The Thirteenth Station

The Thirteenth Station

Chapter one

Johnny Walker was a normal little boy with an unfortunate name. His
mother knew
little of whiskey, be it red or black. She had never tasted it, but had
smelled it once on
the breath of a bad man. She hadn't recognized it for what it was, she
thought that the
awful, bad smell oozing out of him was something fetid lurking within
his core, just
waiting to pass from his vile mouth to hers.
Oh she fought.
"Don`t let anybody tell you I didn't Mamma, I tried to make it stop
Mam"
Mary had fought her attacker long and hard.
"But it said in the paper that he was a 'notorious sociopath'. What
could I do Daddy.
Don't look at me like that! Tell me Daddy, what could I do?"
'notorious sociopath'. Mary read the two words several times, doing the
best she
could with her limited vocabulary. She didn't quite know what it meant
of course, but
she knew it was a reason. She knew those two words gave her a valid,
cast in stone,
tied in the dye, rolled in clover reason for not being able to fight
that evil man off her.
Some evil was just too strong to be beaten.
Mary took some pills when she was five months pregnant. She just
wanted to die.
The shame of it was just too much for her long suffering parents.
Suicide was a sin
almost as heinous as letting yourself get raped by a 'notorious
sociopath'.
She had been in the papers. Her startled 'rabbit in the headlights'
face looming out
from the front page. Her last school photograph. Not a good one. Teeth
too big, eyes
too big, face too sallow. She was not a pretty child, not the sort of
child it was easy to
take to.
There had been other photographs too. Naked pictures. Deeply shameful
pictures. A
second rape, feet in stirrups, body spread. Ugly pictures which came
back to her often
in the night. Came back to make her body burn with shame. Pictures of
her hurt face,
her small blue/black breasts. The right breast with the chunk of flesh
bitten out. Her
abdomen bitten, kicked bruised. Her genitalia, one outer labia not just
bitten off, but
eaten. Chewed and swallowed. Her entire body photographed. The second
rape.
She had been poked and prodded, sutured and swabbed, tested for
decease, and for
pregnancy. Demoralized and humiliated.
Her parents, strict Catholics, hadn't wanted to listen to the doctors
when they
mentioned termination. Mary didn't hear the words, they floated above
her in the tall
white room. circling her head like so many trapped birds. Mary didn't
care anymore
what happened to her. The worst had been done. She craved only the
sweet relief of
death.
The suicide attempt had been the turning point. A month in an
institution for the
mentally ill. Therapy, counselling. She was allowed to get angry. She
was encouraged
to get angry. A man dressed in black, fat with padding. She beat him.
She beat him.
She beat him. That was the last time she beat herself. She wilted to
the floor of the
gym, and vomited in the corner, wretching up the fire of shame.
She came out of Willow Glade stronger. Older. On the front steps, she
hugged the
staff who had become her friends, and promised them she would never be
back.
Charlie, her father could never look at her without his upper lip
curling slightly at the
right hand side. He tried to conceal his disgust but never quite
succeeded. It showed in
the warmth that was missing from his eyes.
Her mother Betty couldn't look at her at all, kept her eyes averted.
Couldn't face the
sullied product of her womb. All Betty could do for her daughter now,
was increase
her daily visits to church from two, to three times a day, and maybe
say a couple of
extra soul saving "Hail Marys"
One day Betty walked into Mary's bedroom. Her daughter was standing in
her
underwear in front of the tall brass mirror. She was muttering soft
words of love to
her gestating offspring, and running her hands in soft gliding circles
over her swollen
belly, as she looked at herself in the mirror.
"You JEZEBEL, flaunting your obscene growth" Betty was incensed. She
flew into
a rage the like of which she had never felt before.
"You enjoyed it didn't you? Feeling that animal's rod inside you.
Accepting his seed.
Spawning one of his evil brood. You whore. You disgusting dirty whore.
You tempted
him. Flaunted yourself and tempted him into sin, You will rot in
hell!"
Mary had covered her stomach with her arms. Protecting her beloved baby
from
hearing what was being said. She had tried so hard to bring about
forgiveness in her
parents. Had gone to mass twice a day until her stomach had shown the
signs of her
pregnancy. She had gone to confession at her mothers insistence, and
had even done
her mothers bidding. Sitting cowed in the confessional, she admitted
tempting a man
beyond endurance. Yet inside she felt no more shame, only love for her
unborn
innocent child.
She was five and a half months pregnant on the day she left. At six
months she was
due to be taken into an institution for unmarried mothers anyway. One
run by severe
judgmental nuns. She closed the door quietly in the early hours of the
cold morning,
and walked down the street swinging her carrier bag full of clothes.
Having emptied
her bank account she had the princely sum of twenty two pounds in her
pocket. She
was sixteen years old, five and a half months pregnant, and
alone.
She had to return for the trial. It was an ordeal, but she had suffered
worse. She sat in
the hard straight seat of the crown court. Her belly distended, the
little one kicking
harshly. Visible to all as she gave her evidence. Noticeable even
through the corduroy
material of her maternity smock. A point in her stomach would suddenly
protrude,
sticking out in a knobbly lump, before retracting back, to relax in the
warm fluid.
The eyes of Barry Holmes burned into hers. No remorse. No guilt, just
a biting
hatred.
Other victims of Holmes came forward. They looked at Mary with a deep
sympathy
and a "there but for the grace.." look. They didn't know how blessed
she was to be
having this child.
Holmes was given three life sentences to run concurrently.
Mary walked out of court a free woman.
She faced the trial, but not alone. She faced giving birth, but not
alone. It was long.
It was painful. It was Jonathan. Her sweet innocent Johnny.
She found herself living in Eccles. Home of the cake, land of the
impersonal. Those
first years hadn't been easy. A young girl with bastard child. She was
barely literate,
had no skills, and no money. What Mary did have though was one hell of
a fighting
spirit. "Little Mary, plain and leary" was gone. Her body after giving
birth had become
that of a woman. Her mind after giving birth, had become that of a
woman. Her spirit
after giving birth, had become that of a strong and courageous woman.
She found
work and lodging on her first day, with an angel in the form of a
woman, who ran a
small bakery. The gods were smiling down on all of them that day.
Jilly had been struggling to keep her business afloat since her
husband had died two
years previously. Things were not good. She was up every morning at
four am to bake
the bread, and crust the pies. She was knocking sixty and feeling
tired. Having not
been blessed with children of her own, she had nobody to help ease the
workload.
One day a young lass, heavily pregnant and obviously down on her luck
had come
into her shop. The girl had a defiant glint to her eye. A look that
said, "Yes, by God,
I'm down, but I'm not out yet". While Jilly was wrapping her bread, the
girl had
fainted, falling lightly onto the shop floor. Jilly had taken her in.
Made it her business
to care for the girl, feeding her with nourishing soup, and plying her
with common
sense caring. Mary had been grateful when offered the chance to stay on
and work in
her new friend's business.
She had happily accepted the woman's kind offer of home and work. She
was a
good worker, and although heavily pregnant soon became fit and strong,
taking on
more and more of the elderly woman's burden. They both rose at six it
was early
enough with the two of them on the job, and a pleasant routine was soon
established.
They worked side by side in the shop and then made good company for
each other in
the evenings. Mary worked until the moment her water flooded the shop
floor and
washed Jilly's feet. Then laughing the older woman had put a sign on
the shop door
that said "Closed for hard Labour. Back when we have a new
worker!"
The relationship between the two women grew strong and sure. Mary's
story came
pouring out one night a couple of days before Jon was born. Jilly held
her to her huge
bossom, in a way that her own mother had never done. She made her feel
safe. Later
Mary came to feel loved. Jon was the apple of both women's eye. He grew
up secure
in the knowledge that his mum and his nanna Jilly loved him
fiercely.
Ten years passed. Ten years of happy Christmases. Ten years of being a
happy
family.
The business thrived. Mary had a knack of breathing new life and fresh
enthusiasm into
the tired and weary old shop. The women were popular with the locals,
and it wasn't
long before they had even been able to take on a couple of extras, so
that Jilly could
take more time off. She would sit with Jon, helping him with his
homework when he
came home from school. Mary would hear the pair of them laughing in the
flat above,
as she served customers in the downstairs shop. She counted her
blessings, and blessed
her Jilly every single day.

