Black Death (A Sam Rader Thriller Book 4)

by Simon King

  But the sleep, what little she did get, was brief, poor and irrelevant and after giving up hope of any real sleep, Sam finally rose a little after six. To her surprise, Tim was already up and sitting at the table, tapping away on the laptop.

  “I know. Can’t deny he had a pretty good run, though. What was he? Like 107 or something?”

  Sam smiled a little, sipped and set her cup down. She had pondered telling Tim about the dream since she had it, but now seemed like the perfect time.

  “I know it sounds weird, but he came to me.” Tim looked up from the computer screen and considered her for a moment. “Crazy, I know. But he did. He came and spoke to me.”

  “No,” Tim offered. “No, not crazy at all.”

  “We sat on his porch drinking beer.” She laughed a little at the memory, one very similar to the actual memory of their recent stay at the home. “We sat and talked and he told me things about…” She closed her eyes and tried to recall the words. “About this very case.”

  “What did he say?” Tim asked.

  “That we should start our search with the victims. He said that’s where our answer lies.” She paused briefly, trying to recall a dream that had been one of the few that hadn’t included her late serial-killer relative. “And…”

  “Did he tell you about the folder?” Tim suddenly asked and Sam nearly dropped her tea. She looked at him wide-eyed as Tim nodded. “He did, didn’t he?”

  “You too?”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” He looked a little embarrassed as he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Didn’t want you to think me crazy.”

  “I would never think you crazy,” Sam offered, remembering Tim’s own past and the pain he went through before being found by John Milton.

  “We rode horses on the foreshore. Can you imagine? Jim Lawson riding bareback along the beach.” He laughed a little as he spoke, then turned serious again as he remembered the other part of his own vivid dream. “And then he took us inside and showed me the folder.”

  “Do you think it’s real?” Sam asked.

  It took him a moment, but after a few seconds, Tim began to nod. He was staring off into the shadows, as if reliving the moment.

  “Yes. Yes, I do,” he finally said.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, as if suddenly aware of the paranormal connotations of their conversation. Were they really talking about shared dreams and the spirit of Jim Lawson visiting them? It was Sam that eventually broke the silence.

  “Do we tell someone?” Tim looked up almost shocked.

  “Tell someone? Tell them what? That Jim visited us in our dreams before he died? They’d think us crazy.” Sam thought about his words for a moment before continuing.

  “We could say that he told us for real. You know, during our visit. Maybe get someone to check out the drawer and if the folder is there, then we check it out.”

  Tim listened intently, then mulled the idea over in his mind as Sam watched him from across the top of her cup. He slowly began to nod his head, then finally looked up.

  “That’s probably the best way to go. I like it.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, Sam quietly sipping her tea, while Tim played with the remnants of a slice of toast. Whilst neither felt like the nutrition they were holding, it made for a simple distraction. Only when Sam finally finished her tea did Tim begin to start talking again.

  “I think I found something interesting.”

  “Huh?”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about Martha Lewiston’s demeanor yesterday and I went in and had a poke around in a few places.”

  “Find anything interesting?” Sam asked, returning to her seat.

  “Yeah, well…maybe.” He turned the laptop to face Sam and sat back as her eyes darted across the paperwork he had open. It took her barely a few seconds to get the gist of the information before she looked up again.

  “You think he beat her up?”

  “And then some. I think he had her living in absolute terror. Close enough to control her, yet far enough to have his own little hangout. I bet the prick even made her come over to clean for him.”

  The reports were from several of the local hospitals. Martha Lewiston had visited them on what could be considered regular visits, each time presenting with injuries consistent with family violence. These included extensive bruising, cracked ribs and a list of internal injuries several sheets long.

  As Tim turned the laptop back to face himself, Sam grabbed her cell and phoned Mumma. Despite the traumatic event from the previous day, she knew the team’s superstar would be sitting at her desk like always. There was nothing in the world that could keep her away.

  The two spent the first few minutes talking about Jim and the plans for his funeral. It had been planned to be held a week from tomorrow and if Black Death still hadn’t been captured, would be postponed for a couple of days if needed.

  Sam made a mental note to thank John for the suggestion, knowing it wouldn’t have been an easy decision. It was one quality she had admired about the main man since she met him: his never-ending care for his people.

  “Mumma, could you look something up for me? Tim has discovered Martha Lewiston’s medical records and it shows substantial injuries we believe to be from family violence. We also found out that Joanne Houghton had also been a victim of family violence.”

  “You think the violence is connected?”

  “Hmm, maybe. Not sure. But it’s the only thing we can find in common with the two women we’ve interviewed. That and the fact they’re both mothers.”

  “OK. Let me see what I can find.” Sam was about to thank her and wish her good luck when another thought crossed her mind.

  “Oh, and Mumma?”

  “Yah?”

  “When Tim and I were at Jim’s, he showed us a folder that he kept in his sitting room desk. It’s a manilla folder and contains quite a few files. I think I remember the word “Current” printed on the front. Could you see if someone can get a hold of it for us?” Tim looked up, but remained blank faced.

