by David Evans
“Hi, Cutler, how goes it with you?” Tuck inquired.
“As you know, we got Richter out of Scotland and have moved to Newcastle, where I have a contact to get him an American passport. Will be another few days before that’s ready,” Cutler replied.
“Is Hoagie still with you?” Tuck asked.
“Yes, he’s downstairs in the bar keeping a lookout. We only just got out of Scotland before Richter’s old place was torn apart. Both Hoagie and I think there may be up to four contractors on our tails. We also believe that with Werner’s extensive network, most of the airports will be watched, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Anyway, how is your investigation going?” Cutler questioned.
“I think Mr Rothhelm has been flustered by the initial investigation a couple of years ago by Cheryl’s investigator. It’s also possible he knows what his boy has done. He has two minders clearing up any DNA evidence after him, and you don’t do that if you have nothing to hide,” Tuck reported.
“Yes, I would concur with that, Tuck. What about the other kid, Hilton?” Cutler probed.
“That is a whole different situation. No minders, and unaware he’s under any sort of investigation. He and his mother ate at Wendy’s in the city last night; I was in the next booth and retrieved a cup he had been drinking Coke from. Have sent it down to Basmati’s lab by courier,” Tuck announced.
“Good work, Tuck. You know, we’ll have to get a sample by hook or by crook from the Rothhelm kid,” Cutler retorted.
“Working on it, boss,” Tuck said, as he disconnected the call.
The following afternoon, Bernard Rothhelm exited the school with two other young men. Tuck followed them from a distance and watched them enter Costa Coffee. The two minders waited across the street, with a clear view.
Tuck entered Costa Coffee and pushed in front of the three guys in line, receiving a torrent of abuse from all three. In an instant, he slapped Rothhelm lightly, ensuring he pulled out several of his hair strands as he withdrew his hand. Then he quietly walked out as the three astonished boys looked on in shock.
From across the street, the two minders had seen the altercation. Tuck knew that they would not both leave the Rothhelm boy to follow him, but he anticipated one of them would.
To the right there was an underpass, and Tuck turned and entered it.
“Hey, you! Stop there or I’ll break your fucking neck!” shouted the minder.
The minder towered over the five-foot-eight Tuck by nearly a foot. He also had a good four inches more around his chest than Tuck. Slowly and deliberately, Tuck turned towards the advancing minder, who had murder in his eyes.
“What do you think you’re playing at, Geronimo?” the minder spat out.
“If you weren’t so stupid, you’d know the difference between a Maori and an Indian,” Tuck said as a matter of fact, as the minder closed to within reach.
With all the subtlety of an elephant, the minder charged at Tuck. He recognized the mode of attack; the guy was an ex-football player without any military training, pure brawn, and no brains.
Tuck sidestepped the charging bull and flicked his right leg out straight, connecting with the minder’s right knee. The pop was audible as the knee dislocated from the socket and the minder went down screaming. The minder scrabbled in his pocket for what Tuck thought was a weapon. Tuck circled the injured minder and warned him in no uncertain terms of the consequences if he tried to continue the attack. He bent down to the wounded man and caught the hand as he extracted a pistol; with his right hand he punched his flat hand into the outstretching arm, snapping it immediately. The pistol fell from the man’s grip and Tuck kicked it over to the other side of the underpass.
“Now, no more problems, I think. You tell old man Rothhelm his son killed one of our friends, and we’re going to get him, no matter what. Tell him we also know about the other kid, Hilton. Things are not going to go well for either of them,” he said, before turning on his heels and heading back out of the underpass.
Going on what Tuck knew from his research, Rothhelm Senior would not let anyone get in his way. He would not tolerate a slur on his name, and he would not accept the thought of his son going to prison. Tuck had just hung a big come and get me sign around Hilton’s head, and he was certain Rothhelm Senior was not above killing the kid.
He would get what he needed by whatever means possible, and he would go back to Cheryl with information. They had been working closely together for the last four months, and Tuck was not sure when he had fallen for her, only that he had. He would have done his job regardless, but this may just help him with his plan for Cheryl.
