Her eyes were dampening and I could see her trembling.
“This is very hard to say, but I need to stop seeing you.”
Her lip wobbled and a tear spilled down her cheek.
“I'm really sorry, it's been fun but I have issues in my life that I need to sort out and our affair is a complication I can't deal with.”
“Stevie, baby, what are you saying? I love you and you love me. Whatever it is, I can help you. Let me help you, baby!”
She stood and tried to sit in my lap but I pushed her away.
“No, Abby, it's no use. It's nothing you've done,” I lied, “and it's nothing you could help me with. It's been great, but I need to sort my life out. You'll be fine without me.”
Her face darkened and she stood back a pace.
“You absolute bastard! You've used me. After all I've done for you! I bet that bitch of a wife is behind this isn't she?”
I stood up and started for the door.
“Abby, I know you're angry, so I'll ignore that. I have to go now. Please take care and try not to be too bitter about this. I never promised you anything. It was fun but we never had a future, I thought you knew that?”
She sobbed violently, “Stevie, please, I'm sorry. Please don't go! I love you. We can make this work. If you need some time, I can wait.”
As she tried again to wrap herself around me I opened the door.
“No, Abby, I'm sorry it's over. Goodbye. I hope you find someone that makes you happy.”
I didn't want to wait for the lift, so I made for the stairwell.
“You will be fucking sorry! You bastard! I'll make you very fucking sorry!” Abby screamed.
I ignored her, took the steps two at a time, eventually crashing out into the street, my heartbeat setting a tattoo for my thoughts. I'd managed to bottle out of asking her whether she was Citizen V but I found it hard to care. I needed to get out of there, sort myself out.
Abby Hester sat down heavily on her couch, blew her nose, wiped her eyes. She slurped a mouthful of scotch and coke. She didn't even like scotch. It was only in the flat for his sake. Jesus, why did he think she drowned it with coke? How much more of a hint did he need, the selfish prick. It turned out all her cynical, singleton friends were right - men were indeed all bastards. However, this particular bastard was going to regret making her feel like this.
She got up and went through to the bedroom, changed out of her negligée and put on clothes more suitable to going out in public. Repairing her smudged make up, Abby looked in the mirror and steeled herself. She was better than this, sobbing over a bloke. A married, lying bastard of a bloke at that. She had things to do, things to finish off. He might think he could just walk away and leave her but he was wrong. Very wrong.
***
Bubba managed to convince Leo to calm down a bit on the drive across town. It was pointless wading into this situation without proper planning and forethought. Bubba used a long-cultivated contact inside the Met to get some gen on the cop in the video. Turned out the cop in question worked in the Armed Response team and could potentially be a dangerous adversary. Not only that, but he comprehensively decked Leo in their last encounter, and was bound to be handy in a scrap. One thing Bubba learnt in the years spent minding clubs and pubs - never underestimate your opponent. If you did, you'd very likely end up in A&E or under the ground. They arrived outside the police station and waited to see if their quarry would emerge.
Sure enough, before too long, the guy in question appeared and got into his car. He drove off and Bubba followed.
“Don't fucking lose him, Bubba! This wanker's going to get what's coming to him.”
They followed him across town - ending up in Knightsbridge where he parked in front of a very fancy and expensive looking apartment building. This was interesting and surprising. No cop could afford to live in such a place and, according to the information Bubba obtained surreptitiously, the guy was supposed to live out in Surrey somewhere. Leo could smell leverage and it made him smile.
Bubba stepped from the car and walked as briskly as he dared, trying hard to avoid attracting the cop's attention. He only managed to see which row the buzzer the cop pressed was on, rather than the actual one. Once he went inside, Bubba walked up and looked at the names on the door. There were two flats on the top floor. One belonged to a Colonel & Mrs Bartholomew, the other to a Ms A. Hester. Bubba was certain he knew who the cop was visiting. He walked back to the car and reported his findings to Leo.
