Bloodstorm

by Sam Millar

  Outside, the night’s air was biting. It hurt to breathe. Karl quickly pulled the collar of his overcoat up to his ears. A nice glass of Hennessy would go down –

  In the darkness, a car’s headlights began flashing on and off. A horn sounded twice before the vehicle pulled slowly up alongside Karl.

  “Soliciting? Don’t you know it’s against the law?” said Karl, getting in beside Wilson. The car’s heat was tremendous. Truly inviting.

  “How is Naomi coping?”

  “Thanks for the concern, but let’s just skip that, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you didn’t drag me all the way down here to ask about Naomi, so what is it you really want?”

  “I hope your luck was better than your client’s?”

  Karl noted that Wilson’s face had the determined look of shirtsleeves rolled up.

  “What’s with all the cryptic nonsense? If you’ve something to say, then simply spit it out.”

  “How well do you know a Mister William McCully?”

  “William McCully …?” Karl opened up the name cabinet in his mind. Found nothing. Closed it again. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “Well, it seems he knew you. Had one of your cards on his possession. Becoming a bit like aces and eights, those business cards of yours.”

  “You keep using the past tense. I get bad vibes whenever you do that.”

  “He’s dead. Been dead for quite some time, according to forensics, before someone decided to locate him.”

  “Terrible, but just because he’s got my business card, doesn’t mean that –”

  From the car’s glove compartment, Wilson extracted a few photographs, and then handed Karl one. “These were taken by the boys from forensics. The victim must have suffered terribly. Look at that badly scarred face.” The eyes of the dead man were wide with terror.

  Karl felt the pulse beating in his throat. Beat, beat, beat. His stomach churned.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Wilson.

  Despite the disfigured features, Karl saw perfectly. “Munday. He told me his name was Bill Munday. How did he die?”

  “Shot in the head, but not before being tortured. Quite a few burn marks on him. Probably a stun-gun of some sort. Hicks will reveal all, I’m certain, when he does a post-mortem.”

  “What have you found out about him?” asked Karl.

  “Quite a successful businessman, according to initial reports. But more importantly, what was his business with you?”

  Quickly regaining his composure, Karl replied, “Even someone as thick as you knows I can’t divulge any information about my clients.”

  “Even when your client has been murdered?”

  “That comes under confidentiality.”

  “Convenience, you mean? You know I can make things difficult for you?”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Advice. And I’ll offer you some more advice, all for free. Whatever you’ve got yourself involved in, walk away from it now, before it’s too late.”

  Karl opened the door of the car, got out, and then began to sniff. Lifting his leg up, he checked beneath his shoe. “I thought I walked on shit, getting into the car. But it must be you, Wilson. One day you’ll O.D. on your own B.S. And that really is advice. Good night.” Karl slammed the door, before walking away, the grisly photographs firmly imprinted in his head.

  You poor bastard. What did you do to deserve a death like that? More worryingly, what have I let myself in for …?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Monday, 5 March (Afternoon)

  ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodies?’

  (Who will guard the guards themselves?)

  Juvenal, Satires, vi.347

  RATS THE SIZE of loaves scurried quickly into holes as Karl approached the perimeter wall of Woodbank prison. The prison reeked of Stygian impenetrability, built in the eighteen hundreds to house the so-called mentally insane, those deemed different by the system.

  After passing through ten heavily guarded gates, Karl was eventually directed into the office of George Hanna, governor of Woodbank.

  The man was not what Karl had expected. He was warm in his welcome, quite jovial, and even offered Karl some nice brandy from an expensive Waterford Crystal decanter, to kill the afternoon chill in his bones.

  Not wishing to be an ungrateful guest, Karl accepted the offer, and wasn’t in the least bit offended when the governor suggested there was plenty more where that came from.

  “I’m sorry I can only give you about twenty minutes, Mister Kane, but I have numerous meetings to attend to today. Must keep the old train running smoothly.”

