Becwethan (The Leopold Dix Thrillers Book 1)

by mark mctighe

  Voices were raised in the forest outside; Rufus and I looked at one another; “think they’ve found him, I’ll go and see” I headed out. There was one thing I’d been considering. Would the body be entire or had the butchering started with Paulo. I moved silently over to the hole to see for myself.

  The hole was deep, a foot or so deeper than the man who had been standing in it. Battening had been erected to prevent the sides of the hole falling in; a step ladder placed at the end facilitated access.

  Both men sat on an old tree stump drinking from a flask of coffee.

  “Mind if I take a look?” I caught the attention of the first man.

  “Fine” he said, “just don’t touch anything, forensics are on their way.”

  I climbed down the ladder. The bottom of the hole was well lit from the lamps they’d erected. A musty smell rose from the damp earth below. The white bones of Paulo provided a stark contrast to the rich damp earth. A partially exposed skull and arm were visible. I crouched down and looked closely; ‘no butchery’ I thought.

  The police forensic team had left by late evening, “we’ll send a couple of men back to fill the hole tomorrow” Jurgen had said; but I persuaded him that Rufus would be more than willing to help the police out on this one.

  “It’s a big hole over 2 metres deep” I said.

  “And why might you need it?” Simmy enquired.

  “Well it offers a number of possibilities, composting, oil storage tank, man trap….. I’m not sure. I’ll think on it for a couple of days before Rufus fills it in.

  THIRTY

  We had Rothorn to ourselves again. Rufus was busy working up plans with Gustav, and if Simmy was right, he’d also found himself a girlfriend.

  “When will you head back?” Simmy asked.

  “I’m due at work on the 1st, so I figured I’d leave here early on the 30th, that’ll give me a day to get sorted.”

  “That gives us 18 days. Let’s do something fun; go somewhere, a holiday.” She said.

  “Yes, any ideas?”

  We spent the evening deciding where we might go. Simmy kept returning to Egypt. “Ever since my school project on the pharaohs I’ve wanted to visit and do the tourist thing.”

  The focus of a holiday took our minds off my inevitable departure date; we ate, drank, listened to music and talked about the forthcoming trip. “The pyramids it is then, if we head over to yours in the morning we can start booking stuff online”.

  The door opened slowly, I wasn’t expecting Rufus, but now that he was back we could tell him about our trip. The strip of light from inside illuminated the person’s feet; the glint of something metallic in his hand.

  I started to rise; “stay in your chair” the voice was angry, hard, unforgiving. His arm rose, a small automatic weapon in hand pointing directly at Simmy. We stayed like this for perhaps a minute. My eyes flicked around the room searching, searching for a suitable weapon, any weapon.

  He moved across the threshold and into the room. His skin was dark and dirty, several days of grey stubble on his face; but still his hair….. Unbelievably his hair had been combed minutes before.

  I knew to engage him in conversation. “Marc, how are…”

  “Quiet, I don’t want to talk” he snarled. His face contorted, his expression pained.

  I raised my hands, a signal of peace, surrender, and tried again. “We can get help Marc.”

  “Shut up, I don’t want help.”

  He glanced around, taking in the new surroundings. His jacket was torn; a large damp stain covered the breast pocket. He was here and now I don’t think he knew what to do next. I lowered my hand onto my pockets; the phone was there, ‘that’ll be useful if I can get to a signal’ I thought.

  “Can I get you some food, tea?” I said. The colour had gone from Simone’s face; she stared at Marc, wide watery eyes.

  “If you speak again I will shoot the girl.” He didn’t even attempt to recognise Simmy, but pulled the gun up higher to show that he meant it.

  We stayed like that for what seemed like an hour, every few minutes Marc would come out of a trance and raise the sinking gun higher.

  “Follow the instructions carefully or I shoot.” He came back to life, a plan had been devised. “You” he flicked his gun hand at Simmy; “stand out here”. He backed up out of the doorway and made room for her to follow. She followed and waited; “in front and don’t look back”. She moved forward down the steps and onto the earth below. “Stop there” he said; “you” he lifted his head, twitched, “down here and get to the front.” So there we all were, walking slowly away from Rothorn, in the middle of the night, me at the front, tethered by the threats to Simmy, Simmy and Marc, the missing piece of the puzzle.

  “To the hole, the grave” he said. After a couple of metres I could hear a soft crying.

  I couldn’t remember who the last person was that I’d called on my mobile, I hoped it was Rufus; he always kept the phone on. I slipped the phone out of my pocket, pressed call and threw it down the mountainside.

  The echoing shot was soon silenced by the forest. Simmy screamed and fell, writhing in agony. Tears ran down her petrified face.

  “The next one goes inside her head” Marc had stopped me in my tracks. “What did you throw?” His voice told me not to lie, not if I wanted Simmy to live.

  Simmy held her leg; in obvious distress and close to passing out, the bullet had penetrated the thigh.

  “My phone.”

