The Scribbler, Iain Maitland [inspirational books TXT] 📗

that we were sorry, and we have been looking after Mother and nursing her ever since,” the smart brother spoke. “We have changed and cleaned her and she has accepted that, for there is no other choice for us and we have promised we will live here together …”

The slow brother suddenly joined in and they chanted the final words together.

“For ever.”

“Never to part.”

“Until death do us part.”

And with those words it came to Carrie suddenly. What the smart brother intended to do.

Exchange her for Mother. And then shoot first his mother, then his slow brother and finally himself.

The only way out.

* * *

They sat there for a while after that. Each of them with their own thoughts and tiring slowly as they approached the dawn, snatching now and then at restless sleep.

Another half-hour passing. More shouting. Carrie calling that all was well. A shout back that the mother would be there soon.

The brothers then getting up, checking front and back. Edgy again, ever restless, at each round of shouting and as the time of Mother’s arrival drew near.

Eventually they sat back down. Settled. Waiting for the time to pass.

A sense of something between them. If not camaraderie or kinship, at least acceptance then. Of their shared circumstances.

“So,” Carrie said, looking at the smart brother, “tell me about Edwin Lodge at the care home, the vicar.”

The smart brother paused, thinking for what seemed an age. Carrie had the feeling that, with Mother coming, he was close to a confession. And she was correct.

“We both saw … and recognised each other … at the same time at an open day. He was much older, of course, but looked much the same. He seemed terrified and went to call out but could not. I think he was too frightened. I left straightaway without looking back.”

“But you went back … later … and killed him?”

“I did not intend to. I was going to leave it. But … it worried me. It nagged away. I kept thinking of what I had done, who I had spoken to there, what I had said, whether I had given my name to anyone … my van may have been seen … so he might somehow uncover …” The smart brother stopped, trying to find the words to describe his fears.

“So, I went back at visiting time, the next night I think it was, perhaps the one after. I held on for a long as I could, but I could not bear it any longer, not knowing what might happen. I found his room and went in … he knew who I was … what I had to do.”

“‘Have you told anyone?’ I asked him, but he would not speak. ‘Who have you told?’ I said. Still he did not answer. I gave him every chance. He did not take one of them. So I dealt with him. I had no choice. I have been waiting for that knock on the door ever since.”

“How many have you … killed … over the years?” Carrie looked him in the eyes.

He drew in his breath slowly. Held it for a moment. Breathed out. Then spoke. “Thirty,” he said. “The last one was thirty.”

“Bad men,” the slow brother said, “only bad men.”

“We used to go out together at the start, but it got too dangerous … Dennis … stood out … so I went on my own and then brought them back here. We put them in the cesspit in the main outbuilding, mostly,” the smart brother added.

“Where the bad men belong,” the slow brother said, and then added, almost proudly, “I put them there.”

“Philip Taylor,” Carrie replied, pressing on, “the last one … a married man, happily married, a loving wife who missed him, no children. He had no children. Loved his wife. Never hurt anyone in his life. Would not hurt a fly. He may have been gay but he wasn’t a paedophile. The two aren’t linked at all. You do know that, don’t you?”

The smart brother stared at her. She felt, perhaps for the first time, a sense of doubt in him. Perhaps even sorrow. Or maybe that was just what she wanted to see. Remorse.

The slow brother seemed uncertain, trying to remember what his brother had said about the man.

Knew that the man had been with children. That his brother had stopped him. Had saved the little children. That’s what super-heroes did. And that’s what they were. Super-heroes.

The smart brother twitched his shoulders. “He was with a man, making the beast, in a public toilet. He was a bad man.”

The slow brother nodded, agreeing, “He was the baddest of men.”

“That doesn’t mean he deserves to die, does it?” Carrie stopped, full of angry frustration, before finally going on. “… You were seen by a boy with his dog, putting Philip Taylor into your van.”

The smart brother nodded. “I saw him. He was a handsome fellow. He had a dog like we used to have.”

“My brother saved the little boy, yes, he saved him,” the slow brother explained.

“He gave us part of the number plate on your van … that’s how we traced you … how I came knocking on your door.”

The smart brother shrugged. “I know. I knew it would happen like that. But I could not bring myself to do anything with him. I would not hurt a little boy. I am not a bad man. I am a good man.”

The slow brother spoke. “We protect and save children. We are super-heroes.” He looked from his brother to Carrie and back again, nodding as if to say, ‘yes, there, we have agreed’.

“It’s my downfall,” said the smart brother.

“Yes,” Carrie said.

And then, before she could say any more, the police called out again, another check and another step closer to the end. 32. SUNDAY 18 NOVEMBER, 6.53AM

They waited there.

The three of them.

As the sky turned slowly from night towards day.

The smart brother woke, barely sleeping anyway, just nodding on and off with tiredness.

He nudged the