by DS Butler
“You’ll be okay now, Anya. You’re safe,” he said and pulled his hand away.
“I’ll take care of her now,” the female paramedic said as she began to treat Anya, talking to her all the time, explaining exactly what was happening and what she was going to do next.
Mackinnon stood up and felt strangely detached as he looked around the room, which was slowly filling up.
Blue-suited CSIs waited outside, anxious to get started. DI Green was in conversation with the paramedic treating Victoria. The feeling of dread hadn’t abated. It was steadily building, crushing the air from his lungs.
Mackinnon backed out of the room.
He found Collins on the street outside the academy.
“Are you okay, Nick?”
Collins blinked and swallowed hard. “Yeah, it’s just. They’re alive, you know? And I thought, I thought…”
Collins repeatedly kicked the stone steps in front of the academy, scuffing his black leather shoes. Mackinnon watched him struggling to keep his composure.
“I know, Nick.”
“We saved them, though. They’re okay,” Collins said. He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled heavily. “Sorry.” He waved a hand. “Ignore me. I’m going soft in my old age.”
Collins seemed short of breath as he struggled to find the right words. “I didn’t realise. I think I was blaming myself, you know. For not acting sooner, for not listening to that poor bastard, Henryk. But they’re alive. I mean, thank God. I don’t know what I would have done if … if …” Collins broke off and stared at Mackinnon. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Mackinnon waited a beat. He didn’t know how to say what he needed to.
“What is it, Jack? What’s the matter?”
“Didn’t you smell it?”
Collins shook his head. “No you’re wrong,” he said, his voice ragged and raw. “The smell was because the girls were in there for days with no toilet, nowhere to wash…”
Mackinnon stayed silent, but Collins doubled over as if Mackinnon had hit him.
“No. You’re wrong. They’re all right.” He clutched Mackinnon’s arm. “You’re wrong.”
Mackinnon said nothing, just looked down at Collins.
Collins stared up at him with bloodshot eyes. “Oh, Jesus, Jack.”
40
Feeling useless, Mackinnon patted Collins on the back. “All right, Nick. Take it easy. Stay out here.”
He angled Collins and pushed him down to sit on the stone steps.
Collins pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on his arms. Mackinnon sat beside him. They sat there for a while, staring at the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the pavement, not speaking because there wasn’t much to be said. Nothing that would help anyway.
After five minutes or so, Mackinnon heard a clattering behind them. They stood up and moved to the side as the paramedics wheeled Anya out on a stretcher.
Her eyes were wide and blinking as they met Mackinnon’s.
“I … Wait. I need to talk to him.” Anya struggled to sit up on the stretcher.
“Careful, my love,” one of the paramedics said, reaching out to steady her. “You can speak to him later after you’ve been checked out at the hospital.”
“No,” Anya insisted. “Now. Victoria told me Henryk was looking for me. Henryk, my brother? Can you tell him I’m safe?”
Mackinnon couldn’t speak. Words formed in his head, but he couldn’t force them past the lump in his throat. She didn’t know her brother was dead, probably murdered by Roger Cleeves.
Mackinnon was saved by a woman running along the pavement, calling Anya’s name.
Anya turned. “Mama?” Tears rolled down her cheeks as her mother embraced her.
The paramedics looked on bemused, as a middle-aged man, Mackinnon guessed to be Anya’s father, joined the hug.
Collins stared at the family group. “He looks like Henryk,” he said.
Another lady walked up to the group and smiled. She leaned close to Mackinnon and held out her hand. “I’m Milena Pawlak, the interpreter.”
Mackinnon introduced himself and Collins.
Then Milena spoke a few words in Polish to the Blonskis. Mackinnon only recognized one: Policja. Police.
Mrs. Blonski turned to Mackinnon and Collins. She reached for their hands and looked up at them with tears in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Collins stammered.
“I’m afraid Anya’s parents can’t speak English,” the interpreter said.
But Mrs. Blonski didn’t need words to express how she felt. The pain reflected in her eyes. She smiled at them, but her smile was stiff and full of anguish.
She said, “Dziekuje po tysiackroc.”
Milena turned to Mackinnon and Collins, smiling. “Mrs. Blonski said, ‘Thank you. A thousand times, thank you’.”
***
Mackinnon watched them load Anya and Victoria into separate ambulances, then he said to Collins, “I’m going back inside. Will you be all right?”
Collins nodded, his eyes fixed on a couple of office workers, leaving the Golden Fleece pub, opposite, and walking back towards the tube.
When Mackinnon returned to the basement, he could see DI Green had it all under control, his steely eyes sweeping the room as he barked out orders.
The room looked very different now that bright crime scene lights illuminated every nook and cranny of the garish chamber. Mackinnon’s stomach churned as his eyes focused on the shackles on the wall.
He took a deep breath and felt his mouth fill with a smell so strong he could taste it.
It still lingered in the air: the heavy, cloying odour of death.
Mackinnon walked across to DI Green. “Anything out of Cleeves, sir?”
DI Green nodded. “He’s not talking. Waiting for his legal rep.”
Mackinnon swore.
“Don’t worry, Jack. He won’t get away with this.” DI Green ran a hand through his white hair. “Mr. and Mrs. Blonski flew in from Poland tonight. I’ve organised a car to take them to the hospital to see Anya.”
Mackinnon nodded. “I saw them outside.”
