‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just walk away, right now. What possible link could there be between Stolzfus and this? This is absurd.’
‘As I said before, I have put certain things in motion that will explain all this.’
‘What kind of things?’ asked Bartolli.
‘I have kept a detailed journal here in prison. I have written down everything you need to know. The journal is with my lawyer. It is waiting for you, should you decide to come on board and join me on this journey. It will be dangerous, no doubt about it, very dangerous, but I’m sure this will come as no surprise.’ Landru looked at Jack. ‘And the rewards will be beyond your wildest dreams. That I can promise you!’ he added quietly.
‘Final question,’ said Jack, trying to stay rational. ‘Before I can give you my answer, I need to know one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The connection between the Stolzfus matter and this here. It seems too far-fetched.’
For a while, Landru stared into space, wrestling with himself, the pulsating veins on his forehead and the beads of perspiration on his brow the only signs of the struggle within. Should he drop the bombshell now, or save it for later? he asked himself. Then he lifted his gaze and looked at Jack sitting opposite. The expression on Jack’s face told him that the matter was hanging in the balance; something significant was needed to get him over the line. ‘Spiridon 4,’ whispered Landru, hoping that he had made the right decision.
Jack looked thunderstruck. ‘What did you say?’
‘Spiridon 4.’
‘You can’t be serious!’
‘I am. Call my lawyer and he will give you my journal. It’s all in there, and you can see for yourself. But once you do that, you have to give me your word that you will join forces with me. You are my secret weapon; in fact, my only hope. I can’t do this without you, Mr Rogan, of that I’m sure. The others are too powerful and too ruthless. And too clever. So, what will it be?’
Just then, the guard stepped forward, indicating that time was up. The meeting had to come to an end.
‘I have to think about it,’ said Jack and stood up.
‘Fair enough. My lawyer’s name is Lucien Doumer. He represented me at the trial,’ said Landru as he stood and walked to the door.
‘If I call him and pick up your journal, you know my answer,’ said Jack, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.
Landru stopped at the door, looked back and smiled. ‘I already do, Mr Rogan. Good day.’
12
Obersalzberg near Berchtesgaden: 8 October
Deep in thought, Ronan O’Hara sat at his workstation facing the wide, floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the stunning Bavarian mountain panorama. The morning fog had just lifted, revealing snow-covered peaks glistening in the bright sunlight like massive, timeless columns of rock pointing towards heaven. It was his favourite place of contemplation in the converted old farmhouse, where he did most of his creative thinking.
Looking like a command centre, the powerful computer with its three large, suspended monitors, and a communications system that would have been the envy of an aircraft carrier crew, allowed him access to almost every corner of the globe with the click of his mouse. With this, O’Hara had everything he needed at his fingertips. For a man like O’Hara, who thrived on power but craved anonymity and preferred to remain in the shadows, it was the perfect place from which to run his dark empire.
The spacious, three-hundred-year-old alpine farmhouse he had purchased almost thirty years earlier from a distant relative – an old aunt – and now rarely left, was the perfect domain. In his early seventies, diminutive in stature, completely bald and wearing thick glasses, O’Hara looked more like a retired headmaster than the secretive and shy billionaire businessman behind the Dark Net Bazaar.
The DNB, as it was known to the initiated, was an illegal, banned underground site pursued by almost every major security organisation around the world, trying in vain to shut it down. It was a marketplace where it was possible to buy just about anything imaginable, for a price. From a teenage slave girl in Kenya, to a state-of-the art rocket launcher, a jet fighter aircraft, or parts to build a nuclear power station, this site had something for everyone. It was also a place where it was possible to indulge one’s deepest and darkest desires, from every drug imaginable, to snuff movies, real-time murder scenes, and the most perverse live pornography.
But O’Hara’s biggest money-maker by far was gambling, connected to extraordinary computer games that he designed personally. A mathematics genius who carried complex algorithms and equations around in his head like other people might carry around recipes for pies or curries, his extraordinary mind could conjure up ideas and combinations for complex computer games with a few strokes on his keyboard that would have taken an advanced university think-tank months, if not years, to develop.
The games were each unique and combined had a huge international following, turning over millions every month. Payment was in bitcoins through a secure app on the dark web.
The reason these games were so sought after and popular was the blurred link between illusion and reality. In these games, traditional cartoons rubbed shoulders seamlessly with live scenes, which added a totally different dimension of excitement and reality to sex, extreme violence and death, the hallmarks of these ingenious games. And by gambling on the outcome of the action in certain scenes, the observer became a personally involved participant with an opportunity to influence the game and win huge sums in seconds.
For these reasons, the interactive games were very addictive and players regularly spent days glued to their computer screens, spending large amounts of money in the hope of securing that big prize. Once that happened, the winner was ‘written’ into the game and became one of the characters in the action. This too was a huge incentive, as it added prestige and ‘dark web fame’, and allowed the winner to gamble at much better odds. In addition, the winner received regular cash bonuses to keep him or her motivated. O’Hara had perfected this approach into a winning formula that had made him a fortune.
