Tarasov sniggered. 'They won’t be celebrating that much longer. Each year puts another nail in the Christmas coffin… Best thing we ever did, though, was when we gave them religion, now that was a master stroke. They’ve never stopped fighting with each other since. Must have taken a hell of a lot of planning back then.'
'Ahh, but remember – the Historian still insists that it had nothing to do with us, that all those things in the Bible really happened.'
'Come on – all those things?'
Prince Carl shrugged.
'You’re a believer, aren’t you?' Tarasov said, looking at Prince Carl with amused disbelief.
'Does it bother you?'
'Hell, no… It’s made us all a lot of money.'
'It still does!'
When they reached the airport, the car drove them right to the door of the private plane. As soon as they got out of the car, the driver took off without a backward glance. They boarded, and were soon on their way, heading through the clouds over the rich blue and green world that they owned, and would go to any lengths imaginable to keep that way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Jill glanced at her watch. Five minutes later than the last time she’d looked. 'Where the hell is he?'
She shrugged, muttered, 'Men!' under her breath, and glanced at the tide chart on the wall next to the small window. The causeway from the mainland to the island wouldn’t be crossable till nearly seven o’ clock. So why am I being so impatient? Billy will have made their tea. He always does when the causeway’s closed at this time of day. Why am I stressing so much?
The girls knew what time she’d be picking them up from her cousin Billy’s house, though sixteen-year-old Jayne kept insisting she was too old to be babysat. 'The days the crossing is open after school I could quite easily make my own way home. And why the hell shouldn’t I!'
Jayne repeated this mantra on a daily basis, as if it was pre-recorded and all she had to do was press a button for the words to spew forth. Perhaps she was right. But Jill wanted them where she knew they were safe.
Am I being the control freak that Jayne constantly accuses me of being?
She shook her head in denial. No, Jayne is nothing but a miserable twisty little cow most of the time, with a sense of humour that went into serious decline a good few years ago. A teenage whirlwind, who thinks the world revolves around her and no one else. Her attitude alone causes more friction than enough in the flaming house.
Daily Jill thanked God for thirteen-year old Cassie, a sweetheart. She smiled at the thought of Cassie. Though to be truthful, not so long ago, Jayne had also been a sweet even-tempered child. Jill sighed. Hormones! Who the hell invented them?
A knock on the door disturbed her thoughts, and she got up. 'Come in.'
Mike put his head round the door. 'All ready for us?'
'Sure.' About time, too. She opened the drawer and pressed the button that would automatically push out the panel bearing the dead girl, and watched as a man and a woman PC followed Mike Yorke into the room.
The man was visibly trembling, his eyes darting here and there around the room, anywhere but at the table. Finally they found a spot in the region of his shoes.
'Evan Miller, meet Jill Patterson, our very own pathologist,' Mike said.
Definitely don’t like the twinkle in his eye. And it is a twinkle, however clichéd it sounds. The man’s a menace, Jill thought, and the silly policewoman’s falling all over him already.
'Huh,' she said, not meaning for it to come out loud, as she held out her hand to Evan.
'Sorry?' Mike looked at her.
'Nothing,' Jill said quickly, giving Mike a look as if he was hearing things.
Withdrawing his gaze from his shoes, fully aware of the undercurrent between the two of them, but wanting to get this over and done with, Evan said, 'Pleased to meet you – but can we get it over with, please?'
He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat as, with a small smile, Jill nodded, and stepped closer to the table. She lifted the sheet and neatly folded it over, exposing the pale face of the unknown girl.
Evan gasped.
For a moment he was stunned. Nothing had prepared him for this. Even though, deep down, he’d half-expected it, on the way here neither of the coppers had mentioned that it could be Alicia. Even though he had a feeling, he had been too frightened to ask outright.
'It’s her,' he whispered, then louder as he knuckled tears from his eyes, 'It... It’s Alicia… Ohh, my God, Alicia. No, no,' he wailed. He felt his legs give way as the blood drained from his face. The next moment he was being helped from the floor by Mike’s strong arms, his hands under Evan’s armpits. He was led to a chair in the corner and handed a drink of water by the policewoman. 'Sip it slowly,' she cautioned.
