Untouchable: A chillingly dark psychological thriller Read online

  ‘I don’t even know what to think anymore,’ I hissed, pins and needles jabbing into my skull. ‘Why have you been following me?’

  ‘I was following you to make sure no one else was.’

  ‘Who? What’s this about?’ I leant forward. ‘What happened to Jamie?’ I asked, unable to wait any longer. ‘You said you had some information. Please, just tell me what you know.’

  He rested his elbows on the table, his voice deep and low. ‘Like I said in the card, I didn’t know whether to tell you or not. I thought maybe it was better for you not to know the truth. I thought eventually you’d be able to move on without ever finding out. And I have been watching you, but it was only to make sure that no one’s after you. But…’

  ‘But what?’

  He tapped his paper coffee cup. ‘In the end, I thought that it wasn’t my judgement to make. I thought you should know what happened to Jamie. And where you’ve been going, what you’ve been doing, I realised you were looking for answers, anyway, and were going to get yourself in trouble. And if it was me, I’d want to know the truth. There have been too many lies.’ He took a sip of his drink and watched me carefully over the rim.

  I stared at him, blinking. ‘What happened to Jamie? What was he involved in?’

  His gaze searched mine for a moment. ‘This is going to be a shock.’

  ‘It can’t be more of a shock than I’ve already had.’

  He studied me hard. Shook his head. Ran his hands over his cheeks. Sighed. ‘Shit. This was a bad idea. I’ve handled it all wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry.’ He stood up as if he was going to leave.

  ‘You haven’t told me anything!’ I said. ‘What is it? What happened to Jamie? I need to know.’

  He sighed again, looking as if he was battling with some internal decision. Sat back down. ‘Maybe you should just trust me on this one. I was wrong. You shouldn’t get involved.’

  ‘Trust you? Trust you?’ I cried. ‘I don’t even know you! You tell me you’ve been watching me, for fuck’s sake! Do you know how creepy that sounds?’

  ‘It wasn’t creepy. It was necessary. I was protecting you, like Jamie would’ve wanted.’

  ‘Then tell me why. Explain! For all I know, you could’ve had something to do with Jamie’s death yourself!’

  ‘I had nothing to do with it.’ His lips hardened into a thin line.

  ‘You have to tell me what’s going on. I need to know. I deserve to know. And I’m already involved. I found out some things. Jamie was going to see some people in the week before he was killed. But I don’t know why. Can you give me any answers? Fill in the blanks? If you can, you have to help me. Please.’ My eyes watered.

  His hesitated, glancing around the café before leaning in towards me. ‘Jamie got in touch with me before he died. He wanted some advice.’

  ‘About what?’

  He took a sip of coffee. ‘About how to deal with something from his past. He thought I might be able to help him.’

  I frowned. ‘What kind of thing?’ I wailed, clenching my fists.

  The elderly woman glanced over at us then dropped her gaze when I caught her looking.

  I lowered my voice. ‘Look, I don’t understand what’s going on. Please, just tell me. I don’t think he killed himself. What happened to him? Who did it? What was he involved in?’

  His lips pursed into a thin line as he studied me again. ‘Are you sure you really want to know? I’m certain they killed him because of it. They may come after you.’

  I let out a bitter snort. ‘Of course I want to know. I don’t care about me. My life’s not exactly a thrilling barrel of laughs at the moment, is it? I don’t have anything to lose anymore. I have to know what happened to him. And whatever it was, I don’t think it’s just Jamie who was murdered. I found a list of names and addresses Jamie made, and I’ve been visiting them. One person, Dave, was killed the day after Jamie died. Another one, Billy, apparently also committed suicide a year ago. One has mental health problems. One is apparently in America. And the other one, Moses, disappeared thirty years ago. What the hell was going on, Mitchell?’

  ‘Dave’s dead, too? Shit.’ A frown creased his brow, and he looked over my shoulder, apparently deep in thought. ‘How?’

  ‘A hit-and-run.’

  ‘How convenient.’ A flash of hatred burned in his piercing blue eyes.

