Chapter 2
The early morning was colder and wetter than usual, and the moon provided only limited illumination as he stalked the cobblestone paths that wound through the ancient city. London was a maze of densely packed alleyways and side streets, especially in the east of the city where he had chosen to hunt, and there were plenty of shadows and sheltered recesses that could be used to his advantage. It was still several hours until dawn, but only a few minutes until last call at the several dozen pubs and bars that lined the more well-lit areas, meaning his prey would venture outside soon.
The case he carried had room for sixteen knives, and it was full. He had lovingly sharpened each blade by hand earlier in the evening, placing them in the case in order of size – ranging from the tiny paring knife all the way to the butcher’s cleaver. They were all strapped in tight and rolled up, making it easy and discreet to carry them around in public. Thanks to the predictable British weather, he didn’t look out of place wearing the transparent raincoat, which meant he wouldn’t have to burn his clothes afterwards. He kept the surgical gloves in his pocket for the time being.
He checked his watch. It was two a.m., meaning it was nearly time. He crossed to the end of the street and stood in one of the pools of shadow that had formed just out of reach of the streetlights, keeping his eyes locked on the pub on the opposite side of the road. The King’s Head looked dreary from the outside, but he could make out a considerable crowd within, all laughing and drinking away their lives, sheltered from the miserable weather outside. He caught sight of her as she passed by the window and allowed himself a smile. Soon, her suffering would be over.
Several minutes passed, and he saw the pub’s light dim, signaling closing time. The front doors opened and people began to pour out into the soggy streets, fumbling for their umbrellas and hoods as the fat rain caught them by surprise. She followed at the rear, trying to catch the attention of the young men who had dawdled. She looked a little off her game tonight.
After a few minutes she gave up, slurring something inaudible at the last youth as he backed away and walked off with his hands stuffed into his pockets. She wavered slightly on the spot and leaned up against the pub’s dingy walls for support. She regained her balance, adjusted her tight dress, and slung her tiny handbag over her bare shoulder, hugging herself against the cold as she stumbled off to try her luck at one of the late bars further down the road.
He caught her eye as she crossed the street, and she smiled. He stepped out into the light and took her by the hand. She didn’t flinch. He led her for a few minutes until they reached a more secluded part of the neighborhood, and chose a spot where nobody would be able to see them. She mentioned something about payment, and then began to put her hands on him. He resisted the urge to vomit in her face as the foul whore’s skin touched his own, instead pretending to reach for his wallet. Her breath stank of alcohol.
He pulled on the surgical gloves, and the whore said it would be extra for the kinky stuff. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until he felt the larynx pop, but he knew he had to be patient. Methodical. There was an art to this that had to be respected. He inhaled deeply and pushed the thought to the back of his mind. She asked about payment again.
His hand moved too quickly for her to register what happened next. The polished blade he carried in his pocket was light and strong, and he whipped the razor-sharp edge across her throat in one smooth motion, then again in the opposite direction. Nothing happened for a second or two, and then the blood came. First in slow drips and then faster, the arterial pressure forcing the two wounds to open wider, spraying his waterproof coat with hot, red liquid.
He licked his lips slowly, tasting the familiar copper flavor as some of the blood coated his face. Her eyes were wide in shock but there was no chance of her screaming as she crumpled slowly to the floor. She tried to grab at his coat for support, but it was slick with blood and no use to her. Within a few seconds she had lost consciousness and lay still, her breath shallow and weak. Time to go to work.
He knelt and unrolled the case, selecting his favorite blade: a sturdy, six-inch knife with a carbon-fiber edge and excellent balance. He cut open her dress at the hem and peeled it away, revealing her naked body. He ignored the fact she wasn’t wearing underwear and focused on her stomach area, using his fingers to detect where the first cut should be made. Satisfied, he slipped the knife’s tip into her skin, peeling it apart with ease and opening a tear in her soft, exposed abdomen. There was very little blood left.
His heart pounded with excitement as her last breath drifted slowly into the night. Now for the fun part.
Chapter 3
Leopold snapped awake as the Dreamliner hit the runway and the jet engines threw themselves into reverse. Leopold grabbed his armrest with renewed vigor as the forces acting on the aircraft caused the cabin to tilt and sway as they slowed. Within a few seconds the plane had settled into a gentle taxi, and Leopold allowed himself to relax a little.
“Interesting dreams?” asked Mary, unbuckling her seatbelt and stretching out. “You were muttering something in your sleep for most of the flight. Couldn’t make out a word.”
“Don’t remember,” said Leopold, yawning. “Probably nothing exciting.”
The arrivals process at Heathrow proved surprisingly painless, and Leopold, Mary, and Jerome collected their luggage without issue and made their way though to the arrivals lounge. Leopold spotted the young driver from Scotland Yard, who was dressed in civilian clothes and holding a placard.
“No black cab?” said Mary, as they approached their contact and shook hands.
“No, ma’am,” said their contact, smiling. “That’s just the cabbies. Sergeant Cooper, at your service.”
