Knife After Death: A chilling crime thriller

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

  He would build a plan, decide how and when best to enact it, and then when his mind was once again sharp and unfuddled from jetlag, he would execute it.

  His preferred method of assassination was with a gun, but nowadays it was almost impossible to travel abroad with his Glock, his favourite handgun of choice. When working abroad, he would use his contacts to source a weapon locally. It always surprised him how easy it was to get a gun almost anywhere in the world, if you really wanted one.

  The timing on this project was not ideal. The schedule had been moved up rather rapidly and Mat knew that he should act sooner rather than later.

  The complication was that there were now three separate targets, not just one. His priority was the woman journalist, followed by the doctor at the hospital. Lastly he would need to track down the second journalist. Currently he was in England, which would therefore either require an extension of the business trip down South, or the laying of a trap into which he would have to lure the reporter back to Scotland.

  .

  First things first though. For now Mat would hire a car, find his hotel, and then grab a few hours' sleep.

  Then he would go to work.

  .

  --------------------

  The Edinburgh Evening News

  2.30 p.m.

  .

  Susie sat at her desk trying to concentrate.

  She was finding it difficult to concentrate. She was on to the biggest story of her career and she knew it. Over the past twenty-four hours she had been working non-stop gathering all the information she could on SP-X4 and its parent company StemPharma Corp. She was now building a file on its owners and management, trying to identify whom she should contact and request further information and a quote from. She was also trying to decide if it would be wise to alert them to their story before she had published it, although she had a pretty good idea that her editor would leave that decision with their legal department.

  For now, the most obvious first step was to go with Peter and meet the consultant at the Royal Infirmary. He would know more about the drug.

  They would see what he had to say first.

  .

  --------------------

  Forest View

  Near Knuttsford, England

  2.35 p.m.

  ..

  Peter watched Alex get out of the back of the police car. Two other officers and a plain clothes policeman got out of the same car. A large police van pulled up behind them with a second police car, and three more policemen climbed out, along with some more forensic investigators to help the others who had already arrived earlier. Peter recognised one of them from the Grey Mare's Tail.

  "Peter, may I introduce Detective Inspector Walters." Alex said, coming over to stand beside him. "You may recall, I mentioned that DI Walters was very keen to meet you?"

  "And to arrest me. Yes I remember. Good afternoon Mr Walters."

  The DI said 'Good Afternoon' back, but did not offer him his hand.

  "Mr Nicolson. I am rather impressed by your ability to walk into our sleepy little village and turn it upside down, discovering bodies seemingly willy-nilly wherever you walk. That is rather a unique gift...unless you put them there in the first place?"

  Peter stared at him. Should he rise to the bait?

  "Actually, it would be rather impressive, were it not for the fact that I did not discover this body. I just happened to be here when the diggers dug it up by accident to build your wind farm. It will certainly spice up the story I wanted to write."

  "Mr Nicolson," The Detective Inspector continued. "I would request that you don't write anything about this until we have recovered the body and identified it, and before you have our permission. That's two bodies in two days. Summer is just coming. I don't want to scare away all the tourists. The villagers need the trade."

  "It could have the opposite effect, you know," Peter volunteered. "Tourism might increase. This could really help put Knuttsford on the map!" Peter replied.

  "You could cooperate, Mr Nicolson, or we could reconsider our decision to arrest you again...What do you say?"

  "I'm just teasing you. I'll delay any article until you give me permission."

  "Walk with us," Alex suggested, and they turned and began to follow the other police officers and the forensic team that had already gone ahead.

  "I tried calling you earlier. We would like to talk with you again at the police station when you have some time," Alex said.

  "Again?"

  "Yes, but don't worry. We haven't changed our mind. We've actually got some news for you. Constable Davis wants to talk with you. He's busy at the moment...Could you come later?"

  "Sorry, I have plans for later. I'll come first thing tomorrow morning. Will that be okay?"

  "Yes. We're going to be busy with this for a while today anyway. It's been agreed that I should stay longer and help out, because all the other police officers based here are busy at the Grey Mare's Tail. They've started looking at the field where you said the women was murdered."

  "Under the helicopter?"

  "Yes, well, obviously we have moved it first.

  "Aha...do I detect a sense of humour?"

  "Possibly."

  They walked on in silence. The Detective Inspector said very little, making one or two indecipherable comments to an officer on his left.

  A few minutes later they arrived at a group of diggers, all standing idle. A man in a yellow hat hurried up to them.

  "Hello, I am Ollie Swanson, and I'm the manager in charge at the moment."

  The DI stepped forward and spoke.

  "Thank you for calling us in immediately. Can you tell me please, what have you got?"

  "The legs and half a body are over there, and another half a body is at the bottom of that trench. The digger was busy digging the foundations for the third wind farm tower when it sliced clean through a corpse buried deep in the ground. Both parts were wrapped up in some form of rubber matting when we found them."

  "Someone said it's a man dressed up as German?"

  "Yes. Weirdest thing I've ever dug up. What's a German soldier doing here? Was there a Prisoner of War camp around here somewhere?"

