The Ring - An Alex Dorring Thriller

by Vince Vogel

  “You know how to use it?”

  “Yes. I’ve operated one before.” Dorring replaced the sheet. “And the suit?” he asked next.

  “Yes. I left it in the van.”

  “What about the other things?”

  “In the suitcase.”

  Dorring went to the other end of the table and unzipped the case.

  Staring down at its contents, he said, “Good. And the motorbike too?”

  “It’s in the back of the van with the suit. The van’s parked up at the other end of the lot. All ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Georgie,” Dorring said.

  “I love my sister. Any way I can help her makes me feel better. She refuses my charity in everything else. Insists on picking fucking apples for a living. At least I can give her this. What do you intend to do with it?”

  Turning from the things on the table, Dorring said coolly, “I intend to kill them all.”

  57

  “That was really stupid,” Conway said across the car to Jess.

  She was sitting in the passenger seat with plastic cable ties around her wrists and ankles. When she’d thrown herself backwards out of the car, he’d managed to grab her in time. Whilst holding her by the scruff of the cocktail dress—Jess extending her legs and doing her best to rip herself from him and throw herself to the road—he’d managed to drive the car into a lay-by. Then he’d struck her several times. In a daze, she’d not even realized him snapping the ties onto her wrists and ankles. He’d then rushed around the car, not even caring if anyone had seen his struggles with the girl as they’d driven past, and switched the child lock on the door before shutting it.

  After that, they continued down the motorway.

  Jess hadn’t said anything for a while. She had a splitting headache and her vision was cloudy. All she did was cry.

  “Really stupid,” Conway kept repeating. “Stupid little bitch.” He was ranting. He often ranted. “Why must he blind himself with you? We should have left you to Harris. But he can’t see clearly when it comes to you.” Turning sharply on her, he screamed, “Why does he show you such love and me such hatred? I love him. But you… You have nothing but contempt for him.”

  Jess slowly swiveled her tear-drenched eyes on him.

  “Just drive the fucking car, Brian,” she said.

  “You…” He was so angry he could hardly speak. He wanted to reach across the car and snap her neck. Punch her right in the side of it and crack her spine. Say there’d been an accident. Say the others killed her. That Jacob Harris’ men had gotten to her. He was slowly plucking up the courage to betray his master. He was beginning to come around to the idea. Without noticing it, one of his hands had left the steering wheel. It was curled up into a fist. It was pointed at her. He was going to do it. About to. But then he saw something in the rear-view mirror that stole his attention away. A car driving several vehicles behind. The evening sunlight illuminated the inside of it and he saw who was driving.

  All thoughts of killing Jess left him and he put his foot down.

  58

  “There he is,” Detective Constable Harriet Green said, pointing at the cars and trucks that spread out before them.

  They were on the southern part of the M25 motorway. It was early evening and the traffic was thick. They were at the front of a series of police cars on their way to intercept Brian Conway. His car had been picked up half an hour ago by traffic police. Now they had eyes on it. About six car lengths ahead, he was driving a black Volkswagen Passat in a casual manner.

  “Can you see Jess in there?” Barker asked Green, his own eyes not good enough in the bright sunshine.

  Green was sitting in the passenger side. John Hudson was lying on the back seat, trying to get a grip on his nausea, having taken more meds after his coughing fit. Barker was determined to get his old partner to the endgame. In all honestly, he should be in hospital, not in a police chase. But then, he’d only refuse to leave the car if he took John to an ER. Fight him and the nurses off. So there was no choice. Even if John died in this car along the way, he was going to stay until his end or the end.

  “I can’t see anyone else in there with him,” Green said.

  Barker picked a radio receiver up and placed it to his lips.

  “Do you have a visual on the suspect? Over,” he asked.

  “Copy that,” came back. “We’ve got eyes on the suspect. Over.”

  “What about the girl? Over.”

  “Nothing on the girl. Over.”

  “Okay. You’re clear to engage. Over.”

  “Engaging now. Over and out.”

  Barker placed the radio on the dashboard as the blue lights began to flash all around and the sirens split the air. The squad cars motored past on either side and were soon on the tail of the car. They quickly intercepted it and the indicators began blinking on the Passat as it pulled across the motorway and into the hard shoulder.

  “Is he pulling over?” John asked from the back seat.

  “It appears so,” Barker said.

  Soon, the Passat was parked on the hard shoulder, along with a line of police cars, Barker’s own at the very back. The three detectives watched as a police constable went to the window of the Passat. John was sitting forward on the back seat, Harriet Green was perched forward on the edge of the passenger seat, and Bob Barker sat frozen with his eyes fixed on the scene. It was some twenty yards away and they were unable to see exactly what was going on. The constable was crouched at the window, talking to the driver.

  “Is the girl in the car? Over,” Barker said into the radio.

  “Not sure, yet, sir. Over.”

  Barker tossed the radio onto the dashboard and opened the door.

  “Bugger this,” he said, stepping out of the car. “I’m gonna go see what’s up.”