Looking at the picture-postcard farmhouse surrounded by dense forest – mainly tall, gnarled fir trees that had weathered many a harsh alpine winter – no-one would have guessed that these idyllic surroundings were hiding a dark, sophisticated operation below ground, directly under the hoofs of a herd of contented cattle grazing peacefully in the lush meadows.
Located just a kilometre from the Obersalzberg – Hitler’s alpine fortress where the Fuehrer had spent a lot of time during the war and planned some of his most ambitious campaigns and diabolical ‘solutions’ – O’Hara’s complex had become the HQ of a different empire. A cyber empire with elements of potent evil that would have rivalled the Nazis, and in many ways made their concentration camps look tame by comparison. In fact, O’Hara’s converted farmhouse and the neighbouring properties he had bought up over the years didn’t look all that different from Hitler’s beloved ‘Berghof’ complex. Of course, nothing remained of that or any of the other buildings on the Obersalzberg except for an extensive, fortified underground bunker network that still criss-crossed the area like a maze. Everything else had been destroyed after the war.
O’Hara looked again at the French newspaper headline article he had printed off earlier, and smiled. It was an announcement by the Paris police about a sensational find in a deserted ‘house of horrors lurking in the suburbs’ as the paper called it, reviving the notorious Death Mask Murder cases that had haunted Paris five years earlier, and dominated the headlines for weeks. Landru was specifically mentioned, his conviction put once again under the spotlight and questioned.
So, he cracked the code at last, thought O’Hara. The missing piece of the puzzle had been found, and it was falling into place. The quest could now resume! All that remained to be done was to get Landru released.
The Death Mask Murder cases had been part of O’Hara’s most successful and lucrative computer games, earning him a fortune
. Each of the murders had been recorded live and posted on the dark web, with millions being wagered on the outcome of certain scenes and actions leading up to, and including, the murders.
Apart from serving as a most unique and unimaginably brutal subject for a series of computer games, the Death Mask Murders had a separate, much deeper purpose, and it all related to another of O’Hara’s passions: treasure hunting.
O’Hara had come across the legend of the Inca treasure of the Llanganates by chance thirty years earlier, and was instantly hooked. Since then, he had used his considerable resources to find out if the treasure really existed and, if so, how to retrieve it. That was how he had come across a paper published by Professor Landru of the Sorbonne. In that paper, Landru had carefully set out the history of the treasure and put forward persuasive arguments, supported by credible evidence, suggesting that the treasure was real, and even hinting at possible locations where it might be found. To O’Hara, who deep down was as addicted a gambler as his cyber-punters, this was irresistible.
That was when O’Hara formulated a brilliant plan. He would use Landru and his extensive knowledge of and passion for the subject that bordered on obsession, to lead him to the treasure – if it did in fact exist as Landru seemed to suggest.
In addition, O’Hara came up with another ingenious idea. He developed a sophisticated computer game about the Llanganates treasure-legend that could be used to ‘draw out’ additional information about the treasure and its history. By putting the subject ‘out there’ on the dark net, and setting targets and challenges as part of the game, he could harness thousands of minds to see if someone knew something useful, or saw a connection that he could use in his quest. That was how the Death Mask Murders had been conceived.
Once Landru was released, he would continue his quest. Of that, O’Hara was sure. He was just as passionate about it as O’Hara. And after what Landru had been through, there was nothing else left for him do to in life. O’Hara, a master manipulator with an uncanny understanding of human nature, always knew which buttons to press to get what he wanted from people. He therefore knew exactly what to do to get Landru released. He would send something sensational to Chief Superintendent Lapointe’s private email address that would do just that.
O’Hara scrolled through some of his secret, encrypted files until he found what he was after. Then he retrieved Lapointe’s email address, which he had hacked into a long time ago, and attached the explosive file. For a moment he looked up and watched the majestic Watzmann, the tallest mountain in the district, emerge in all its glory out of the mist.
Here we go, he thought, feeling a wave of excitement. Let the final stage of the quest begin, and see where it takes us. O’Hara smiled and pressed the send button.
13
Paris Police Headquarters: 9 October
‘We are almost there,’ said Dupree as he approached Police Headquarters at Place Louis-Lépine, 1 rue de Lutèce. It was early in the morning and the traffic was diabolical as usual. The trip from the Kuragin chateau had taken almost three hours. ‘I haven’t been here in years. I used to love this place.’
‘Lapointe didn’t give you any hints?’ asked Jack, sitting next to Dupree in the car.
‘No. All he said was it was urgent and asked us to meet him here. He sounded quite agitated, which is unusual for him.’
‘The announcement in the paper yesterday about that “house of horrors” must have caused quite a stir and ruffled more than a few feathers.’
‘You can say that again. The Landru case could quickly turn into a major embarrassment. I’m sure that’s what this is all about.’
‘Let’s find out,’ said Jack. ‘Here we are. One good thing …’
‘What’s that?’
‘The office of Landru’s solicitor is quite close. I’m going there after our meeting.’
‘So, you’ve made up your mind then?’
