‘You may not believe me,’ he smiled a little, his eyes crinkling but with a sadness in them, a that’s life look. ‘I have no truck with it. But sometimes,’ he sighed, ‘I think everyone will take, ignore their morals, given the opportunity.’
Kate blanched. The fifty thousand pounds from Tandy, her current wave of success, all riding on an illegal act. Was she corrupt, taking when the opportunity presented? She focused on Lee, wanted to understand him, so slammed a door on that thought.
‘Chief, you have a reputation for using violence. Is it true?’ Kate was comfortable with Lee now, had a feel for his beliefs, his character. She wondered about this facet, the apparently brutal detective, yet caring passionately for his beautiful land, his gentle countrymen.
He gave a derisive snort, a half sigh through his nose. ‘Of course. The sensational aspect for your report.’ He stared at her and Kate clutched the grab handle above the window as another hairpin loomed. ‘I forgot, Kate, you seem too normal to be a reporter.’
It was true. Lee had visibly relaxed in Kate’s presence. As they distanced themselves from his office, heading for Pop’s home, he became a different person to the man who had bristled when he heard her accent, still uptight from his run in with the CIA agents.
‘Sorry Chief, I wasn’t thinking that at all.’ Kate paused, decided to open up. ‘I’m not really that sort of reporter.’ Maybe I never will be. ‘I got lucky with Simm’s death.’ She put a hand to her mouth, realising what she had said.
‘I’m glad somebody did!’
‘What I mean is, I was struggling financially, and with my career. I wanted so much to be successful. A staff reporter.’
‘And now you aren’t so sure?’ He glanced at her then nodded to himself, as if he could read what she felt.
‘I just don’t know. I’m not very good am I? You still haven’t answered my question!’
He grinned as they turned into Pop’s drive. ‘My brutality? Believe me, it is much exaggerated, but the reputation is useful. Yes, in moderation I believe some people need encouragement from my men and their truncheons. Does that shock you?’
‘Yes, a little. I think violence is... unnecessary. People resort to it too easily. And if the authorities use violence,’ she gave him an apology for a shrug, a slight twitch of the shoulders, ‘I think it encourages people to do the same. Like we copy our parents. Get our morals, standards from them.’
‘Ah! You are a true liberal! Blame the state for the actions of the individual.’ He braked in front of Pop’s residence. ‘Come, let’s see what my brutality has made a murderer do today!’ With that he slammed his door and marched to the front of the house, speaking briefly to the policeman guarding the entrance.
Kate sat, unsure. Have I pissed him off? No, she thought, he’s just back to being ‘Chief’ again. She trailed after him.
At the front door, Lee turned to her and said, ‘This is a crime scene. You are here as a guest on the instruction of my bosses. Do not touch anything. Do not move away from me. Indeed, you may not wish to see this. I recommend you wait here, but I suspect – from our discussions – you will prefer to join me.’ The question was in his eyes, his hand waving at the door.
Kate nodded and followed him in.
Like Joy, who was now sitting on one of the grand leather sofas in the lounge being interviewed by one of Lee’s men, Kate was overawed by the grandeur of Pop’s home. ‘Chief? This man was a charity worker?’
Lee had started to climb the stairs. He stopped, looked down at her. ‘Corruption does not limit itself to those who we can see are greedy, those who we know to be base individuals. Evil hides, Kate.’
From what she had heard earlier she was expecting a normal middle class Thai home. The Principal of the orphanage, a religious man, earned the equivalent of ten thousand dollars a year, a good salary for Thailand. He was not from a wealthy family, and was just an ordinary middle manager. Kate wondered how the man accumulated his wealth, what possible corruption could involve a man who ran an orphanage, to accrue such fabulous rewards.
At the top of the stairs, a tangy acid fish odour caused her to pause. She could see the vomit, Joy’s part digested breakfast, which had showered an ornate tapestry.
Kate glanced down at the man being interviewed, her brain making the connection. Oh God. Please don’t let me puke. She had never witnessed death close up, and certainly not a death like the one she was about to see.
