Wass (The Leopold Dix Thrillers Book 2)

by mark mctighe

  “Like an address book or something?” Leo sat up brightly, they hadn’t thought of this.

  “Well that’s a bit dark ages Dad; his blackberry, Iphone, but sure maybe just a little black address book; you’ve got one.”

  Leo looked across at his book. It sat next to the phone, more than half the addresses crossed out. He’d had it 30 years but when technology failed...... Where did he go for an address? A phone number? He went to his little black book. ‘Perhaps Whittaker had a little black book; perhaps Rufus was right. And if he was ..... Shit, the scope of the case was massive.’ They continued to kick about ideas until 3.00 in the morning; in truth it was the company that mattered. “I’ll grab a couple of hours” Leo began; “spare keys are above the oven; and good luck with that ‘extreme walking’ presentation.

  “I think you’re the one who needs the good luck Dad. I’m catching a 7.00 O’clock flight tonight so.... Well, I’ll see you when I see you I guess.” Rufus stood and hugged his Dad. “I’ll call you in a couple of days, see if you’ve caught the bastard.” They headed upstairs to bed.

  The alarm from the mobile brought Leo out of sleep; with Rufus in the house he’d been dreaming of climbing. A relentless near vertical climb; his fingers bleeding as he forced them into fissures. The cracks slowly turning into serrated metal edges, then razor blades; he had to keep moving and force his bloody hand into the next crack before it too turned. ‘Scarlett’s the man to decipher that nonsense’ Leo thought whilst examining his hands. The clock on the kitchen wall read 4.45; ‘Heathrow’ he thought and headed out of the door. ‘I’ll call Victoria and see if Whittaker’s missing an address book..... Bit early’, he smiled to himself, ‘need to give it another hour’.

  The journey around the south circular was easy although, considering the hour, there was a staggering volume of traffic. It would be stationary in another sixty minutes, frozen. He pulled into the arrivals car park of Heathrow just before 6.00am. That gave him at least an hour before Horsham’s flight landed. ‘I’ll catch her early’ Leo thought as he dialled the number. “Victoria, it’s Leo Dix...... No, I can hear you perfectly clearly; the car’s parked and the engine’s off......” She was going to make him suffer for calling so early. “Just one question Victoria; is Mr Whittaker missing an address book, written or electronic?”

  “It’s funny but, well I was going to call you today, yes, I can’t find his...... well he had this 1970’s style flip up lid address book; you know; you moved the arrow down to the first letter of the person’s name then when you pressed the release button you were taken to M or W, or whatever. It was a bit of a joke between us really. All this lovely furniture, designer chairs, then on the edge of his desk this plastic and metal monstrosity. He always said it was a collectable, retro, perfect design. It was our standing joke. Then when I stood in his office yesterday I noticed it had gone. I’ve checked with the other Directors but they’ve not seen it........ Look sorry for being so long winded, but as I’ve said I was going to call you today; wait for a respectable hour, of course, like some time after 9.00am, then call you.”

  Leo ignored the attempt at comedy and pressed on. “Can I ask you to go to the office straight away and look again, everywhere. This could be very important.”

  Victoria now recognised that the moment was not for humour. “I can assure you Leo it’s gone. I’ve already combed the place...... But I’ll put some clothes on and get straight over there to double check; I’ll ring as soon as I’ve finished.”

  “Thanks Victoria” he pressed end. The thought of a naked Victoria Sharpe far more distracting, far more time consuming, than a humorous exchange. ‘She’s done that on purpose; played the naked card’, Leo went in search of a strong coffee and pain au chocolat; his wandering mind unable to release the image. He needed to get his coffee and get back on plan. The taxi blew his horn and swerved to avoid the distracted Leo; for just a moment he’d lost the plot.

  As soon as Leo spotted Scarlett propping up the nearest coffee bar he was back to business. They shook hands.

  “It must be the one redeeming feature of working here” Scarlett began. “Good coffee and croissant on tap. Lie me down and insert the drip, I’d be happy for days.”

  “Can I get you one then?” Leo nodded at Scarlett’s empty paper cup.