Jon had gone off to the park to play.
"Be in by five now lad," Jilly admonished him with stern voice.
"Not a minute after or I'll tek the skin of yer backside with the sole
of me shoe."
"Yeah Yeah Nanna," the cheeky lad retorted,"you could no more hit me
than hit the
sun in the sky."
He was a bright lad with an answer for everything. Ten going on thirty.
Wise beyond
his years, with his mothers quick mind and her thirst for
knowledge.
Jill had watched both her children grow over the last ten years. Mary
was as much her
daughter as if she had given birth to her herself. She had shed her
gawkyness and filled
out. Her self conscious attitude was replaced with an open smile, and a
jaunty air that
exuded happiness. Although she would never be a ravishing beauty, she
was pretty in a
wholesome way. Fresh looking, with shiny brown hair, and blue eyes that
had long ago
lost their haunted look. It never took much to make her eyes crinkle at
the sides. Mary
was always finding something to laugh at. She had her share of offers
from the local
fellas too. Jilly was sad that Mary had never felt enough at ease with
a man to become
serious about him.
"Ahh Jilly, you and Jon are all I'll ever need. What do I want with
some big soft
fella?. When I feel the urge to be slobbered on, I'll get mesen a dog,"
she'd laugh.
Occasionally she'd accept an offer to go out with a man, Sometimes more
than once.
But they never went out more than a handful of times. Jilly suspected
that as soon as
the mans fancy had turned to romance Mary had given him short shrift.
She was far
from lonely though, she had lots of friends both male and female, and
both women
were happy with their lot in life.