  ‘Just tell me!’

  He dragged his gaze back to me, talking so quietly I had to lean closer, straining my ears to hear the words. ‘Jamie knew things about…certain people. Very important people. Things that happened years ago. He’d tried to forget about them. Pushed them out of his mind for a long time, but he couldn’t anymore. He was going to blow the lid off it, but he knew no one would believe him and that it would be his word against theirs. That’s why he was talking to the other people involved.’

  I pulled Jamie’s list out of my bag and unfolded it on top of the table. ‘These people? These are the other people involved?’

  Mitchell picked up the list. ‘Yes. Jamie needed corroboration. Other witnesses to come forward. Because it happened so long ago, there would be no evidence now, so he needed the others. He’d spent months locating them via the Internet and various other enquiries. In the week before he died, he was going round to talk to them, to see if they’d be willing to give their accounts, too, before Jamie made it official.’

  I put a hand to my mouth. The espresso curdled in my stomach.

  ‘But these people Jamie wanted to expose are powerful. Dangerous.’ He folded the list back up and placed it on the table. ‘If you really want to know what was going on, you need to read this first. Then decide what you’re dealing with.’ He opened the bag, pulled out a small black computer flash drive, and handed it to me.

  ‘What’s on here?’

  ‘A diary. Kind of. There’s an untraceable pay-as-you-go mobile phone in the bag, too. If you want to go further with this, call me with it when you’ve read what Jamie wrote. Then we’ll talk.’

  I pulled out an old Nokia from the bag. It was so old and big it felt like a brick in my hand.

  ‘Is someone watching me? I think someone broke into our house the day Jamie was killed. I think they wiped his laptop and satnav and took his last few months’ phone bills and his mobile phone for some reason. I found another phone I’d never seen before that Jamie had hidden with the list, too.’

  ‘Yes, it’s also an untraceable pay-as-you-go. He started using it when he became suspicious that they might be watching him. It looks like they’re cleaning up loose ends. Getting rid of evidence.’

  ‘But are they watching me?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t spotted anyone. They probably bugged Jamie’s house and his landline and mobile. Maybe his Jeep, too. Somehow they found out what Jamie was doing and then silenced him. The same as they’ve done with Dave—maybe Billy, too. But I suspect they think they’ve contained it. If they thought you knew something, you would’ve been taken out with Jamie in some kind of double accident. But you need to take precautions, just in case.’

  I tried to take in the words.

  Contained. Double accident. Bugged. Taken out.

  They were just too bizarre. It sounded like something from a film. Some kind of conspiracy thriller. And I didn’t know this guy. Didn’t know whether I could trust him, but…something told me I was going to have to.

  ‘This has to be kept a secret, Maya. You can’t let anyone suspect you know something. If they find out, they will come after you. That’s why you need to think carefully whether you want to open this can of worms.’ He stood up, leaving his untouched coffee on the table, and walked to the doorway.

  I shot up and followed him. ‘Wait! Why you? Why did Jamie want advice from you? Who are you?’

  ‘If you really want to know the truth, just read it. Read it and then phone me again.’ And he slipped out the door and into the throng of people, leaving me staring at his back.

  JAMIE


  Chapter 24

  When the bell startled me awake one Sunday morning, I blinked my eyes open to the sight of an empty bed. I shot upright as horrific thoughts whipped through my mind. Dave had been taken by Scholes or Barker and would be one of the boys who never came back. Then I noticed his bedclothes were missing, and terror welled up inside me.

  He’d hanged himself as Billy had tried to.

  I jumped out of bed and rushed to the dormitory door. Peering out, I checked the hallway and stairs, but there was no sign of Dave. I rushed into the shower and toilet block, but he wasn’t there either. It was then I noticed the window behind his bed was open slightly. The other boys whispered, ‘Where’s Dave?’ ‘Has he killed himself?’ ‘He’s better off if he has.’

