, Will realised he was bound not with rope, but something much more vicious – spiked wire, which punctured his flesh every time he fought against it.
He strained to listen to the sounds around him as he tried to find his bearings. The muffled noise of a car engine revved in the distance, but the sign of life brought a little relief as hammer blows of pain rained through his skull. He groaned, feeling as if he was on a revolving floor. The room began to spin, searing pain bringing him to the edge of passing out. Nausea swept over him, and he fought to keep it down. Control. He needed to take control. Choking on his own vomit would kill him in seconds. He blinked furiously in the dim light. All he could smell was the oil from the damn rag tied around his mouth, and wherever he was, it was as black as the night. If it was night. There was no way of telling what time it was. Just how long had he been here? Fear cranked up his heart, skipping beats as he tried to remember what happened.
The air was stifling, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he choked a restricted cough. His head was pounding harder now, and he held his breath as a rasping noise broke out behind him. In the depths of darkness, he was not alone. Will stiffened for fear of further attack, his last memory turning around for the old man. He had become complacent, and dropped his guard. Stupid … stupid … what a fucking stupid thing to do. A crack of a match made him jerk, and he bit into his gag as the barbs cut further.
Bert sat before him, cross-legged on the floor. Will blinked as Bert’s face danced before him, his button eyes black with intent, just like his namesake.
Shaking his fingers violently, his captor extinguished the match as it burnt the tips of his fingers. Another crack as a fresh match struck the edge of the box, and the smell of sulphur invaded Will’s nostrils.
Bert dipped the match to the wick of the small candle, giving little light to the gloomy space. ‘You shouldn’t have turned your back. Appearances can be deceiving.’
Will tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He blinked at Bert, echoing his sentiments. How could he have been so stupid? The only comfort was that it was him, and not Jennifer. As if reading his mind, Bert spoke.
‘It’s barbed wire. I thought it was fitting, given that the police have been a thorn in my side. You should see what I have planned for Miss Knight. She is a special one, isn’t she?’
Will responded with a muffled growl, chewing on the rag in an attempt to loosen it. The taste of engine oil, and the thoughts of being imprisoned by the madman before him made him retch.
‘Shush, calm yourself, otherwise I’ll have to put you asleep again. Your fate has not yet been sealed. Maybe you’ll be lucky and the cards will set you free.’
Will thought that was unlikely, judging by the other victims who had met their grisly ends. He had to get himself out of this situation before he ended up like them. But how? Bert’s yellowed teeth flashed in a manic smile, making Will’s heart sink. He could not even reason with the lunatic before him. He wriggled his injured wrists, trying to work himself free from his bindings. His eyes danced around the room, seeing nothing but darkness. The tiny circular glow from the melted candle lit only inches before him. He could be anywhere. Will wriggled again, kicking out in an attempt to sit upwards. Like a dying fish he flopped around on the wooden floor, until Bert produced something from behind his back. The twelve-inch blade glinted against the flickering candlelight as he made his intentions clear.
‘It would be a shame to kill you before the reading, but I will if I have to.’
The whites of Will’s eyes widened with terror, and his nostrils flared to accommodate the breaths entering his body. Adrenalin flooded his system as his body fought for survival. All he could do was bite down on the gag.
‘Sorry I couldn’t find a clean cloth for you. I’ve had to be very inventive. Now let’s get started. I’m so excited about your reading today I’m even doing it for free.’
It was only then that Will noticed the tarot cards spread out face down on the floor next to him. Three cards. This was not going to take very long. Will thought of Jennifer, his family, and all the things he wished he had said to them.
Bert turned over the first card, his eyes glazing over as he revealed Will’s past. His happy childhood, his marriage, joining the police and meeting Jennifer. Bert shook his head in disgust as he conveyed how Will had made little effort to save his marriage.