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thank you, Mumma.”

  She hung up, shot a wink at Tim and headed for the bathroom. Knowing the date for Jim’s funeral had now been set, she wanted to do everything in her power to make sure she could attend on the day it had been planned. It was the least she could do for a man who had given his life to ending the suffering of so many people.

  5

  Neville Potter loved his job. Not just because he had worked his butt off to get the latest promotion. And definitely not because it meant an extra forty grand in his pay packet, plus five extra days of annual leave up his sleeve. No. The reason Neville loved this job over any he had ever worked in the past was because he had beaten that cunt Emily Briarson to the role.

  He considered himself the front runner for the role of press secretary after spending years playing second fiddle to the last person to hold the title. But Jack Dillinger had retired from the role he’d held comfortably in his hand for the better part of a decade and Neville knew the job was rightfully his.

  That was until the mayor herself had brought in Emily Briarson and it soon became clear the purpose for the introduction. Neville wasn’t one to take second place to some bitch who just happened to walk in off the street and thus he had tried his hardest to ensure she wouldn’t interfere with his plans.

  But interfere she did and soon began to turn the tide, capturing the attention of a lot more than just the mayor. She shook her little ass all over the building, conveniently helping those she could manipulate into letting her lend a hand. Neville had no choice but to watch from the sidelines as the reality of him losing his promotion began to sink in.

  However, Neville had never been one to stand on the sidelines. He’d certainly let his wife, Pamela, know that early on in the marriage. And was it really that bad to flex a bit of manly muscle around one’s own castle?
Neville had watched his own father slap his mother more than enough times to know that sometimes, women needed a bit of persuasion.

  Despite feeling the urge to slap the bitch every time he saw her, Neville knew that he needed to handle Briarson in an entirely different way, one that didn’t implicate him in the slightest. And thus he had decided to try and get rid of the bitch by hatching a lie, something that would remove her completely from his life.

  It didn’t take long to cook up a plan and when he stood back to take in what he’d come up with, the smile was enough to see his satisfaction. It was simple really and didn’t need a lot of planning.

  When it came to the mayor’s office, nothing mattered more than honesty. It was one of the foundations of the building and Neville remembered what happened to that slut Nancy Werner. She had been one of the receptionists, nothing more than a message taker. But she had also helped herself to a few items that weren’t hers, including one very specific ornament that had lived on one of the councilman’s desks for years.

  When they had discovered the items in her bag late one afternoon, shortly before she was due to finish for the day, Werner had been fired on the spot. But not before being berated in front of the entire office, including those that came to watch. She was lucky she wasn’t charged, although that’s where Neville hoped to change things up a bit.

  His plan was simple. To steal a few credit cards from here and there and order items online before anybody had a chance to cancel them. But rather than have the goods sent to her home, he would arrange to have them shipped to her mother’s home instead.

  “Who would be dumb enough to have shit sent to their own fucken home,” he said to himself as he cruised through some online stores during one lunch break.

  The only problem he could think of, was how to get enough credit cards to make the whole thing worthwhile. He needed there to be a significant amount of money spent, otherwise the whole thing might not be deemed serious enough. No, what he needed was an event. Something that made a lot of people sit up and take notice.

  Half a dozen is what he finally set as his minimum number. Six credit cards from various people around the office. And what he needed was the means to get access to them. No, not just access. What he needed were the cards themselves and to have them in his own hand. That way, he would not only use the cards for a bunch of online purchases, but he could also plant them around her very home or office.

  As the plan began to come together in his mind, Neville sat back in his chair, looked out through his office door and began to smile.

  “Emily Briarson? Your goose is fucked,” he whispered, staring at the point he knew to be the outer wall of her office. Everything going well, he expected her days in the mayor’s office to be numbered, possibly as low as half dozen.

  The perfect moment came just three days after Neville made the conscious decision to fulfill his plan. It was a Friday and shortly before three o’clock, Julie Tucker, one of the busybodies that worked upstairs, came around telling everybody about a quick meeting the mayor wanted to have in the boardroom. Everyone was required to attend, as she had an important announcement to make.

  Neville acknowledged Julie as she stuck her ugly head through his door, offering her a fake smile and a wave, promising to be there. He had no intention of turning up, already aware of the announcement being made. It was nothing more than a temporary goodbye to one of the bitches leaving to have a baby.

  “Fucked if I’m gonna waste time listening to some bullshit about a whore that should have kept her knees closed,” Neville grumbled under his breath as he watched Julie spread her message through other offices further along the corridor. Once she was gone, he went to his door, locked it shut and returned to his desk.

  He knew everybody would go, they always did, keen to suck up to the boss. Neville returned to his computer and began to visit more sites he planned to use, making mental notes for some of the gifts Briarson would soon be ordering for herself. It also helped to pass the time until the rest of the floor was deserted, maybe taking as long as half an hour.