The cop only spent about fifteen minutes inside. A lot less than they'd expected after Bubba remarked, and Leo agreed, that he was likely shagging some posh bird in there. Maybe he suffered problems with premature ejaculation? This made Leo smile too. He could combine that with a premature death.
“Bubba, let's just wait a minute and see what happens. You've got his address and we know what station he's working from. I have an idea that will make my revenge even sweeter.”
“Ok, Leo, you're the boss.”
“Yes, I am, Bubba. Yes, I am.”
24. Discovery
When the phone rang, I was sitting in the front room, sipping a beer and watching a re-run of The Walking Dead Season 1. The number displayed perplexed me. First of all, it was eleven o'clock in the evening. Secondly, the number was not a stored contact or one I recognised. Normally, I would have cancelled the call or let it go through to voicemail. But, I was on edge...suspicious. Something made me think I should take this call.
“Stevie?” Abby sounded very strange.
“Abby? What the hell's wrong?” I hissed, instinctively lowering my voice. My wife was asleep in bed but I couldn't take unnecessary chances.
“Stevie! Please help me...”
The line went dead. I looked at the screen, dumbfounded. What the hell just happened? I knew Abby was upset when I left but this was something else. It didn't sound like heartbreak; it sounded like terror. Adrenaline flooded into my system, my stomach flipped over, my skin flushed, my heart raced and I felt a prickle of sweat forming on my nape and top lip.
Should I call back? I froze. Then the phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Stevie?”
This time it was a man's voice.
“Yes, and who's this? What's wrong with Abby?”
“Abby's fine and she'll stay that way as long as you do what I tell you. Do you understand?”
Caught totally off-guard, my brain struggled to make sense of what was happening. Was this some surreal dream or parallel universe I'd been pitched into?
“Well, do you understand?”
It was at times like these that all those hours of training to keep calm and manage your emotions came into force. I gathered myself, tried to wrest back some control.
“Yes, ok. What the fuck is this all about?”
“Listen to me, you piece of shit! You're in no position to be getting shirty or smart-mouthed. I have your posh tart here and, if you don't do exactly what I say, the only thing she'll be spreading for you is her blood, all over the floor.”
He was riled and I needed to play it canny.
“Ok, ok. Don't hurt her. She's not done anything wrong. What do you want from me?”
“Oh, Stevie, Stevie, Stevie. What do I want? I want you to think back to that night in Cardoza's.”
My mind replayed the whole evening at hyper-speed. Fuck! This was the guy I'd given a mobile phone enema to.
“The night you thought it would be a good idea to teach me a lesson you sonofabitch!”
The voice overflowed with malice and I recognised it from the restaurant. I still couldn't place the guy though. Leon or something his voicemail message said.
“Well, guess what? I'm going to return the favour. I'm going to teach you a very valuable lesson about fucking with Leo Corantelli!”
I nearly dropped the phone. Oh, my, fucking, god! I had attacked the son of one of the most well-known gangsters in London. The name on the voicemail...Leo. At the time it made me uneasy
and now I knew why. Stay calm, think clearly, breathe normally.
“Look, Leo, I'm sorry but you were bang out of...”
“Don't you dare start trying to justify yourself or lecture me you fucking cocksucker!” he screamed as he cut me short. “You stop talking and start listening. I want you to go and stand in the street outside your house, right now. Don't try and phone anyone, don't bring a weapon or a phone or anything else with you. Just you, in what you're wearing now, outside, right now! Got it?”
I tried to stall for time.
“I can't just leave right now, my son's in bed and my wife's out. I can't leave him alone.” I lied.
“Stevie, you must think I am one stupid, dumb, fuck! Well, do you, Stevie? Do you think I'm a stupid fuck?”
“No, Leo...”
“It's Mr Corantelli to you, you fucking shithead. Get outside, now! My man will be there in one minute. If you're not outside when he gets there, I'll spend the next week posting you pieces of poor, little Abby. Ok? You got it now, Stevie?”
