Hell's Gate: A gripping, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  “Don’t rightly know, but a free Jameson’s comes a close second!”

  Julie pulled a face. Cyril leaned over and kissed her.

  “Now that’s better, DCI Bennett.”

  Cyril took out his mobile and set it to mute. Julie smiled. “See why you’re a cop, quick as a flash, Flash.” She returned the kiss.

  ***

  PC Leach saw the light for the second time and believed that his colleagues were down at the tunnel entrance. He decided to investigate. He parked close to the van, climbed the fence and using his torch to highlight the path, walked through the bushes and undergrowth. He stopped. The fact was that he had drunk three mugs of coffee before starting his shift. He stood and relieved himself. All was quiet.

  Rares jumped, his fingers grasping the top of the brick wall. If he could get his body on the top he was safe. His feet scrambled trying to find purchase but the mud made it impossible against the smooth brick. He jumped again. He felt his strength return as the dogs grew ever closer and he began to scale the wall. The leading dog leap instinctively and its teeth found Rares’ left calf. It immediately began shaking its head, tearing muscle and flesh. Rares screamed and kicked the dog frantically with his right foot whilst clinging precariously to the top with his fingers. To his astonishment, he managed to break free. He scrambled to the top of the wall and breathed deeply, he felt neither pain nor elation. The muted dogs squealed as they ran and leapt. Rares raised his arms, he had succeeded, he had done it. One of the spectators raised his arms too, amazed at Rares’ speed and agility in climbing the wall with a dog attached to his leg.

  Rares leaned back as if trying to get more air into his lungs. Suddenly, he felt his weight shift, he was out of balance and he was going backwards. His feet moved away from the wall. Desperately he started to windmill his arms, trying to bring his weight back above the narrow top of the wall, but it was not enough.

  Rares knew he was toppling backwards. He stopped the rotation of his arms and grasped desperately at the rough bricks. Sensing their advantage, the dogs jumped through a gap where a door had once been and then back, unsure of their quarry’s position. They would not wait long. Rares began to rock backwards. His feet flicked quickly upwards and he started to fall over the wall, out of sight of those four hundred yards away. The light from his head torch was the only sign of his position until a shrill scream erupted from his throat and the dogs’ excitement reached fever pitch. Each leapt at the falling, flailing man, ripping and tearing. The intense screams that now reverberated were amplified in the confined space of the tunnel, only to be echoed by the scream from the girl who was now held firmly by Peter. Neither noise lasted long. The two men raced to get the dogs.

  PC Leach heard the scream too. Its whereabouts could not be pinpointed but it made the hair on his neck stand out. He zipped his fly, unfinished. The trickle of warm urine ran down his left leg as he hurriedly made his way to the tunnel entrance. It was then that he saw the people emerging, the lights dancing on the leaves, never appearing to stay in any spot for long. He shone his torch expecting to see his colleagues. Cezar spotted him, the reflection from his police jacket made him easily identifiable. He instinctively grabbed the muzzle he had just fitted to the dog and removed it before slipping its lead. The dog did not hesitate. PC Leach was just about to make the call when the dog hit him hard knocking him off his feet. He tumbled a little down the slope; brambles tangled and scratched his hands. He put his arms up to protect his face from the dog, his screams now filling the valley floor. Cezar approached the melee. Removing the stun baton from his belt, he placed it onto the policeman’s neck and pulled the trigger. The dog jumped back as the prostrate figure jerked and then writhed with the shock, entangling himself more in the brambles. Cezar slipped on the muzzle, then attached the lead to the harness.

  He turned to the figures standing a few yards away. “Go now!” he called.

  “What about Rares?”

  “Leave, now!”

  The others made their way to the vehicles. Cezar looked down at the officer before smashing his fist into the centre of the policeman’s face. His nose exploded. He took the radio and his mobile phone and tossed them into the undergrowth and left, the dog still eager to attack the writhing figure.

