Assassin's Web

by Richard T. Burke

  The smoker moved a step closer, shrugged off his backpack and dropped it on the carpet. “To answer your earlier question, yes, we are both policemen. I’m D.S. Wickford, and he’s D.S. Bowman. We work in Vice, and I have to say you’ve made our lives considerably harder over the past few days.”

  “You still haven’t told me if you were responsible for my mother’s death.”

  Bowman, the taller of the two, sighed theatrically. He spoke with a slight, northern twang. “Does that really matter now? You’ll be able to ask her yourself in a few minutes.”

  “Come on. It’s the least you owe me after what you’ve put me through.”

  “It was me,” Wickford said, his face widening in a slow grin. “She was only too keen to let us in when we told her we had information that might clear your name. Don’t worry though; she died quickly.”

  I propelled myself off the sofa and lunged for his throat. Bowman had anticipated my move and met me with his shoulder, sending me sprawling back into the cushions.

  “Settle down. Let’s not get over-excited. We’ve still got some questions for you.”

  “Go screw yourself,” I growled through clenched teeth as I tried to regain my breath.

  Any hint of cheeriness left his voice, replaced by a threatening coldness. “You will answer our questions one way or another. You can make it quick and easy or slow and painful. It’s your choice.”

  I glared at the two men in silence.

  “Who’s been protecting you?”

  “His name is Nick.”

  Wickford rolled his eyes. “Not terribly useful, that. What’s his surname?”

  “I have no idea. He never told me. Like most of the people who accept jobs from that site on the dark web, he’s keen to remain anonymous. I expect it’s bad for business in his line of work if you give away your real name.”

  I could tell by the way they exchanged glances that my answer had surprised them.

  “And you didn’t know him beforehand?”

  “No,” I replied. “Somebody paid him to protect me.”

  “Who?”

  “I never found out.”

  “A mystery benefactor placed a contract to keep you alive, but you have no idea who. Seriously?”

  I flashed a grin of my own. “That’s right.”

  The first flicker of uneasiness sparked between the two detectives. I could only suppose they had been expecting me to be cowering in terror by this stage.

  “Anyway,” I said, “if you’re policemen, aren’t you supposed to be stopping criminals?”

  “There’s more than one way to prevent crime,” Wickford replied, recovering his composure.

  “How did you find me?”

  “The laptop has software installed to report its location. Whenever you turned it on, it told us where you were.”

  I raised my eyebrows in a feigned look of surprise. “I wondered how you tracked me. Why did it take you so long to locate me at the hotel?”

  “We were busy tidying up other loose ends,” Bowman said with a grin. “The silly cow who lives opposite you won’t be recording any more number plates. It all worked out well in the end, especially when an anonymous caller”—he waggled his fingers in invisible quote marks—“saw you fleeing the scene.”

  “How did you get the software on the computer?” I asked. “Was it during the search when you loaded those pictures onto my PC? I take it you left the laptop behind on purpose.”

  Wickford narrowed his eyes and scowled at me. “We’re the ones asking the questions. Where else have you been hiding the last two days? Obviously, we know about the hotel and the flat.”

  “I haven’t got a clue. We stayed in an empty house. The guy who was protecting me blindfolded me during the journey.”

  “If that’s the case, how did you end up here?”

  “The contract ended. He asked me where I wanted to go. I told him my mother’s place, so he dropped me off half an hour ago. Guess what? He used a blindfold again.”

  The policemen exchanged a glance, clearly unsure whether I was telling the truth. I was starting to enjoy the way my answers were unsettling them. But something was still nagging at my subconscious.

  “So, you decided to sit here in the dark, surfing the Internet?”

  “That’s right. I wanted to catch up on my email. A few people have been trying to get in touch with me over the last few days.”

  The two men locked eyes. Wickford, the smoker, shrugged. “I think we’ve heard enough.” He took one final drag from the cigarette, stubbed it out on the back of the packet and placed the stub inside. “We don’t want to leave any evidence behind, do we?”

  Reaching down, he unzipped the rucksack he’d dropped earlier. If he came out with a gun, I was in trouble. His hand emerged holding a pair of leather gloves. He slipped them on and delved into the bag once again. This time, he pulled out a nylon rope, tied in a noose.

  Bowman moved a pace closer while Wickford uncoiled the blue cord and slung the end over the top of the door. “It seems your little crime spree is about to come to a conclusion,” he said. “All they’ll find is a hastily scrawled note saying sorry. An anonymous call in the morning reporting a prowler seen near your mother’s house should be enough.”

  “Please, …” I hesitated before completing the sentence. My brain finally latched onto what had been teasing away at the edge of my conscious mind.

  “I’ve got another question. You called me Percy when you arrived. There’s only one person who calls me that. What have you done to him?”

  Wickford frowned in confusion. Then his face lit up in delight. “Oh, your dear brother-in-law, Jamie Saunders. I thought you’d figured it out.”

  “Is he still alive?” I asked.

  The smoker gave a laugh that morphed into a coughing fit. When he had recovered enough to speak, he looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it was Jamie Saunders who told us where to find you.”

  Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. I laid my head back against the blue cushion and stared at the ceiling.

  “Jamie?” I said, still reeling from the unexpected revelation.

  Bowman seized me by the arm and hauled me upright. “Time’s up.”

  In my stunned confusion, the code phrase slipped my mind. I was halfway across the room before the words, “Please, no more,” escaped my lips.

  The two men stopped, frozen in place by the sudden sound of running feet. Susie Mayhew was first through the door. “Armed police! Get down on the floor!” Despite her diminutive frame, she slammed Wickford against the wall and cuffed him before he realised what was happening. With the warning still ringing in my ears, I turned around but saw no guns.

  Bowman must also have noticed the absence of firearms because he glanced towards the window as if deciding whether to attempt an escape. In his moment of indecision, two unarmed constables surged into the room past the female sergeant and slammed him face down onto the carpet. One man hauled back his arms as the other expertly applied the handcuffs.

  A cameraman was next to enter, followed closely by a beaming Josh Nixon. The journalist put an arm around my shoulders and took me aside while the camera panned across my would-be murderers.

  “That was amazing,” he said. “The video quality wasn’t great, but we caught it all.” He strode towards the mantelpiece and snatched up the two golf-ball-sized cameras he had planted earlier. “I was surprised when you hung on so long. We all thought you’d forgotten the phrase. The police wanted to burst in and arrest them as soon as they admitted to killing your mother, but I persuaded them to wait.”

  “Look, if you’ll excuse me, I need a little space.”

  “Sure, no problem.” He re-joined the cameraman. The pair followed the prisoners as the policemen escorted them out to the waiting cars.

  A hand touched me on the shoulder. I turned to see Val, smiling at me. “It’s over,” she whispered. She moved in and enveloped me in a hug. The fresh smell of her hair broke d
own my barriers. Tears streaked my cheeks as I wrapped my arms around her.

  I’m not sure how long we held onto each other, but we only broke apart at the sound of somebody clearing their throat. Susie Mayhew stood to one side. “They’re on the way back to the station with my two officers,” she replied to my unasked question. She looked away, unable to meet my gaze. “Look, I’m aware you’ve been through a lot, but I’m going to have to arrest you and take you in as well.”

  She must have detected my shocked expression because she added, “Don’t worry, it’ll be a different location to those two. I know you’re worried about your safety, so I’ll make sure somebody I trust stays with you at all times. It’s just routine, and you should be able to go home tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I said, dabbing at my eyes with a handkerchief. “What will happen to my brother-in-law?”

  “A couple of cars are heading to his house as we speak.”

  A sudden thought occurred to me. “That’s why he told me it wasn’t safe to contact the police. My guess is he was trying to protect himself. He was worried your lot might believe me and ask him some awkward questions. What better way to prevent me from talking than by telling me it was too dangerous?”

  The policewoman crossed her arms. “I’m inclined to agree with you, but we’re not about to take any more chances. What we did tonight was risky enough. Of course, somebody will interrogate him at length as soon as we get our hands on him. I don’t anticipate much resistance from those two either. We’ve got them on tape admitting to your mother’s murder. If anybody else is involved, I expect we’ll pick them up pretty quickly.”

  “By the way, when you charged in, you yelled ‘armed police’. I didn’t see any guns.”

  Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I wanted to throw them off their stride and not give them time to think. There weren’t enough people here, really, with just the three officers. If they had resisted arrest, we would have been in trouble. But after what your journalist friend told us, I didn’t know who I could trust.”

  “Well, thanks for believing me.”

  “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I did. All the evidence indicated you were guilty. I figured if nobody showed up, at the very least I would have you in the bag. Everything after that was a bonus.”

  “You’re not going to use those, are you?” I asked, pointing to the strap by her waist.

  “What? The handcuffs? I don’t think that will be necessary. As soon as some more officers arrive, we can leave. Ah, here they are.”

  A blue flashing light illuminated the edge of the beige, patterned curtains. Moments later, a group of four uniformed men entered the room. Their eyes widened in surprise as they identified me. That would happen a lot over the next few weeks.

  The policewoman left me and took her colleagues into the hall. After a few seconds, she returned holding a set of car keys. “Shall we go?”

  “Can my friend join me?” I asked. “That is, if you want to,” I added hastily, turning to Val.

  Val patted me on the arm. “Yeah, of course.”

  The police sergeant studied us for a moment then shrugged. “Under normal circumstances, I’d have said no, but there’s nothing normal about tonight. I don’t see why not.” She led us through the house towards the front door.

  Josh Nixon was sheltering in the porch, talking loudly into a mobile. He glanced up at our approach. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  “I’m under arrest,” I replied.

  He stepped back in shock. “What?”

  “It’s just routine,” Val said. “I’ve got your number. We’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

  “Remember our arrangement. I’ll be banging at your door if I don’t hear from you.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “Bloody parasites,” Mayhew muttered under her breath as we emerged into the stormy night.

