The Psychopath: A Maitland Noir Thriller #1, page 11
He knows his papa will run to catch him if he disappears and he thinks that will be fun.
So he skips a little faster towards the funfair, moving into the crowd.
He does’t think about needing a wee any more.
24
6.34pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
Half a mile to the funfair at most, I reckon. Maybe seven or so minutes and I’ll have my little William back.
It’s dark and busy now, as the carnival gets underway.
Noisy too, as we move ever closer to the funfair. And rougher, with lots of teenagers rushing along and laughing and joking and pushing their way through the crowds.
They’re about ten yards ahead of me. Veitch, the sister-in-law and little William.
They bob and duck out of sight and then reappear as I keep up a steady pace behind them, near enough to see but not so close as to be noticed.
Just walking along, I am, as if I’m enjoying the atmosphere.
Walking and watching.
Waiting for my moment.
Just ready for my opportunity – I only need the one.
Until then, anyone who looks at me will just assume I’m your Mr Average, out for a nice time, no more, no less.
Six, seven minutes to go now.
You know what? They don’t have a clue they’re being followed. Not a fucking clue.
Told you, didn’t I? About the police not knowing about how they came to the grandparents at Aldeburgh every Halloween.
There’s no one going to stop me now.
Nobody out there to help them.
Little William’s mine for the taking.
Whenever and wherever I want.
I just need to wait for my chance.
They don’t even know I’m there. They’ve no idea they’re being followed at all.
Why should they?
Who turns and looks back when you’re on the way to fun, fun, fun?
Hurrying along, keen to get to the funfair farther up the promenade.
It’s where it’s all at.
A half-hour or so there, then fish and chips, followed by the Halloween procession.
That’s what they do every year, did I tell you?
I know. Been there. Done that.
It’s what they think they’re going to do this year.
The procession’s where the whole town crowds into the high street, half of them, families with kids, carrying lanterns and the other half watching.
They make their way down to the green by the seafront where they let off the fireworks at seven-thirty.
Be a bit different for them this year, won’t it? They won’t have William for the fish and chips, that’s for sure. Nor anything else for that matter.
Five minutes, that’s all, and he’ll be mine.
It’s easy to follow them, dead easy.
I’m just waiting for my chance. I said, didn’t I?
Only need the one and it’s all over for Veitch and the sister-in-law. They’ll be fucked.
They’re not moving that fast, I can tell you – the sister-in-law is holding William’s hand now, very tightly, by the look of it, holding him back, stopping him from running away, I reckon. And Veitch, the stupid idiot, is in front of them, leading the way through the crowds. Makes it easy for me, this does.
That’ll be his downfall, that will. Veitch’s. Mark my words. Marching ahead and not paying attention to the wife and child just behind. Anything could happen to them and he’s too far off to notice if anything did.
I can see her, evil cow, trying to keep up with Veitch. She’s holding William’s hand and every time he stumbles, because she’s going way too fast for his little legs, she pulls him to his feet and keeps walking.
Poor little mite.
I’d like to push on up behind her and jostle her to the ground next time she does that and then, as she stumbles and falls, I’ll take little William by the hand and be away into the crowd.
He’ll look up at me in surprise and I’ll look down at him and smile and say something sweet and kind and he’ll smile back as we disappear away together forever.
You know what, I might even kiss him on the forehead. That’s what you do, that is.
Kiss little children.
I can’t move in and snatch the little fellow, though, not really. Wishful thinking, that is. No more than that.
Well, I can’t, can I? Not with all these people about.
I just have to wait for my chance, don’t I?
Sometime in the next four minutes.
Mind you, it’s heaving. Most people are sweeping along towards the funfair, although there’s a steady stream of people going back along the prom back out of town. They’re all bumping into each other and saying “Excuse me” over and over again.
Utter confusion.
Complete madness.
Confused as fuck.
Not me, mind. I’m concentrating. I’m just being oh-so-careful and keeping ten yards back and out of sight, tucked in behind some stumpy-legged woman and her three gormless-looking children. Anyone who looks my way will think I’m with them, God help me. They’re like the Addams Family.
I keep it all nice and steady as I move by them. I’ve not said “Excuse me” once, I don’t need to. I’m careful, me. Just your Average Joe, out for a stroll.
No one can hear anything anyway, other than the din of the fairground rides over the hubbub of excited children’s voices. You can’t even hear yourself think.
It’d be easy to do it right now. Just take a second or two and then I’m away into the crowds.
But it’s too risky. Way too risky. It only needs someone behind me to see what’s happening and anything could happen. Maybe a group of teenage boys with some big-mouthed fucker wanting to impress his mates.
I can’t have any of that.
No, I have to be patient, got to walk and watch, that’s all. My chance will come.
And soon, very soon.
All I’ve got to do is to keep them in sight, and wait for my moment to pounce.
I walk a little quicker, I walk a little slower – I just keep on going, watching for that instant.
Just keep it going, on and on, in and out, waiting to make my move.
