Killing Pretties

by Rob Ashman

  ‘I’m not buying that, Kelly, give me some credit,’ Malice snorted and shook his head.

  ‘Credit for what! For following me!’

  He stroked his stubbled chin, casting his eyes up the roof.

  ‘My guess is you’re new to it. This is your first or second assignment. The way you grilled me about Wrigley and Bullseye wasn’t merely professional curiosity. There was an intensity which you couldn’t hide. You’re a bloody good detective but a crap undercover officer.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’ It was her turn to laugh.

  ‘I reckon someone has fingered our department for corruption. It’s the latest fashion along with professional mis-conduct.’

  ‘Mally, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I know you fly a little off the mark at times but this is ridiculous,’ she twisted around in her seat, staring out front and folding her arms across her chest.

  Malice did the same.

  ‘Okay if you want to play it like that. Let’s start with your car,’ he said.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s registered to an Eleanor Pietersen.’

  ‘Eleanor is my Christian name.’

  ‘It doesn’t say that on your pass.’

  ‘Kelly is my middle name and I prefer it. This is stupid, Mally,’ she felt as though she was being scolded by her father.

  ‘I’m not angry, not even disappointed, you have a job to do and I know I fit the profile. You’ve been pointed at me because of my disciplinary record and personal circumstances – I get it. If I was going to look for a bent copper in our division I’d shine the spotlight on me too.’

  ‘I don’t have time for this, I’m going home,’ Pietersen yanked on the door handle. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘What?’ she had one foot out of the car, allowing a cool breeze to blow in.

  ‘You’re the only one I can trust.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘This,’ Malice reached under his seat and brought out a file containing a wad a paper. ‘Listen to what I have to say and then I’ll ask you again.’

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Pietersen pulled her foot back inside and closed the door.

  ‘Just listen. A heavy-hitter drug boss called Lubos Vasco has been muscling in on people’s patches. My guess is he murdered Burko along with Wrigley and Bullseye. A low-level dealer I know got absorbed into his organisation, well, it was more of a case of work for us or join the others if you know what I mean. By all accounts Vasco is the real deal and has a slick operation and plenty of contacts.’

  ‘Why the hell don’t I know about this?’

  Malice put his hand up to stop her, ‘Just listen. Okay? My guy showed up for a meeting with Vasco to find him and four other people dead.’

  ‘Shit.’ Pietersen’s face dropped, she chewed on her bottom lip. ‘The bodies in the warehouse.’

  ‘That’s right. When he finds them he panics, it’s obvious this is gang related and he doesn’t want to end up the same way, so he does a runner. But not before be rifles through the place in search of cash, drugs and anything else he can get his hands on. One of the items he takes is a briefcase.’

  ‘Why haven’t you told Waite?’

  ‘Hear me out. My guy is pissing in his pants and asks me to help him disappear. I tell him to take a hike but when he says he’s got information and wants to do a trade I have second thoughts. So, I help him and he gave me this. He found it inside the briefcase.’ Malice handed Pietersen the file. She opened it to reveal a set of printouts, each one showing a screenshot of a spreadsheet. She flipped through the pages.

  ‘What is it?’

  Malice heaved a huge sigh. ‘I believe it’s a payment schedule. Look, each of these tabs is a police force. Down the left are codenames and the figures represent payments made on these dates.’

  ‘And you think these are bribes Vasco made to police officers?’

  ‘Look at the tabs. The busiest docks in the country are Teesside and Hartlepool, Merseyside, the port of London, Grimsby and Immingham and Felixstowe. These … are the police forces who cover those areas.’

  ‘He’s bringing in the drugs through the ports.’

  ‘Exactly. The other forces are probably where he operates his supply and distribution network.’

  ‘Fuck, this is dynamite.’ She tore her gaze away from the printouts, her eyes wide.