  He walked along the edge of the parked cars, the traffic rushing past on the other side of them. He came to the black Passat. Several officers stood at the back while the constable talked with the driver. Barker came around the passenger side, crouched down and gazed through the window at the man sitting in the driver’s seat. His heart sank the moment he saw the tall twenty-year-old with a neat, styled quiff of brown hair. He turned frightened eyes on the detective as he noticed his shadow cast across the car.

  Barker stood up straight. As did the constable on the other side. For a second, they stood staring at one another across the roof of the car, the reflection of the cloudy blue sky shining in their faces from the polished metal.

  “Who is he?” Barker asked.

  “Jamie Whitfield,” the constable said. “I’ve got his license here.”

  “Check the boot,” Barker said.

  The constable turned back to the driver and said, “Your keys, sir.”

  He was holding his hand out. The driver dutifully handed them over and the constable walked to the back of the car. Meanwhile, Barker opened the door and got into the passenger seat. Jamie Whitfield turned sharply and gazed at him with consternation shining on his boyish, clean-shaven face.

  “Where’s Brian Conway?” Barker asked him.

  “I ain’t got a clue,” Jamie said. “Your mate’s been askin’ the same.”

  “You know who he is, though?”

  “Yeah. He works security or something at Jordon’s.”

  “You have much to do with him?”

  “No. Nothin’. I’ve probably seen him about twice in the four years I’ve worked security for Jordon’s.”

  “How’d you end up in this car?”

  “I picked it up from London an hour ago from a garage.”

  “A garage? What garage?”

  “Pitstop MOT Center. It was being serviced.”

  As Jamie Whitfield spoke, the constable was opening the lid of the trunk behind them. The detective gazed at the man’s face. He didn’t look overly nervous—more confused—and it came as no surprise when the constable walked to the passenger window and informed Barker that there was nothing in there.
/>
  “And you haven’t driven this car around west London today?” Barker asked Jamie Whitfield. “Lambeth? Pimlico?”

  “No. I fetched it from the MOT center about forty-five minutes ago and have been in traffic till I reached the M25.”

  “Where’s the center?”

  “Brixton.”

  “And you came straight here?”

  “Yeah. South along the A23 and then the A3. Then here.”

  “What time did you pick the car up?”

  “Half five.”

  Barker checked his watch. It was a quarter past six. About right for someone who’d traveled straight here.

  “And who took the car to the MOT center?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  As he sat there, Barker couldn’t help but smell the strong aroma of bleach. It was everywhere in the car. It was obvious that it had been cleaned thoroughly.

  “When did you get the call to come pick it up?” he asked.

  “About an hour and a half ago.”

  “Who from?”

  “My manager. Colin Clark.”

  More names! Barker couldn’t help shouting in his head. More people. More of the merry-go-round. Clark would end up sending them on to another name until they were cross-eyed.

  “Fuckin’ hell!” Barker shouted for real, slamming his fist on the dashboard and making Jamie Whitfield jump.

  The detective burst out of the car. The constable was standing there.

  “What shall I do with him, sir?” he asked the furious face of Barker.

  “I don’t care,” the detective said, storming past.

  Then he thought about it. Thought about his duty.

  Turning back to the bewildered face of the constable, Barker said, “On second thoughts, take him in. Trace his story. I wanna know everything there is to know. Take the car in, too. Give it over to forensics. Tell them to look for any traces of missing girls. Including Jess Rawly.”

  The constable nodded. Barker didn’t see it. He’d already turned and was thundering up the side of the motorway to his car. Slamming himself in the driver’s seat, he turned to Harriet Green in the passenger seat.

  “Harry,” he said, “you need to get out of the car and John needs to come up front.”

  She frowned at him. Didn’t get what was happening. Instead of getting out, she asked, “Is it Conway? Does he have Jess?”

  “It’s not Conway. There’s no Jess. He must’ve swapped the cars over. He knew the tramp had spotted the car.”

  “So what do we do now?” Green asked.

  “Now I’m having a nervous breakdown. So you need to get out the car. John, you need to sit up front. Take whatever meds you need. We’re ending this, whether they like it or not.”

  “Sarge, are you alright?” Green asked.

  He’d said everything in a calm, emotionless voice. But still, through its tone and words, you could sense the rage that was burning inside of Detective Sergeant Bob Barker. At this moment in time, he felt lost. He’d fully expected to find the girl. A girl whose shadow he and John had been chasing for ten years. He was expecting the end to it. But instead, the only end he’d found was another dead one.

  “GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!” he screamed at Harriet Green, smashing his fists down repeatedly on the steering wheel.

  She opened the door and got out. Then she helped John out of the back. Once he was in the front, Barker slammed the car into gear and pulled out onto the road.

  “Where’re we going, Bob?”

  “The end, John. The end.”

  59

  They had eyes on Conway. He was driving at speed on a motorway heading southeast from London to Somerset County. The driver was on the phone to Jacob Harris.

  “And he definitely has the girl?” Harris asked.

  “Yes, sir. She’s with him in the car.”

  “Good. Make sure to fetch her alive. Then we can use her as collateral to hold off Jordon. Stop him going to war with us.”

  “A good idea, sir.”

  “One that doesn’t require your approval. Now make sure you kill his monkey. I don’t want that freak Conway left alive. Do you hear, Mr. Gold?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead. Mr. Gold concentrated his eyes on Conway’s white Passat as it began indicating.