Evan nodded automatically, before taking a sip then handing the plastic cup back to her.
Mike stared at him, almost convinced that Evan was innocent. Either that, or a fantastic actor and liar. He saw no reason to show him the state of the girl’s back. If this man’s innocent, then to see what’s been done to the woman he loved would be sadistic torture. If he’s guilty, well, then the bastard already knows what state he’s left her in.
Mike had already tossed around the idea with Kristina that Danny and Evan could be in it together, but he wasn’t sure about that any more either. He needed a motive and, although he’d slacked off on the idea that it was Evan and Danny, they still weren’t in the clear. Jealousy was one of the main reasons in the world for murder, right up there with greed. If the four of them were bed-hopping then that could have triggered the murder.
He put a hand on Evan’s shoulder. 'When you’re ready, we’ll go back to the station.'
Evan nodded, staring at the table. A small sigh, when Jill covered the body and pressed the button to take Alicia back into the dark, turned into a large sob.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Danny lay on the bunk, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Shelly, dead. No way, man!
It’s all a dream. No. It’s not a dream, it’s a fucking nightmare!
Everything seemed surreal. This wasn’t happening to him. He shook his head in denial. He’d never in his whole life been in a cell. No way could he ever let his mother know. The shame would kill her. But it looked like some of these guys had been here more than once. Dates and names, scrawled and scratched all over the walls. One enterprising idiot had even managed to leave his signature on the ceiling.
'Must have been a bloody giant,' he muttered.
Robbie Magee, whoever he was, had at least four entries. A frequent visitor then, just piping Allan Johnson whose signature was scrawled in three-inch high italics.
Shelly’s not dead. She’s not. No way.
She can’t be. He shook his head adamantly.
So who the hell is that lying in my bed, pretending to be Shelly?
He saw the long black hair, so much like Shelly’s, and his mind shied away from the only other possibility he could think of.
No way, man.
The hatch opened, and a tray, containing what looked like a bowl of soup, two slices of bread and a cup of tea, was pushed through. 'Dinner,' said a disembodied voice on the other side of the door.
'Thank you,' Danny whispered, not wanting to upset the guard in case he put him in a cell with a mass-murderer, or worse, a rapist with a liking for men.
You see things like that all the time on the telly.
The hatch slammed shut with a loud clang and Danny jumped, banging his elbow on the wall. Wincing and rubbing the offended joint, he got up and went to the door. It smells all right, he thought, looking at the tomato soup.
'Hope there’s no basil in it,' he murmured. Danny hated his food interfered with, as he kept reminding Evan and the girls. Lifting the tray, he took it over to the bunk. Hungry, he sat down and was about to put a spoonful in his mouth when he thought, Oh my God… they might have spit in it. Slowly, he stirred the soup around in the bowl.
> It looked all right, and I’m friggin’ starving, shit, I gotta eat. He put a spoonful in his mouth.
'Bastard!' he yelped, as he burned his mouth. Staring at the hatch, he quickly slapped his hand over his mouth. Visions of a huge hairy prisoner, with a dick swinging down to his knees, being thrust into his cell by the guard, pushed all thoughts of Shelly out of his mind.
After taking deep breaths to calm down, and sitting with his eyes shut for a moment, he opened them and looked around.
Still here!
He sighed, and it welled up from deep inside. The tiny cramped cell had not miraculously changed into his kitchen, his table, his soup bowl, filled with the wonderful ham broth his mother made every Monday night through the winter.
No such fucking luck.
But thank God there’s no huge hairy inmate sitting next to me either.
He tried the soup again. Still hot, but he could sip. He dunked one of the slices of bread and found that easier. He was famished, and spooned the rest in as if it were his last meal.
Dinner over he put the tray on the floor and lay on the bunk with his hands behind his head.
How long can they hold me here without charging me?
Was it twenty-four hours, on ‘The Bill'?’