  “Well that’ll never work” he dismissed it immediately. He was right of course, it should have never worked, but the mountain was kind and the phone found a path that carried it rapidly down, and into a pocket of reception.

  “Dad, bit late for calls isn’t it? Hello, dad, are you alright? Dad.” Within 2 minutes Rufus had left Gustav and Dom’s and was running up the mountain paths towards Chalet Rothorn. Pinsec to Rothorn was at best a 1hour 10 min ascent, but Rufus was moving.

  “Pick her up and let’s keep moving.” Marc barked out his orders. Simmy yelped as I picked her up, her head lolling. “Are you....”

  “Quiet” Marc barked again; “to the edge of the hole”. I moved forward, to within a few inches of the edge. The step ladder had gone. Soil had been piled up alongside the hole in readiness for backfilling. Marc had been preparing this grave for hours, whilst Simmy and I had been dreaming of holidays, pharaohs and pyramids.

  In the moonlight the hole looked bottomless; an abyss, the entrance to hell. I could hear his breathing behind me as he stood up and kicked me on the back of my knees. My legs buckled and we fell, face first, into the grave. Simmy must have been unconscious; she uttered no sound as we hit the wall of mud. A large flat stone followed, knocking the wind out of me, then mud, heavy mud. I pulled Simmy’s fleece up to cover her face as the rocks and mud squashed the air out of our deflating bodies.

  THIRTY ONE

  Rufus kept the punishing pace going; it had to be relentless. ‘It might be absolutely nothing, but that was an embarrassment he would be happy to live with’ he thought. Gustav was alerting Pascal right now, but Rufus figured it could take the police a long time to get there.

  His fitness levels had dropped since the tendon injury, but it was less fitness and more sheer bloody will that was required to get there.

  Scrambling up the mountainside; frequently on all fours; venturing off the recognised paths when an obvious advantage could be gained. After 20 minutes he was on a path he knew. “It’d have taken longer in the car’ he thought, he pressed on driven by an overwhelming sense of dread.

  The sky had gone, Leo’s eyes searched the black, an occasional swirl of coloured light seemed to pass across the back of his eyes; the final memory of sight, of colour, of life. The crushing soil oozed around the large flat stone that he had managed to position over their heads and chests; the air was thin, wet, dirty.

  Marc looked down at the grave, satisfied, picked up his pack and returned to Rothorn. Inside he prepared the final act; removing an
axe from the pack he chopped up two chairs and supplemented this kindling with warm logs from alongside the wood burning stove. He pulled out a small glass bottle and rested it on the table.

  Pascal had taken the call from Gustav on the first ring; he listened, hung up, and thought. ‘What if Marc had doubled back……? It was not a fear he’d shared with Leo, but was always a possibility….The trail had gone cold very fast…... Yes, it was a genuine risk, Leo was the only obvious target’. He made some calls, put a helicopter up, got dressed, and started the drive to Grimentz. ‘Jesus, I’m so fucking sick of this mountain road he thought’.

  Rufus’s leg continued to hold up well to the tough examination, but his hands were shredding up nicely. It helped to focus the mind; to keep driving the legs forward; ‘not far now, Jesus, I bet they’re curled up asleep in bed’ he thought. A helicopter was audible, Rufus glanced up, ‘might be’ he thought.

  The chanting in the chalet drowned out the distant helicopter. The glass bottle was opened, petrol fumes filled the chalet. Marc poured the golden liquid onto the funeral pyre. A single candle burned in the middle of the table, the axe alongside. He took the axe in his right hand; the intensity of the chant rose. His eyes glazed, his body braced, he raised the axe, his left hand spread on the wooden table below. There was no delay, with all his forced he brought the axe down onto his hand. It struck at the base of his three middle fingers severing them in an instant; the blood uncontrollable. He fell onto his knees, the chant had died, he reached for the candle and passed out.

  Pascal was awake properly now. He sensed that Marc had returned. He put his foot down a little harder and sped up the mountain road, past Fang, closing on Vissoie; anxious to hear from the helicopter crew.

  The landing light from the Helicopter illuminated the forest for a hundred yards. The pilot had made numerous trips to Chalet Rothorn so knew exactly where to put down. The rotors still span as the police, in body armour, clambered out of the side door.

  Rufus topped the brow and sped towards the chalet. “Down” a police shouted. The noise of the rotors diminishing as the helicopter arced up and away.

  “I’m the fucking bastard who told you to come; I’ve just run all the fucking way up from Pinsec”.

  “Rufus isn’t it;” a look of recognition; “calm; we’re just searching the chalet, hold back a moment”.

  A writhing Marc was pinned to the floor, a rabid dog, spitting, biting and screaming. A pool of blood seeped through the floor boards, the candle had been extinguished and the risk of fire had gone. “No sign of your father, or the girl” the police man said. “And I don’t think we’re going to get much out of this mad fucker. Can you think where he might have gone? Any favourite hideout?” The police man kept bouncing ideas off Rufus, who could think of nothing.