  “Oh go on then; double espresso and those Austrian Tortes look rather good.”

  Leo ordered, “we’ve been allocated a room just over there” he pointed. “Customs are meeting Horsham off the flight and bringing him directly to us, with an escort”. Leo glanced at his watch. “That should give us 45 minutes to get our act together.” Leo started moving towards the police building as Scarlett hopped and twisted behind him, rapidly moving the scalding coffee from hand to hand in a vain effort to prevent the burning.

  “Why do they let them serve it this hot? It’s plain dangerous; crazy.” After burning his mouth twice Scarlett had gone off the coffee. He left it to cool on the Formica table top and finished off the Austrian Torte. ‘Not as good as mother’s’ he thought, ‘but not half bad’.

  “We’ll bring him in, in....... Say 50 minutes, the flight’s on time.” The uniformed police officer said as he closed the door to their rather spacious office; slatted blinds; stacked orange and brown plastic chairs; a couple of tables and a rubber plant all brought into sharp focus by the overhead spot lights.

  Leo lifted three chairs off the nearest stack and positioned them around the table.

  “On three sides” Scarlett began; “then it’ll feel like a meeting and not an interview.” He knew Leo was experienced, but he couldn’t help himself from pointing these things out.

  “I want you to start the inter... meeting” Leo grimaced; ‘interview’ had nearly slipped out. “Put him at ease; let him know that we’re on his side. Then I’ll direct his line of thought; push him for any new direction that he can lead the investigation. I’d say a couple of hours here then we’ll run him home and let him freshen up; go at him for another couple and see where we are at.”

  Scarlett tentatively sipped at his coffee with his scalded mouth. It never tasted pleasant after a scalding but he forced it down out of habit; habit and the fact that the man who had bought it for him now sat opposite. The two men glanced into space, gathered thoughts, and scribbled notes. They looked at the rubber plant, scribbled, tried to see through the slatted blinds, and scribbled some more. After 10 minutes Scarlett put his pen down and finished his cold coffee like he was taking a shot.

  “I take it that means you’re ready?” Leo said.

  “Bullet in the chamber” Scarlett replied.

  Leo looked through his notes one more time, and without interruption. He was sure James Horsham was the key to solving the murders; Whittaker’s address book was a possibility but it ranked as a ‘long shot’, an ‘outsider’. No, two best friends murdered..... The locker, the common ground ...... Right now he needed a clear thinking Horsham to help.

  The two men sat and waited. The Duty Sergeant had promised to have coffee and biscuits brought when Horsham arrived. ‘It’s not a bad set up’ Leo thought.

  “It’s not a bad set up” Scarlett gestured with his hand. “And despite the fact that they’re all carrying guns they’re surprisingly friendly. You know it’s directly related Leo?” Scarlett was warming up his massive brain and like the engine on Leo’s Defender it needed turning over three or four times before it finally fired into action. “Known fact; police are better police when they’re not carrying a fire arm. It’s one more thing to think about, worry about, when to draw it? And once drawn...... The consequences, a shit load of consequences. No, you’re not approachable with a gun, it creates a chasm of fear, suspicion, uncertainty and finality.” The door opened and Scarlett shut up. James Horsham smiled a thin weak smile of recognition. He looked smaller, pale, his skin translucent against the dark pinstripe of his suit.

  “James”, Leo stood and offered a warm friendly hand. “This is my colleague Richard Scarlet
t.” Scarlett smiled and thrust out a confident hand.

  Horsham looked at the Formica table and shook his head slowly. “I just don’t get, don’t get it, it’s utterly devastating. Look can’t we do this at my house? I need to get back to my family. My wife says there’s a policeman standing by our front door and she’s terrified.”