By five fifteen Jon had not returned home.

Chapter two

At five eighteen when Jilly walked into the shop, as Mary was cashing
up.
"I see our Jon hasn't shown up Mare? Its not like him to disregard my
instructions.
I'm a bit worried he's normally in bang on the nose, I'd best tek a
gander out and have
a look for him"
"He'll be all right , he's probably just got chatting to some of those
dopey mates of
his. Warm his backside for me when you find him" She grinned fondly as
Jilly walked
out of the front door of the shop.

By six o clock they had called the police. Mary spoke to a Sergeant on
the front
desk, she was patronizing and unhelpful.
"Don't you worry love they always come home when they're hungry, he's
probably
just lost track of the time. Come on, he's barely an hour late yet.
Tell you what, you
ring back in an hour if there's been no word of him, but I'm sure you
won't need to.
"Sergeant" Mary began in her cool clipped tone, with a barely
disguised hint of
sarcasm, that could make the bravest lion try to bolt down a rabbit
hole.
"I'm sorry Sergeant I didn't catch your name and would like to make a
note of it for
future reference"
"Boyd, Ma'am. Sergeant Melanie Boyd"
"Thank you Sergeant Boyd. Now. You seem to be having a little
trouble
understanding me here. I'm not talking about some feral kid, who's left
to walk the
streets until all hours. I'm talking about my ten year old son
Jonathan, who has never
been late more than ten minutes in his life. If there was a problem he
would have rung
me. He has not rung me, he has not come home. So, Sergeant, we have
more than a
problem. I would be grateful if you could send someone round as soon as
possible. In
the meantime I will of course ring you with my apologies if he turns
up"
Mary's voice had just begun to loose some of its cool composure. Jon
was now one
hour and two minutes late home. She felt the tide of panic beginning to
claim her.
"Mrs.?"
"Miss ... Miss Mary Walker"
"Right, ok. Miss Walker I'm just making some notes about Jonathan.
Tell me his
name, address and date of birth please"
Mary reeled off the information, She fought back the tremor in her
voice, knowing
already that something was badly wrong, realizing that her best chance
of helping
Johnny now was to keep a calm head.
"Can you give us a brief description of Jon, please Miss Walker, and
we can radio it
through to the patrol cars. They will be able to start looking out for
him immediately,
and an officer will be round to interview you as soon as we have one
free."
"My son is five foot four inches, a tall lad for his age. He looks
older. He has light
brown-blonde hair. He needs a haircut," Her voice broke slightly.
"I'm sorry " She despised this show of weakness and sniffed back the
tears before
they took hold.
"Johnny has brown eyes. He has two scars. One running down his right
cheek to the
side of his nose, it is about an inch long and one on the back of his
right hand, about
three inches long."
Melanie was impressed with this one, she could hear the womans
torment, but was
also conscious of her resolve to hold it together. She believed that
this was no neurotic
mother and that when she said it was out of character for her son to be
an hour late,
she meant it. The woman didn't even bother to try and justify her son's
scars,
something that most parents automatically do as a reflex defence in
front of a Police
Officer.
Melanie was having to write furiously to keep up with the description.
She told
herself that Miss Walker would make a good witness, "Let's hope that
she never has
to," she thought as her pen flew across the page
Jon is wearing a pair of blue jeans, and a blue fleece top with the
stitched logo
'100\% Radical' on the front in large white machine sewn lettering.
He's wearing black
non-branded trainers with a blue trim. He's also wearing a commando
force watch."
Most parents didn't have a clue what their kids had on. This lady was
thorough.
"Excuse me one moment please Miss Walker. I promise not to keep you
long."
Mary tapped her fingers impatiently on the table as she tried not to
listen to the
irritating hold music. True to her word Sergeant Boyd was back within a
couple of
minutes.
"Right Miss Walker, I've personally radioed a description of your son
and what he
was wearing to our patrol cars. They are looking for him as we speak.
I'm going to
get someone to see you right away. They should be with you within about
quarter of
an hour. Please have a recent photo of Johnny ready to give them , and
if you hear
from him in the meantime, please let us know immediately and we can all
breathe a big
sigh of relief"
"Thank you Sergeant Boyd, you have been most helpful"
The two women on either end of the telephone smiled at each other. One
in unseen
gratitude, the other in unseen sympathy.
Melanie straightened her pants and smoothed her shirt before she
knocked on the
DI's door. She was ready for a fight. She rapped slightly more urgently
than she
normally would.
"C'min"
Detective Inspector Phil Donnan glanced up from his paper work as she
strode
confidently into his office. He knew that walk, invariably it meant
trouble.
"Sir" Mel proceeded to fill him in, giving him all the information she
had.
Donnan continued to mark off names on the list of in front of him. He
glanced at her
irritated and impatient.
"Boyd, why have you come to me with this?. The kids been missing ...
what ... an hour
... and you're bothering me? Can't you see how busy I am? What's the
problem? Get
Taylor to deal with it."
"Sir I have a bad feeling about this one"
Boyd was his best officer. She had a canny and astute perception. He
trusted her
judgment. Now she had his attention. He pushed the papers away and
looked at her
properly for the first time since she'd entered his office. She had
that look about her
that said "There's no point in arguing with me, I'm going to get my own
way on this.
Even if I do have to persuade my superior to see sense."
"What do you suggest Boyd?"
"Well Sir, I'd like to put Taylor on the desk and take this one myself
... And as you
are going to be taking it in twenty four hours anyway, I'd like to
suggest Sir that you
come with me"
"Out of the question Boyd ..."