  “He’s covered in shit, mud, all in his face, hair, under his nails. Is there an obvious place….?” Rufus turned and ran, covering the distance to the multiple burial site in a few seconds. The spades and picks were still there; the earth light and decompressed on the surface.

  “Here….now…quick,” Rufus screamed for assistance. The police who had been following immediately began to dig. The space was just big enough for three men to dig simultaneously.

  As Rufus and the two policemen worked, the helicopter returned with the doctor. “It’s deep” Rufus said, “dad said it was at least 2 metres deep”. The men worked continuously, shifting rocks and spoil.

  “Under here” the police man said, “I think there’s someone under here”. Rufus helped to lift a large flat stone.

  “Dad…. dad” Rufus stood back and clambered out of the hole, giving the doctor access to the bodies beneath.

  The pressure of the earth had been extraordinary, but the large flat stone had borne a great deal of the two metres of covering. “Are they breathing?” Rufus quizzed the doctor. “Are they alive? ….Come on”. The doctor moved from one to the other feeling for a pulse, looking for vital signs.

  “They’re somehow both alive, I need two stretchers immediately, we need to move them extremely carefully. Pass me that bag, yes that one, the girl’s been shot as well, I need to pack the wound.”

  Rufus sat down with a thump and shook.

  THIRTY TWO

  Rufus made several large pots of tea over the next two hours. It was a good way to keep busy and help. It seemed to keep the shock from setting in for real, the fear that perhaps another hour would have killed them both. ‘I knew something was terribly wrong, thank god’ he thought.

  Pascal arrived as things began to quieten down. “Jesus Christ Rufus, if you hadn’t raised the alarm.”

  “I think I need to go to church for the next ten years, I owe big time.” Rufus replied. “And when we finally got them out the doctor couldn’t believe what good shape they were in. It was just Simmy’s leg, she’s lost a lot of blood…… But they’re getting the full once over….. I’ll give them a couple of hours head start, then follow down with the car. It’ll make a change…. Me picking dad up from hospital…. It always seems to be the other way round; tea, Pascal?”

  THIRTY THREE

  The holiday was no longer an option. I spent the last few weeks with Simmy in her apartment, or watching her hobble around the village. I’d had some training in trauma counselling, but Simmy wasn’t buying it.

  “I’m not crying because someone shot me Leo, or buried me in a grave two metres deep. I’m just happy to be alive and with you. Anyway the doctor thinks that with the right physio and exercise regime I’ll be as good as new. I promise you I’ll be on the bike before you know it.”

  “I’ve been thinking, Christmas is a long way off,” I began, “if I work some longer days, put in the hours, weekends etc, we could meet up in London the weekend before your job starts, around the 10th December, make a four day weekend out of it, and I could show you around?” A big grin spread across Simone’s face, her smooth, brown, and beautiful face.

  “It’s a date, the belated holiday we were promising ourselves.” she said.

  “I think the British Museum does a pretty good line in the pharaohs”, she chuckled at my lame joke.

  I spent one last evening with Rufus at Rothorn, cards, chess, beer and lots of music. It was unusual for us not to dissect the journey that had led us to this evening; the will, the bodies, the construction project, the attempts on our lives, our relatives. We steered clear of it all, all except the climbs, our cherished climbs.

  Simmy and I parted well, there was London to look forward to, and my return soon after that for a ‘Traditional Swiss Christmas’.

  It was 5.00am; Wolf had been loaded the night before. I turned the key; she fired up beautifully, sending a cloud of black diesel fumes spiralling across the road. Simmy poked her head through the open car window and gave me one last kiss, “London and Christmas” it seemed to fortify us both. I pushed her into first and headed for London.

  Lausanne and Besancon long gone; I pulled over for a coffee. The phone buzzed. ‘Leo, thank you sincerely for all your help, I really enjoyed working with you. Send best to Jack, Pascal. P.S. Jurgen’s going to miss you.’

  ‘Yes’ I thought, ‘but he’s got one hell of a good story for the grandchildren’.

  Dijon and Reims passed in a blur; my head was already in England; ‘Belouis Some’ giving me some ‘Imagination’.

  The new Leopold Dix thriller...

  Wass..................... By Mark McTighe.

  One damp, grey London morning DI Leopold Dix responds to an urgent call out. When he reaches the city office block he discovers a meticulously planned and brutal killing.

  A high flying business man sealed in a metal locker, tortured and pushed down an open lift shaft.

  Leopold’s life is at best confused; his recent return from a six month sabbatical; his crumbling long distance relationship. He works all hours, eats cheese and pickle sandwiches and dreams of pastures new.

  But things take a turn for the worse when a second body, riddled w
ith holes, is discovered at the bottom of a river; sealed in a metal locker. The murderer has gone serial; Leopold must forget his troubles and throw himself into a battle against a one man killing machine..... Wass.

  An alarming thriller.