  George laughed. Rather forced, thought Karl.

  “Of course. Twenty minutes will be more than enough, Governor,” said Karl, producing a small notepad. “I appreciate the time, knowing how very busy you must be. I just want to gather some background information with regards to the prison officers murdered within the last few weeks.”

  “Terrible business,” said George, warming his back against a large open fire. “You think you’ve heard it all, then this comes along. And that grisly incident with poor Basil Donaldson.”

  “Basil Donaldson wasn’t exactly poor, Governor. Removed quite a sum of money from the union’s pension fund while working here, if I’m correct?”

  “I meant the way he was murdered … only his hand found …” George leaned closer to the fire, knocking back the remaining brandy in his glass.

  “There is the strong possibility that someone was sending out a message, Governor. Steal and suffer the consequences. Have you thought about that?”

  “Well … I think we all thought about that, to be honest. There were terrible rumours – one expects these things, I suppose – but after a thorough internal investigation, there was no evidence whatsoever to substantiate any of them. It’s all been a rather trying and terrible business for the service.”

  Karl glanced at the notepad before continuing. “Did any of the dead men have many enemies within the prison service?”

  “Many? That’s very loaded, the way you directed your question,” replied George, a weak smile appearing on his face. “No, I wouldn’t know if any of the men had enemies in the service, but I can’t speak for outside it. Being a prison officer or a governor creates enemies, Mister Kane. We do a necessary, but thankless job. Have you ever watched a movie where the governor or prison guards are anything other than monsters? It goes with the territory, as you can imagine.”

  “How well did you know Wesley Milligan?”

  “I’ve only been here less than a year, so I don’t know each individual member of staff, as such. From what I gathered, Wesley Milligan was well liked and respected. But you must remember that Wesley and Basil both left the prison service years ago, almost simultaneously. “

  “Not Joseph Kerr, though. He was an assistant governor. Still serving – was still serving.”

  George seemed to hesitate. “Joseph Kerr was a good man. Lots of potential. A great loss to the service.”

  “I heard you got the job he thought he was entitled to?”

  George looked slightly uncomfortable. “You seem to have done your homework before you came here, Mister Kane.”

  “A trait from school days. The terror of the strap was always a good incentive.”

  “Joseph Kerr was one of many applicants for the job as governor. On paper, he should have been given the job. He was, at the time, assistant governor.”

  “Why wasn’t he given the job, then?”

  “By profession, I’m a number cruncher, Mister Kane. I cut the fat where the fat must be cut. I was brought in to create a leaner workforce. Joseph Kerr would have had no stomach for such a task. He was too wedded to loyalty of friends in the service. The powers that be knew that, and perceived it as a weakness. I know that sounds quite ruthless, but such is life on the bottom line of the exchequer.”

  Karl took a nice sip of the brandy. “This is good stuff. Courvoisier?”

  George appeared
pleased with Karl’s diversion. “Are you a brandy connoisseur, Mister Kane?”

  “When I can afford it, which isn’t very often.”

  “Here. Allow me.” George poured another generous amount of brandy from the decanter into Karl’s glass and a lesser amount into his own, and smiled. “I really shouldn’t be having any more of this, but I don’t want to appear anti-social.

  “Yes, I use that reason myself, sometimes,” agreed Karl.

  While George poured, Karl stared at the team of portraits lining the walls. Twenty-three pairs of lips; not one smile. “Cheerful-looking group.”

  George glanced at the portraits. “All one-time governors of this wonderful establishment.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, they look like something from an old Hammer film starring Vincent Price.”

  George laughed. “You can say what you wish. I’m not up there, yet. Otherwise I would have to have you placed in solitary confinement.” The laugh became louder.

  Karl sipped, and then flipped a page.

  “Only a couple more questions, Governor.”

  “Well, look, I have to rush, Mister Kane, but let me call Principal Officer Lange, see if he can be of help. He’s got a great memory and a wealth of prison knowledge.”

