Assassin's Web

by Richard T. Burke

  “There’s no time,” I gasped, slumping into the seat. “Somebody saw me. They’ll be here in a second.”

  The grin slipped from Nick’s face. He turned the key in the ignition, rammed the stick into gear and pulled away from the kerb with a screech of burning rubber. He raced between the lines of parked cars, only slowing to turn left at a junction. I twisted around to look out of the back window. The outline of a lorry blocked the entrance to the street.

  “What the hell went wrong?” Nick asked.

  “Everything,” I replied.

  Chapter 34

  We came to a stop a short way down a muddy lane leading into dense woodland. I sat in the passenger seat while Nick replaced the number plates for the third time. He had allowed me to remain where I was but informed me I would have to move before we returned to the flat.

  The sound of distant sirens had reached us as we weaved through the side streets close to the building site, but I had no idea whether they related to my telephone call. During the ten-minute drive to our current location, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror every few seconds, but there was no sign of pursuit.

  Nick was philosophical about the drivers observing me as I tossed my mobile into the back of the truck. The original intention had been for the police to track the signal as it travelled to the supply depot where the next batch of building materials would be loaded, hopefully crushing the handset.

  For all we knew, that part of the plan had proceeded as intended. It seemed likely the police would trace the phone back to its origin. They might eventually question the two men who had seen me, but it would all take time and by that stage, we would be miles away. Nick’s only remaining concern was whether any witnesses had observed his car. Swapping the plates mitigated that possibility.

  “That’s another fifty quid down the drain,” he said, tossing the cloth-wrapped bundle behind the passenger seat with a metallic clank. “I’ve only got one set left now.” He moved around to the driver’s door and glared in at me.

  “I needed to know she was alright.”

  The scowl on his face softened a fraction. “Yeah, I get it, but from here on in, we stay hidden like good little mice.”

  “I assume we’re going back to the flat,” I said.

  “That’s the plan unless you fancy spending the next day and a half in the car. It’s time to climb in the boot again.”

  I groaned. “It’s pretty claustrophobic in there. Can’t I lie across the back seat? Nobody will see me.”

  Nick studied me for a second then shrugged. “What the hell. Just make sure you stay out of sight. I must be going soft in my old age.”

  I ended up lying on my side, my knees bent so I could fit in the available space. Whilst not exactly comfortable, my new position was a step up from the cramped darkness of the boot. The car lurched into movement across the rough ground. My calf ached as I braced myself against the door.

  After a few seconds, an increase in the ambient light level and the rhythmic ticking of the indicator signalled our arrival at the main road. The ride became much smoother after that. Nick hummed an unrecognisable tune from the front seat. My mind turned to the conversation with my sister.

  Somebody from the police had been in the room with her. Given the circumstances, that was hardly surprising. In some ways, it came as a relief to learn she was not alone. But why hadn’t she mentioned their presence until I asked? What had they been whispering to her? Perhaps she had been instructed to keep me talking until they could trace my location.

  “How was your sister?” Nick’s question dragged me back to the present.

  “Okay, I suppose. She had a police liaison officer with her.”

  His voice took on a sharper tone. “I take it you didn’t give anything away.”

  “Of course not.” I paused for a moment, a sudden burst of anger welling from deep below. Unable to hold myself back, I allowed the words to tumble from my mouth. “How do you live with yourself? Somebody like you killed my mother.”

  Nick’s posture stiffened. He remained silent for several seconds. When he spoke, steel laced every syllable. “First, I’m not your mother’s murderer. Second, I draw the line at women and children.”

  “But—”

  “Let me finish. Third, most of the scum I kill deserve to die anyway. In most cases, I’m doing society a favour by ending their miserable lives. In any case, I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

  “You’re still a killer for hire.”

  “Who’s being paid to keep you alive, so I suggest you show some gratitude. I could have trussed you up for the last few days and dumped you on the street at the end of the contract.”

  “Well, thank you very much,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m really glad you showed me such a great time.”

  From my position on the back seat, I saw Nick’s jaw muscles clench. He inhaled deeply then held his breath for a few seconds, clearly fighting the urge to respond. Eventually, he shook his head and exhaled through narrowed lips. The journey continued in silence as the tension in the car gradually dissipated.

  I wasn’t about to apologise, but neither did I want the sour note between us to fester. I still needed Nick on my side.

  “Do you have anybody?” I asked.

  “Eh?”

  “Is there somebody special in your life, like a wife or girlfriend, or perhaps even a boyfriend?”

  Nick angled his gaze to the rearview mirror and snorted in amusement. I was too low down for him to see my reflection. “No, not really. My line of work isn’t conducive to a long-term relationship. And just to be clear, I’ve never shared my bed with anyone other than a woman.”

  I smiled. “Don’t you want to settle down?”

  “Maybe one day, if I ever retire from this game. There is a person I’m close to, but I don’t think either of us is ready to commit to anything.”

  “Who is she?”