“Pleasure,” said Mary.
“No uniform, Sergeant?” said Leopold, as Cooper led them in the direction of the parking lot.
“No, sir. I’m part of the – um,” – he stuttered slightly – “case you’re here to help with. The Superintendent will fill you in when we get back to the Yard.”
“Your accent, Cooper,” said Leopold. “Not from around here, are you?”
“No, sir. Transfer from South Yorkshire police. Came down two weeks ago specifically to work on – well, you’ll find out soon. Here we are.”
Cooper opened the rear passenger door of the black Audi A4 sedan and gestured for Leopold and Jerome to climb in. He held the front door open for Mary, before packing the luggage into the trunk and settling himself into the driver’s seat. Leopold winced slightly as he nestled into the chilly leather seats and hoped the car would warm up quickly.
“It’s gone lunch time, have you eaten?” asked Cooper, turning his head toward Leopold.
“Not in a while. I’d prefer to wait until we’ve been briefed before thinking about a meal, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Speak for yourself,” muttered Mary.
“No problem, sir,” said Cooper. “We should be there in forty minutes or so, traffic allowing. If you have any questions, I’ll do my best to answer them on the way.”
Jerome sat forward. “Who knows we’re here?”
“Not too many people,” said Cooper, easing the car out of the line of slow traffic and into the bus lane. “The superintendent, the commissioner, and a few guys from the FBI who recommended you are all aware of your flight plan. Other than that, I don’t have the clearance, so I couldn’t tell you.”
“You’ll draw too much attention using this lane during busy traffic,” said Jerome. “What if we’re stopped?”
“The number plate, sorry – license plate, is linked to the Met police database. Any problems and my clearance flashes up. Don’t worry, I’ve been trained to keep you safe.”
“Where do you keep your firearm?” said Jerome, ignoring Cooper’s last comment.
“Not licensed to carry, I’m afraid,” said Cooper. “Which reminds me, while you’re on British soil you’ll have to go without a gun. I hope that won’t be a
problem.”
Leopold felt Jerome tense slightly and could have sworn the temperature in the car fell by a few degrees.
“I keep a Taser with me at all times,” continued Cooper. “If we run into any trouble, there’s enough power in one of those to put down a baby elephant.”
“Fine,” said Jerome, his voice flat. “I’ll need to conduct a full security assessment before we go out in the field, if you could arrange that for us upon arrival.”
“No problem,” said Cooper, easing the car forward a little faster. “Won’t be long now.”
The rest of the journey passed in silence, other than the occasional question from Mary regarding the scenery as they passed through the suburbs and into the heart of the city. Leopold noticed most of the famous landmarks as they reached the Thames river, and Cooper filled in the gaps where Mary pointed out buildings she didn’t recognize.
They eventually reached Westminster, where they left the highway and joined the line of traffic that snaked through the upmarket streets, lined on either side with glass-fronted office buildings, Georgian apartment blocks, and gleaming department stores flying the Union Jack flag at full mast. The black Audi sailed past most of the stationary vehicles, slowing only as they were joined by the epitomic red double-decker buses that shared the empty lanes. Cooper pulled away from the main road as one of the bus drivers sounded his horn in irritation, steering the car down one of the side roads that led up to the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police.
Leopold spotted the iconic New Scotland Yard triangular sign, familiar from countless news reports, spinning slowly on its axis as Cooper pulled the Audi around to the secured parking lot. An officer wearing a high-visibility jacket checked Cooper’s identification and waved them through the security checkpoint, down into the basement structure.
“Might not be here much longer,” said Cooper, peering through the gloom for a parking space. “The Met is considering selling the place next year and moving us to Whitechapel. Probably quite fitting, given the current situation.”
Leopold nodded absent-mindedly and pointed out a free space near the elevators. “Will superintendent Swanson be with us soon? It’s been a long trip.”
“Oh yes, he knows you’re here,” said Cooper, lining up the car and reversing into the space. “I’ll take you up to his office straight away.”
Leopold stepped out into the parking lot and followed Cooper to the elevators, where the four of them rode up to the sixth storey offices. Cooper led them through the stuffy corridors until they reached Swanson’s office, where Cooper knocked and opened the door.
Superintendent Swanson was sat behind a large, wooden desk, and was scribbling something on a piece of notepaper as Leopold stepped through into the office. Swanson was middle-aged, perhaps forty-five, and almost completely gray-haired, including his substantial moustache. He wore a smart suit and stood up as Cooper closed the door behind him.
“Ah, Mr Blake and companions,” said Swanson, his thick voice booming across the room. “So glad to finally meet you.”
Leopold shook Swanson’s hand, who gripped a little harder than expected, before taking a seat opposite the superintendent, across the desk. Cooper offered Jerome and Mary a seat on the small sofa at the back of the office, where they would still be able to join in the conversation.
“Thank you, Cooper,” said Swanson, taking his seat. “I’ll update you later.”