  A few minutes later, a knock at the door produced a tall man, gold bars resting on the shoulders of his starched shirt. He had sharp blue eyes, and blond hair perfectly cut to regulation-standard, as if with a ruler. His face held little masculinity.

  “Trevor? This is Mister Kane. He’s with the police.”

  Karl did not correct the mistake.

  Principal Officer Lange nodded to Karl. “How can I help you, Mister Kane?” Lange’s smile looked slightly forced. He kept his hands firmly behind his back, as if not wanting to commit himself with a handshake.

  A man wary of outsiders, thought Karl, before having a terrible vision of ice-cream and sausages. “I’ve just been discussing the recent death of prison officers with the Governor, Principal Lange. Is there anything you could tell me that would shed some light on their deaths?”

  “In what way?” said Lange, glancing at George, before returning his stare to Karl.

  “Well, I’ll leave you two gentlemen to it,” cut-in George, helpfully, before glancing at his watch. Without further ado, he was out the door, closing it silently behind him.

  “Did Wesley Milligan, Joseph Kerr, or Basil Donaldson any have enemies within the service?” asked Karl.

  “We all have enemies, Mister Kane. Wouldn’t you say? Life wouldn’t be life without them.” Lange walked behind the Governor’s desk, and sat down in the thick, leathered chair. Pushing George’s glass to the side, he glanced at his fingers as if he had contaminated them.

  You look very comfortable in that chair. “What about rumours?”

  “Rumours are soft sand. Not a good place to lay foundations upon. If you want rumours, go to a fish market. Plenty of stink there, I suppose.”

  Karl reached for the decanter, poured a good measure, and then offered some to Lange. The man looked appalled.

  “I don’t touch alcohol, Mister Kane.”

  “Good for you. Tell me, what did you think of Basil Donaldson, all that money he stole from the pension fund? That couldn’t have gone down too well with the staff?”

  “Are the police any closer to solving any of the murders, Mister Kane?” asked Lange, sidestepping Karl’s questions.

  “In all honesty, I’m not from the police. That was the Governor’s misconception. I’m actually a private investigator, hired by an ex-client to find out what I can about the murder of Wesley Milligan.”

  Lange looked uncomfortable – or annoyed – Karl couldn’t determine which.

  “Governor Hanna isn’t the most thorough of men, I’m afraid, Mister Kane. By all rights, you shouldn’t even be sitting here.”

  “No harm done, I suppose, and if it leads to the murderer of your friends being arrested, then it will have all been worthwhile. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “They were not my friends, Mister Kane,” said Lange, standing, placing his hands on top of the desk as if to steady his balance. “If anything, I found one or two of them a disgrace to the uniform.”

  “Can you elaborate on that?”

  “No. I can’t. What I can do, is bring our conversation to an end. Now, if you don’t mind …?” Lange walked towards the door, opening it.

  “No, of course not,” said Karl, placing the empty brandy glass on the table. “Oh, just one more question, if you don’t mind? Totally unrelated, probably.” Karl could see that Lange’s tolerance was wearing thin.

  “Yes?”

  “There was a prisoner here, last year, by the name of Thomas Blackburn. Is there anything you could tell me about him?”

  Lange’s expressionless face flushed slightly. Karl loved the reaction. Lange was wobbly, looking bewildered.

  “If he was still incarcerated here, I could check his file for you,” said Lange, quickly regaining his composure. “Unfortunately, once a prisoner leaves our system it is practically impossible to keep tabs on him.”

  “I suspected as much,” said Karl, smiling, offering his hand. “Thank you for your time, Principal Lange.”

  Lange’s reluctant shake was strong, but his palm was extremely clammy.

  “One thing I have found strange about your questioning in regards to the dead officers, Mister Kane?”

  “Oh? What would that be?”

  “I’m sure you read the papers. You must have read about the murder of William McCully? He was found with gunshot wounds to the head, a couple of days ago?”