  Nick hesitated before responding. “A friend.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “It’s none of your business,” he snapped, glancing once again at the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. “She’s the widow of one of the men in my unit. Her husband died out in Afghanistan. We look out for each other. She helps me out with some of the admin side. For example, she booked the flat we’re staying in. She knows all about computers. I help her out with odd jobs around the house.”

  “Does she know what you do?”

  “I’ve never discussed it with her, but she’s not stupid, so she’s more than likely got a good idea.”

  “And it doesn’t bother her?”

  “Like I said, we haven’t talked about it. Anyway, I could ask you the same question about your love life.”

  “Currently on my own,” I replied, “and with no special friend.”

  “That’s probably not a bad thing in your current situation,” Nick said.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve had a few single parents throw themselves at me over the years.”

  Nick chuckled. “One of the hazards of the job, I suspect.”

  “Not for long,” I said. “I don’t think they’ll let me work there again after all this.”

  “What will you do?”

  “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t even thought about it. There aren’t too many career vacancies for English teachers who have been accused of murder.”

  Chapter 35

  We arrived back at the car park without further incident. Nick gave me the key and dropped me off by the staircase before driving around the corner to the allocated parking space. I hobbled up the stone steps with the hoodie drawn over my head. The foyer area was deserted as I tapped in the code to access the lifts.

  The lift doors opened as soon as I pressed the up button. I emerged onto the eighth floor and hurried along the corridor as fast as my limp allowed, eager to gain the sanctuary of the flat before any of the neighbours popped out to make my acquaintance. I fumbled the k
ey into the lock and sighed with relief as I crossed the threshold without being accosted.

  Seconds later, a light tap signalled Nick’s arrival. The distorted image through the fisheye lens of the peephole failed to disguise his impatience. I twisted the latch and stepped back to allow him to pass. He walked past me and flopped onto the sofa.

  “Let’s see what’s on the news,” he said, snatching the remote control. Sinking down into the adjacent settee, I glanced at my watch: 16:52. The screen displayed the closing stages of a game show. The grinning host stood beside a nervous-looking contestant, draping an arm across his shoulder.

  “Bloody daytime television,” Nick muttered. “That stuff rots the brain.”

  He pressed a button, and the image changed to the TV guide. He quickly navigated to the BBC News channel. The picture swapped to a slow-motion replay of a footballer lashing the ball into the goal from twenty yards out.

  “Damned football,” he added, muting the sound. “That’s almost as bad. Twenty-two overpaid prima donnas kicking around a bag of wind.”

  Nick drummed his fingers on the armrest as the roundup of the week’s action ran its course. The national weather forecast followed; judging by the preponderance of grey storm clouds across the country, it seemed more rain was on the way over the next few days.

  Finally, the time ticked around to five o’clock. Nick prodded the button to unmute the sound. A sombre-faced male newscaster spoke into the camera.

  “In our top story this evening, the manhunt for rogue schoolteacher, Alex Parrott, intensifies.”

  My scalp prickled, and my face flushed. I swallowed to clear the pressure building in my ears. My heart slammed against the wall of my chest.

  “The thirty-four-year-old is accused of a string of murders, including the killing of his own mother. Over now to our home affairs correspondent, Brian Adlington, at the scene of the most recent crime.”

  A thin-faced man wearing a dark suit and red tie stood in front of a garden hedge, the blue flashing light of a police car from somewhere out of shot illuminating one side of his face in a hypnotising, pulsing pattern. Behind the reporter and slightly out of focus was the front of the house in which I had grown up.

  The familiar image and the presence of the emergency vehicles set off a chain of memories I thought I had erased from my mind. Twenty-five years ago, the television pictures had been lower quality, but the setting was the same. Then, we had been on the inside looking out. I remembered my parents tuning into the news, hoping illogically that the reporters would reveal something positive the police hadn’t already told us. Of course, that never happened.

  “This is the house in which secondary school English teacher, Alex Parrott, grew up. It’s also the house he is suspected of returning to yesterday evening to kill his mother, Mary Parrott. Officers are still questioning neighbours to establish an exact timeline, but it seems sometime around seven fifteen last night, Mr Parrott returned to the childhood home he left sixteen years ago. Minutes after that, it is alleged Mr Parrott strangled the sixty-five-year-old. The sister of the accused man discovered the body after arriving at the residence shortly after eight p.m. She has been living at the property with her two young daughters but had been visiting friends at the time of the attack.

  “In a further development, the authorities are now linking Mr Parrott with the murders earlier this week of Victor and Tasha Romanov. On Monday, a cleaner discovered the couple, brutally murdered in their home less than three miles from Mr Parrott’s house. Police have placed Mr Parrott at the scene but are still appealing for witnesses who may have seen or heard anything unusual to come forward.

  “Officers are searching for a motive for the killings but believe the case could be tied to illegal activity including child pornography. Members of staff at the school where Mr Parrott worked as an English teacher, Saint Michael’s Secondary in Fleet, were tonight unavailable for comment. Later, we’ll be talking to some parents of children taught by Mr Parrott.

