by Vic Robbie
He felt as though the ground beneath him was shifting. ‘Are you sure about that date?’
Barney reread his writing again and nodded. ‘Yep, I made her repeat it to make sure I had it right.’
A coincidence or had he misheard the woman at the advertising company?
He was still questioning his memory when the couple rose from the table and made their way unsteadily to the door and she was supporting him as he appeared on the point of collapse. It was happening all over again. She’d found another victim. Perhaps she was just an old hooker who would promise everything then dump him minus his wallet and expensive watch.
He moved outside to watch their progress as they weaved across the parking lot and several times the man almost slipped to the ground. But she’d made him an offer, and he was determined to cash in. She wouldn’t hang about and would abandon him and flee in a cab. That would have been his fate the other night. Just a date rape drug to knock him out. Nothing more sinister than that.
When the couple didn’t emerge from the alley, his curiosity got the better of him. The least he could do was stop the woman and return any valuables to their owner.
This will be payback.
As he entered, wondering what state of undress they might be in, two people brushed past him, a man and the woman, and he shrugged. Maybe they’d both gotten something out of their brief encounter after all. He chuckled and turned to return to the bar, but a whimpering several feet away, grabbed his attention. Feeling his way in the moonlight, he stumbled over a man lying on the ground and vomiting. He didn’t want to get involved, but the sick was red, and the man was choking.
A touch on his arm startled him, and he whirled and slammed the newcomer against the wall, a hand on their throat.
‘Be careful, you’ll hurt me,’ the intruder croaked, and he dropped her.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Following that woman.’
‘She left with a man.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘Who was the guy with her?’
‘Leave it to me,’ Solo said. ‘I know where they live.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
The voice sounded familiar, and he peered towards the mouth of the alley, straining to identify the owner in the moonlight.
The man moved closer. One of Benton’s people, the baseball-wielding thug who led the previous attack, still dressed in the same garb. Obviously hadn’t cleaned his clothes since their last meeting. As before, he was flanked by the older grey-headed men carrying guns, the professionals, and they parted, letting another four join the leader. Another youth close to his build and with a full head of fair hair had replaced the one whose arm he broke, and Headlock wondered if that was how he looked when a youth. All carried instruments designed to cause the most pain.
‘Who are these people?’ asked a bewildered Solo. ’What do they want?’
‘Me,’ he said, pulling her aside.
‘Let the lady go,’ he shouted. ‘Your argument is with me, not her.’
But the leader mocked him, ‘You’re not hiding behind a woman’s skirts, are you, Headlock?’ And the others brayed in unison.
‘Keep to the side,’ he ordered. ‘If you see a gap, run for it. The entrance isn’t far. Get to Barney’s. You should be safe there.’
The leader advanced, believing he was in control and smacked the bat into the palm of his left hand. ‘C’mon, Headlock,’ he shouted. ‘This is your last chance. I want an apology before we beat you to death.’
As he ran through the possibilities of escape, Solo inched farther along the alleyway. But his hopes foundered on the hard brick wall at the end. A mixture of nerves, anticipation and adrenaline washed through him as before every big fight although this time there was little chance of victory.
Not wanting Solo to be involved, he grabbed her. ‘Get out of here. This really is it. I killed their man. Now it’s my turn.’
‘I’m not going anywhere without you.’ Her jaw jutted defiantly.
He turned to confront them, but she pulled on his elbow. ‘No, follow me,’ she rasped, her voice hoarse in the night air. ‘Got an idea that might work.’
Benton’s mob had advanced halfway along the alley and now strode towards him, savouring the outcome, as he and Solo neared the dead end.
Suddenly, she stopped and appeared to be arguing with herself. Her eyes wild, she glanced back at the attackers and took out her phone, flipping it open. It flashed into life, and she pressed a button and studied the screen. She repeated the action and gave him a twisted smile. ‘Sorry, Headlock, I’ve got no option.’
‘It’s no use, Solo. We’re beyond help. Whoever you’re calling won’t get here in time.’
Benton’s men were impatient. ‘Can’t run away this time, Headlock. There’s no way out. You’re only prolonging the agony.’
He searched for any weak points he might exploit. ‘There’s no chance of escape,’ he muttered, determined to take a few of them with him.
‘Stand up and fight. Be a man.’ Again, they goaded him, and as he was on the point of launching into them a shuffling of boots, hard boots, resonated on the cobblestones.
The mob halted and looked past him and spoke to each other and their confidence appeared to slip away.
He wheeled around and just made out the dark uniforms and a glint from the helmets and visors of the StatPol. Solo was the least surprised and her eyes locked onto the cops as if searching for someone. The cops shuffled into a battle formation and trained their assault rifles on the mob, the red spots of their lasers picking out their targets.
Now he was trapped between two enemies, both of whom wanted to kill him. And with guns aimed at his attackers, he wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of dealing with a few of Benton’s men.
An eerie silence fell over the alley, like two armies facing each across a battlefield in the lull before one makes the first move. A metallic click echoed from wall to wall, and a single spotlight flashed on, highlighting the mob’s leader and his accomplice, Headlock’s fair-haired lookalike.