‘Of course I have. There wasn’t really much to think about, and Landru knew it. I’m hooked.’
‘You don’t say,’ teased Dupree and parked the car.
Looking like a man who had worked through the night without sleeping a wink, Lapointe met them in the corridor outside his office. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly. I really appreciate it. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. We have a problem ...’
Lapointe ushered them into his office and closed the door. ‘Come, I have something to show you, but before I do, you must promise to keep this to yourselves for the time being. You’ll see why in a moment.’
‘Goes without saying,’ said Jack.
‘Please take a seat.’ Lapointe turned his computer screen around. ‘Watch,’ he said and pressed the play button.
For the next three minutes everyone in the room watched in silence, mesmerised by the horror unfolding on the screen.
‘Where on earth did this come from?’ asked Dupree, looking shocked, after the screen had gone blank.
‘It was sent to me yesterday from a server we can’t trace. Anonymous and secure. Typical dark web; professional stuff.’
‘This is unbelievable,’ said Jack. ‘Is it authentic?’
‘The experts seem to think so, but are still looking into it,’ said Lapointe.
‘A brutal murder recorded live on video. Who would do something like that, and why?’
‘Exactly,’ said Lapointe. ‘And why send it to me now, after we’ve just discovered that chamber?’
‘To set the record straight?’ ventured Dupree.
‘I doubt it,’ said Lapointe. ‘This is part of a plan.’
‘Could we see it again, please?’ said Jack, moving his chair closer to the screen.
‘Sure.’
The short video opened with a scene showing Landru, apparently comatose, slumped in a chair. His eyes were closed, his mouth open. There was no sound to the video, which made what was to come even more chilling. On a small table next to the chair were a hypodermic needle and other drug-taking paraphernalia. Kneeling on the floor next to Landru was a naked young man. Someone standing behind him was holding a gun to his head.
Then the camera swung around and a dark figure standing in a doorway came into view. Blurred at first, and difficult to see in the gloom.
Then the camera moved closer.
Wearing a black suit, white shirt, a large polka-dot bow tie and white gloves – the face hidden behind a mask of a grinning clown – the figure walked slowly into the room and stopped in front of the camera.
Lapointe stopped the video. ‘The young man kneeling on the floor is the male prostitute we found garrotted in his flat in Montmartre five years ago. This video was taken there, no doubt about it. Everything fits. The surroundings, the furniture, everything, right down to the last detail. Many of the items are still in our evidence archives.’
The rest of the video showed the grinning clown garrotting the young man from behind with what looked like a wire. The camera zoomed in on the young man’s contorted face and bulging eyes full of terror until blood could be seen oozing out of his open mouth, and his body went limp.
The final scene showed the clown walking slowly towards an open door at the back of the room. As he reached the door, he stopped, turned around and waved, before disappearing into the darkness.
‘This is grotesque!’ said Jack.
‘Perhaps so, but what it means is that Landru didn’t commit the murder, and I don’t have to tell you what that implies. The consequences are too awful to contemplate.’ Lapointe paused, a troubled look on his face.
‘Gentlemen, we now have seven unsolved murders on our hands and we know of only three, committed right here in Paris. As for the others, who knows? We are contacting Interpol right now to see what they can come up with. These murders were committed a number of years apart, and except for the three Paris murders, they most likely occurred in other countries.’
‘An international serial killer team?’ said Jack. ‘There are at least three people involved here apart from Landru an
d the victim.’
‘I don’t know what to think right now,’ said Lapointe. ‘The Prefect isn’t even returning my calls at the moment. Apparently, he was speechless when he heard the news. So, here we are.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Dupree.
For a while Jack just sat, deep in thought. Something at the end of the video just before the screen went blank had caught his eye.
‘Could you please play the very last bit again? Just before the clown walks through the door and disappears. There was something ...’
‘Sure,’ said Lapointe and adjusted the video.
Jack got up and walked over to the screen for a closer look. ‘Please stop the video as soon as I ask.’
Lapointe nodded and pressed the button.
The clown had just turned around and was waving. Just before he disappeared into the darkness and the screen went blank, part of a left hand came into view.
‘Stop!’ Jack shouted. The image froze. ‘There,’ he said and pointed to the screen.
Lapointe stood and walked around the desk to have a better look. Dupree came closer too. ‘What are we looking at?’ Dupree asked.
‘There’s something here, at the back of the wrist; look!’
‘I can see it,’ said Lapointe. ‘It looks like some kind of tattoo. A number? Thirteen ... something?’
‘That’s what I think,’ said Jack, a broad smile spreading across his face as he remembered Landru’s last words just before he left the interview room. ‘The hand is quite small, don’t you agree, guys?’ continued Jack.
Dupree nodded. ‘Could be a woman’s hand. She must have been recording the whole thing. She’s holding the camera with her right hand, I’d say, and is about to turn it off with her left. Her index finger is pointing at the camera.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Dupree.
‘And why is this significant?’ asked Lapointe.
Jack took his time before replying. ‘Because I think I’ve seen this tattoo before,’ he said quietly.
The Death Mask Murders Page 9