As I get to the funfair, they’ll split up, did I say?
I think I did.
One will go and get some candy floss, while the other takes sweet William to the toilets there.
He’s little, see? He’ll need a tinkle-winkle before he gets to go on all the rides.
In about three minutes that’ll be.
We’re almost there, about to be reunited, a daddy and his much-loved son.
25
6.39pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
The little boy stands behind the old fishermen’s hut on the beach and tries to do a wee like his papa said he should. A drop or two comes out, but not as much as he hoped. He had thought he would have done a really big wee the way he felt. He tries to do some more. He knows his papa will get cross if he says he needs to go again in a few minutes.
His papa stands next to him, waiting, and is telling him all the things they will do at the fair.
“There’s a roundabout, Will, over by the boating lake, with different cars on it. If you’re quick, when the ride stops and the other children get off, you may get on the police car.”
The little boy looks up. “Police car?” Papa nods.
“With a light?”
“Well, yes, sort of.” His papa laughs. “It’s on a ride and there will be a police car and a bus and . . . I don’t know . . . maybe a pink car and . . . all sorts really . . . a frog and a dog and a cow. They’re all rides you sit on.”
The little boy looks back down again, puzzled.
He thinks for a moment or two, about a pink car. He has never seen one. He has seen a red one and a yellow one but never a pink one. He thinks it would look funny. He imagines himself in a pink car that looked like Peppa Pig.
“And floss?” he asks. “We have floss?”
“Candy floss? Yes, that’s pink too, clever boy,” answers Papa, thinking for a minute before going on, “we’ll have to see what Mama says about that. But there are lots of rides for you. Maybe some teacups? Like we did at Disney?”
The little boy nods. He remembers the teacups. They were scary but fun as he held on to his mama on one side and his papa on the other as they swung back and forth, slowly getting faster and faster. He thinks he’d like to go on them again now he is all grown up.
“Come on, Will, hurry up and sort yourself out, Mama will be waiting for us.”
The little boy struggles with his pull-up pants and trousers, grabbing at his pants but not his trousers and then pushing his pants back down again. He then pulls both pants and trousers up together, but it does not feel comfortable. Something somewhere seems to be in a tangle.
“Papa?” he says, turning towards his papa who smiles down at him.
“Ready? Come on, let’s find Mama . . . see if she’s on a ride already.”
The boy looks back at his papa and then beyond him, down the pebbly beach to the sea. Something is coming towards them from out of the black and the wind and the spray. It is moving very fast. As it gets closer, he can see it is a man, a very angry man with a torn face and wild glaring eyes that stare first at the boy and then, as he stops, at his papa.
Seeing the expression on the little boy’s face, his papa turns to see what has startled him.
26
6.41pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
As Veitch turns, I hit him hard. On the side of the head.
I’ve no choice.
It’s all gone wrong. Horribly wrong.
Veitch doesn’t expect it. Doesn’t see it coming. He staggers sideways, cracks his head on the wall. Falls forward onto his knees.
It all started just as I said it would. The sister-in-law queueing for food. Veitch taking little William off to the toilets down by the beach.
Dear William. Looking up at me now. His innocent little face.
The toilets were packed solid with people queueing outside. Just as I had thought. I’d planned to take William away in the confusion as Veitch saw to the little man and then stayed inside for a piss.
I hoped William would be standing outside for a moment or two while Veitch did his business. I’d have swept over, picked him up and been and gone in no time at all.
No harm done.
No trouble.
Nice and simple.
And I’d have had a good ten- to fifteen-minute head start while Veitch went looking for the sister-in-law. He’d assume little William had wandered off to look for her.
And then another ten to fifteen minutes while they searched for him along the beach, with ever-rising panic in case he’d stumbled into the water and been swept out to sea.
When they finally called for help, they’d never think of me. They’d not realise me and William were now together and on our way out of town.
The thing is, though, Veitch didn’t go into the toilets and leave the little fellow outside for two minutes.
It wasn’t nice and simple.
In fact, it’s been trouble.
And plenty of harm done too.
When Veitch saw how full the toilets were, he kept on walking, taking William along the beach, behind one of the old fishermen’s buildings. I thought I’d lost him for a moment, that he’d got away. I circled round and chased him down, though, all out of sight. That’s when it all went wrong.
I had to hit him.
What else could I do?
It was my one and only chance.
“Papa?” says William, lifting his right hand. Towards Veitch, though. Not me.
Veitch shakes his head. Dazed, he is. Still on his knees. His head in his hands now.
I’ve got to be quick. This is it. My chance to take little William away.
I grab William’s hand, pull him towards me, swinging him up into my arms.
“Daddy,” I say, “I’m Daddy. I’m your Daddy.” My voice breaks. I can’t believe I’ve got him at last.
He looks at me blankly, not really taking it in. He doesn’t know who I am, that’s the thing. Then he turns to look down, watching Veitch, his head first in his hands, then gazing at the blood on his palms from where he’d struck his head.
