The Unseen

by James McKenna

“Derek? No, never.” Snibbard’s nose screwed up even further as Richard inserted a memory stick into the computer.

  “I wasn’t going to show you this, Snibbsy, but I want you to understand what has happened. You have to understand the danger we’re in right at this moment. While you were indulging, I went down to see Patricia. Faulkner was there, so was another bloke. I’d never seen him before, a hard, nasty looking geezer. Soon as I appeared he hid behind the screens. Faulkner followed me up here. I thought at one point he was going to hit me. He’s up to something.” Richard began to click with the mouse until a display of photographs appeared on the monitor. He set the programme to slide show allowing each frame to fill the screen. “A couple of days ago I found this memory stick in our main safe hidden amongst the master files for SPI. I didn’t say anything because I was shocked and thought maybe it’s you. Tell me on your mother’s life, Snibbsy, tell me it’s not you.”

  Richard watched the man’s mouth come open, watched his head shake from side to side, then watched him shiver when the programme clicked to start. Both stared at the naked and disembowelled body of a woman.

  “Did you, Snibbsy, tell me the truth?”

  “Jesus Christ, I could never, ever … ”

  “Then if you didn’t it’s Faulkner, because he’s the only other person with access to the safe. You see what he’s doing?” Richard said, pointing to picture after picture that filled the screen. “He killed these women and now he’s trying to incriminate us so he can grab SPI for himself.”

  Snibbard stood starring in fascinated horror at the changing scenes of carnage, then he began to shake. “My God, that’s Helen Carter. Call the police.”

  “No! I’m not going to let him get away with it. If we call the police we’ll be blamed and everything we worked for will be ruined. He knows that and he’s relying on it. We fight this, Snibbsy, and we don’t take chances.”

  “Derek, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t do that.” Snibbard had hand to mouth, his face ashen.

  “Maybe not, but the other bloke downstairs looked vicious enough for it. Faulkner’s brought Zoby here to kill us both.”

  “Don’t fuck about, Rich. Call the police.” Snibbard grabbed the desk phone and leant forward to press buttons as he listened. “The system’s down,” he squeaked, throwing the phone, grabbing for his jacket and fumbling in the pockets. “It’s fucking gone. My mobile’s gone,” he said, scrabbling over the lining.

  “So that’s why the bastard stood behind me. He was nicking your mobile.”

  “Where’s yours?”

  “In the flat. The bastard, he’s trapped us.” Richard stood, walked away and then came back as if undecided. “Look Snibbsy, we’ll get out of this OK. I looked after you in Glasgow; I’ll look after you here. You extract the memory stick and keep it on you. We need to show the police what he’s done. Stay here with the office door closed. I’ll get a message to Patricia, tell her to fetch help. Then I’ll go back to the flat and see if Zellar’s OK. Stay hidden and don’t move.” Richard pointed his finger. “Don’t leave this room. There’s a shotgun in the flat, we need it.”

  Snibbard nodded, mouth open, his eyes still on the changing pictures of carnage.

  Richard left and closed the door. In the conference room he slipped on a coverall boiler suit, pulled long latex gloves from the pockets, then crossed to his flat and shut the door.

  “You OK, Jovana?” he called, passing through the lounge to the kitchen, carefully sealing the gaps between his waterproof coveralls and gloves.

  “The idiot ripped my blouse.” Her voice sounded from the bedroom. “It was designer, expensive.”

  Richard selected a ten-inch carving knife he’d bought specially for the occasion, really expensive. He figured nothing but the best for Jovana Zellar.

  “I don’t do this for the other guy unless he’s more careful,” she shouted. Dressed only in bra and pants she was leaning towards the mirror as he entered the room, one arm behind his back.

  “What are you now, fancy dress?” She turned to face him. “What about my blouse? He tore my underwear and made mess all over me. Ughh!”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’re heading for a much greater mess.” He put a hand to her shoulder, pulling her to him, the same time he plunged the blade deep into her lower abdomen. “This is for what you made me do,” he said, hissing breath the same time her guts hissed gases.