A policeman was at the door of the bedroom. He stood aside for Lee to enter and said a few words to the Chief in Thai. Lee nodded in response to his young constable, the man’s face showing his surprise as he made way for Kate to enter.
The size of the bedroom took her breath away. A massive circular bed was in the centre of the room. To one side huge windows gave a stunning view over the infinity pool out to the bay. The place was beautiful she thought, but sinister too. On the wall behind the bed were chains – they hung there, small manacles at their ends. Mounted alongside were a variety of whips and other devices Kate had never seen before. A false wall, like a sliding door, had been pulled aside, exposing these items.
Kate’s mind refused to contemplate what went on in here.
The Chief stopped at the doorway to the en suite bathroom, turned to Kate, his own hardened features a warning. ‘Kate. I think this is a mistake. You should wait below.’
Kate walked toward him, the angle allowing a partial view, gradually exposing the horror within as she got closer to the Chief. She focused on him. ‘I want to see. Please.’ She prepared herself for the worst.
Kate moved inside behind Lee, her eyes on the material of his shirt, concentrating on the sweat stains under his arms.
Her stomach lurched, the nausea pushing at her throat. She smelled something. Something rank. Evil. She swallowed, tried not to let the Chief see her weakness, the bile biting her throat.
Then she looked at Pop.
His feet were wired together, the strands cutting into bare flesh, bloody streaks snaking down his legs as he hung upside down, suspended from the metal shower head. The tiles were spattered scarlet, the white porcelain streaked and stained with blood.
Pop’s arms were spread wide, a branch behind his back, hands wired to the ends of the wood. The fingers of his right hand were lying on the floor of the shower, severed and discarded as if tossed aside, of no further use.
Beside the fingers was a pile of intestines, torn from the slit across the man’s stomach, the gaping gash there exposing his kidneys and liver.
Pop’s face was bloated, the fluid that remained in his body pooling there, his eyes bulged wide, agonised.
Between the man’s thighs, there was nothing but a bloody hole, no manhood. His penis was stuffed into his mouth.
Kate’s stomach spasmed as she took it all in. The blood, the stench, the man’s pain, the tortured remains.
She fled.
***
He stood like a diver, at the edge, looking down to the floor of the gorge, erect, sweat-slicked and muscular, with white powdered hands and arms, his shorts saturated.
He traced his route with his eyes, confirming what he knew.
Then Doug glanced up. An eagle circled above and, for that instant, he was there, looking down at himself.
The figure below was purged. Clean.
The danger, the physical exertion, the intense concentration of the five-hour climb, and now the elation, all combining to create this vision. His mind was detached, finally able to see himself as others see him.
Doug spread his arms and cried out.
‘I am alive!’
***
Kate’s breakfast joined that of the man who had first discovered Pop’s body. Chief Lee placed a gentle hand on her shoulder as she heaved, her tears mingling with acid drool.
‘I’m sorry. Forgive me Miss O’Sullivan. Until I saw for myself I had no idea how bad...’ His voice petered out. Then he tried again. ‘I admit I wanted to shock you, to show you, but this was far wo
rse than I realised.’
Kate recovered sufficiently to speak, spat and said, ‘I thought I’d prepared myself, mentally prepared as best I could. I thought it would be like the American.’ That would have been bad enough she decided, as her stomach tried to eject food that was not there.
‘I thought so too.’ Lee walked away, back to the scene.
What am I doing here? Kate breathed deeply, the sour-burnt back of her throat making her grimace.
The young policeman was holding a glass, and Kate took the water, sipped and thanked him. He touched his cap with a finger, dipping his head and mimicked her American accent. ‘You’re welcome, Khun Kate!’
She managed a watery rueful smile. ‘You must be used to this.’
‘Here, today, I’m okay. But I too dream.’ He grimaced and walked away. Kate thought that, after today, she would never dream again, just have nightmares.
Time to go. She took a full lungful of air, controlled its exit. Twice more and she was ready.
Chief Lee was crouched, inspecting the distended face, the bloodied genitals between the man’s teeth. Kate watched from behind him, covered her eyes for a second, wiping the vision, her memory, clear. But when she looked again it was still there.