Maybe Veitch didn’t actually see me. Doesn’t know it’s me back to get my little boy. I’d rushed towards him as he stood there, little William to one side and slightly back. I was just going to snatch the little ’un and run. But Veitch turned as I approached so I panicked and hit him on the side of the face and down he went.
Well, wouldn’t you?
Think about it.
Give me a fucking break for once, why don’t you?
“Ssshhh,” I say to William, “ssshhh.” Well, what else can I do?
I swing round, William in my arms, back towards the funfair.
As I do, two, three, four men come round the back of the building.
Christ, I’m done for.
Think quickly.
Got to be fast.
The first, already reaching for his flies, glances at me and then looks down at Veitch crouched over on his knees.
He can see what I’ve done.
I’ve had it now.
Well and truly fucked.
There are four of them. Army types. Cropped hair. And big fuckers. Huge they are. And they’ve been drinking. A lot. Fact is, they’re pissed. I can tell.
“God,” I say out loud, without thinking, instinctive-like. “That . . . he tried to . . . he touched . . . my little boy.” My voice catches, almost like a sob.
Smart I am, really smart.
I told you I could think on my feet, didn’t I?
They’re swarming around menacingly. Staring aggressively at me and at William, who just gazes curiously, oh-so-passively, back at them.
It’s William’s calmness with me that fools them.
I help things along as I turn to Veitch, still crouching there on the ground.
“Pervert,” I spit.
The first one, the one who led them round the corner, suddenly kicks out at Veitch, catching him just below the ribs. Must have hurt that, really hurt. Veitch cries out and rolls sideways and onto his back as the four of them circle around him.
I’ve got to move fast now, got to get little William away before he sees Veitch get a real kicking.
Can’t have that.
What sort of daddy would let his little laddie watch someone take a good hiding?
“Come on,” I say to William, “come on, time to go. Let’s go. Come on now.” I turn away, William in my arms, and take one final glance back at Veitch being kicked. I can’t help smiling to myself.
“No,” shouts little William. “Fair.”
(So much for “Papa”, Veitch!)
“Yes,” I reply. “Funfair, we’ll go to the funfair. But you’ve got to be quiet. Hush now and we’ll go to the funfair.”
We’re hurrying along, moving away from the fishermen’s building by the beach and back towards the funfair.
There’s not much to it, really. A little children’s Ferris wheel is the centrepiece on the green with three or four other rides around it. Then, opposite, along the prom, there are stalls and caravans, all selling candy floss and burgers and bags of pick-and-mix sweets.
Got to keep away from the stalls – that’s where the sister-in-law will be.
I have to cut across the green, turn left along the high street to the end, where I’ll turn and go up the hill to get the Japanese car and then away with little William.
It’s easy – just so long as I keep moving away from the sister-in-law on the seafront and Veitch and the army boys behind me.
No one’s going to notice a daddy and his son moving quickly through the funfair. The rides are full, with queues of mums and dads and children for every one of them. There are big queues for the food too, teenagers mingling in with the families.
And, know what? Even if the little chap kicks up a fuss, it won’t make any difference.
The noise now is furious – the laughter and shouts of the funfair drowned out by the music blaring from the different stalls and caravans. Kids yelling, people screaming and teenagers effing and blinding their heads off. You can hardly hear yourself think.
No one’s going to notice a child crying. Or they’ll just assume he wants one more go after Daddy’s been on endless ride after ride and spent all his pennies.
We’ve just got to push our way through this little lot, go through the funfair and back up into the relative quiet of the high street and then go through a dead-quiet side alley to get to that woman’s house where the car is parked up on the hill.
To the car and money and away to France.
Our new life.
Me and my little love.
William is looking at me now, as we hurry along, just about reaching the crowds. He looks curious, so I smile at him.
(God, he’s heavy in my arms; he’s a solid little chap, I’ll say that.)
“Fair?” he cries, his hands stretching up in the air as if he’s just won the World Cup. He beams at me. “And floss?”
“Yes, candy floss, you can have candy floss but you’ve just got to be quiet for a few minutes, that’s all. Just be quiet.” We hurry on.
(You know what, I’m struggling to carry the little fellow, but if I make him walk it will slow us up. I’ve got to hold him, just got to keep going.)
“Papa? Papa coming?”
(For Christ’s sake, stop talking, will you? I can’t walk fast and talk at the same time.)
“He’s not feeling very well,” I puff. “So he’s just having a sit down. We’ll see him later. We’re . . . getting some toys from my car and then we’ll meet him back at the funfair.”
(I think quickly see, you’ve got to when you’ve a young child, you know.)
“Toys?” he says. “For Will?”
(God almighty, now he’s talking in the third person.)
I smile, nod at him. We’ve really got to get going now, move as fast as we can.
Hell, it’s so busy. It’s going to be a nightmare pushing through all of these fat lardy fucks.
I stop for a second; now I’m on the prom again, and look right to see if it’s quieter that way.