  “I just hate fucking coppers,” he grumbled as he moved up the slope to meet the others. He was neither unflustered and unmoved by his aggression, nor by the night’s activity.

  ***

  Cyril checked his watch. It was 5am. He slipped out of the bed. Julie turned but then was still. He dressed and wrote a note before closing the front door. The morning was fine. A slight breeze moved the leaves and the birds were already singing. The dawn had not yet cracked the night sky. He inhaled deeply. It would take him twenty minutes to walk home; he would shower, breakfast and then head for work. He removed his phone. He had five missed calls, all from Owen.

  He returned the call. “Owen what’s the urgency?”

  “We’ve located Negrescu. It’s not pretty.”

  “Send a car. I’m on Knaresborough Road just approaching The Empress roundabout.”

  Within minutes Owen’s BMW pulled up alongside Cyril.

  “Jesus, it’s dreadful. Looks like he’s been torn apart by dogs, not pretty. Not pretty at all.”

  “A modern day Actaeon, that’s what we have from the sound of it,” Cyril said as he drew on his electronic cigarette and exhaled. “And I bet he wasn’t watching Diana bathe.”

  Owen looked across, confused, but said nothing. He did wonder if the alcohol of the previous evening was still in evidence. PC Leach’s car was where it had been parked. Two police vehicles were parked diagonally, blocking the road. Police tape glowed in the blue hue cast by the flashing lights corralling different official vans.

  “PC attacked after seeing or hearing a disturbance. From what he’s been able to say, and that’s not much, poor bastard, he went to see if his colleagues were OK after hearing screams but we didn’t have a police presence in this area other than his patrol. We received no calls.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s in a bad way. Bites to the hands and arms. He was hit by what we think was some sort of stun gun by the marks to the left side of his neck and then they literally smashed his face in. It was only when he failed to return calls that he was eventually located. Whoever did this was thorough, they’d even removed his means of communication. He could have died there, he could have choked on his own blood and vomit. It was later that they found Negrescu.”

  Owen passed Cyril some wellington boots, a high-visibility jacket, gloves and a torch.

  “We’re to use the railway line, forensics want that trampled area left alone. We can’t enter the tunnel either but we have a camera set up.”

  Lights had been brought in to illuminate the tunnel entrance. Tape marked the area where PC Leach had been found and a small safe area had been established. It was here that a Crime Scene Officer passed Cyril an iPad and uttered a cheery good morning. Cyril put on his reading glasses and stared at the screen, trying to convince himself that the images he was staring at were that of a human being; the torso was very badly deformed and damaged and the skin seemed incredibly white.

  “The intense light is giving a false impression, Sir. It appears that the person bled out there. We’re bringing in a secondary investigation team to check the whole tunnel. The pathways and this area will be finger searched as soon as we have adequate light.”

  Cyril was still turning the iPad round in his hand as if searching for the best angle at which to see the facial features. “We sure it’s Negrescu?”

  “He managed to protect his face and from what the pathologist has reported so far, the attack was not sustained. Leg arteries were torn, there’s substantial damage to the genital area and the neck but the victim managed to protect his facial features. It would have been a painful death.”

  “That confirms it, Owen. There, look! Remember the snake tattoo that ran from behind eac
h ear. That looks very much like it. It’s our man.”

  “So is he Action Man and if so who’s Diana, Sir?”

  Cyril turned, looked at Owen, whose face was predominantly lit by the light of the iPad screen and simply shook his head. “Sometimes, Owen, I wonder where your classical education is hiding or whether it exists at all!”

  “Prefer Pop to Classical. Never been into that morbid instrumental stuff. Give me a good vocal any day of the week. Brian Johnson and ACDC and then you’re ready to move!” He smiled at Cyril.

  It was at moments like this that Cyril truly wondered if Owen were taking the proverbial and was just toying with him.

  “Who’s the pathologist?”

  “Dr Samual, Dr Pritchett must be busy.”

  Cyril felt Owen’s direct stare and he sensed the smile on his lips.

  To Cyril’s utter relief, Owen’s phone rang.