  "The war was over sixty five years ago. It's not a real German soldier, don't worry. It can't be." A woman's voice said, coming up behind Ollie Swanson from the trench. She was wearing a white plastic all-in-one protective body-suit. "I've had a quick look, and I would estimate that it's a man of about thirty years old. He died recently, not over half a century ago. "

  "Cause of death? " the Detective Inspector asked.

  "I'm good, DI Walters, but not that good. We'll need to get him back to the lab to do an autopsy. I can't tell you what killed him or how he died, but I can say that someone went to a lot of trouble to hide his identity. The front of the skull has been smashed in, quite viciously, and the jaw bones have been removed."

  "Why?" Peter asked, almost immediately regretting his question. Everyone else knew the answer.

  "To hinder any formal identification from dental records. But...," the woman said, lifting a small object up between her gloved forefinger and thumb."I just found a single molar which had been rammed down what would have been his throat. Whoever had smashed his face in must have been quite powerful. With luck, we'll be able to get an identification from this." She smiled, dropped the tooth into a plastic bag and turned and handed it to an assistant who was now standing beside her.

  Peter turned and looked at Alex, but found that Alex was already staring at him.

  "Well," Alex said. "It certainly looks like that we've at least solved part of your last mystery."

  "Yes," Peter replied. "I think we've just found the fifth body."

  No sooner had he finished speaking, than the number '7' again appeared in his mind. Bright, vivid and pulsing red.

  Peter blinked, trying to clear the vision out of his mind.

  Thankfully, the number quickly faded, and was soon gone.

  As it faded
, Peter realised with a sudden feeling of slight nausea that he now understood the meaning of the vision.

  He had now found five bodies. 'Five' out of a possible 'Seven'.

  There were two more to go.

  Peter shivered.

  Chapter Eighty Four

  .

  .

  Craigmillar Estate

  Edinburgh

  May 7th

  5.00 p.m.

  .

  .

  Sergeant Cameron Angus had spent most of the afternoon in the situation room of Operation Longhorn, the codename for the murder investigation that had been set up for the series of murders in Craigmillar.

  This was now a major murder investigation. Three murders in the space of a week. Three of the original four gang members from the CME Team were now dead.

  For the past week the estate in Craigmillar had been swamped with police teams conducting house-to-house investigations, and some searches. So far, everything had turned up a blank. No one was talking, even the relatives were saying nothing, probably out of fear rather than anything else.

  A new theory had arisen yesterday, which basically blamed it all on Big Wee Rab. The idea was the brainchild of one of the younger officers who suggested that perhaps the killings were all being conducted by Big Wee Rab, as a punishment or retaliation on his former gang members who had all jumped ship and gone over to the Porty Boys. The second most favourite theory was that the new members of the Porty Boys had been caught short-changing their new management, and were being executed as an example to others. This also made some strategic sense, as with them gone, the Porty Boys could now move into the estate and establish a brand new team under their direct control.

  Sergeant Angus preferred the third option. The most obvious. That there was actually no hidden agenda here, that the murders were exactly as the flyers said: the actions of a new Craigmillar Militia that had simply had enough.

  The news of the killings had spread far and wide.

  Already two other estates in Scotland had reported two other killings, with both bodies being found with similar warnings...

  .

  "ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

  IF YOU SELL DRUGS OR DO CRIME ON THIS ESTATE, EXPECT TO DIE.

  Signed,

  GLASGOW RESIDENTS FOR LAW AND ORDER 'CREW'. "

  .

  And another from Dundee. Word was spreading via Facebook and trending on Twitter under the hashtags #fightback and #Residentsmilitia.

  The MP for Dundee had raised a concern in the Scottish Parliament this afternoon, citing the Craigmillar serial killings and warning that if the police didn't control and resolve the situation soon, the phenomena of Social Networking as it was today could quite likely lead to a run of other copycat murders taking place across the country.

  Secretly, some of the officers were saying that perhaps they should back off for a while and let the residents have time to get organised and then 'take care of some of the bastards' that the courts were making it so difficult for the police to punish. Whereas the police and the courts had to be over-concerned with 'human rights' and the 'rights' of the criminals, perhaps it was time to turn a blind eye and let the victims take their own revenge on their aggressors.

  It would save the tax-payer millions.

  Of course, the reality was somewhat different. The police had a job to do, and unless there was a political coup in the UK overnight, it was their job to do their best to stop all killings. No matter if the victims were 'bastards that deserved everything that was coming to them!' as one of the young mothers in Craigmillar had so succinctly expressed to him earlier that afternoon.

  .

  Today's daily meeting for Operation Longhorn had revealed a startling new development. One which had left Sergeant Angus feeling rather uneasy.

  A forensic report had just been issued in relation to the latest murder in Craigmillar. Up until now, no bullets had been found at the scene of any of the other murders. This in itself was curious, causing quite a lot of speculation as to why not. Had the bodies been moved? How many people were involved? Or had the bullet simply passed right through the skulls and bodies and then had been lost in the local surroundings, not yet found by those who had searched for them? Or had the murderer looked for them and removed them from the scene himself/herself?