  Her eyes clouded with shock as her mouth went wide in a jagged squeal. Richard was conscious of euphoria over his instant erection, a state he had believed impossible. Hugging her body close his free hand clasped on her back, he moved the blade gradually upwards cutting through womb and intestines. Not until it caught the sternum and rib cage did he withdraw the knife and step backwards. Holding her neck at arm’s length he watched the lower viscera disgorge onto her upper thighs. When he let go, her knees slumped forward and her torso dropped backwards. With legs bent beneath and her mouth in a wide silent scream, he watched steam rise from her cavity as if she had given Caesarean birth to some diabolical alien. Better than Zoby, he thought.

  For seconds he shivered in rapture until a smell so foul made him gag and choke. Revulsion restored his survival instinct. He stepped out of the blood, removed his shoes and returned to the kitchen.

  He washed his hands, arms and the knife under a running tap, then cleaned the soles of his shoes before drying them with a kitchen towel. Blood discoloured the front legs of the coverall and he removed it with extreme care before placing the garment into a plastic bag along with the gloves. Under the kitchen sink he lifted the bottom of a unit and pushed the bag out of sight. It would be found, he was sure, but by then he would be gone. The knife he left in plain view on the work-surface. Checking his watch he discovered the murder had taken seven minutes. Worth doing again, he thought. Worth doing to the Fagan woman? He replaced his shoes, collected the Remington pump-action shotgun and ran down the corridor to Snibbard, crashing open the door as he entered.

  “For fuck’s sake, he’s killed her. Faulkner’s fucking killed her!” He looked at Snibbard who still sat ashen-faced before the computer.

  “Who?” He stood. “Who’s he killed?”

  “Zellar. He gutted her. Come on, we’ve got to barricade ourselves in the flat. It’s the only safe place.” He grabbed Snibbard’s arm and dragged him out to the corridor, running him back towards the flat.

  “Where’s Patricia? We should tell her. Call the police,” Snibbard said, trying to turn his head as he was dragged along.

  “She’s one of them. I went downstairs to warn her and saw her with Faulkner and Zoby, laughing with them. You always said he was fucking her. Well he is, right now.” Richard slammed open the flat door and bundled Snibbard inside. The man immediately grabbed the hall phone and held it to his ear.

  “It’s dead,” Richard said. “They also took my mobile.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Richie, this is madness. Let’s shout out the window.”

  “That would be madness. Who do you think would take notice of us? We gotta barricade ourselves in. There’s no way they can get into the flat without coming down that corridor. Then we blast them, unless …” Richard turned to the flat’s interior. “Unless they came when I left. My God, maybe they’re in here already.” He beckoned, whispering as he crept towards the lounge with Snibbard following.

  Richard pointed and whispered again. “Straight across and into the kitchen, you have to arm yourself.” He watched Snibbard nod agreement. Richard moved smartly over the open floor then turned to let Snibbard through the door. “Grab the knife on the worktop, it gives you a chance.”

  “Look, Richie, I’m no good …”

  “Grab the fucking knife, we got to search the flat.” He turned away as Snibbard complied and hid his smile when the man came behind him. “They won’t be in my bedroom, that’s for sure. So you check that. I’ll check the two spares and the second bathroom. Go for it.” He slapped Snibbard’s shoulder then ran, half-crouche
d, to a small inner passage across the lounge. Entering the first spare bedroom he looked back and waved encouragingly. Snibbard stood holding the serrated knife, his mouth open, then moved slowly into the master bedroom.

  Richard leaned against the wall and waited until he heard a half-choked scream, then returned silently across the living room. Snibbard stood in stunned shock, his mouth now gapping, staring at Jovana Zellar’s viscera spilt out on surreal display. Then he abruptly retched his breakfast onto the carpet.

  “I told you,” Richard said. “And if you don’t want to end up the same you’d better just listen carefully.”

  Snibbard moved in a daze, his face was pure white, his body visibly trembling.