“Yes. Don't hurt her. I'm going now.”
“See you soon, Stevie. I am so looking forward to seeing you again.”
The line went dead.
I grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a note on it for my wife.
Big trouble. Phone guy was Leo Corantelli! Tell Garry. S x
I placed it prominently on the kitchen worktop. I retrieved my small pen knife from one of the drawers and forced it down inside my shoe. It made walking painful and, in truth, it wasn't much of a weapon, but I had to take the chance. I quickly texted Garry.
Abby kidnapped by Leo Corantelli. He was phone in arse guy. In big trouble. Need help. Just you!
I looked at the phone. Should I risk taking it? I had to. I was going to be up against it as it was. The idea that getting caught breaking the rules on weapons and phones would make things worse, seemed unlikely. He could only kill me once. I switched it to silent, turned off the vibrate function and shoved it down the front of my shorts. Even the most enthusiastic frisk should avoid a direct hit on my genitals. Closing the door behind me as quietly as possible, I walked to the pavement outside my house and waited.
***
Stark stood in front of the evidence board, chewing on the marker pen he'd just used to amend the information on it.
“Right then, Katz, let's just look at this again.”
The detective constable was sitting in a chair a few feet away. They were the only two people in the room.
“We've got four victims; all from varying social backgrounds, race and ages; all male. So far, the locations of the attacks are pretty sketchy. We know where the victims were picked up or dropped off, but not where they were taken to be mutilated. We don't have a connection between them yet do we?”
His partner shook her head.
“No, we've got no obvious connections anyway. We have notes written in the singular but two of the attacks - the one on Dwayne and the one on Ernie Martin - might have involved two offenders. Saying that, it seems like maybe Dwayne got muddled up and has offed an innocent man. How am I doing so far?”
“So far, so not good, sir. This case is becoming a nightmare. The thing is a jumble of victims and motives. We're short of so much information that could help.”
Stark was thinking pretty much the same thing. They really needed some sort of eureka moment; a flash of inspiration or insight which up until now had evaded them.
“Aye, it's a right bloody mess, Katz. Let's think though. Is there something we've missed?”
They dropped into silent contemplation, reading the names, addresses, and other details of the attacks that were posted on the board. Trying to draw meaningful conclusions from what was up there.
“Sir, this Citizen V character?”
“Aye?”
“He was pretty big on publicity for his cause, right?”
“Aye.”
“Well, maybe there's something online? A website or something like that?” offered Katz.
“Ok, not a bad idea - it's definitely worth a trawl. You do a bit of that and see what you can come up with.
“Oh, I know what I meant to ask you. Did we get anywhere with the CCTV footage from the Tube station where Calvin Jacobs was killed?”
Katz shook her head again, “No, sir, it was too crowded. We thought we might be able to zoom in and enhance but it's not like that American CSI bollocks on the telly. There was nothing of any use and too many people right next to the victim to possibly identify a single attacker. Three of the people closest to him were wearing hoods and their faces were totally obscured.”
“Shit. Ah, well, another dead end. Right, I'm going back to talk to Dwayne. You get on with seeing if you can dig something up online.”
“Yes, sir.”
Katz began by putting Citizen V into the search engine and sat back as a huge list of links were thrown up. Most of them involved newspaper articles. There were forums and message boards galore; full of the usual incoherent nonsense either supporting or damning the vigilante. Most of this stuff got posted by wind-up merchants, imbeciles or drunken students in the early hours of the morning. It would take ages to trawl through that shitpile in pursuit of diamonds.
There was the predicted merchandise for sale. T-shirts with legends proclaiming, “I Am Citizen V” and another recommended for Stag nights which read, “No, I Am Citizen V”. Katz could just picture the group of lads standing in a row and spoofing the famous scene from Spartacus. There were some more confrontational designs including, “Don't Fuck With Me, I'm Citizen V”, guaranteed to bring trouble to the door of any wearer.