Tuck had shaken the tree, he’d set the Hilton kid up, Now let’s see what falls from the branches, he thought.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sebastian was oscillating on the tightrope of sanity. The overwhelming desire to fulfil his needs, and the pressing need to ensure he was not linked with any of the murders, was all-consuming. With hindsight, he realized that sabotaging lifeboat four and the subsequent killing of the seven people on board was a mistake. He had reacted to the Grim Reaper tag without foresight and control.
The seven killings had given him as much pleasure as eating a hot dog, food he never consumed. Sebastian needed another victim and he needed one fast, just to maintain his fragile sanity. He was still on the Classical Canta Libra and had another month of the tour to do; to take a victim from this ship would be foolish, as it had only been three weeks since the lifeboat disaster.
Jules Verne Cruise Line, the owners of the Classical Canta Libra, had launched its own investigation into the tragedy on the ship’s return to its home port of Genoa. The accident investigator was used to dealing with outbreaks of norovirus or food poisoning, or the odd physical fracas between staff. But he had no previous experience of anything of this scale.
On board the ship, the atmosphere was tense; everybody from the staff and crew knew someone on lifeboat four. Gossip as to why the lifeboat caught fire abounded. The pilot of the lifeboat smoked, so the staff surmised the cause through accusation, while the crew would defend the pilot as being a professional who would not dream of lighting up while on duty.
Only Sebastian knew the whole truth: that he had killed seven people because of a tenuous link, a throwaway comment from a fellow artist. Calling him the Grim Reaper had sealed their fates. There were seven people dead, and not one ounce of pleasure to be absorbed by Sebastian. He had an itch that he could not scratch, the irritation burning away at him day in and day out.
Providence took a hand; Sebastian was called up to the captain’s cabin. The cabin was not akin to the other crew cabins on the ship. It was more a suite enjoyed by the richest of guests.
“Sit please, Sebastian,” the captain said, while pointing out the leather chair which was somewhat lower and less luxurious than the one the captain sat upon, opposite him across the large mahogany desk.
“The past few weeks have not been easy for any of us. We have all suffered the loss of our shipmates. Unfortunately, Sebastian, I must compound the sense of loss with worse news. I am afraid I have had a word from our agents, they were notified of your mother’s passing yesterday. I believe she was only fifty-three so it will be a shock for you,” the solemn captain said.
Sebastian just sat there, not feeling any loss or sorrow, but aware that he should be doing something, showing some emotion in front of the captain. The problem was, Sebastian had never encountered these feeling in his life; he had no history of emotion to call on, and he continued to sit there.
“Shock. This must be quite a shock for you. You have my condolences. We have arranged a flight back to Seattle today for you. A tender will pull alongside the ship within the hour to take you to shore,” the captain informed Sebastian, as he stood and led him to the door of his cabin.
“Not a lot of time, you need to pack your gear,” directed the captain.
The flight from Genoa to Seattle was via Heathrow. In total, the trip had ta
ken him twenty-seven hours, and Sebastian had slept for eight continuous hours on the cross-Atlantic stretch.
After visiting the family home in midtown and depositing his luggage, he took the keys to his mother’s small Toyota and headed for Scripps Mercy Hospital, where his mother had died.
Doctor Nicholas Remy, a large, robust character, confirmed Kim had died of cirrhosis of the liver, brought on by an infection of hepatitis B many years before when she was a child prostitute. Sebastian declined to see Kim’s cadaver; however, he identified her from a video feed from the mortuary displaying only the cold, hard face of death.
Once the formalities were out of the way, Sebastian steered the Toyota down Cabrillo Freeway and cut through onto University Avenue until he reached Morley Field dog park, which was slightly down from Balboa Parkand opposite the San Diego Zoo. He parked up on the lane behind the Balboa Tennis Club.
Sebastian walked the lane between the wooded areas that skirted the San Diego Velodrome, shielded by the incline of the ridge of a hill.
Considering the thousands of people visiting Balboa Park less than 500 yards away, and the zoo a little further across the street, the area was quiet and isolated. The day was clear, with blue skies overhead and a warm wind blowing off the Pacific.
