*
Will Graham's unit was buzzing around the apartment block, sealing off necessary areas and annoying the residents. Malcolm the caretaker had been only too willing to avoid all questions, but there was no doubt in anybody’s mind that he wasn't involved. He was a stubborn old bigot who had chosen the path to an easy life a long time ago. After recognising the caretaker’s evasion as nothing more than sheer disinterest, York had sent him on his way.
‘How you holding up?’
Holding an icepack to the back of her head, Newport grimaced. She was sitting in the apartment’s living area, keeping her head down.
‘Need some painkillers?’ York added.
‘Had some,’ she muttered. ‘They haven’t made a dent.’
Hearing Newport’s scream, he'd bolted from the master bedroom and into the second, smaller room. As he burst through the door into what could only be a child’s room, he had been faced with the most surreal vision he could have imagined. Down on one knee, Newport was clutching her head and her consciousness with all she had, while standing against the single bed was a catatonic kid of around nine or ten gripping a baseball bat. The young girl had taken little subduing. After taking away the bat and assuring her that they weren’t there to hurt her, the girl had yielded and allowed herself to be placed on a recliner in the corner of the room. Aside from Newport’s pride needing a little mouth-to-mouth, she was largely undamaged. Graham and his team joined the party two minutes later.
By the kitchen entrance, he spotted Graham chatting animatedly to one of his unit. He’d changed his shirt since earlier and somehow this one seemed tighter than the last, the buttons fighting for survival. Spotting York and Newport, Graham ushered his guy away and made a beeline for them. Nothing short of a gun to the head could have kept him away.
‘Brace yourself,’ York muttered.
Newport glanced up and spotted Graham making his way through the knot of officers. She merely reapplied the icepack.
‘Now then,’ beamed Graham, ‘what is it about you two that seems to attract trouble?’
No one replied.
‘And Holly, I’ve seen you reduce grown men to tears, seen you stare down a Rottweiler for God’s sake. And now you’re being beaten down by a minor?’
Newport peered up, face hidden behind a veil of thunder. ‘She was hiding behind a chest of drawers, Will. I didn’t know she was there, I’m not Luke fucking Skywalker. And I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking.’
Graham froze, stared back at Newport like her head was on fire. ‘Holly…I didn’t…I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s fine, Will, forget it,’ York cut in. ‘Holly’s okay. Tell me what you’ve got.’
Graham's grin promptly returned. ‘Not much to tell yet. The hearts probably belong to Michael and Harriet but that’s to be confirmed. And there seems to be some kind of markings in one of them. Bites, maybe.’
‘Bites?
‘I know, this shit just gets weirder, doesn't it?’ Graham grinned.
‘And the girl?’ Newport asked.
‘She’s been taken back to the station. She’s in shock so we haven’t got much from her yet, but there’s a guy from Social Services coming in to talk to her. We can get a shrink too if necessary.’
‘And the girl?’ Newport stressed.
‘Oh, erm, yes, she’s the Fullers’ daughter. Her name is Abigail, ten years old. We found the family documentation, birth certificates and whatnot. Some photo albums too. It’s conclusive.’
Newport went back to the view.
‘Will?’ York turned to see one of Graham’s geeks standing awkwardly outside their circle.
‘What is it, Tom?’ said Graham.
‘I think you and DCI York should come and see this. In the kid’s bedroom, we’ve found…’
The so-called Tom let the sentence trail off, as though finishing it would end everything in chaos. ‘It’s okay, son,’ York stepped in. ‘Take your time. What have you got?’
Tom moved nervously from foot to foot. ‘I think it’s probably best you…see for yourselves.’
Leaving Newport to her icepack, York and Graham followed Tom to Abigail Fuller’s bedroom. The atmosphere of the scene suddenly felt several shades darker, like something from a Tim Burton film.
Abigail’s bedroom had mostly been decorated in green, with the exception of the Bill & Ted’s bed sheets and posters, Keanu Reeves’s face plastered across most surfaces. Aside from the large Panasonic TV and the acoustic guitar propped against one corner, the room was like any other belonging to a ten year old girl. Most girls of that age, though, didn’t have a secret compartment behind their wardrobe; one that she probably knew nothing about.
The huge unit had been pulled away from the wall and was being crowded by Graham’s nerds. Nobody objected to York’s intrusion.
He peered inside the enclosure and was given the answers to a handful of questions, like why the Fullers had popped up on the killer’s radar, and how they could afford to live in this building.
He reached in and plucked one of the VHS tapes from the collection, examining the homemade cover. Behind him the room lingered in expectant quiet.
Replacing the tape, he turned morosely, faced the body of officers crowding the room and took a deep breath. ‘The killer of Michael and Harriet Fuller told us…he told us that these people were at the core of everything rotten. He wasn’t wrong. Some of you may have seen movies like this before, and some of you will again. But the fact that these have been secreted by the parents of a ten year old girl, in her bedroom, makes them two of the vilest people I’ve ever come across. But that does not alter the objectives of anyone in this room. Some of you