Leopold saw Cooper nod politely and leave the room. Swanson’s office was large enough to seat a half-dozen people, and had a generous view of the quiet street outside. The thick, reflective windows filtered the light somewhat, giving the outside world an odd hue that somehow made the interior of the building feel as overcast as the city outside.
“I understand you haven’t yet been briefed,” said Swanson, interlocking his fingers.
“Not yet,” said Leopold. “But I have a few theories as to why we’re here.”
“Really?” said Swanson, leaning forward. “I was told about your particular talents. I’d be interested to hear what you’ve managed to figure out already.”
Leopold heard Mary shift her weight on the sofa behind him, and knew without looking that she was probably rolling her eyes.
“With pleasure,” said Leopold. “The Metropolitan Police are among the finest in the world, with access to almost unlimited resources. However, like many organisations, they will happily outsource where they feel it is required. In this case, you’ve involved the FBI which suggests you believe a foreign involvement.”
“Good, good,” said Swanson. “Go on.”
“Naturally, the FBI are woefully under-resourced and decide to use one of their consultants instead of sending out a team. That’s where I come in.”
“Very astute,” said Swanson. “Anything else?”
“It’s unlikely the FBI would get involved for anything less than a homicide case,” said Leopold. “So I had assumed we would be assisting with a murder enquiry. Once Ms Jordan got involved, my suspicions were confirmed. The NYPD don’t send out their top homicide detectives without reason, even if they do want to keep an eye on me.”
Leopold turned to look at Mary, who was shifting uncomfortably on the sofa next to Jerome, whose large frame took up most of the space.
“Very good, Mr Blake,” said Swanson, beaming.
“I’m not done yet,” said Leopold, raising a finger. “Your man Cooper isn’t what he seems.”
“What do you mean?” asked Swanson, his smile fading.
“A transfer from another police force to assist with a particular case is unusual, especially for someone with a sergeant’s rank. His car was brand new, a luxury model, which someone on his salary would never be able to afford. It’s not a rental, either. His accent was a little jumbled, suggesting someone who had lived away from home for several years, not a person who had just arrived in the last few weeks. All of which suggests to me that Cooper doesn’t work in your department. What’s his involvement with this case?”
Swanson sighed heavily. “Cooper doesn’t work for me, at least not directly. I can’t tell you more than that.”
Leopold sat in silence for several seconds before replying. “I’m sorry, superintendent. I can’t assist if you won’t be fully honest with me.”
Leopold stood and turned to leave.
“Okay, wait,” said Swanson, getting to his feet. “Please, sit down.”
Swanson gestured to the empty chair and Leopold sat down again.
“We picked up a message from the FBI that one of their persons of interest had landed on British soil two weeks ago, on the first of June,” said Swanson, settling back into his chair. “He’s wanted for questioning in connection with a spree of murders in his home-town of Portland, Oregon. No arrest warrant yet, which is why he managed to get on a plane, but we have a long-standing agreement with the US authorities to keep each other in the loop. An agreement like that, between two foreign nations, does not go unchecked.”
“Understood,” said Leopold. “Which means that if Cooper doesn’t work here, I assume he’s MI5?”
“Of course, I can’t confirm that,” said Swanson, avoiding eye contact. “But I can assure you that he’s been thoroughly vetted and will provide invaluable support during this investigation. He also has contacts within Whitehall that could prove invaluable.”
“Fine,” said Leopold. “Has this person of interest been detained?”
“No. Cooper can’t approach him in case his cover is blown, and we need to keep him incognito. We actually have no legal grounds to bring him in for questioning, which is why we need some help. Off the books, you understand.”
“Naturally,” said Leopold, leaning back in his chair. “What’s this man’s name?”
“Kandinski. George Kandinski.”
“And I assume you are under the impression he is responsible for a homicide on British soil?”
“Precisely. We got the red flag that he had touched down, just a few days before we find a
body with injuries closely matching the MO of the Portland killer. A week later, we find another one, and a body was found early this morning that we think is linked. If he’s the one responsible, we need to bring him in before he does any more damage.”
“Do you have anything tying him to the crimes?” said Leopold.
“Well, that’s the problem,” said Swanson. “There isn’t any evidence linking him to any crime within British borders, nor any international warrant for his arrest. We can bring him in for questioning, but we can only hold him for twenty-four hours before we have to let him go. Even sooner if he gets hold of a good solicitor. We need some solid evidence linking him to the killings.”
“And you want me to find it?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll need to know more about the case,” said Leopold. “Assuming both deaths were homicide, I’ll need to examine the bodies.”
“They are most definitely homicides,” said Swanson. “You can take a look at the bodies. I’ll take you down to the mortuary right now, it’s not far.”
“Excellent. Lead the way.”
Swanson stood up and made for the door before pausing. “Have you had lunch yet?”
“No. That’s the second time I’ve been asked that question,” said Leopold. “If you insist, we can grab a bite to eat on the way.”
“No, it’s not that,” said Swanson, opening the door. “Its just that I would strongly recommend having an empty stomach for this one.”
END OF SAMPLE
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Panic (A Leopold Blake Thriller) Page 20