They froze. ‘What the fuck?’ the leader shouted, the baseball bat hanging by his side.
Holding her phone above her head, she shouted at the cops and one, in particular, a tall man, standing by the side of their line-up. ‘Trenton. There’s your terrorist,’ she screamed and pointed at the leader’s accomplice. Trenton’s gaze locked onto him and he barked an order while the fair-haired man turned to his leader in bewilderment.
Everything appeared to move in slow-motion, every shout and scream disconnected and echoing as if in a dream. A puff of smoke issued from a rifle followed by an explosion and the leader fell to his knees with a round hole in the centre of his forehead. For a moment his men hesitated, eyes wild and mouths open, then outrage ignited them, propelling them into an act of bravado they could never win, and as one they charged forward to confront an implacable foe.
Unforgotten in the mayhem, they’d become spectators, and he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the safety of the alley’s entrance, away from the gunshots and cries of terror.
They left the alley heading for Solo’s car, and he stopped. ‘Get in the car, I must go back.’
‘They’ll kill you.’
‘Go!’
In the moonlight, he just made out some fallen fighters, and the battle was in full swing, but there was no sign of the woman’s victim.
On his return, she had the car running. ‘Get in. I hope they’re headed for their house and we can catch them. Let’s burn rubber.’
He did as he was told, hanging on as she cut corners and skidded through intersections with a determined smile on her pursed lips. She enjoyed scaring him and glanced across for a reaction, but he had to admit she was a skilful driver. The sparse traffic helped, and she jumped a few red lights with abandon.
‘How did the StatPol get there?’ He stared at her determined profile, but she didn’t reply.
‘Did you call them on your phone? And how did they get there so quick?’
She studied him as she worked out her response. ‘Haven’t been straight with you,’ she said so quietly he struggled to hear above the noise of the wind. ‘Told you the StatPol wanted to find you, and it was dangerous to be with me because they were monitoring me. But that wasn’t the whole story. They threatened if I didn’t help them, I’d become a non-person.’ She shivered. ‘Wanted me to deliver you to them. Had to find you and call the number nine on my phone so, tracking my chip, they’d know exactly where you were.’ Solo stole a glance at him again, gauging his reaction.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Wanted to. Never meant to betray you, but I thought you mightn’t trust me, and I wanted to help find Becky.’ She gave a nervous smile. ‘Now they think that thug in the alley is you. Was so worried, I almost forgot Ottomon and his goons are still chasing me.’
Understanding, he nodded in gratitude, but how did the StatPol get into the alley? ‘The cops just appeared although it’s a dead end.’
As though unsure whether to tell him, she looked long and hard. ‘It sounds crazy, but I think I know—’
‘Watch out,’ he shouted, grabbing the dashboard, as a slow-moving truck pulled out, but she swerved around it with aplomb, holding a finger high in salute. He expected her to continue, but she said no more as if the subject was closed.
On arrival, the targets’ car sat in the drive, and she killed the lights and coasted to a halt.
‘Come on,’ she said, opening her door.
‘Stop.’ He placed a hand on her arm. ‘Stay where you are.’
‘Why? We can confront them now. Becky might be inside.’
He shook his head. ‘No, he won’t be keeping her here if she’s still alive.’
She thought about it. ‘You’re probably right. The neighbours are so nosey they’d have noticed something out of the ordinary.’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘He must have kept the girls somewhere to work on them. To have drained their bodies so expertly without signs of damage took medical expertise and a secure place to operate.’
‘Why’s he doing it?’
‘Good question. Often the motive is simpler than you might think. He’s killed four girls. Three found laid out in graveyards and then the poor girl we discovered in the alley. Now he has Becky.’ He paused, thinking about her. ‘Their only wounds were in their left arms, a puncture as if they’d been donating blood. You might say he was almost respectful of their bodies—’
‘Apart from the one we found.’
‘But he didn’t kill her there,’ he said. ‘He drained her blood somewhere else.’
‘So, why was she in the alley?’
‘He must have been transporting her body, and you caught him in the act, forcing him to dump her.’
‘Don’t killers usually bury the bodies to hide the evidence?’ She inhaled more of her Qs.
‘He obviously wasn’t worried and didn’t believe it could lead to him.’
She clutched his arm. ‘He’s coming out again.’
They needed the scientist to lead them to where he killed the girls, and this might be their chance. Sparking the Chevy into life, they drove for almost thirty minutes leaving behind the neon of the city, and the country roads shrouded in mist all looked alike. In the dark, he found it hard to get their bearings. There were few cars, and he worried their headlamps might alert the killer. Up ahead, the car slowed and swung right, down a lane between an avenue of trees.
Halfway along, he instructed her to cut the lights and stop. ‘He mustn’t suspect we’re here. If he does, there’s no knowing what might happen.’
They waited, watching the car’s lights illuminating the branches until it stopped outside a grey building and its lights died. Footsteps, a door slamming, then silence.