She forced herself to speak, her voice a shade higher than normal. ‘So, is this the work of the same man, Chief?’
‘This,’ he indicated the severed penis, ‘is a signal. The killer wants us to know he killed Simm and this man.’
‘But the throat isn’t cut? How can you be sure?’
‘I’m sure, Miss O’Sullivan.’ His lack of patience, his demeanour, seemed to reflect his frustration. He pointed as he explained. ‘The severance of his manhood, the inverted crucifixion of a professedly religious man – a Christian man – the torture,’ his index finger tracked the yawning stomach wound then pointed at the pile of guts, the severed digits, ‘are the work of a man with a mission. This is not a random madman, some rampaging psychotic. I am sure, within these walls or at the orphanage where this man worked, we will find the link between him,’ he indicated Pop, ‘and the others.’
‘Why did he torture this man and not his other victims? It doesn’t make sense. It’s...’ Kate’s facility for words deserted her, ‘I don’t know. Ghoulish?’
‘I believe our killer has a motive.’ Lee turned back to look at Kate. ‘Like me, he objects to some of the excesses of the sex industry here. Unlike me, he is able to take a direct approach and is trying to clean things up.’
Christ! ‘It sounds like you approve of him!’ Kate was appalled. ‘This is so brutal – this man was tortured!’
‘In one respect I do approve. He is a worthy adversary, phenomenally strong, resourceful, and I am certain he believes what he is doing is right. Of course, his beliefs are different to my own.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Let us go through and see what else our killer has left us.’
Kate walked in Lee’s footsteps as he entered Pop’s study. The writing desk was covered with photographs, papers and computer discs. A filing cabinet was open in the corner, a dossier spread out on the top, as if someone had been disturbed while reading. A framed Chinese watercolour had swung away from the wall exposing a large wall safe. The door was wide and Kate could see piles of cash, Thai baht and US dollars, from where she stood.
Lee indicated the safe door. ‘Once again, as with Simm, no theft.’ He waved a hand over the desk, ‘These photographs of sick deviant acts with innocent children give us our killer’s motive.’
Kate tried to think like a reporter. I should be excited, this is sensational news. She looked at the photographs, then spun away, the images burnt into her retinas. She felt her diaphragm try to revolt, the nausea rising again as she asked herself, how could a man torture little children for sexual gratification? It was beyond her.
Lee walked to the filing cabinet. All the while he had touched nothing but now he pulled on plastic gloves then inspected the papers splayed on the top.
‘This is damning evidence, Kate.’
She joined him, scanned the documents, read them and locked the contents in her mind in seconds. Pop was an animal, she decided. ‘He deserved to die!’ Kate had never in her life said that about anyone. Until today.
‘The man’s wealth, this home, the possessions. This greedy Christian man was selling children into slavery as prostitutes, renting children to local pimps, selling images of children suffering pornographic and sadistic acts. He was even diverting funds from his own charity, money donated for the treatment of sick children in his care, into his own coffers.’
Lee too seemed almost overcome by the scale of the man’s evil, but continued. ‘The killer tortured his victim for information. I do not believe it was an act of punishment, or performed merely for the killer’s gratification or reward.’ He indicated the safe. ‘This is a savage killing, Kate, do you really think it was a result of the brutality of the State?’ He slapped a fist against his palm. ‘And pray, tell me, Kate. You’re a Christian. Who is more evil – the killer or the victim?’
***
Chapter Five
‘Kylie. You let me in, right now. You hear me, you bitch! Or I’ll make you regret it.’
The man kicked the door as Kylie’s muffled shout told him to ‘Fuck off!’
Sir Jeremy, who was not a big man, a violent man, grabbed the other man’s shoulder, spun him round and punched him on the nose, full on. He had last hit someone during his police training, a boxing match, and even then did not enjoy a fight.
The power of the punch, driven by Sir Jeremy’s emotional build up of the last few days, knocked the man against the door and he sagged to the floor. His victim held both hands to his bloodied face, touched his nose tenderly and said, ‘It’s broken! You hit me!’