  “There’s three of them down there, so I’m relying on you to help. Can you do that, Snibbsy?”

  Again he nodded.

  “OK, let’s go.” Richard went back to the front door, opened it wide then tipped the hall table onto its side before ramming it across the entrance.

  “She let me fuck her,” Snibbard said. “They’ll think it was me.”

  “I can vouch for you, Snibbsy. That’s why we have to look out for each other. Where’s your knife?”

  Snibbard looked at his empty hands. “Must have dropped it. Oh God, that’s worse.”

  “I saved you in Glasgow, Snibbsy, I’ll do the same here.” He handed Snibbard the shotgun. “You know how to use it? The safety is off. Just point and squeeze the trigger. Pull back on the barrel grip and fire again. You have seven rounds.” He stepped over the table into the hall.

  “Where are you going? I’m not being here alone.” Snibbard made to follow.

  “Stay.” Richard pointed his finger. “The Fagan woman is coming this morning, if Faulkner gets hold of her … " He shook his head.

  “You didn’t tell me. I didn’t know about this.” Snibbard was staring at him and for a moment Richard had doubts.

  “With all this I’d forgotten about her, OK! But if you want to go down to meet Zoby, you do it, I’ll stay here.” He reached for the shotgun.

  Snibbard shook his head.

  “All right, I’ll go,” Richard said. “But if for any reason when I return with Mrs Fagan and Faulkner is behind us, it’s a trick. It means he has a gun at our backs. When we duck you shoot him, Snibbsy. And don’t miss. You’ve seen what he can do. It’s your life, my life and the woman’s life against Faulkner and Zoby. They know we’re up here and if you don’t shoot on sight we’ll end up like Zellar. Understand?”

  Snibbard nodded.

  “Good man. I’m relying on you, Snibbsy.” Richard squeezed his arm and started down the corridor. When he reached the stairs he looked back and waved in fortitude.

  Snibbard was now crouched behind the table, shotgun pointed at the ceiling. Richard turned the corner out of view and stopped. He needed to compose himself and regain his calm. He smoothed down his hair, checked his clothes carefully for any traces of blood then looked at his watch. The Fagan woman and Faulkner were due any minute. The timing was tight but still within margins of what he had allowed. Success now depended on Mrs Fagan and Faulkner.

  At 10.25 a.m. Victoria stepped out of the lift onto the fifth floor of the office block. Handbag hooked over one shoulder she paused and made ready to perform, then pushed through entrance doors to smile at the PKL receptionist. The room had changed since Victoria’s previous visit. Screens now formed a closed passage to the stairs and blocked any view of the inner open plan office. At the opposite end chairs were set out in a waiting area.

  “Vicky Fagan. Mr Caswell is expecting me at 10.30,” she said.

  The receptionist smiled with professional detachment. “I’ll call him, Mrs Fagan. Perhaps you would care to take a seat.” She indicated and led Victoria towards the chairs. “Coffee?” she asked on the way.

  Victoria shook her head and was left to occupy a chair, gently easing the tight stretch of her trousers against her body. For the sake of modesty she laid the handbag in her lap. Behind the screen a phone began to ring, then a second. Victoria felt reassured by the people around her, reassured that she was not alone with a murderer. She lifted a magazine from the chair opposite and flicked the pages, one eye on the receptionist at her desk, the other on the magazine contents. The phones stopped ringing. Seconds later another started. The place was busy and that was good. She relaxed.

  After five minutes a tall, nerdy guy arrived whom she recognised as Faulkner. He had a thin, sharp face with intelligent eyes and the same weird introvert expression as Snibbard. She put this down to something inbred between computer and human. But unlike Snibbard or Caswell, he did not appear predatory. He glanced once in her direction then back at the receptionist who shrugged. Moments later Caswell appeared down the stairs, talked briefly to both, then approached Victoria with his hand outstretched.

  “Good morning, Mrs Fagan.” His smile was sheepish but not contrite.