Or was that how long you had to be missing, before…? God, my head hurts.
Shelly’s the soap fan, she would know.
Shelly’s dead!
'She’s not, she’s not.' He rolled onto his stomach. Tears streaming down his face, he began punching the mattress, yelling over and over, 'She’s not dead… Shelly is not dead. No way.'
Suddenly he yelped, as someone touched his shoulder. He had been making so much noise he hadn’t heard the guard come in.
'Splash some water over yer face, young ’un, and follow me.' The guard, an Asian with long Elvis Presley sideburns, spoke gruffly, but not unkindly.
'Where, where to?' Wide-eyed, Danny stared at the man, his mind assaulted with horrors. God, I could end up anywhere. Never to be seen again.
'Back to the interview room, where the hell do you think? Some time today, OK?'
Danny got off the bunk, washed his face, and hurried after the guard. It was the same room, with the same damp spot on the far wall, and the same two coppers. Only these two didn’t play good cop, bad cop. They were both bloody nightmares.
Barely waiting until Danny had sat down, Mike said 'You’ll be pleased to know that the lady in your bed was not your girlfriend Shelly An----'
'What?' Danny interrupted, his mouth hanging open.
'The body isn’t Shelley’s.'
'Not Shelly?' He jumped up. 'You mean, it’s not her? Not my Shelly?'
'That’s what I said.' Mike couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.
'Yes!' Danny yelled. He punched the sky, went to sit down, missed the seat and fell on the floor.
Grinning like a fool, he scrambled back onto the seat. 'Not Shelly,' he repeated, looking at Kristina as if she was a long-lost friend, and not the monster he’d thought she was.
Shaking his head, he kept muttering, 'Not Shelly.' After a moment, he looked up at Mike, who was standing beside the window. The fear back in his eyes, he asked, 'So, er, so who is it?'
'I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it’s your mate Evan’s girlfriend. Alicia.'
'Oh, God no.' Deflated, Danny fell back in his chair. Alicia, he thought, poor, poor Alicia… Poor Evan. He looked up at Mike. 'Where’s Evan?'
'In a room down the hall, waiting for you. The time of death has been established, and you’re in the clear. You were both at the hospital.'
'Does that mean…'
'Yes,' Kristina put in, 'you’re both free to go.'
'Don’t disappear, though,' Mike said as he opened the door. 'We still need to know what the dead woman was doing in your bed. Leave information about where you’ll be staying at the desk. For obvious reasons, you can’t go home.'
Danny shuddered. 'I’ll be with Evan. I’ll have to stay with him, can’t leave him on his own.'
'Thought so.' Mike nodded, and patted Danny’s back as he passed him.
He closed the door and looked at Kristina, his face grim. 'OK. We have to get to work. We have a mutilated body with no motive and no suspects.'
Kristina nodded. 'You’re adamant it’s neither of those two now?'
'Pretty much so at the moment.'
'Yeah, me too.' She took the photographs of the dead girl and pinned them all on the board, stepped back and stared at them. A moment later she puffed out her cheeks and said, 'We’ve got to get this one, Mike. What’s happened here has not been a moment of sudden rage, jealousy or greed, not even downright caveman, spoilt brat, temper. Believe me, the bastard’s enjoyed this. Boy, has he… He’ll strike again. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s not the first. Looks like a disciplinary action gone wrong. Or some sort of crazy sex game.'
'Where, though?' Mike shook his head. 'You say it’s happened before, but we have no precedent for this at all. I’ve never come across the likes of this in my life. Someone so terrified that they basically bleed out of their skin?'
Still staring at the photographs, Kristina sighed. 'It’s a power thing, gotta be.'
'I’m more inclined to agree there. A sex game wouldn’t go this far. Deaths have occurred when someone got over-excited, but they’ve mostly been accidental. To me, this was intended to cause death… It’s a punishment for something.' Mike nodded at the photographs. 'Definitely.'
'But why put her in Danny’s bed?'
Mike shook his head. 'Pass.'
'Do you think maybes Danny could have pissed someone off? Or maybes she has.'