  Whatever the answer was, a bullet had now been found embedded amongst an early crop of carrots in a greenhouse on the allotment behind the shed in which young Tam had been found minus most of his head: it had passed straight through his brain and skull, out the other side, through the wall of the wooden shed and the glass of the greenhouse, and into the dirt.

  Forensics had identified it as of Chinese manufacture, and quite old, similar to those used during the Korean War.

  Which was why Sergeant Cameron Angus was now sitting on his motorcycle outside the door to Old Mr Wallace: winner of the Victoria Cross for bravery and a former soldier who had fought and killed for his country during that very same war.

  There was however, potentially one small problem.

  An ambulance and a doctor’s car were also sitting outside, and a team of three paramedics had just run into the council flat.

  "What's happened?" Sergeant Angus asked, taking off his helmet and approaching one of the residents who had gathered outside of the door.

  "It's Old Wallace. He collapsed. Jimmy over there called the ambulance. Do you think he's going to die?"

  "I don’t know. I hope not," Sergeant Angus replied.

  He opened the gate and walked into the house.

  Inside he turned and walked into the front room.

  Mr Wallace was sitting in an armchair, a cup of tea in his hand, and a tube stuck up his nose which led to an oxygen tank on the floor.

  Mr Wallace looked up and saw the Sergeant, and smiled weakly.

  Sergeant Angus smiled back. He was just about to approach him, when someone tapped him on the shoulder and beckoned him to follow him into the kitchen at the back of the house.

  "What's happened?" the policeman asked.

  "I'm Doctor Daniels. Mr Wallace collapsed. A neighbour called us. He's okay for now. We were worried it was a heart attack, but it looks like it was just exhaustion."

  "Can I talk to him?"

  "Preferably not. That might not be such a good idea just now."

  "Are you taking him into hospital?"

  "No. Not now. He wants to remain at home. Given the circumstances I can understand. We will respect his wishes."

  "What circumstances?" Sergeant Angus asked.

  The doctor hesitated. He was obviously deciding whether or not to say something.

  "Is there something I should know?" the Sergeant asked.

  The doctor lowered his voice.

  "I shouldn't really say anything, but if you can, go easy on the old man. Do you know that he is a national hero? He won the Victoria Cross!"

  "Yes, I know that."

  "Well, if you can, leave it for a few days before you talk to him. He needs to rest. And unless it's really important, you may want to forget about talking to him altogether. Just leave him alone."

  "Why?" the Sergeant asked.

  "Because Mr Wallace is dying. He only has a few days left. A week or two at most. The last thing he needs now is any additional stress from the Boys in Blue. He's had a really bad time of it recently. It would be good if you could just respect his right to die in peace. I know you boys are doing the rounds of all the houses just now, questioning everyone who lives here, but, ...I'm sorry to say, Mr Wallace won't be living here much longer. In fact, would it be possible for me to ask you to leave just now? I want to make sure that Mr Wallace is comfortable before I go too. Is that okay?"

  Sergeant Cameron Angus nodded.

  The policeman turned and walked out.

  As he passed the door to the front room, he looked across at Mr Wallace, and he smiled.

  Mr Wallace smiled back.

  As the Sergeant walked out, he felt a lump in his
throat. He wondered if it would be the last time he would see Mr Wallace alive: sitting in his armchair, smiling, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. A 'twinkle' that perhaps told him everything that he needed to know.

  .

  --------------------

  .

  From in his car, parked further down the street, Robert watched Sergeant Angus talking to the other residents gathered outside the house of Mr Wallace. After a while he saw him put on his helmet, straddle his motorcycle and then drive off.

  A few minutes later he watched the ambulance crew return to the ambulance, and the doctor come out of the house, climb into his car, and then also drive off.

  Robert watched the rest of the residents slowly split up and go their separate ways. Soon there was no one left outside his house.

  Robert sat staring at the front door.

  He knew what he wanted to do. He knew what he must do. But Robert was scared. He was more scared now than he had ever been in his life before.

  Robert knew that in the next few hours, there was a strong possibility that Old Mr Wallace was going to kill him.

  .

  After returning to the estate earlier on in the afternoon, Robert had eventually made his way back to the tenement where his mother lived. He had parked the car outside, at the back of the building, and watched the flat, three floors up for any sign that his mother was at home.

  Thirty minutes later he had seen her walk into the kitchen, stand in front of the sink for a while, and then walk back out. Robert was pretty sure that she had just made a cup of tea. When he was sure the coast was clear, he had sneaked in the back entrance, caught the dingy elevator up to the third floor, trying not to breathe in the putrid smell of urine that seemed ever present, and then rang the door bell to his own home.

  He had a key, but for this one time, he thought it perhaps best not to use it.

  He had heard footsteps. His mother had opened the door, looked at him, and then fainted.

  .

  "Ya big bastard! I thought ye were deed! Why did ye no call or write or some-it! Ye worried me half to death, so ye did!" she had shouted at him when she came to.