  Scarlett gestured for James Horsham to sit. He sat heavily onto the plastic. “It’s just routine; we’ve stationed a small team of experienced officers at your house so that you are safe in the knowledge that your family is well protected. This is just a precaution James, but one that we will need to keep in place until we understand the position better. We do not believe for a second that your family is in danger but we do believe that you are. And when you return home in a couple of hours, to freshen up, we can all rest easy that nobody is ‘sniffing around’.” Scarlett’s even tone and calming voice was starting to work its magic. Horsham nodded his agreement as he listened and relaxed a little at the prospect of going home, in due course, to freshen up. “We need your full attention James. You are the only link we have established and in all likelihood you will know the murderer of your two friends.” Scarlett nodded at Leo.

  “I’ve been racking my brain since you guys called” James began, his voice weak. “And I can honestly say that I have been unable to come up with anyone. I have never met anyone capable of this.”

  Leo inhaled, “I am certain James that you will know the killer.......” He let it soak in for a moment. “What you WILL know is the person; seemingly normal and possibly friendly. What you may struggle to recognise is the person inside, the tortured soul who wants to do you some serious harm. Now Richard here is a police profiler”, Leo placed a hand on Scarlett’s shoulder. “I’m going to ask Richard to give you the profile that we have so far. This exercise is utterly useless if you don’t listen. You CANNOT allow yourself to be distracted so take 30 minutes out from everything else going on in your head and listen. I have a notepad and pencil for you and I suggest you make a note of the things Richard is telling you. Again this exercise provides focus; FOCUS.” Leo spat the final word out. He was not going to let the man off the hook. This was his best chance.

  Scarlett began and Horsham, as instructed, started to take notes. “Almost certainly a man; physically strong; a perfectionist; familiar with tools, working with tools; good with his hands; probably works alone or in a job with little interaction; not married; single, long term single and lives alone or possibly with an aging or dependent parent.”

  “But I don’t know anyone like that.” Horsham looked distracted.

  “FOCUS, make your notes and let him finish” Leo’s voice curt, abrupt and demanding. “Parts of this profile will be wrong; you’ve got to take it as a whole and then look for someone who fits it 65%. Come on James keep the focus;” his voice now forcefully encouraging.

  Scarlett cleared his throat, took a slug of coffee and continued. “That sums up the outward appearance of the man; strong, perfectionist, good with his hands and lives alone.” Scarlett attempted to drive the image into Horsham’s subconscious. “Then we move on to the things that we can’t see. Well what is important to this man? Death by falling and death by drowning; you see James he didn’t just pop up and shoot them dead. No, he orchestrated their execution; falling; drowning.” Horsham scribbled the two words down. “He imprisoned them James; imprisonment, entrapment, write those two words down.” Horsham obliged. “Darkness and solitude....... Enclosed in a locker; you need to focus on this metal locker James. I’m sure it is significant. You see he uses the locker as a holding bay; they’re electronically immobilised, stuffed in a reinforced locker and mentally tortured. This speaks ‘anger and revenge’ to me James. The person who committed these atrocities believes he is exacting revenge for something that Oscar Whittaker and Peter Sasse did to him. I’d like you to carry that thought one step further. He’s exacting revenge for something that the three of you did to him.”

  “And that’s what we need to work out with your help James.” Leo said. “In the normal course of life these things would not happen. We are dealing with someone who believes that Oscar and Peter ruined their life. It’s not the perception of you that matters it’s their perception. Ask yourself the question; in the forty years that you three knew each other how many times did you humiliate or injure anyone? Then start remembering names.”

  “It is unusual for someone to harbour ill feelings for forty years so my advice is; start at the end and work back.” Scarlett said helpfully. “From what I understand the last time you all met was at your London club; well start there and work back, a year at a time. Get out your old diaries, trigger memories of the things that were happening to you and then think about the three of you; of the people you could have possibly offended.”

  “I keep my diaries; they’re in the cellar at home.” Horsham replied, hoping that it would be his ticket out of there.

  “We’ll get to those soon enough” Leo added. “So James we’ve given you a broad profile. You need to apply that to situations involving entrapment, drowning and falling. From what we can see your life crosses with Mr Whittaker and Mr Sasse in three areas; schooling; London club, the ‘In and Out’, and a forty plus year friendship. Have we missed anything?” Leo fell silent.