Mary jumped up to answer the doorbell almost before it had finished
ringing.
"Miss Walker? DI Donnan and Sergeant Boyd," Phil held out his ID and
Mel
followed suit. "I take it he hasn't shown up?" Donnan asked in a gruff
yet sympathetic
voice.
As Mel stepped over the threshold she grabbed the other womans hand
and gave it a
reassuring squeeze. Mary smiled at her. Some barrier had already come
down between
the two women. Mary knew the Sergeant had used her influence to be
there. It
mattered and it also brought home again the seriousness of the
situation.
Jilly flapped about making tea and producing delicious cakes, that Mel
eyed with
something akin to lust but resisted admirably. Not so Donnan, he only
managed to stop
himself after a strawberry tart and a chocolate eclair.
They went over and over the course of events leading up to Jon's
disappearance.
Had they had a falling out? Was he worried about anything? How was he
getting on at
school? They wrote down the names and addresses of all Jon's closest
friends.
"And what about Jonathan's father M ...er Miss Walker .. um where is
he?" Donnan
looked down at the crumbs that had fallen onto his knee and started
picking them off
one by one. Now he found that he had a handful of crumbs to deal with.
Leaning
forward he dropped them onto his discarded side plate.
There was a five second pause before Mary answered. Four seconds too
long.
"Jonathan's father is in jail Inspector"
Boyd snapped her head up to scrutinize the other woman. "Something not
right
here" She thought. "Something she's not telling." Mel could feel that
Mary's hackles
had risen.
"Is there anything. Anything at all, you feel might be helpful to our
enquiries Miss
Walker? Anything you haven't already told us?"
"Mary." Mary snapped, then softening slightly "Please call me Mary. No,
nothing. I've
told you everything that I can think of."
Mel's instinct told her that Mary would say if there was any concern
over Jon's
disappearence, but still there was something she was hiding.
"Hhhm, no you haven't lady," she thought.
The two police oficers left with Jon's picture and every assurance
that they would
soon find him.

Mary was amazed when night turned into morning. Somehow she thought
that it
wouldn't. How could things go on as normal with Johnny missing? To say
they had
come through the night trivialized it. Somehow they had survived the
night. Somehow
they were kept from being driven insane by thoughts of where John was.
Who he was
with. How he was doing. Was he all right?
Mary thought she was going to break in two the following morning, when
she picked
up the brown envelope from the doormat. It was addressed to "Mary
Walker" and
was in Johnny's neat hand. She ripped the envelope open savagely, and
pulled out the
single sheet of paper to read what was written. Reading hungrily
through it, as though
she were someone starving who had been given a life saving bowl of
rice.

"To the virgin Mary.
I am all right. Put ten thousand pounds in used tens and twenties, in a
large brown
envelope, put the envelope in a black holdall. Bring it to the
THIRTEENTH
STATION at two p.m. Thursday. No Police or you'll never see me alive
again. You
will be given instructions of what to do next when you get
there."

There were three more letters. An 'I' a space and then 'Lo' after the
'O' the pen had
been dragged across the paper ripping it along part of its path, as
though the pen were
snatched out of his hand. Mary got the message though.
"I love you too Johnny," she sobbed.
The kidnapper could easily have made Johnny re-write the letter on a
clean sheet of
paper. But Mary realized as the tears streamed down her cheeks, that
the kidnapper
would have wanted her to suffer the maximum psychological effect of
seeing the cut
off "I love you". Of seeing that her sons hand had been forced with the
snatching of
the pen from him.
Mary was about to hold the paper to her breast, to take comfort from
the fact that
her baby had touched it since she had last seen him. She stopped
herself in time to drop
it onto the table before she touched it any further. Maybe she had
already destroyed
vital evidence from the paper or even the envelope. Less likely with
the latter, as it had
passed through the postal system, and would have been handled by
several people
since it left the kidnapper's hands, if indeed he had ever touched it.
She told herself
that if she wanted to help Johnny, she had to start thinking with her
head and not
pandering to her emotions. There would be plenty of time for tears when
Jon was
returned to them, or...
She managed to ring Melanie Boyd before she fell apart.