  “What?” Karl was taken aback. “What about McCully?”

  “He used to work here, also, many years ago.”

  “What …?”

  “I thought you being an investigator would have known that. Not very thorough, are you, Mister Kane? You and Governor Hanna may have more in common than you both realise. Good day …” said Lange, smiling like a cobra, leaving Karl staring at the closed door, wobbling, feeling bewildered.

  Disgusted with himself for not getting all the facts beforehand, Karl made his way across the car park, grateful for the cool breeze to calm his hot face.

  You stupid bastard. All you had to do was check the news this morning while eating your scrambled egg. Instead, you’ve got the egg all over your sorry gob.

  His mobile rang. He checked the caller’s number. Unknown. Despite being in no mood for any more mysterious callers and contemplating throwing the damn thing in the back of the car, his curiosity got the better of him.

  “Hello?”

  “Mister Kane?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Paul.”

  “Paul? Paul who?”

  “Paul Benson. The barman. Remember?”

  “Oh, of course. How could I forget someone ripping me off for a fiver?”

  “That name, I have it for you.”

  “What name? Oh! The actress?”

  “Yes. I just remembered it after watching her on TV about an hour ago. Got a pen?”

  Quickly taking out the notepad, Karl scribbled down the name, before getting into the car, firmly believing it could have been the best fiver he had ever spent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Monday, 5 March (Evening)

  ‘As long as what you are afraid of is something evil you may still hope that the good may come to your rescue. But suppose you struggle through to the good and!nd that it also is dreadful? “en, indeed, there is no rescue possible: the last card has been played.’

  C. S. Lewis, Perelandra

  “HOW COULD I have been so stupid, not knowing McCully was a prison officer?” said Karl, talking to Naomi while scanning the evening newspaper. “You wanted to see the smirk on Lange’s face. Though I suppose I had it coming to me by mentioning Thomas Blackburn.”

  “What did he say when you mentioned the young man’s name?”

  “Lange tried to give the impression he didn’t
know Angry Thomas, but according to my source, Thomas and Lange knew each other intimately.”

  “Intimately? You mean they were lovers?”

  “You put things so flowery, my dear. My source put it more bluntly: Thomas was being bunged up while bunged up.”

  “That’s not nice, Karl.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it – though Doctor Moore might dispute that.”

  “Don’t be funny. It’s not nice when you talk crudely like that.”

  Turning his attention to one of the leading articles in the newspaper, Karl said, “They still haven’t recaptured that pack of wild pigs that escaped from Bellevue Zoo, last week. People are being warned to stay away from the Cave Hill and surrounding areas. According to this story, a similar incident happened about twenty-odd years ago, only instead of wild pigs it was wild dogs, resulting in a number of people being mauled and killed.”

  “Imagine dying like that? All those dogs attacking … horrible,” said Naomi, shuddering.

  “I can think of much nicer ways of dying,” said Karl, flipping a page over.

  “I need to ask you something, Karl.”

  “Provided it isn’t a request for money, go ahead.”

  “Why are you still pursuing this case?” said Naomi, her voice sombre. “Munday – I mean McCully – is dead. It’s all over. What’s the point?”

  Placing the newspaper down, Karl said, “I keep asking myself that. I think I told Tom that guilt had something to do with it.”

  “Guilt? What have you got to feel guilty about?”

  “Nothing. Everything. Take your pick. Perhaps it’s to do with Chris Brown, his brains splattered all over a wall, or just the whole who-gives-a-fuck attitude towards his murder. I don’t honestly know, Naomi. I don’t even think the answer is explainable to –”

  The Rockford Files sounded.

  Karl glanced at the screen.

  K9 Injurd? Tnk! U Brown N Yr Gf? Tym S Runn Ot. Do Somit Nw, B4 It’s 2 L8!

  “Another mystery message. Just what I need to finish off a perfect day.”