  “Also in tonight’s programme, politicians are calling for more stringent checks on teachers. We’ll hear more about what could be done and the extra measures that are being proposed. We have an interview with the head of the Office for Standards in Education, Peter Dack.”

  The walls of the room seemed to close in on me. All my attention focused on the rectangular screen as the reporter described the string of murders attributed to me. Person after person tried to explain how a secondary school English teacher with no previous criminal record had passed all the security checks and turned into the most wanted man in Britain.

  I was so fixated on the programme that I didn’t hear the knock at the door. It was only when Nick shoved himself out of the sofa that I emerged from my bubble of concentration. Our eyes met as he grabbed the remote control and lowered the volume. The tapping sound repeated.

  I too hauled myself upright. “Do you think it’s—?”

  “No, it can’t be the police,” he interrupted. “They wouldn’t knock. If they knew we were here, they’d smash their way in.”

  “Well, who is it then?”

  Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he held up his hand to silence me and crept along the hallway. When he reached the door, he peered through the peephole. With a slight shake of the head, he undid the latch and pulled the handle towards him. I glimpsed briefly a tangle of grey hair before he blocked my view. The murmur of a brief conversation carried along the hall, but the sound from the television prevented me from picking up any of the words.

  After a few seconds, Nick closed the door and strode back to the lounge. “It’s the neighbour from the next apartment. She says she’s run out of sugar and wants to borrow some.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said I’d see if we had any.”

  “Didn’t she just go out in the car?”

  Nick narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I know.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  He inhaled deeply then shrugged. “Wait here.” He continued past me into the kitchen and returned moments later carrying a cup. On the return journey along the hallway, he detoured via his bedroom. As he emerged, he slipped something into his back pocket.

  He strode towards the door and opened it a crack. The woman’s face appeared briefly in the gap as she looked over his shoulder. Once again, a short discussion took place. I was about to turn away and return to my position on the sofa when there was a sudden flurry of movement.

  Nick flashed out a hand and grabbed the woman by the collar of her pale-green shirt. He hauled her towards him, stepping to one side as she stumbled past him through the doorway and into the flat. A quick glance each way along the outside corridor and he slammed the door closed behind him. His hand reached back and emerged holding a knife. He held the blade to her throat and moved his face to within six inches of hers.

  “If you make a sound, you’re dead,” he growled. “Do you understand?”

  The woman whimpered in fright and dropped the cup. As it hit the floor, it split in two with a dull crack, spilling white crystals in an arc across the carpet.

  “I asked if you understood,” he repeated.

  She squeaked a single syllable response and nodded her head a fraction.

  “Good. Now walk slowly into the lounge.”

  He turned to me. “Get the duct tape from my bag.”

  I stood aside as the woman edged past me. Her eyes met mine. The telltale flash of recognition spread across her face. She blinked rapidly as she tried to hold back the tears.

  “Sit down on the sofa,” Nick commanded, prodding her with the knife blade.

  “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” she asked in a timid voice.

  “Not if you follow my instructions and answer my questions.”

  I limped into Nick’s bedroom. The small rucksack lay on the bed, the zip at the top already open. I opened it wider and peered inside. A mass of crumpled clothes concealed the items beneath. I pushed them aside, reached in and rummaged
at the bottom. My fingers closed around a cold metallic object. I pulled it out and found myself staring at a matt black pistol.

  “Shit,” I muttered, hurriedly releasing the contoured grip and dropping the weapon on the mattress. What else was in this bag?

  I continued the search, my hands sensing a length of coiled rope before settling on the hollow cylinder. Withdrawing the roll of tape, I left the gun on the bed as I returned to the lounge. The woman sat in the centre of the sofa, her eyes flicking between Nick and the now muted television.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she asked, tears rolling down her cheek.

  “Get a chair from the kitchen,” Nick said to me, ignoring her question.

  I hobbled through the doorway and grabbed the nearest of the two wooden backed chairs.

  “Put it there,” he said, indicating a spot in front of the sliding door to the balcony. He watched as I dragged it over the carpet. He turned back to the terrified neighbour.

  “Sit,” he commanded, pointing with the knife.

  The woman edged forward and pushed herself off the cushion. Nick followed a pace behind as she shuffled across the room.

  As soon as she was seated, he spoke over his shoulder to me. “Tie her arms and legs to the chair. Two layers should be enough.”

  I located the end of the reel and tore off a length of the grey material. Kneeling to one side, I started with her left arm. The woman whimpered as I strapped both wrists to the wooden frame then moved on to her ankles.

  When I had finished, Nick stood over her and waved the knife in front of her face. She mewled in terror. A dark stain spread from her crotch accompanied by the acrid stench of urine.

  “Answer my questions and I’ll let you go afterwards.”

  The woman nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes.” A thin stream of mucus dribbled from her right nostril.

  “Let’s start by asking your name.”

  “Sarah. Sarah Wells. I introduced myself when you arrived.”

  “Very good, Sarah. Now, do you know who we are?”