Sebastian wore short-sleeved white shirt and lightweight, taupe-coloured trousers. Putting his hand into his pocket, he felt the switchblade. A little further ahead was an older woman walking a greyhound; she was not Sebastian’s type, he moved into the bushes to avoid face to face contact. A little further on, the only other dog walker in sight was a girl of no more than thirteen years of age.
Gwen had tightly curled, mouse-colored hair, which looked natural. She walked the dog each day as part of her routine to reduce her weight. Over the past year, she had lost over thirty pounds, and she was determined to lose even more. Gwen was not the ideal candidate for Sebastian, but she would suffice. The designer French bulldog was of no concern; at best it could take a nip out of his ankles.
Sebastian followed her for a short while and saw a deserted copse which would suffice. He quickened his step until he was a few yards behind the unsuspecting girl. It was the dog that noticed Sebastian first, and the dog could sense the danger in the man.
Gwen turned to Sebastian, startled, and the French Bulldog growled and barked.
“I’m sorry, mister. Mitsui isn’t normally like this,” Gwen said, as she bent down to stroke the forehead of the agitated dog.
Sebastian felt the knife and took a quick look around to see if he was clear.
“She’s protecting you, little girl,” Sebastian said, as he removed the knife, hidden in the palm of his left hand.
Sebastian turned on his heels and walked back towards his car. “Mission accomplished,” he thought.
Sebastian was satisfied. He had set up for the kill and he had been able to walk away; he had left her alive. He needed to gain control before the monster managed him. He would kill on his terms, in his time and for pleasure, not malice.
The killing of the seven crew members on the Classical Canta Libra had left him feeling uncontrolled, taking unnecessary risks, risks which would get him caught if he continued.
Sebastian visited the McDonald’s where his father had been killed, his mind wandered back two decades to his first kill, Geraldine Mills. He still got a buzz, as his mind dissected the deaths.
Once he had played through his fantasy and his coffee and fries had been consumed, he again reinforced himself about not taking risks, and how he had been uncontrolled and hot-headed.
Sebastian had no idea how insightful he had been as he disposed of the coffee cup. An ocean and continent away the captain of the Classical Canta Libra sat in the company’s headquarters in Genoa with several board members.
Following a month of leave, Sebastian was flown to Santiago, Chile. He had no sooner landed in the bustling city than he was whisked away from the airport to Valparaiso Harbour to board the Classical Expedition.
This leviathan of a cruise ship had seventeen decks. Decks fourteen and fifteen were comprised of indoor pools and hot tubs mirrored on the outside decks. A huge screen towered over the blue mosaic-tiled swimming pool, showing concerts and movies under the night sky.
Once the moor lines had been cleared, the ship headed south to its first port of call, Puerto Montt, Chile, which was reached through the Canal de Chacao. Then the ship navigated the Chilean fjords.
Following the spectacular views of the fjords, the ship entered the Canal Trinidad to see the Amalia Glacier, originating in the southern Patagonian ice fields and reaching into the sea; aqua-blue ice shimmering in the summer sunshine. Following a further day at sea, the ship moored out in the bay, and the guests tendered in small craft to Punta Arenas in Chile. Most guests went off to see the Magellanic penguins particular to this area.
Next stop was through the historic Beagle Channel, named after the ship, that carried Charles Darwin on his voyage of discovery in 1831–1836. Once in the channel, the Classical Expedition steered towards Ushuaia in Argentina, an ex-convict settlement with around eighty thousand inhabitants. The bustling city is set against a backdrop of snow-capped, densely forested peaks that looked out onto glacier-clad mountains on islands that were the last in the South American continent.
Sebastian had some time off and joined the cruise tour to Tierra del Fuego National Park. During the trek across the peat-sodden landscape interspersed with large beaver dams blocking the rivers and acidifying the surrounding area, he first met Mona Cross. Ascending a slippery incline up the mountain trek she had slipped, losing her footing, landing heavily on the soggy earth.