The four of them were seated around the dining room table, endless
mugs of hot
steaming coffee and plates of untouched cakes were brought at regular
intervals by
Jilly. Donnan, Boyd, Mary and Jilly had their heads bent over the maps
and timetables,
working out the various connotations. The officers had taken the letter
when it had
arrived. They had gone over the rail routes at the police station,
bringing in experts
both in railway travel and criminal psychology. Now they wanted to
involve Mary and
Jilly in the discussion, making them feel part of the investigation,
allowing them to feel
that they were actually doing something other than brewing
coffee.
Donnan tapped his pen on the map of Manchester's Metro link routes. He
circled
Bury with red ink.
"Right if we take Bury as station number one, the metrolink will take
us through to
Victoria as station number ten, and ending up at Piccaddily as station
number thirteen.
It's straight through the busiest part of Manchester and it's going to
be anonymous and
easy for him to melt back into the crowd after the pick up has been
made."
"Hhhmm," Mel looked thoughtful, "on the other hand if we look at the
metro map,
the natural starting point would be Glossop. Now assuming we by-pass
Hadfield as its
not a major station anyway, that still makes Piccaddily number
thirteen."
"What if it wasn't a random kidnapping? What if he knew who we were
all along?"
Mary interrupted.
Boyd looked at Mary her brow furrowed in concentrated interest.
"Well" Mary continued. "We are assuming that who ever has Jon, picked
him at
random from the park, and that he got our address from Johnny. What if
he didn't? If
he had taken Jon purposefully, wouldn't it then be natural to assume
that station
number one would be Eccles station. The closest one to here."
They fell silent, each of them weighing the pros and cons of what Mary
had just
suggested. It made things a whole lot easier if Jonathan's kidnapping
hadn't been
random. It meant that the kidnapper was probably someone known to
them.
Donnan traced the stations from Eccles. That tracing made station
number thirteen St.
Peter's Square.
"Two stations. Piccaddily or St.Peter's, What do you reckon
Boyd?"
"My money's on Piccadilly Sir. I reckon it wasn't a random kidnapping,
but we can't
take any chances, it's still a gamble, and if we get the wrong one ..."
Her sentence
tailed off, and she looked down awkwardly.
Jilly reached for the last tissue in the box and blew her nose loudly.
She spoke for the
first time.
"It's Piccadilly"
The other three all looked at her
"Trust me, whoever took our Johnny, took him on purpose. I feel it,
but whoever
took him will still use a larger mainline station. They'll be counting
on total anonymity.
The more people there are milling around, the less likelyhood there is
of one individual
being recognized."
"I agree" said Boyd
The three women looked at each other. Mary nodded her head in
agreement.
"It's decided then. Mary, you do the drop at Piccadilly and we have a
back up team
in St. Peters Square just in case"
Donnan looked around the table. All were in agreement.
Mary took her car and drove to the bank by herself. This was a
safeguard against
arousing the suspicion of Johnny's kidnapper if he was watching her
movements. She
withdrew the notes that had been marked ultra violetly, after the
police warned the
bank to have everything ready and on standby.
When she got back to the flat, she busied herself with the washing up
as she listened
to the news on the radio. So normal, just like any other day. They had
about two hours
to kill before she had to set off.
Boyd was alerted to Mary's stiffness as she stood at the sink,
rigid.
"Mary? My god Mary. What is it?"
Mary turned, the plate in her hands sliding to the floor to shatter at
her feet.
"...He escaped at Eight thirty yesterday morning as he was being
transferred from
Broadmoor to Highgate top security prison.The surviving guard is said
to be in a
critical condition at St. Mary's hospital. Repeat you are urged not to
approach this
man he is armed and extremely dangerous". The voice of the Radio
newsman went on
to a story about 'The artist formerly known as ...'
Mary sobbed hysterically "Holmes has got Johnny"
Mel and Jillly rushed to comfort her. Trying to calm her Mel said
"Don't be silly
Mary that man who has escaped is a rapist, and now a murderer, but he
has no known
form as a kidnapper. Believe me, he'll have more important things on
his mind than
taking a little boy."
Mary's voice was almost inaudible.
"You don't understand. Barry Holmes is Johnny's father".