  ‘This …’ Malice took the file, rifled through the papers and handed Pietersen a sheet, ‘is our force. There’s one entry: Komodo. Does that mean anything to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Whoever it is received fifty-five grand, which in my book would suggest the person is not at the bottom of the food chain; the information they provide must be valuable. When Vasco moved in he was clinical, he knew exactly who to hit and what to target. He had inside information, no doubt about it. Now check out the payment dates.’

  Pietersen ran her finger down the column of figures.

  ‘All made in the last nine months,’ she said under her breath.

  ‘Okay so this is where I go out on a limb. My man told me Vasco was a bit of a joker, he was a Slovak and loved the way Brits took the piss out of one another. I think these are nicknames for people. What do you think of when you see the word Komodo?’

  ‘It’s a dragon thing, found on some island or another?’

  ‘Very David Attenborough. It’s the Komodo Dragon. Who do we know that reminds you of a dragon and who began working for the force nine months ago?’

  Pietersen’s eyes widened even further.

  ‘Superintendent Waite.’

  ‘And that’s the answer I get. Now, let’s start again … are you going to help me?’

  Chapter 54

  I t takes a while for Elsa’s comment to land in my brain. I stare down at the square of green leather inset into the top of the desk. I run my hands across the cool surface and imagine Elsa sitting on it with her legs wrapped around his waist while he bangs her. She’s biting his shoulder to keep herself from screaming out.

  ‘You bitch!’ I slam my hands down hard and bolt through the door into the kitchen. The pots are simmering on the hob, but she’s not there. I dash into the living room then up the stairs to check the bedrooms and bathroom. Nothing.

  ‘Where are you? You fucking bitch.’

  I tear back down and open the front door to see her car parked in the drive. There’s one more place. I sprint down the hall, through the kitchen, into the garden and across the lawn to my workshop. The windowless walls don’t help but there’s a six-inch by four-inch piece of glass set into the door. I cup my hands and peer inside. Elsa is sitting at the table, sipping coffee.

  I tug on the handle. It’s locked.

  ‘Elsa! Open this fucking door.’

  ‘No Damien, not until you calm down.’ Her thin voice carries through the wood.

  I step back and slam the sole of my foot into the lock. The door rattles in the frame but holds firm. I step back and crunch my shoulder into it.

  That fucking hurts.

  I remember making the door with a double reinforced design to prevent any unwanted visitors when I’m busy. There is no way I’m going to bust the lock.

  I squash my face against the window to see her sitting with her arms folded, watching the door. She mouths at me and shakes her head. ‘No, Damien’.

  I run across the garden to the wood pile and grab the spare axe. When I reach the workshop the head of the axe buries into the wood. I pull it out and slam it into the door again. The wood splinters. And again, and again.

  The cacophony of banging echoes back off the house.

  ‘Damien, stop. You’ll hurt yourself,’ I hear her call from inside.

  ‘I’m gonna fucking chop you into pieces when I get hold of you,’ I snarl through the window. The axe embeds itself into the wood and I twist the head to fracture the frame. The door still holds strong.

  My arms and shoulders are burning with ex
ertion so I drop the axe to the floor.

  ‘You have to come out sometime, bitch, and when you do you’re mine,’ I screech at her, my face pressed hard against the narrow window.

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic, Damien,’ she says, shaking her head

  ‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ I punch my fist through the glass. My knuckles run with blood as I pull out my hand. ‘He’s an Ugly and I told you no! You can’t stay in here for ever, Elsa, and when you come out I’m going to be right here waiting for you. Waiting with this fucking axe.’

  I lift it up and brandish it for her to see. She just tuts and rolls her eyes.

  I step back and bring the axe down hard. The wood grips the head and I struggle to free it. I work the handle up and down and back and forth, but it won’t budge. Then with a jolt it springs free and I topple backwards.

  I land on my back, staring up at the sky and try to get up. But I can’t. My head is swimming and I can’t seem to sit up. My legs feel like they belong to someone else and won’t do as they’re told.

  ‘Elsa,’ I shout out. ‘I’m gonna—’ The rest of the words dry in my mouth.

  My body feels like it’s glued to the ground. My limbs are heavy.