  “No, that’s it, but in recent years we’ve all been so busy that it really just boils down to the club, four or six times a year. We liked to keep our families separate. It’s difficult getting pissed in front of your wife these days.” It was almost funny, but no one laughed.

  Leo and Scarlett concluded the first phase of the meeting by summarising again. Most of it seemed to be going in but Horsham still looked like he’d been struck over the head by a cricket bat, his eyes glazed his head lolling.

  “You’re with me James, I’ll get you home and we can carry on from there. Richard will work through the diaries with you to see if we can come up with a ........ Trigger.” Leo carried James’ case down to the car; Scarlett had his own wheels. A text came in....... ‘Ah, it’s Victoria’ Leo thought. ‘No flippy up thing at the office. X’. ‘Is this normal? Does she send a kiss to everyone she texts or is that just for me?’. Leo called Mikey and told him to interview Katy Whittaker and Victoria Sharpe, they needed to build up a list of the possible names in his ‘flippy up thing’. A call to Mandy established that she had taken a team of three up to the school. She had days of tracking and interviewing ahead; ex head master; ex teachers; class mates and pupils from a year above and four years below and she needed to speak to them all.

  13. Plans.

  Wass’s leg twitched involuntarily; his eyelids fluttered; REM sleep, dream sleep. Wass was trapped, his arm stuck beneath his twisted body, his throat filled with blood. Wass began to sweat; began to twist beneath his covers; darkness; constriction and shortness of breath, his worst nightmare had come to visit again. The sweating turned to wetting as a panting Wass fought to control his fear of confinement. A shot of electricity and Wass woke. He lay still, cold and wet; the lasting image of James Horsham suspended somewhere in his cerebral cortex.

  Wass wasn’t stupid. He was more than aware that he’d connected two dots for the police; that with Whittaker and Sasse gone, with the similarities of the executions, well...... Questions were going to be asked and it would inevitably, eventually, lead them to the school. Perhaps they’d connect the missing teachers. Ah, but then Wass remembered ‘old piggy eyes’, ‘slow moving piggy eyes’, ‘repeat the question again and again piggy eyes’; yes the investigation was swimming in treacle. Sure they’d eventually make a connection, and especially after what he had in store for Horsham. But, by the time they’d joined the third dot he was planning on being long gone. And anyway it was immensely gratifying to know that James Horsham was already in a state of fear and not a clue in which direction to look.

  It was Horsham’s voice that still haunted him; ‘bon voyage, bon voyage’. The whole thing had been Horsham’s idea, ‘yes he was the ring
leader’ Wass thought. He was Satan, the other two Judas and Brutus...... Wass was saving his best, his worst, until last.

  It was Tuesday morning and Wass had an awful lot to do. It was the beauty of overseeing five office blocks; if someone wanted to see him he could always be elsewhere and today that was where he was.... Elsewhere. Sure they could call him or email him and he’d respond but today, and for the first time in his working life, he would remain elsewhere; carefully and meticulously planning for James Horsham’s demise. It was right that Horsham would die so slowly. And especially fitting that it would be at their school; even better that he would be subjected to the most horrendous mental torture that Wass could think of. He’d been so pleased with his plan that he’d had to tell his Dad about it. But Wass’s father just stared up, unmoved. His eyebrows white, his brittle hair now encrusted with ice; ‘perhaps I’ll thaw him out a little and see if I can bring a bit of colour back into those cheeks.’

  It was inspirational really. The timing was perfect. Wass hadn’t known that the school was building a new sports hall, and right on the spot where they’d taken his trousers down and tethered him to the field. ‘I mean what are the chances of that?’ Wass rubbed his hands together in anticipation. ‘Some things are just meant to be.’

  A massive concrete pour was scheduled for Friday morning, the footprint for the building, so he’d need to have Horsham in place by Thursday night. That gave him the best part of three days to get sorted, ‘piece of piss’ he thought. No, Wass didn’t like that expression. It was used all the time at work. It was an ugly expression, too course. And it didn’t sit comfortably with his upbringing. His Dad would have torn a strip off him if he’d said it. ‘Easy as 1-2-3’ he thought, ‘yes, better.’