Chapter Three

For several seconds nobody said anything. The air was suddenly thick,
stifling with
the revelation that floated upon it. Jilly pulled Mary's head into her,
cradling the
sobbing woman, rocking gently to and fro as you would with a distraught
child.
Mel was the first one to speak, unable to curb the tone of annoyance in
her voice.
"And you never thought that this minor little piece of information
you've just thrown
in here, might just have been relevant? Jesus, Mary did you really
think you could hide
this from us? Did you figure we wouldn't find out? If you'd told us
this yesterday we
could have been more prepared. Bloody hell! We have two hours. Two
hours to save
your son Mary. So ... what? Were you married to him?" Her voice had
risen with each
sentence until she was shouting loudly in anger and frustration.
"He raped me" Mary's reply was merely a whisper mumbled into Jilly's
cardigan.
"Excuse me?" admonished Mel, still shouting. She towered over the two
women
using the height advantage to make her point. She hadn't heard what
Mary said.
Mary wrenched herself out of Jilly's protective embrace, she stood up
almost
knocking Jilly backwards. She squared up to the surprised police
sergeant. Her face
contorting with rage, her voice easily matching the other woman's. She
slammed her
fist down on the loaded table. Two of the four coffee cups fell, one
spilling its dregs
onto the spread papers. Two pieces of writing paper swept off the table
in the wind
caused by the downward movement of Mary's arm, they fluttered to the
floor. A pen
rolled, tottered on the brink of the table for a moment then also fell
to the carpet. A
cream puff bounced off its plate to land on the polished mahogany, and
the rattle of
plates and cups clinked along with the eruption. Mary herself was an
unveiled
contortion of fury and rage.
"He raped me!" she yelled.
"He raped me dammit and Johnny was the result"
The woman stood trembling impotent and angry, unable to scream at the
person she
wanted to see die a slow painful death, but with a fierce desire to
lash out somewhere.
Mel sank down into the soft giving cushion of the sofa. She lowered her
face into her
hands and shook her head. When she brought her head up to face Mary and
Jilly again
there were two pin points of colour in her cheeks. She was shamed and
saddened. Her
voice, when she spoke was gentle.
"You poor, brave woman." Hardly a professional comment from a police
officer,
but it was all she could think of to say as a woman. Why didn't you
tell us Mary?"
"Well if you lot had done your bloody job properly, the bastard would
have been
safely tucked up in his four star cell, and none of this would have
happened" She had
never uttered a single profanity in her entire life, and here were two
in one sentence. In
her need to hit out at somebody Mary was making no distinction between
the police
and the prison authorities.
"That man's an animal. I was the main witness against him at his
trial. He swore from
the stand that one day he'd make me pay. Johnny doesn't know anything,
he thinks his
father is dead."
Mary slumped like a deflated balloon. Spent. All the fight purged from
her as she
thought about Jonathan in the grip of Holmes. Now she not only feared
for the life of
her child, but she prayed for a quick and merciful death for him if
that's the way it had
to be. No parent should ever have to stare their child's mortality in
the face, as she was
doing.
Donnan had flown from the room during Mary's outburst. Every second of
time that
they had, had to be put to its best use. He was on the phone within
seconds organizing
a swat team, and calling the commissioner. Pulling out all the stops.
This man was
extremely volatile. If he went down, there was no telling who he would
take with him.
He considered closing the two stations and stopping all the trains
coming into and out
of Manchester. After all it would be his neck on the line if mayhem
broke out and
bystanders were hurt. If he did opt for full panic alert. Holmes would
melt away into
the crowd and they'd never get him.This was a nasty situation and would
need to be
handled with the utmost care. They knew what they were dealing with now
and
Donnan was scared. He had no doubts that Holmes had Jonathan Walker,
and he
didn't want to imagine what he'd be capable of doing to the child. What
he had
possibly already done.

At one fifty five pm, a woman walked into St. Peter's Square Metrolink
station
Manchester. She wore blue jeans, a blue and white check shirt and a
denim jacket. She
also wore a brown shoulder length wig, and carried a black holdall. She
was a female
police officer and had been flown in from Birmingham, at five minutes
notice, after
police records nationwide had been checked against Mary Walkers
photograph for the
closest physical match. The woman was scared, and just hoped that she
was in for a
decent bonus if not a bravery citation for this. Three times she had
almost refused.
They told her that she could pull out at any time if she thought it was
too much for
her. Three times it almost had been. Only thoughts of that poor little
boy kept one foot
moving in front of the other.

At one fifty five pm, a woman walked into Piccadilly Railway station
Manchester.
She wore blue jeans, a blue and white check shirt and a denim jacket.
She had brown
shoulder length hair, and carried a black holdall. This woman was Mary
Walker and
she was ready to die for her son if she needed to.

At one fifty five pm, Father Buxton sat in his confessional. He had a
few free hours
until he had to conduct evening Mass. He thought he might go into town
and get a nice
piece of steak for his dinner.