  ‘Look here!’ I beckoned them to the window and opened it fully as we crowded round to get a good look. Just below us was the flat roof of a big storage room connected to the kitchen. It was an extension, built at a later date to the original building. From there it was an eight-metre drop to the grass below, and I saw a sheet tied to the metal guttering, flapping in the wind, that he’d used to climb down. I didn’t know how he’d managed to scale the boundary wall, but somehow Dave had escaped.

  We all pumped fists in the air and cheered for him, and we were so busy being happy for Dave, we didn’t notice Scholes entering the room.

  ‘Silence!’ he shouted, making us all freeze. ‘What’s going on here? Why aren’t you dressed?’ He marched over to the window as we tried to disperse out of his way. The nearest person to him would get the brunt of his anger.

  ‘Who was it?’ Scholes thundered at us. ‘Who got out?’ His gaze darted all around, trying to work out who was missing. He grabbed Trevor by the ear, twisting it hard. ‘Who got out? Where is he?’

  Trevor turned his head, following the direction of Scholes’s hand pulling him downwards. ‘Argh!’

  Scholes twisted harder. Tears trickled down Trevor’s cheeks.

  ‘It was Dave!’ Trevor cried when he could take no more.

  Scholes shoved Trevor away and rushed out.

  There was no breakfast for anyone that morning as Barker and Scholes and the other staff rushed around, checking the grounds. Then the police were called. We were all locked in our dorms, but we saw their car bursting up the drive. Saw Barker’s heated exchange then saw them depart again.

  We all prayed for Dave in our own ways, willing him to be far away from there by then. I hoped we’d be talking about this for years to come. We’d tell the new kids who arrived how Dave had managed to escape. How he’d outwitted them all. And we’d invent stories about where he’d gone, which would become more outlandish with time. He was living in a palace. He’d stowed away on a boat to Australia. He’d hitched a ride to Scotland or was living on an island in the middle of nowhere. He’d been adopted by a rich family.

  Two days passed, and Dave didn’t return. Someone came to weld bars on the outside of the windows. We were locked in the refectory during meal times. Locked in the dorms at night. There was no free time outside. The staff kept an even closer eye on us.

  On the third day, Dave was brought back. From the common room window, I saw him dragged from the rear of a police car and frogmarched up to the building. He didn’t return to the dorm for another three days, and when he did, he was black and blue.

  After lights out, we whispered questions to him. ‘Where did you go?’ ‘How far did you get?’ ‘What did you eat?’ ‘Where did you sleep?’

  But Dave didn’t tell us. He ignored our questions and simmered away with anger and frustration.

  Dave tried to run away three more times after that, and each time he was brought back. I wished I’d had his fight, but I didn’t. I was damaged, destroyed, decayed.

  Around that time, the parties stopped. We were fifteen, and I think we’d become too old for their twisted predilections. Every Friday instead, we watched a group of the younger boys being driven away with Barker, returning on Saturdays with that haunted, dead look in their eyes. I wanted to reach out to them, but what could I say? I couldn’t comfort them or tell them everything would be okay. And I still couldn’t speak the unspeakable.

  Barker and Scholes also seemed to lose interest in us then, too. Younger boys were taken in the night, or often in broad daylight, only to return like mirror images of our younger selves. Although the sexual abuse had ended, the physical abuse continued right up until my sixteenth birthday, when I was ordered to Barker’s office and presented with a ten-pound note and a letter releasing me from care. A social worker arrived and drove me to a hostel, where I would be spending the next two years. An appointment was set up at the job centre for me on Monday morning.

  When I walked out of the hostel on Monday, I strolled into town, marvelling at my new freedom. I could go anywhere I wanted. Be anything I wanted. But I wasn’t going to stick around in case they decided to take me back to that place. Instead of going to the job centre, I went straight to the nearest army recruitment office and signed up. I was going to make something of myself. Learn a trade while I was in there and never look back. I was going to bury deep all the years of my childhood, somewhere they’d never come out. I was going to forget. Jamie Taylor would be reinvented.