  I smiled to myself at the contradiction; less than an hour earlier she had been all too grateful to accept the journalist’s information. The wind blew a strand of hair into her face. She brushed it away with one hand and unlocked the police car with the other. She opened the rear door and held it open. Val entered, and I followed, glad to escape the wild weather.

  For the first time in several days, I travelled upright in the back seat.

  Epilogue:

  Friday, 7th August, 2020

  Chapter 51

  One week later

  I removed my sunglasses as I pushed open the door. Despite the disguise, I had received several curious glances from passers-by as I made my way from the car park to The Corner Café. It shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise; I had become something of a celebrity. For the past fortnight, my face had been front and centre on every newspaper and television screen, initially as a villain and subsequently as a hero.

  Val had returned to work after taking the first part of the week as holiday. I stayed at her house in Newbury while the police investigated the case. So far, her name had remained out of the press. Despite only knowing each other for a matter of days, we had become close friends. I still held out hope that our relationship might develop into something more meaningful.

  The bell clanged as I passed through the doorway. Molly was working behind the counter. She glanced up at my entrance and performed a double take. A worried expression flashed across her face, and I saw her glance towards the kitchen as I approached.

  “Hi, Molly,” I said, smiling. “I only came in to apologise.”

  She studied me for a second and seemed to relax a little. “Hello, Mr Parrott. You’ve become quite famous over the last week or so.”

  “Look, can we talk for a minute?”

  Molly glanced around the café. At this time of the morning, customers occupied only two of the tables. “Alright,” she said.

  I followed her to the nearest table. She pulled out a chair and sat. I crossed to the opposite side and did the same.

  Placing my elbows on the polished surface, I leaned forwards. “I guess you know by now what I was mixed up in.”

  Molly nodded. “It’s been hard to avoid it.”

  “When I came here the last time, I’d recently discovered somebody was trying to kill me. My head was all over the place. When you mentioned your boyfriend used the dark web, I assumed he was the one sent after me and that you helped him. I just wanted to say sorry.”

  Her expression softened. “After that night, I asked him about it. As you probably noticed, he visits the gym a lot. Apparently, he buys this high protein powder off the Internet to build up his muscles. He gets it off a dark web page. I’ve told him he can’t guarantee he’s getting the genuine article, but he swears by it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore because we’ve split up.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be. It hasn’t been great for a while. That was one of many things we argued about. What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m not sure. There are still four weeks until the start of next term—if they agree to have me back. I plan to take a holiday. After that, we’ll see what happens. I’ve received several offers for book and magazine deals, but I haven’t decided what to do yet.”

  “Well, good luck, Alex.”

  We both stood. I held out my hand, but she dragged me into a hug. “Look after yourself,” she said.

  I glanced at my watch: forty minutes until my scheduled meeting with Cathy. My sister had been answering police questions about her husband for most of the last week, and today was the first opportunity for us to meet face to face. I left the café and headed back to the car.

  ◆◆◆

  “It’s a peaceful spot, isn’t it?” I said, glancing sideways at my sister.

  Cathy nodded without looking at me, her eyes focused on the trunk of a large oak.

  We stood behind the yellow crime scene tape. Sunlight cut through the branches of the surrounding trees and lit the morning air with golden shafts of brightness. Patchy grass and low shrubs covered t
he floor of the clearing located a few yards off the rutted track leading through the woods. The muted drone of insects produced a background hum in keeping with the sombre mood. The scent of warm, damp earth assaulted my nostrils.

  “In some ways, it would be good if she could stay here.”

  Cathy swung to face me. “You know that’s not possible. Anyway, I want her final resting place to have a marker.”

  “They could always put a gravestone here.” I knew she was right, but it was a spot I might have picked for myself given the choice.

  “Until they perform the excavation, we can’t be sure she’s here at all,” Cathy said, shivering despite the warmth of the summer day.

  I pulled the printed sheet of paper from the back pocket of my trousers. It wasn’t the original—the police had taken that—but a photocopy. The letter was undated with no sender’s address or date. It contained only three lines of typewritten text and a name.

  I am sorry for what I did. Every time I close my eyes I see her face. I cannot live like this any longer so I am going to end it.

  I buried her beneath the large oak tree at this location: 51.308290, -0.97280234

  Norman Cox

  The envelope had arrived two days earlier bearing a first-class stamp, addressed to me in typed letters. The police were in possession of that too. What they didn’t have was the yellow, handwritten post-it note I found stuck in between the folded sheet. For the hundredth time, I read the scruffy handwriting.

  Hi Alex, I felt bad about leaving you and Val to sort everything out. Hopefully this goes some way towards paying you back. I’m almost certain the information is correct but I can’t be absolutely sure. I suggest you hand the letter to the police but I’d appreciate it if you kept this part to yourself. Best wishes, Nick

  I had adhered to his request by removing the post-it note before handing the rest over to the two policemen who paid me a visit a few hours later. When they investigated the property that Cox had inherited from his mother, they discovered him hanging from a rope tied to a beam in the garage. The investigators confirmed the paper and the ink used in the letter matched those found in the printer inside the house. They drew the obvious conclusion and classified the death as a suicide; only Cathy, Nick and I knew differently.