Mary walked along the platforms. Adrenaline was pumping and she could
feel a cool
rivulet of sweat rolling down her spine to dissolve into the bunched
material of her
shirt where it was belted at the waist. She was surprised at how calm
she felt. There
was not one iota of fear, just a red hot anger. She wanted that man's
balls fried on a
plate, with a crisp green serving of retribution and a fresh twist of
bitter revenge to
garnish. She actually smiled at her simile as she walked along.
She had been concerned that she would miss him. It was a big station
and she hadn't
been given a platform number or any direct instructions of where to be
at two o clock.
Donnan told her not to worry, he'd find her if he wanted to. Plain
clothes officers
milled all around her. She didn't know who they were in case she
alerted Holmes to
the fact that the police were ready for him.
Boooong. Boooong. Two tolls of the station clock signified that it was
time.
"This is it" she told herself. "Brace yourself girl." She was almost
disappointed when
Holmes did not suddenly appear, 'as if by magic' beside her.
2:02 she walked along platform one.
2:03 she walked back along the platform, and smiled back at a lady who
smiled at
her.
2:05 she moved past the cafeteria, strolling on to walk casually past
the ladies and
then the gents toilets. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell of
disinfect and urine.
She walked on another fifty yards and then turned to retrace her
footsteps. As she
drew level with the gents toilet a man came rapidly out of the door,
turned left and
collided into her. He was big, six feet plus. Mary found her head in
his chest and
noticed an aroma of pleasant aftershave and hand soap. Her heart rate
escalated.
"What was happening?"
The man untangled himself.
"I am so sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you all right?.
Mary stood panting, she was aware of people running from two
directions.
Undercover police. She tried to warn them to stay back.
"Excuse me love, are you all right?. Can I get you anything?"
She panicked, he was going to blow it. He had placed his arm firmly
under her
elbow, trying to guide her towards the seats outside the
cafeteria.
She thought fast.Taking advantage of the fact that she looked
terrible, clammy skin,
pale complexion, sunken eyes from no sleep the night before.
"I'm a heroin addict with full blown Aids love, I can't give you sex,
but I'll give you
a blow job for the price of a fix."
The man recoiled in disgust. He backed away from her and moved back
into the
toilets he had just come out of. Mary smirked as she imagined him
standing at the sink
again, re-washing his already soapy fresh hands. She also took a second
to be surprised
at herself, she had never spoken like that in her life.
2:10 She walked casually down platform three, just one more frustrated
traveler
waiting for another late train.
2:15 She strolled up platform six where the phone boxes were situated
by the
chocolate and drink machines. A lady approached her and asked loudly if
she had
change for the phone. She nudged her purse toward Mary, and she saw the
police
lady's ID. Mary made a pretense of searching her own purse, while the
woman
pocketed hers .
"OK Mary," she whispered under her breath. "We gave it our best shot,
he's not
going to show. Go home and we'll see what happened at St. Pete's
station"
Mary's heart sank.
"We can't give up yet. I am NOT going to give up on my son like this"
She hissed
at the police officer.
"Move away now Mary, we are looking suspicious. Thank you. " the WPC
finished
loudly.
Mary walked to the front entrance with heavy heart. She had to accept
that they had
chosen the wrong station.
She moved out by way of the main entrance. People stood with bags
spewing all
over the pavement. Briefcases, belonging to men in suits. Rucksacks to
people who
looked like students. Suitcases, carrier bags, and those ridiculous
trolleys on wheels
holding up a couple of elderly ladies.
A snake of black cabs lined up outside the building. Cabbies loading
luggage in and
out of their taxi boots.
Mary's shoulders slumped in defeat. She had lost her air of composure.
Suddenly
she had nobody there to fight and she felt beaten. She made her way
through the debris
of people's travels. Stepping round a couple deeply oblivious to all
human life. As they
existed in their own space and time, locked in a passionate kiss.
Defeated and weary, Mary felt tears pricking the back of her eyes and
she fought not
to let them out. If she started to cry now she felt sure it would never
stop. Would she
ever see her son again? She felt in that place that mothers have
somewhere deep inside
themselves, that St.Peter's station wasn't the place she had been meant
to turn up.
Intuition told her it was wrong. That she had been right to go to
Piccadilly. Perhaps
Johnny was already dead.
She raised her head slightly to avoid bumping into a young man
slouched against the
wall reading a newspaper.
"Swap your holdall with one of mine. Do it now, and do it quickly then
keep
walking. I know this place is swarming with scuffters" The youth had
not moved a
muscle. She couldn't see him. His face hidden behind the open
newspaper. She knew
though that it wasn't Holmes. This person was no more than a child
himself, twenty at
most. Holmes would be nearer forty.
"Wheres my son?" she hissed.