‘Okay,’ he whispered, ‘let’s get closer. Start it up and keep it as quiet as possible and no lights.’
In the intermittent moonlight, she twice sideswiped something hard, and he winced, thinking what damage it had done to her majestic old car. But she just giggled and about a hundred yards from the building turned into a gap in the trees and parked.
‘We’ll go the rest of the way on foot,’ he said.
She pulled out her fur jacket from the back and followed him along the lane. The building, a modest one-storey affair with concrete walls, had a shutter covering the only window, and no lights showed. The scientist had turned the car around, ready for departure.
‘Stay here,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll go around the back. The windows might not be shuttered, and I might see what’s happening.’ He crept down the side of the building as she hid behind a tree. But the back windows were also closed, and although he found a gap and peered through it, he couldn’t see anything.
The headlamps of a car driving down the lane at speed followed by an SUV with tinted windows lit up the building. Solo’s hiding place was in danger of being revealed, and she dropped to her knees as the vehicles swept past, their slipstream almost bowling her over.
Two men carrying assault rifles jumped out of the car followed by two others from the SUV. With three men covering him, one tried the door but found it locked. He ran back to the car and brought a small battering ram and smashed the door open. Shouting, they barged into the building. Silence fell, then several shots lit up the interior before the men emerged, pulling a handcuffed man. After executing a three-point turn, the vehicles and Skarab’s car roared back along the lane.
‘Who in hell were they?’ he gasped, the night air sending white clouds haloing Solo’s head. He put a steadying hand on her arm, and they both listened and watched until the lights and sounds faded, and darkness surrounded them again.
‘What happened there?’ she asked.
‘They knew exactly what they were after.’
‘Maybe they’re StatPol. They handcuffed him.’
Perhaps the cops had caught up with the killer, but they hadn’t searched for anyone else. If cops, the priority would have been to find Becky.
It was a faint hope, but he turned his attention to the building, shouting, ‘Becky? Are you here? Becky?’ And he ran for the door and pushed it aside, and it swung on broken hinges. Solo followed also calling her name, but the only response was the squeaking of the door. There were no lights in the building, and in the dark, it was difficult to see, and he banged into a metal object followed by the breaking of glass. The only furniture were two chairs and a desk, and he ran a hand over them, collecting thick dust. Apart from a toilet and a small kitchen with a sink, this was the only room, and debris crunched under his feet.
There was no one else here, and it was apparent the scientist didn’t use the building for whatever work he was doing.
He called Becky’s name again, and Solo joined in, but the silence bore down on him, emphasising his disappointment and loss. With a shaking hand, he rubbed his face. ‘We’ve lost him. And now we’ve lost Becky.’
Perhaps we’re chasing the wrong man.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Leonardo despised him; he was sure of that. A cynical look in those eyes challenged him to discover the secret. Ottomon expected a sign to confirm the self-portrait possessed its reputed mystical powers. Instead, he felt diminished as if the image of Leonardo da Vinci was draining him from within. Perhaps that was the secret. Let it suck everything from you, and then you are an empty vessel ready to be refilled and reshaped. He was certain the face moved as if alive, definitely not a trick of the ambient light. As the portrait realised its surroundings, the eyes showed more depth and grew more human, and he felt its power.
Must he find the key to extract the secret? Where should he look? If the scientist couldn’t help, were they destined to sit in this room staring at each other for eternity?
They brought the scientist to the underground vault, and he stood outside the room as Ottomon communed with the drawing. On a signal, Salazaar ordered the men to r
emove the handcuffs and together they entered the room, and the servant coughed twice to attract the boss’s attention.
‘Yes,’ he snapped, annoyed by the intrusion.
‘You wanted to see Dr Skarab, sir.’
Brow furrowed, he processed the information and half-turned towards them, and Skarab believed the eyes in the drawing moved with him. ‘I want results.’ He gave either a smile or a grimace. There was little difference between the expressions. ‘So far, I am getting nothing.’
The scientist swallowed hard. ‘I’m working on it.’
He brushed the excuse aside. ‘There’s a limit to the time you have left to fulfil the task and a limit to my patience. Fail, and you give me no option…’ He turned again to present his full face. ‘Tell me, do you notice a change in me since we last met?’
‘But it was only—’
‘Answer the question.’
The scientist glanced at Salazaar for guidance, but the servant’s impassive stare gave no clue.
‘Changed? In what way?’
Disappointed, he shook his head. ‘If I had, you’d have known what to say. So, nothing of the great man has transferred to me even though I’ve spent hours with him.’
Skarab shuffled his feet and sweat meandered down his cheeks.
‘Maybe my brain has grown. What do you think, eh, scientist?’
‘I wouldn’t be able to tell if it had.’
‘Or I already have supernatural powers but don’t realise it.’
Skarab suppressed a laugh. ‘Don’t—’
‘I may have none of those talents,’ he glowered at him, ‘but I possess the power to make life difficult for you.’ He sneered. ‘I understand your mother has problems and you’re treating her at home.’