‘Yes, and I’ll do it again if you don’t go. Kylie doesn’t work here any more.’ Sir Jeremy’s fragile heart pounded, started to cramp, but he refused to let it stop him. He had just arrived and found the man shouting at Kylie’s door and had acted through pure reflexive fury.
‘Okay, okay. I didn’t think things had changed that much since George died!’ Mopping his bloodied nose with a fistful of tissues, the other man left.
Sir Jeremy was alone in the corridor. ‘Kylie, it’s me. You can open up now.’ The clacking of the locks took a moment. The mobile locksmith had done a good job.
‘Listen,’ Sir Jeremy sat opposite Kylie at the kitchen table, holding hands, a parody of the scene in his own kitchen that morning. ‘I’ve started things moving to put this apartment in your name.’
She looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and relief, clearly not sure what to feel, what to believe. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ He took a card from his wallet, gave it to her. ‘This man is setting up a trust for you. Don’t look so worried,’ she had pulled her hands away and started scowling, as if she knew it was too good to be true. ‘He’s a great lawyer and a good friend of mine. I’ve told him I’m your father. He thinks you’re a dreadful secret I’ve kept from my wife.’ Sir Jeremy winced inwardly at his choice of words and the truth they contained. ‘I told him I had an affair with your mum about sixteen years ago and she’s thrown you out to fend for yourself. Okay? He will help you, you’re too young to manage on your own.’
‘You can help me? We can still see each other? I’ve always liked you best.’
‘Kylie, my sweetheart. I have to go away. This man and his firm will be trustees,’ Sir Jeremy ploughed on, ignoring the confusion and pain in her crestfallen face. ‘This place, lovely though it is, is not ideal for you.’
‘But I want it! You said it’s mine.’ Tears started to fall.
‘It is yours. But think, what will you do for money, for work?’
‘I can model.’ She snuffled, wiping snot on the back of her fingers.
Sir Jeremy tried to be gentle as he explained the reality. ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings but the only modelling jobs will be like those you had with George. Glamour modelling at
best. Pornography at worst. You don’t need to work.’
‘What d’you mean?’ She pushed the heels of her palms against her eyes, squeezing, drying the tears.
‘I asked you before, do you have any idea how much this place is worth?’ Sir Jeremy opened his hands, fingers spread. ‘It’s a fortune.’
‘Yeah? Wot, like fifty grand? More?’ Her eyes lit up at the prospect of so much money. ‘My mum told me her council house would cost that to buy, but she didn’t want it. Couldn’t afford it more like! The Bitch.’
Sir Jeremy considered the figure low, thinking a house in Hackney would fetch eight times that these days.
‘Much, much more than her home. Like a lottery win!’
‘Wot? Millions?’ Kylie jumped up, her chair scraping back, squealing on the kitchen tiles.
‘More than five million.’
Kylie started dancing around the table, hands held high, fingers wriggling. ‘Five million!’
‘It’s yours, Kylie, but we have to sell the apartment.’
She stopped, eyes dry at last and said, ‘Fuck the apartment! That’s no problem! I’ve won the lottery! Just wait til I tell the Bitch!’ Then she whooped, dancing, arms above her head, jumping side to side.
‘Listen, Kylie. I’ve instructed agents. They know these apartments and say they represent an Arab who will purchase the flat unseen, he’ll pay cash. We can complete in two weeks or maybe less. I’ve spoken to my solicitor friend and there are no complications to delay things.’ He paused until she stopped parading for a moment. ‘It’s a slightly lower price than we might get on the open market, but it means we can get the money to this man,’ Sir Jeremy tapped his friend’s card, ‘and he’ll make sure you never have to work again. He’ll set you up an income of around fifty thousand pounds. That means you’ll get the amount your mother needed to buy her house every year for the rest of your life!’
Sir Jeremy spun round on his chair to watch Kylie jig around the kitchen, delighted to see her happy at last. She grabbed him, arms so tight round his neck he thought she might hug him to death.
The Hack Page 19