  The mayor would keep the meeting going as long as possible, loving the sound of her own voice. Neville often wondered how long the silly bitch would stand in front of the mirror and practice her public speaking routine.

  Ten minutes after hearing the final murmur of voices walk past his door, he decided to take his chances and head out on his fishing expedition. He first opened the door and listened from afar, then stuck his head out into the hallway and paused. Silence greeted him and once he’d convinced himself the place was empty, headed down the hall to the furthest office from his.

  The good thing about this building was that it was old and CCTV cameras hadn’t been installed on all floors. They were mainly on the first two floors, plus the 10th, the one with the big tamale herself.

  “Bitch just likes to be filmed,” he snickered as the thought ran through his mind.

  Just as he neared Donald Linker’s office, he thought he heard a noise from within and instead of turning into the room, pretended to walk straight past. But as he glanced in on his way past, he saw the window open, a shallow breeze blowing the curtains around.

  “Dumb fucker,” Neville muttered.

  Once in the office, he didn’t hesitate, heading straight to the desk of the man in question. He opened the drawer where he knew the fat slob would have his wallet sitting and once he spotted it, felt the adrenalin kick up a notch. If anyone walked in at that moment, it would be him that was fucked.

  But no-one did walk in, the place remaining deserted. Neville found what he was looking for, pulled the Visa from the wallet and pocketed it. It was one of four he spotted and hoped that he chose the one used the least. That way, he figured he’d have enough time to get back to his office and use it.

  The next victim he hit was one of the young up-herself-princesses, Helen Carter. She had only been working on the floor for six months or so, but Neville knew she was married to some rich banker guy. Just as he suspected, her purse had also been left in one of the drawers and when Neville investigated, found several cards to choose from.

  “Like taking candy from a dumb cunt,” he chortled, slipping another card into his pocket.

  Whilst he found the next three just as easily, he struggled to find the last. After visiting half a dozen more offices, Neville failed to find a single wallet, suspecting that the rest had taken their valuables with them.

  “Why would they do that?” he thought to himself and then, while chuckling added, “Because there are fucking thieves around.”

  After finally getting home from the office with the five credit cards in his pocket, Neville locked his front door, then went straight to his computer. He wasn’t aware of the erection in his pants until he reached into his pocket for the cards.

  “That’s what fucking this bitch does to me,” he whispered, giving it a brief squeeze. He then opened the VPN server he’d downloaded earlier and made sure the connection was active before opening a new page. Just before he began to type, he remembered that his wife Pam finished earlier on a Friday and he wouldn’t have as long as he’d hoped.

  Not wasting any more time, he immediately opened half a dozen pages, typed in various names into the search bars and hit enter on each. He wanted to make everything look as authentic as possible and began to scroll through pages upon pages of inventory. Handbags, sunglasses, jewelry, everything a bitch like Briarson would need in her life.

  Once he’d selected items, Neville began to add things to carts, then checked out each in turn, waiting around five minutes between. He took a small slip of paper from his own wallet, carefully entered the address as the place to deliver the goods, then set it alight with a match.

  As the ashes smoldered beside his laptop, he began to seal the deal, carefully entering the credit card details and hitting the buy button on each. By the third successful purchase, his erection became apparent again and he gave it another squeeze.

  “Fuck, I love this,
” he hissed, adding another purchase.

  All up, Neville purchased in excess of ten grand worth of goods. The fat slob Donald Linker only contributed a measly six hundred bucks, but the rest of the group did really well. Neville sealed each deal with a grin on his face, nodding as the success screen flashed on.

  Once done, he deleted the VPN software from his laptop, deleted the history and hid the credit cards in one of his suit jackets. He’d only finished one half of the job. The other was still to come.

  He looked at the watch and saw that it was still almost a half hour before Pam finished work. To pass the time, Neville headed for the bedroom, took out some of his wife’s underwear and began to take care of the erection he’d been sporting for most of the afternoon.

  When the lingerie still wasn’t doing its thing a few minutes in, he opened his cell, put on some porn and continued to masturbate in earnest, thinking of Emily Briarson the entire time.

  Neville headed out early the following morning, leaving Pam still asleep, snoring like a rhino. He paused at the bedroom door to look at his wife of 22 years. She disgusted him almost as much as the bitches at work, but somehow always managed to work her way into his heart. He didn’t like slapping her around as much as he did, but sometimes, women just needed a touch up.

  Once out of the house, he hopped in his Camry and headed straight to where he knew Briarson’s home would be waiting for him. The bitch played tennis each Saturday morning. Neville hated tennis, a game he always believed to be invented by gay rich folk. He once tried his hand at it, but couldn’t get the racket to connect with anything but the ground and had given up almost immediately.

  With the bitch at the tennis, her small cottage-like home would be waiting for him and with any luck, let him inside. He didn’t have a plan for gaining access, simply assuming an opportunity would somehow present itself.