"Do exactly as I've told you or you will never see him alive again ...
DO IT"
He spat the last two words at her, and the newspaper shook with the
vibration.
She bent down to drop her holdall, and suddenly she knew she couldn't
just walk
away and leave Jon to die at the hands of a sex crazed monster. She
didn't know who
this person was, but at the moment he was her only link to Johnny.
Maybe the police
had all given up and gone. What then? Perhaps they had relaxed their
guard and hadn't
noticed this interchange.
Mary dropped the holdall, and picked up one of the boy's bags. As she
straightened,
she used the force of the movement to ram her head hard and fast into
the soft flesh of
his belly. The man let out an uuumph of expelled air and slumped
forward almost
falling onto Mary's head. The newspaper fell to the ground
She dropped the bag she had just picked up, and with her now free
hand, made a fist
and used every calorie of power she could muster to bring her bunched,
solid, hand up
firmly between his legs. She felt the flesh of his penis and scrotum
fold under her
punch, and he sprawled to the floor unable to make a sound. Mary fell
to the pavement
as his momentum carried her down on top of him. Her head glanced off
the cold stone.
Her vision blurred, and she succumbed to the tangle of arms and legs
she found herself
a part of.
The next thing she knew she was pulled gently away from the recumbent
youth who
was lying feotally curled and wheezing. Two pairs of arms were about
her guiding her
to a waiting car. She saw the fair haired young man hauled to his feet
and escorted by
two police officers to another car waiting with doors open in front of
them.

At 2:15 pm, the lady in the brown wig walked out of the station, and
into her police
car. Glad to be walking away unscathed, she felt good to be able to
breathe the clear
fresh air again. Never again would she underestimate the sheer joy of
anti-climax.

In interview room two. A blonde haired youth. Samuel David Johnson,
was
interviewed by Detective Inspector Donnan and police Sergeant
Boyd.
Johnson was a rent boy. He knew virtually nothing. Only that he had
been given the
chance to make some easy money.
A man had approached him in the public lavatory on Picadilly Station.
He told
Johnson that he had snatched his son from his ex-wife. The woman had
been planning
to leave the country. She was going to take the child away from his
family to live with
her and her lover in Saudi Arabia. The man said that he had wanted only
to frighten the
woman and that all Johnson had to do was collect a bag from her. Make a
few idle
threats about her never seeing her son alive again. Then take the bag
and drop it in the
third phone box outside the Odeon in Manchester city center at four
thirty. He had
been given fifty pounds up front, with the promise of another hundred
after it had all
gone to plan.
Johnson was charged and thrown into a holding cell. After giving a
reasonably good
description of Barry Holmes.

Mary was checked over by a doctor and given a heavy sedation that
would ensure her
a good many hours blessed sleep. She had fought the doctor bitterly and
had to be held
while the injection was administered. Jilly took responsibility for the
treatment being in
her best interests. The older woman looked wearily down onto her
sleeping friend.
"Aaah sleep on Pet. The pain of tomorra will be on us all soon
enough."
Jilly looked as worn and tired as Mary had. She sat long hours weeping
into her
hanky waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for some news. Waiting for
Johnny who
may never come home.

Not very far away from St. Peters station, Father Buxton walked out of
the
confessional. his neck ached and his arthritis was giving him some gyp.
He went to
smile at the man standing motionless on the far left hand side of the
church, and then
he stopped in his tracks. He passed hurriedly on, the smile dying on
his lips, after a
seconds brief eye contact with the stranger. When he reached the alter
he genuflected
and blessed himself. Then he made the sign of the cross again, and
asked for the Lord's
blessing. He had surely come face to face with a demon.

'Jesus is condemned to death'. Holmes looked at the beautiful oil
painting.
The first station of the cross.

He moved onto the next painting 'Jesus bears his cross'.
The second station of the cross.

The man with the black soul moved slowly along the paintings. Marking
off the
stations off the cross in his mind as he went.

Tenth station. Or Victoria station on the Manchester line. The man
taking the
Stations of the Cross smirked to himself. An insane mirthless
leer.
'Jesus is stripped of his garments and given Gall to drink'

Twelfth station.
'Jesus dies'.

At exactly two o' clock Holmes stood in front of the thirteenth
station of the cross.
'Johnny is taken down from the cross and laid in Mary's arms'.
The Thirteenth Station

He imagined Mary Standing at St. Peter's stationwaiting for him, or
would it be
Piccadilly? ... no matter, the money was never important. If the rent
boy delivers it, all
the better but it was only an incidental. Silly little Virgin
Mary.
"I knew the silly cow would be too stupid to solve my little riddle" He
thought. A
smile of pure malice, flapped like a raven's flight across his lips and
decided to settle
there.
One deep, humourless laugh echoed in hollow resonation through the
church as he
imagined Mary, his nemesis, on a frantic wild goose chase round the
city's public
tyransport system, while he, the victor, stood at the correct station.
Smugly he
marvelled at his sagacity.

He moved onto the last station of the cross, and a cold shiver of
anticipation ran
through him.
The fourteenth station of the cross
'Jesus is laid in the tomb'.

Johnny had already displayed his terror of the dark. It was almost,
but not quite as
total as his morbid fear of Holmes himself.

The man with the black soul, turned and his heels echoed through the
cavernous
church.
Inside the vestry Father Buxton listened to the retreating echoes, and
when he heard
the door slam, he blessed himself once more.