Mona was caked from ankle to knee in the sodden remnants of a million-year-old peat bog. As with all groups, some found the sight amusing, others had empathy, and some offered wipes to clean herself. The Argentinian guides had seen it all before.
Sebastian told the guides to carry on up the path and pick him up an hour later their return, and he would see that Mona was okay. Being more than happy to oblige, the guides and group took off again up the mountain.
It was clear that Sebastian needed no introduction, as he had seen the plump, plain girl of no more the five feet and aged around twenty-five at his nightly performances in the Piazza piano bar amidships on deck five. She blushed and was apparently pleased to have Sebastian assisting in cleaning her up.
Mona was not used to the attention of men, especially those with the talent that Sebastian had. She would watch him entertain every single night of the cruise; she would sit alone at the back of the bar. She had come on the cruise alone; everyday girls did not attract girlfriends, neither male suitors. While she lacked good looks and height, she had a sweet, innocent personality, and in starkness to her experiences, she was a trusting person.
Mona from Calgary, was a computer games writer for Eldridge Software Company. She had just completed a new game called Attack of the Android, which was massively successful. Her boss, Norah James, was a robust and reliable businessperson, and while not overly generous, she knew she needed Mona more than Mona needed Eldridge.
After the initial launch of the game and the first profit and loss projections had been evaluated, Norah had given Mona a 100,000 US dollar bonus, and had bought her this South American cruise. Mona would come to work in sweaters with penguins on them; she had a fluffy penguin hanging from the mirror of her old Mini Cooper car. It was not hard to figure, nor did it take any particular research to know that Mona would love to see the penguins in their own environment. Following Mona signing a new, extended contract of work, Norah had delighted her with the cruise tickets.
Sebastian was strangely aroused, an experience he had seldom felt unless killing someone. Washing the mud off her right shoulder, his hand had inadvertently brushed her breast. Mona did not flinch; she quite enjoyed it. He had not thought of killing this girl. It never came to mind. He was talking to someone properly. This had not happened since his childhood, as far as he could remember.
After he had helped clean her up, she cupped her hand around his chin and gave him slightly more than a peck on the lips, certainly not a full-blown tongue-down-the-throat kiss, and thanked him for his help.
As the guides and group of walkers came into view, she asked him if they could meet up again sometime. Sebastian explained he would try; he was not allowed to date guests of the cruise ship, but he would try.
Mona attended the piano recitals in the afternoon in the Fellowes Lounge and Sebastian’s musical performances in the Piazza piano bar at night; Mona often putting requests on napkins with her favourite songs to play, which Sebastian did almost every time.
As the ship rounded Cape Horn, the most southerly tip of South America, and the nearest landmass to the Antarctic, Sebastian received a request for him to join the on-board band to do a Beatles tribute. This was to be held that night in the nightclub on the seventeenth deck.
The club was named Stars, and was a circular dome that sat uppermost on the ship at the rear. The nightclub was isolated from the other decks by a starlight spangled tunnel with a moving escalator to take the guests to the club.
The band had requested Sebastian, as he could mimic John Lennon nearly perfectly, and did a fantastic rendition of Imagine. He followed this with Penny Lane in the unusual voice of Paul McCartney in his camouflaged northern England accent. What the band had also requested was that Sebastian sit at the rear of the group, as they did not want to turn it into the Sebastian show, which was always a possibility.
Simmie Lan was a South Korean businessman who drank too much and thought his money could buy him anything. He was the cruise pest, waving his money around and pestering female guests. He wore dark, round glasses on his lean, bony nose and puckered-in face.
All Sebastian saw was Mona in the nightclub and Wan gripping her bottom and kissing her, and then they were gone. He thought they had left to complete what they had started. At that time, her fate was sealed. What Sebastian did not know was that Wan just jumped in and went for it, hands on bum, tongue in the mouth. After a moment, a stunned Mona had pushed Wan off and fled the club with the lusting Wan after her. She turned on the escalator as Wan hurled himself at her drunkenly and she brought her right knee up to his thin, wasted groin. Wan collapsed instantly in agony, groaning, his hands clutching his precious testicles.
