Page 45 of Drift

As he got out and took the walk, he made his glance back at his Merc casual. A rough breeze shifted his hair and played with the leaves on the trees, but nobody followed him.

The Rolls Royce he’d pulled in next to and the nod from the chauffeur sat inside said his visitor was already safely inside. Gray’s triggered perimeter and external alarms he had in place around here had also forewarned him half an hour ago.

Dust met him as the barn door creaked and allowed him access. He kept to his black leather gloves, and a flick of a switch set close to the stack of shelves filled with gardening tools only disturbed a little more dust. A light humming rumbled under his feet, then Gray reached down and pulled back a hatch as something drew to a halt. A metal minor’s cage met him, and he slipped inside, closing the hatch.

The cage took him deeper until compact dirt gave way to the expanse of an abandoned mining cave, already alive withflickering gas lights. The drip of water on stone took life into drip… fucking drop, and he tilted his ear to the ghosts trapped in the damp walls.

“You keeping that heads-up real close, Elena?”

Jack’s mother hadn’t lasted a while with rats gnawing through her stomach down here, but Gray didn’t give her peace in death. He’d scattered her bone dust so far from home, she’d always roam, looking for a way back to Jack she’d never find.

The man standing in the finely tailored suit close to the firehadfound a way to one of Gray’s… homes, and he looked around, finally resting on the cage where Elena had hung and how it teetered over the fire.

Sir John Thorn.

Gray knew him by his appointment to the Foreign Office in 1999. Very much the Old Guard, the old man’s successful career had seen him serve in the likes of France, Poland, Germany, and Belgium, plus many more. He’d been a friend of the Queen’s long before the King’s coronation, and that’s what had gotten him his role of principle private secretary.

But his presence invaded Gray’s own personal playing space and nature. It also, strangely, called out a personal touch.

Thorn had been a good friend of Ed’s, spending many a night with him as a poker partner. Growing up, Gray had seen him once or twice at the manor in Wales. Thorn would know now who had ultimately killed Ed. And here he was, either stepping over his bones in warning or… what? Offering a friendly face to all the illness? So the message from the new crowned monarch was what here?

Thorn watched him for a moment, his poker face as unreadable as ever, then came over and held out a file, no doubt the written version to accompany the images Gray had received back at the manor.

Monique’s brother hadn’t been the first over the weekend.

As Gray took it, that was that: timeout period broken: no further punishment for taking down the cullers and its training system. The file called business, but it came with a quiet warning on how Thorn stood in one of Gray’s darkest working spaces. HisSure, bloodied streets are yours, but we know where your head goes to.But Thorn’s slight shake of hand as he handed the file over made Gray hold his look. Who Thorn represented had given the call to take Gray’s mother out. They’d sent Cath in to take down Light and taken Brin and Ed in the process. So Gray’s return reply had been simple. For taking out his, he’d taken down the whole goddamn culler system, the very final system put in place to protect them, so that every time they sent out those four calls, Gray would be all they could call. And in here, where Thorn stood, he wouldn’t prejudice against class. Gray would kill whoever trespassed again. Thorn’s shake of hand was enough to know his message had been received, understood, so here was… Thorn. Perhaps an offer of a more visual and personal connection after all. Because wasn’t that visual representation to life and feeling how Gray taught Light? They thought he needed a kinder, personal visual too?

Gray snorted a cold smile, then thumbed through the document.

“Habeas corpus: your version of,” said Thorn. “I need the evidence, but I want the damn body of this third party more.”

Half a dozen photos sat inside, most of which he’d already seen. Two separate families, two bodies from each onesupporting puncture wounds to their lower backs from a needle. Each marked as murder/suicide by the pathologist on scene, just like the Tucker case.

Well wasn’t that just fucking peachy? These bastards had been busy, but spread over Wales, London, and Birmingham now?

A tag team was at play here. More than one killer. More than one team. At least three with these other cases over the same period.

One surname corresponding to the victims caught his eye, and Gray looked up at Thorn. “Your concern is with the Soames.”

Thorn moved back by the fire as if to find some warmth, much like Ed on a chilly Welsh morning. “Yes. This occurred a few hours ago.” He pointed to the file. “American envoy and his family, invited over by my office last week. The news will break tomorrow.” He looked Gray’s way. “A very high-profile case like this is going to shift external attention the King’s way. Murder/suicide will be on the press release until you have evidence otherwise. A fast cleanup is needed, reasons… or excuses given.”

The fact he’d been given two case files showed they suspected serious killers in the field as well, all three now with bone marrow syphoning.

Thorn gave a rough sigh. “I knew the Soames boy.” He dug a hand in his pocket. “Macky. The eight-year-old.” A frown crinkled his ageing features. “He cut off his mother’s breast, then fed it to his father and younger sister before setting them on fire.”

Gray checked the photo. He wasn’t the one to have his bone marrow taken, neither was the “killer” in the second file. Awoman this time: a mother. She’d driven into her husband in the garage, then taken her two twin daughters and locked them in the chest freezer. Both Macky and the mother had committed suicide afterwards: Macky with a fork jammed into a live plug after he’d set his pet hamster free and replaced it with lettuce and carrots, the mother with a plastic bag over her head, the wordsOld, but not for Newscratched on the tabletop.

A mother and reactions to a husband cheating with a younger model…. A boy force-feeding meat, freeing pets, yet putting vegetables out of reach in a cage, calling what? Vegan and forced to eat meat? All fears. All of them facing it? So if Tucker didn’t fear fatherhood, what was his fear of when it came to needing to feed it pesticide? Bugs?

“Any swelling on the brain mentioned?” asked Gray.

Thorn frowned, then nodded. “With both, yes. Why?”

Thorn hadn’t mentioned Monique’s brother, so Gray didn’t here either. He’d make the call tomorrow, which was when it would break over Jason’s murder, and that would leave him time to work details on this potential witness. “Playing fields are too creative. It suggests a drug of some sorts to aid the play, and I’m curious to see if there’s reactions to that drug. There’s also going to be more cases, a long history of,” Gray said over to him. “Either historic cases or those still in the planning. These marks, and there are many of them, they’ve gone high profile and hit over the weekend with multiple murder scenes. They’ve done this numerous times to be able to show this level of coordinated organisation and confidence.”

Thorn nodded. “That’s the domestic concern, so too is the political and international motivation behind it. They’ve not taken out ours but gone for one that could damage relationsabroad. Waters need to be kept still until we find the who and why.”

Yeah. This mark was baring their teeth in every direction.. Political with the Soames, professional with Tucker, at the heart of the home with the mother…. The interesting point here would be in finding out how far they go back. Why they go back and to what. What had sparked that hit out at society, and just how far they were going to take it. Like with Light, their first kill was usually the most telling psychologically.

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