  I tilt my head to see Elsa’s face at the window. Through gritted teeth I try to yell at her, but nothing comes out.

  She opens the door, walks over and kneels down beside me, stroking my forehead.

  I look down and can see my right hand holding the axe handle. I strain every sinew and muscle, but nothing happens. And again — nothing.

  Her face is festooned with a thousand flashbulbs popping around her head and her lips are the reddest-red I’ve ever seen. And her eyes are the bluest-blue. Her mouth is moving but I can’t hear what she’s saying. It’s like trying to tune into a radio station on an old wireless, turning the dial and catching a brief song only to go too far and lose it.

  ‘…so you see Damien, I had to have him. He was what I wanted and I always get what I want.’

  The trees lining the garden are bending over into my gaze, their leaves fluttering with fluorescent greens and yellows. The sky crackles and fizzes like a kid’s sparkler. And all the while a halo of popping lights frames Elsa’s face.

  ‘…and I knew when I had him there would be trouble,’ she says. ‘You’re so predictable Damien, having your little play tantrums down in your shed, wielding that axe around. It was obvious who you were chopping into pieces.’

  I stare down at the axe still in my hand. If I could just lift my arm…

  Elsa reaches down and pulls up my top eyelid to expose my eyeball. The sky bursts into a riot of silver and gold.

  ‘You’ve not yet fallen through the K-hole but it won’t be long. I wasn’t sure how much of the coffee you’d drink so I made it extra strong, just the way you like it. You were so preoccupied working out how you were going to teach me a lesson I knew you wouldn’t notice. The problem was I would have found it hard to drag you all the way through the house to here, so I dashed to the shed and you did the rest.’

  I can feel myself melting into the grass and Elsa’s face is blurring in and out of focus. But I can hear her voice crystal clear, like she’s coming through on expensive headphones. Each word chimes in a different key.

  Elsa gets to her feet and grabs hold of my shirt collar with both hands and heaves me across the grass. The axe leaves my grip as I slip across the lawn and over the step into the workshop.

  My vison is closing in and I can’t work out if my eyes are open or closed.

  ‘That was tougher than I thought,’ Elsa says looping a chain across my chest and under my arm pits. She rolls me onto my front and I hear something snap in place, followed by the noise of chain links running through a pully. Next thing I know I’m sliding head first across the floor to the sound of heavy breathing. I feel myself rising up and I flop over the lip of the kiln. I can see Elsa at the end of a long tunnel pulling on the chain for all she’s worth, the walls are a kaleidoscope of changing shapes and colours. She stops and locks off the chain when I’m hanging upright inside the kiln.

  My eyes close and I’m drifting on the breeze down by the quarry. Sailing over the black, still water. I feel her hand under my chin and she lifts my head up. My eyes crack open and I’m gliding down a lazy river, the bumps and ripples are rocking me to sleep. Elsa’s face is everywhere, floating all around me. Her voice chimes again.

  ‘When the police come again, asking further questions about Belle, you’ll be gone. The pressure of the investigation must have proved too much and you’ve done a runner. I will of course be distraught, because despite the years of coercion and abuse, I loved you. I adored you. I worshipped you so much I even slept with other people so you could get your kicks. I mean, no woman in her right mind would live that life if given the choice. Screwing total strangers in order for you to act out your fantasies. They will lap it up. I knew nothing of what you did to poor Belle; how could I and say nothing? You know how persuasive I can be.’

  My eyes close. A parade of fireworks explodes against the backs of my eye lids. Elsa’s voice falls away to a whisper.

  ‘This heralds a new chapter for me. It’s exciting. I’m sure when he knows you’re no longer around the nice detective will be back for second helpings. You’ve been planning this for days, I’ve been planning it for years. I’ve even made you a collection of trophies. I took the trouble of keeping the underwear of every Pretty that ended up in your glaze. Boxers, thongs, briefs, knickers… and of course your semen is on all of them. Each item individually wrapped to keep in all that goodness. As you always like to say, Damien — keep one step ahead and leave no loose ends.’

  I’m falling.