  I wouldn’t say the basic army training was easy. I was a skinny, undernourished teenager, but I’d had years of taking verbal and physical abuse, and compared to the previous eight years, initiation into army life was nothing. I joined the Royal Signals as an apprentice, and my desperation to put the past behind me and build a new life for myself was a huge motivator to get through it. It was that motivation and single-minded determinedness that made me stand out in the ranks of my fellow recruits. My grades in all elements of my training were at the high end, and as my recruit was nearing completion, I was in line for champion recruit, which brought me to the attention of various signals regiments recruitment teams, who persuaded me to apply for spec ops training. I spent the next six years in 299 Signal Squadron Special Communications, supporting the Foreign and Commonwealth Office operations in the UK and overseas. Being in spec ops suited me. It meant I was rarely in uniform as I was generally working abroad in various overseas embassies. We wore civvies most of the time, and there was none of the usual bullshit we had to put up with in the Green Army—no senior NCOs telling me what to do. With spec ops, we operated in a more grown-up fashion and were left to get on with it—a mutual trust and respect thing, which suited me perfectly. I really enjoyed the work, and I learnt a lot. However, after six years, it was time to move on to the next chapter in my life, so I resigned from the army and started my career in specialist IT with the skills I’d amassed.

  I worked hard, saved money, made myself comfortable. Blocked out the horrors of the past. Until that day when he appeared on my TV, and I knew that I couldn’t keep the secret any longer. I wanted justice. For me, for my friends, for all the boys they’d abused. For those they’d murdered. For all the innocence they’d stolen and crushed and turned into something worthless and warped.

  So one by one, I found out who they were. I already knew some things about them, and it didn’t take long for me to find out more.

  The owner of 10 Crompton Place, the high court judge, was Howard Sebastian. He died four years ago.

  The children’s minister, well, I already had his name: Eamonn Colby.

  The other MP, Douglas Talbot, was now the defence secretary.

  The high-ranking police officer was Colin Reed, now the chief constable of Bedfordshire Police.

  The children’s home inspector was Ted Byron, now retired.

  The banker turned out to be from an old banking family, owner of the largest privately owned bank in the UK: Felix Barron.

  Keith Scholes was also retired.

  Geoff Barker, thankfully, had died of lung cancer.

  I still didn’t know who the hooded man was in the dungeon. But I was getting closer.

  PART 2

  UNTOUCHABLE

 
“If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic, and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State.”

  ~ Joseph Goebbels

  MAYA

  Chapter 25

  After meeting Mitchell, I hurried back home with Jamie’s flash drive safely in my bag, clutched tightly to my side. Did I want to know what was contained on it? How could I not find out? Could I trust Mitchell? I didn’t know.

  Mitchell’s words echoed in my head. Jamie knew things about certain people. Very important people. Things that happened years ago. If they find out, they will come after you.

  Someone had gone to great lengths to kill Jamie and cover things up. Someone didn’t want me to find out what Jamie had wanted to expose.

  So the question was, was I prepared to put myself in danger, too, if I read whatever was on the flash drive?

  And the answer? I didn’t know.

  I closed the curtains, even though it was still broad daylight, and turned on a lamp. Pacing the lounge, I chewed the skin around my thumb until I drew blood, staring at the flash drive on the arm of the sofa.

  The answer was: I had to know. Even if I put myself in danger, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding out who had murdered Jamie and why.

  I slid the flash drive into my laptop and opened up the only document on it.

  Curled up on the sofa, I read what Jamie had written, my shoulders stiff, my cheeks streaked with tears, shivering. I read about the unimaginable horrors. The torture, the murders, the parties, the terrible abuse.

  Jamie had lied to me about his past. His parents hadn’t died in a car accident at sixteen, and that wasn’t why he’d gone into the army. The childhood photos they’d taken of him when he was a kid hadn’t got lost when they’d moved house. He hadn’t lived in a middle-classed home in London growing up. He’d invented a new past. Hidden the truth because he couldn’t bear to speak about it. Afraid I wouldn’t love him anymore once I knew. But it just made me love him more. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it had done to his psyche. He’d fought back. Dragged himself from those gates of hell and made a life for himself. He was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for, and I wished with all my shattered heart that he were here so I could tell him that.