“Over here, sir,” one of the scene of crime officers called out to DI Green.
Mackinnon realised he was holding his breath. He didn’t want to follow DI Green, but he fell into step beside him, pulled by some unseen force.
One of the other officers gagged, and the bile rose in Mackinnon’s throat.
“How many?” DI Green asked, his voice cold and detached.
The SOCOs had pulled away the soundproofing in one corner of the room and opened up a cavity in the wall. One of the officers stood on tiptoe, pointing his torch into the hole and peering inside.
“Can’t say yet,” he said. “Could be five or six. We’ll have to get the bodies out of here. It looks like he stacked them one on top of the other.”
Mackinnon sensed a movement in the doorway. He turned to see Collins looking into the room in horror.
Collins caught Mackinnon’s eye then slowly turned and walked away.
***
Half an hour later, Mackinnon found Collins outside, leaning back against the red-brick wall. He had a cigarette in his hand.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Mackinnon said.
“I don’t. At least, I haven’t for eight years.”
Mackinnon leaned back on the wall beside him.
“We were too late,” Collins said. “I should have listened to Henryk when he first came in. I should…”
“Those girls down there have been dead a long while, Nick. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”
Collins stared down at the floor. “I’m not so sure about joining MIT now. I think I’d prefer to give this up altogether.”
They stared out at the road as two men walked out of the Golden Fleece pub and flagged down a black cab.
“Maybe I’ll get a job as a taxi driver,” Collins said and gave a weak grin.
Mackinnon smiled back. �
��You’d be rubbish at that. You drive like an old lady.”
Collins gave him a playful punch on the arm, then they stood in silence for a moment.
“We stopped him,” Collins said. “He won’t be able to do it anymore. That’s good, right?”
“Yeah.” Mackinnon nodded. “That’s good.”
41
A week later, Collins picked Mackinnon up from outside his block of flats in the Docklands. They were both starting another week of earlies.
“Did you put your application in for MIT?” Mackinnon asked as Collins pulled into Lime Street.
“No. I thought I’d leave it a while. I reckon I should enjoy the quiet life for a bit longer.” Collins indicated and turned right into the heavy morning traffic.
“Maybe you’re right,” Mackinnon said, thinking about his own application.
The Roger Cleeves case made Mackinnon think long and hard about whether he was really cut out for this job, whether he could cope with the fact that cases like these never really left you. Building the case against Roger Cleeves would take months. Maybe after that, after the bastard was locked up, Mackinnon’s anger would fade. Maybe the sickening images that seemed to be imprinted on his brain would go away, too. He hoped so.
Roger Cleeves had spilled his guts and admitted he’d taken seven girls from the Star Academy so they could take part in some sort of twisted competition. In his mind, he was some sort of Svengali figure and the girls had been his performers until he’d grown tired of them.
He killed five young women by smashing open their skulls with a hammer he’d taken from one of Fred Oakland’s basement storerooms. He killed poor Henryk Blonski the same way, and he would have killed Anya and Victoria too, eventually.
In a series of harrowing interviews, Anya told them how Cleeves made them perform for him. The winner was allowed to live, but her prize was to witness the horrific murder of her competitor. It really was a competition to the death.
Roger Cleeves insisted his son knew nothing about the abductions, but Mackinnon wasn’t convinced. In his head, Roger and Nathan Cleeves had merged into one person. He hated them both. That was another reason to wonder if he was really suited to this job. Could you really be a police officer and feel hatred this strong? How did you live with that?
“What did you get up to this weekend?” Collins asked, breaking Mackinnon’s train of thought.
Mackinnon grimaced. “Spent it with Chloe and her daughters.”
“You really like her, don’t you?”
Mackinnon settled back in the passenger seat. “I want it to work out. But what the hell do I know about teenage girls?”
Collins grinned. “Last week we faced down a knife-wielding serial-killer, and now you’re scared of a couple of teenage girls?”
“You haven’t met them,” Mackinnon said. “They’re scary.”
“No one would believe it to look at you Jack, but you’re a big girl’s blouse.”
“Shut up and drive, Collins,” Mackinnon said, trying not to smile. “Just shut up and drive.”
From the author
Thank you for reading DEADLY OBSESSION the prequel to the DS Jack Mackinnon series. I hope you enjoyed reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.
The other books in the series are availiable from Amazon UK Amazon US
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DS Mackinnon Books
If you like to read series books in order, here are a couple of lists for you:
If you prefer to read the series in chronological order:
1. Deadly Obsession 2. Deadly Motive 3. Deadly Revenge 4. Deadly Justice.
If you would like to read them in the order I wrote them (this is the publication order too):
1. Deadly Motive 2. Deadly Revenge 3. Deadly Obsession 4. Deadly Justice.
(This book, DEADLY OBSESSION, is the prequel, this takes place before the events of Deadly Motive)
DEADLY JUSTICE, the fourth book in the series, will be released at the end of 2012.
You can read the first few chapters of the books for FREE at Amazon UK and Amazon US
Acknowledgements
Many people helped to provide ideas and background for this book. My thanks and gratitude to DI Dave Carter and Richard Searle for generously sharing their time and wealth of experience.
I would also like to thank my friends on Twitter, especially @886niko and @DS_Rosser, for their entertaining tweets and encouragement.
My thanks, too, to all the people who read the story and gave helpful suggestions and to Chris, who, as always, supported me despite the odds.