  “He’s turning off,” the man in the passenger seat pointed out.

  “Obviously, Mr. Silver,” Gold said.

  They followed the Passat off the motorway and into countryside, a blur of hedgerows and fields passing by the windows.

  “He’s gunnin’ it,” Silver said.

  “He certainly is. We’re doin’ seventy.”

  Gold was looking down at the speedometer. He didn’t like going so fast on such tight little roads. Especially the way they snaked from side to side. Because with the high hedges bordering them on both flanks, it was almost impossible to see around any given corner.

  “Is it true what they say about Conway?” Silver asked.

  “You mean that he castrated himself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It is,” Gold said.

  “But why?”

  “To show his dedication to Frank Jordon.”

  “But why?”

  “You’ve never heard where Conway came from?”

  “Hell was what I always thought.”

  “It’s close enough, I guess,” Gold said as he tilted the car around a bend. “He was originally an orphan taken in by Jordon. Like a lot of these dirty old fuckers, the old man runs a kid’s charity. Adopted a few of them. Conway was one. Fucking nuts, even as a kid, I heard. They reckon his parents were real religious. They thought he was possessed. Apparently when social services broke into their house, they’d had him tied to a bed for six years.”

  “Six years?”

  “Yeah. He couldn’t even talk. When Frank Jordon took him in, he was a real mess. I heard that he raped one of the chamber maids at Jordon’s country house when he was only thirteen. Held a razor to her throat. Cut her, too. Jordon ended up paying her off.”

  “Bloody hell,” Silver muttered to himself.

  “But the old man never discouraged the boy from violence. Just brainwashed the poor little fucker. When the freak couldn’t keep himself off the women working there, Jordon made him offer up his manhood. He was sixteen. He took the same razor he used on the maid and cut his testicles off. Now Conway calls Jordon master and does his bidding. Thinks Jordon is a god.”

  The white Passat was getting faster and faster. Ninety now. The road entered woodland, the shadows of the trees patterning the gray asphalt. Gold was nervous when he looked down at the speedometer and saw they were doing a hundred. He felt he wasn’t in control of the car. They hit a rapid chicane and the tires screeched, the wheel pulling out of Gold’s hands. He gritted his teeth and tapped the brakes, got the car under control just in time to avoid hurtling off the road. It was enough. Gold brought the speed down to a steady sixty. The Passat was already out of sight.

  “You’re losin’ him,” Silver called out.

  “You wanna try gettin’ this thing around these corners at a hundred?”

  Silver didn’t say anything.

  With nothing else to do, they continued in the same direction. There were no roads turning off for miles. He’d have to go straight. Along the edges, they began passing small dirt lots in the middle of the trees. They were filled with the cars of dog walkers.

  It was approaching one of these from a hundred yards away that Silver called out, “It’s him.”

  Gold saw it. The white Passat parked at the far edge of one of the lots. He thumped his feet down on the brakes and came to a rapid stop.

  They got out of the car and gazed warily at the white Passat. It was around fifty yards away up the road.

  “I see the girl,” Silver said.

  “Me, too. Sitting in the passenger seat.”

  “You see Conway?” Silver asked.

  “No,” Gold replied.

/>   “Me neither. Where do you reckon he is?”

  Gold had to think. Thinking wasn’t his strong point. Violence was. Thinking not.

  “Maybe he’s taking a piss?” Silver suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  “You think he knew we were followin’?”

  “Yeah. Otherwise, why was he goin’ so fast?”

  “Maybe he always drives like that.”

  Gold frowned at his colleague.

  They left the safety of the car and ventured across the road into the woods. They would make their way around the back of the lot through the trees. Neither man regarded that there was a distinct possibility that their enemy could have thought of this and was, therefore, lying in wait amongst those same trees. They simply bumbled through the bracken, tripping and stumbling as they made their way to the Passat and swearing when their expensive clothing got snagged on the undergrowth.

  They got to within ten yards of the car and stood watching from behind the wide trunk of an oak tree. They easily saw Jess sitting in the front seat. She looked to be tied and had a piece of tape over her mouth. Conway was nowhere to be seen.

  “I’m goin’ over,” Silver said, stepping from out of the tree, a Beretta in his hand.

  “Whoa!” Gold said, grabbing his arm as he left.

  Silver stopped and turned to him.

  “What?” he said.

  “It could be a trap.”

  “If it is, we’ll deal with it. He’s not at the car. You can see that. He’s probably off in the woods takin’ a shit like a bear. We should fuck Conway off and just take the girl.”

  Gold thought about it.

  “Sounds good,” he said after a few seconds of consideration. “Fuck Conway. Just get the girl.”

  “You know it makes sense,” Silver said.

  Gold came out from the tree and the two men walked the short distance to the car. To all intents and purposes, it looked clear. Only the girl. Silver came around the driver’s side. The keys had been left in the ignition.

  “The keys are in it,” he whispered across the car as Gold reached the passenger side.

  Gold opened the door. Jess Rawly gazed up at him through her tear-soaked eyes. Gold ripped the piece of tape away.