  Drifting down to a warm place.

  A place full of colour and happiness.

  A place where nothing hurts and nothing matters.

  Elsa is dissolving. Her face is coming apart like a jigsaw.

  ‘It was always going to end this way. We were good together, but our life was only ever a transactional arrangement based on a contract. And like all good contracts there’s an opt-out clause. I’m choosing to exercise it. I need to go now my love. I have so much to do, you wouldn’t believe. Busy, busy, busy.’

  I feel her cool hand in mine and her lips brush against my cheek.

  I hear the door close and the hiss of the gas valve.

  Then the starbursts of colour fade to black.

  Chapter 55

  P ietersen nosed her car up the ramp to the top floor of the multi-storey and pulled up next to a white Audi. She stepped out in to the otherwise deserted car park, slammed the driver’s door shut and then shuffled over to the Audi before sliding into the passenger seat.

  ‘How was dinner last night?’ she asked, screwing up her face while leaning sideways over to look at his shoes.

  ‘Fine,’ he huffed. ‘How was your takeaway?’

  ‘A touch on the greasy side. But at least it didn’t smell of shit.’

  Anderson turned and gave her his best scowl.

  ‘You said it was urgent,’ he replied, not happy at being reminded of the putrid cleaning job he’d endured the previous evening.

  ‘It is.’

  The back door flew open.

  ‘DS Khenan Malice, but you know that already,’ Malice announced, piling into the back seat.

  ‘What the f—’ Anderson jumped out of his skin. He spun around, his fist raised.

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it.’ said Malice, settling back into his seat and pulling his jacket around him.

  ‘Kelly?’ Anderson turned to her, his hand still poised.

  ‘I’d put that down, mate. I’ve seen her in action and she’ll rip your arm clean off.’

  ‘I said it was urgent, Ryan, and I meant it,’ Pietersen returned his stare.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Anderson looked at Malice, then at Pietersen and back again, his mouth flapping open.

  ‘Sit back and relax, Ryan,’ Malice said, ‘I’ve got something to te
ll you.’

  Malice went through his well-rehearsed routine. He told Anderson about Lubos Vasco and the turf war, about how a low-level dealer known to him had been recruited by Vasco. About his suspicions regarding the deaths of Wrigley and the others, and about the contents of the briefcase. He handed over the printouts and waited for Anderson to absorb the gravity of what he was being told, then hit him with his theory about Waite.

  Malice concluded with the words, ‘Whoever you’re looking for… it’s not me.’

  There was a long silence after Malice ended his monologue.

  ‘You’ll need to leave this with me,’ Anderson said eventually, his eyes glued to the printouts. ‘I have to check it out and get back to you.’

  ‘That’s what we thought,’ replied Malice, pulling on the door handle. ‘I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure you have lots to chat about. Oh, and one last thing, Ryan; please don’t think about pulling Kelly off the job. She’s a damned good detective and I need her.’

  He got out, crossed the concourse and down the steps to the level below. His car was waiting. It roared in the confined space as he powered back to the station.

  The CCTV material had begun to arrive. Some of it was attached to emails while the older footage came in the form of CDs – boxes of them. There were masses of material.

  ‘Bloody hell, this is going to take a week,’ Malice said, clicking on one of the files in his inbox. He opened the attachment and looked at the runtime in the bottom righthand corner. It read nine hours forty minutes.

  Make that weeks … plural.

  He slammed his laptop shut, hurried from his desk and popped his head around the door to Waite’s office. Fortunately, she wasn’t in.

  ‘If she’s not here to ask, I may as well take care of it myself,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘It’s gonna have to be a personal invitation after all. Maybe a bit of the old Malice charm will do the trick.’

  He ran down the stairs and out the main entrance to the building.

  Shit, it’s raining.

  He cursed under his breath at failing to take the basic precaution of looking out of the window before leaving the safety of his office. The Administration block, was a brisk three minutes-walk away. He broke into a run. The rain soaked his hair and shirt by the time he reached the revolving doors. He shook water droplets onto the carpet.