  “So glad we’re back on a business footing, Mr Caswell.” She barely touched the fingers of his offered hand as she stood and re-hitched the handbag to her shoulder.

  “About last night,” he raised his eyebrows. “What I did was unforgivable, can you forgive?”

  She allowed a small, contemptuous smile. “Never take until given, Mr Caswell,” she said, producing an envelope from her jacket. “Inside is a cheque for one million pounds. But due to your behaviour, I want to view the master tapes of WorkWell Snibbard told me about. I need reassuring you are all telling me the truth.” She watched hesitation creep into his expression. He glanced towards Faulkner waiting at reception. “Of course. But you will only find computer language. Just page after page of numbers and letters. There are twenty-five programmes in all. To look through would take days. They’re insignificant to PKL.”

  “I’ll flick here and there, Mr Caswell. You may consider me brainless, all tit and arse, but I have a degree and know how to write software. If you want to touch my body, you and your work have to regain my respect. Only then do you get my money.”

  He smiled, but she saw no mirth or light, just the return of the predator, as if revelation of an education only increased her desirability.

  “As you wish.” He ushered her forwards. “You may have met Derek Faulkner,” he said as they stopped beside the desk. “Mrs Fagan wishes to view the master file of WorkWell before she makes a heavy investment in PKL. Snibbsy told her all about them. So,” he raised both hands, “let’s show Mrs Fagan exactly what we can do.”

  Faulkner shrugged. “Sure, I’ll fetch the wallet. But be careful, it’s are only one.” he said and disappeared through an overlap gap in the screens. Caswell stood looking uneasy and restless which she guessed was his annoyance at having misjudged her character. The receptionist returned to typing, the clatter of her keyboard the only sound besides the London traffic. Behind the screen a phone started to ring. Only then did Victoria realise. There were no other sounds, no voices, no sense of movement, no people.

  Faulkner returned through the gap. “The WorkWell master files, written by the professional, for the professional. If you can understand them you are welcome.” He raised a leather wallet.

  “Mrs Zellar and Snibbard are in the conference room. We have computers up there.” Caswell indicated the stairs.

  Victoria glanced at the receptionist who kept her eyes on the monitor. Faulkner pointed forward in expectation. With the prize so close and with no alternative other than to break her cover, Victoria fell into step, Caswell beside her and Faulkner behind. She felt a fluttering across her chest and stomach, a sudden quiver of apprehension. She was now where Alice wanted, at the centre of the web.

  Zellar’s presence offered no safety. Zoby’s e-mail from the Colonel made reference to two women. Were they Zellar and herself? Was this the killing ground? She continued upstairs with dread. It seemed probable the top floor would be as deserted as the floor below. What if all three men were involved, Caswell, Snibbard and Faulkner? Victoria maintained her false smile and firm step, her handbag
tight over her shoulder and locked against her body. Inside, her MI5 mobile gave a constant signal letting Control and Alice know her exact location. Faulkner carried the prize that Alice wanted, and the Wicked Witch stood waiting. The opportunity might not happen again. It would not be easy for three men to kill her and Zeller simultaneously and if they tried, she was quite capable of retaliation. Or she could snatch the flash drives and run … just run.

  A step ahead of her Caswell left the stairs and turned the corner.

  “What the hell?” he said, and glanced momentarily back.

  Behind her, Victoria sensed Faulkner hesitate as she followed Caswell towards the wide open door of his flat. He stopped opposite the empty accounts office and she came beside him, leaving Faulkner to linger.

  “Someone’s in my flat,” he said. “Zoby! He’s going to kill us.” Caswell screamed the words at the same time turning to grab around her waist.

  Victoria felt herself half lifted, half thrown through the open office doorway. The same time a crack of explosion in the confined space shocked her eardrums. Her feet off the ground, Caswell hurled her into the room so she sprawled across the floor. A second report came almost simultaneously. Under Caswell’s weight Victoria fell heavily and lay stunned, her ears ringing. Only after moments did she realise Caswell was lying full length on her back, his groin tight against her buttocks. Instantly he rolled away.