'But why Alicia and not Shelly? None of it makes any sense.'
'And where does Evan fit in?'
'Jesus Christ. A riddle within a riddle.' Mike patted his pockets. 'Got a fag?'
Kristina walked back to the desk, opened her bag and gave him a packet of Regal King-Size.
'Light?' he asked, grinning, as he took a cigarette and put it between his lips.
'God!' Kristina snapped, 'no change here, is there? Don’t you know where the shops are?'
Mike smiled. 'Here, love.' He handed the lighter and cigarettes back, then went over to the window, opened it wide, had a look round and stuck his head out.
Kristina shook her head as Mike blew smoke rings into the sky. Like Mike, she’d seen enough human depravity, things that never left the police station, the kind of stuff that you never took home with you, or it would shadow your life forever.
Walking over to stand beside him, she squeezed his arm. 'Don’t worry, Mike. We’ll get him,' she said quietly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Having hidden at the back of the garden for over an hour, knowing there was someone inside, Shelly watched a man and a woman leave the cottage and drive off. She waited a further five minutes, just in case they forgot something and came back, before creeping up to the window and looking in.
The cottage was at the edge of the village, its nearest neighbour an easy fifty yards away, with the back garden leading onto the field. The window Shelly was looking into gave her a view of a small, but very neat kitchen.
'So where’s the key?' she muttered.
Having never broken into anywhere before, she didn’t have a clue where to start. But she had to get in. Her need for food was building rapidly, and she desperately needed some footwear. She started to shake. The day was certainly warm, but the heat she was feeling belonged somewhere in the tropics.
She tried the plant pot outside the door. No joy there. It had been a long shot anyhow. Likewise, the dustbin held nothing underneath but a half a dozen snails.
She would have to break in – and the place was covered with burglar alarms.
Must be guarding the crown jewels, she thought. Looking around, she spotted a half-brick lying on the grass near the shed. Picking it up, she weighed it in her hand as she studied the shed for a moment. She decided to try the door. It wa
s open.
Cautiously she peeked inside. The usual garden shed implements covered the walls. There was a bench running along the window wall that looked out onto a garden planted with neat rows of carrots, potatoes and leeks. She’d eat the carrots raw if she had to but balked at the leeks. She nearly missed the envelope, but her eyes skittered back to it.
Still being very cautious, her senses tuned for the slightest noise, her body poised and ready for flight, she stepped into the dark interior and walked over to the bench. For Katie, it said on the envelope. Who the hell Katie was didn’t matter to her. Shelly’s need at this moment was greater than any Katie could have. Ignoring the shaking, which had suddenly become a lot worse, she quickly tore the envelope open. If she thought there might have been some nourishment in it, she would gladly have swallowed it whole.
'Please, God… Please, God,' she whispered. Then, a moment later, joyously, 'Thank you… Thank you!' as a large key fell from the envelope into her hand.
'It’s gotta be for the back door,' she muttered, overjoyed at her find, the only good thing to have happened in the last twenty-odd hours. The very worst hours of her whole life. Guess good things have gotta happen some of the time.
'Thank you.' She kissed the key.
'Whoa,' she said a moment later, heading out the door, as she wobbled and hit her shoulder on the frame. Knowing that her sugar levels were dropping rapidly, and that she was well on her way to a bad hypo or worse, she tried to hurry. But her legs were dragging, each step slower than the one before, as she rocked from side to side like someone on the outside of more than one bottle of wine.
It felt as if she was plodding through treacle. Pretty soon she just wouldn’t care any more.
She might have a few minutes, or the next step could find her on the ground.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Evan and Danny stepped out of the police station. Silently lost in their own thoughts, they headed towards Evan’s flat. Neither noticed the two men emerge from the dark side street, and follow them down the road.
Still without saying anything, Evan because he had nothing to say, and Danny because he didn’t know what to say without putting his foot in it, they reached the door to Evan’s flat. Evan put his key in the lock, turned it, and was suddenly pushed from behind. Losing his footing, he landed inside on his hands and knees.
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