The YouTube link caught her eye because it appeared on the first page. That meant it must be getting a lot of hits and re-posting etc. As she watched the video unfold, Katz felt a tension form in her jaw. The video featured Luke Pritchard prior to the removal of his ears. The guy who confiscated his phone, then returned it after chastising him, looked so familiar. It couldn't be...could it? She watched it three times on the trot and by the third viewing she was absolutely convinced of the guy's identity. This was not good. Seriously not good. She closed her laptop and went to find Stark. The repercussions were going to be immense as far as the reputation of the Met was concerned. The fall-out could be of Chernobyl proportions.
Katz never saw Stark's face as pale before.
“Oh, fuck!”
“Oh, fuck indeed, sir. I had a very similar reaction when I realised what I was looking at.”
“Hargreaves is going to look like that girl from the Exorcist!”
“Sorry, sir?” asked a puzzled looking Katz.
“You've never seen...oh, crap, you're too young aren't you? It's a horror film where a wee lassie gets possessed and her head starts spinning round and, oh, never mind. Trust me, he's going to be very annoyed!
“I want you to try and find out - subtly for now - where Steve Welch is. Check when his next shift is and we'll make preparations to do this quietly and with as little fuss as possible. The last thing we need is the media managing to get wind of it before we're ready to deal with them.”
Katz made a small salute and walked off. Stark was sure the thaw was increasing. He had to stop thinking like this. The lass was too young for him, he was her boss and he was up to his proverbials in a very difficult case. He made his mind up to go out and get laid that very evening. Well, as long as he wasn't too busy working of course.
***
Garry Black was up late and looked at the text in disbelief. What the hell was this? Some kind of sick joke on Steve's part?
He texted a reply along those lines and waited.
Ten minutes passed and no reply came.
He phoned but it went straight to voicemail.
Garry began to feel his nerves responding. Mouth drying out, tension gripping at his muscles. He remembered the hilarious story Steve told him about the guy in the restaurant. He realised this guy must have been Leo Corantelli and now Steve, the king of sweet revenge, was about to
taste someone else's sugar.
The dilemma almost overwhelmed Garry. If he really had attacked Leo Corantelli, Steve would be in grave danger. It was unprovable-in-a-court-of-law, common knowledge that Leo Corantelli was involved in the disappearance of at least two men; presumed deceased. The text asked Garry not to get anyone else involved but that would put him in danger of two things: death or serious injury thanks to Leo, or the end of his career. What a great choice!
He wondered what Steve would do in his position and decided the big man would try to help. There was one major stumbling block to all of this though. Garry had no idea where to look. He couldn't just access the files on Leo Corantelli; he'd need to ask for permission. As soon as he asked, he'd be interrogated as to why and he couldn't think of anything plausible other than he was working on a case. But, the response team didn't really work on cases. By it's very nature it was not proactive and did not investigate. They were there as trained, armed back-up for unarmed colleagues in difficult situations. If he asked the wrong person, they'd be onto him like a sniffer dog in a crack den and, before he knew it, he'd be standing in front of the Chief putting Steve and Abby's lives in jeopardy. Even if he did find a less inquisitive helper, prepared to waive him through computer security, what the hell would he look for? It's not as if Corantelli would be dealing with Steve at his house or a legitimate business premises.
Garry felt a feeling of impotence and frustration that almost overpowered him.
There was really no other way, he needed to get some help. He'd likely get into trouble for not reporting Steve for the assault on Corantelli but so be it. He couldn't just go off to bed and wait for the inevitable phone call in the morning informing him of the death of his friend. Slipping on his jacket he left his wife asleep upstairs and got into his car. It wasn't a murder case...yet...but he decided he needed MIT's help anyway.
Stark Contrasts (An Adam Stark novel Book 1) Page 11