  “They’ve found a van burning in a field off Haggs Road. Fire services are present but there’ll be little left.”

  “Get Forensics there too, there’s likely a connection and then take me home. I’ll see you in my office at…” Cyril checked his watch, “eight. Get copies of all of this footage.”

  “It’s all uploaded, Sir. Travels through the ether and lands in our system instantaneously. Just like magic or Star Wars.”

  “If you say so, Owen, but I feel sure that Satan has a finger somewhere in this technology.”

  He looked at the lights and the white-suited figures. The sky was turning deep red and streaks of orange-yellow began to break down the gloom like hot fingers but light had failed to penetrate the railway cutting.

  “And if you must know, I feel as though I’m standing just above Hades down here as it is. Take me home. By the way, the chap you suspected at the caravan, the one with only part of an ear, how tall did you say he was in the report?”

  “Six-four to six-six. Taller than me.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  “You did as I said? Everything?”

  Cezar nodded as he ate the bread and cheese that filled the plate in front of him. “We’d prepared the van before hand and there was enough fuel to incinerate everything. The dogs actually barked briefly and I’ve never heard them bark before. I don’t know what Rares did to them to make them mute, it must have been one of his special tricks. Poor bastard nearly made it too, got to the wall and managed to scramble up with a dog attached to one of his legs for a while but then the silly sod over balanced and went backwards, arse over tit as fast as that!” He clicked his fingers and laughed. “And that was the end.” He chewed another lump of bread.

  The words Angel heard were surprisingly poignant. ‘The silly sod over-balanced…’ Angel was suddenly reminiscing; he was back on a tree branch in some far off, distant place that was now a lifetime away. He was young and happy, he was reaching for his lost kite that seemed to be smiling back at him, almost mockingly, willing him on to succeed or fall. He could still sense the rough bark on his thighs and the sensation of the coarse string on the tips of his small fingers and then the sudden grip of fear churn inside as he had begun to fall.

  “Are you alright? You’ve gone pale?” Cezar looked unusually concerned.

  Angel rubbed his eyes. He could still see the blood on Cezar’s hands and under his fingernails from either the dogs or the policeman.

  “Yes, I’m fine, just tired. When did the copper arrive?”

  “Fuck me, of all the places to appear! He was just coming down the slope as I emerged from the tunnel with one of the dogs. In the torchlight his jacket lit up like a beacon, it even announced that he was a copper. My head torch had hit him smack in the eyes and I knew he could see nothing. Within seconds the dog had him down on the ground and as he rolled he became entangled in brambles and dog’s teeth. Before he could recover, I zapped him. Christ he nearly came a foot off the bloody floor and it frightened the crap out of the dog. I don’t think he’ll be having a conversation anytime soon when you think how hard I hit him. I’d have killed the bastard but I know your rules on that score. I was just pleased he was alone.” He ate some more. “He’ll think twice about going into dark places alone.” Cezar laughed.

  Angel could see the partially masticated food in his gaping mouth and quickly looked away.

  “My father’s still at the restaurant and he mustn’t hear this news today. The girl’s here? And Karl?”

  “He too is here and he’ll be fine.” Cezar began rolling a cigarette. “I’ll have to talk to him and then return him to the restaurant in a couple of days when he’s calmed down and had time to put things into perspective. The threat of harm for carelessness must spread. Their understanding that we do not tolerate disloyalty of any kind is critical to keep things as they are.”

  “The other dogs go too, kill them and then drop them in the old septic tank behind the barn. It’s seldom used now that the new septic tank system has been constructed. They’ll rot down quickly. Clear all the dog equipment and get Karl and some others to clean the barn. The girl can help too, might take her mind off things.” He paused and looked in the gilt-framed mirror that was positioned over the fireplace. “I might help there too. Make sure she’s cleaned up. Send her here in an hour, I need to relax a little.”

  The local television news continued to report only that there had been a police incident and that road closures in the area had been put in place until further notice There would also be delays to the trains between Leeds and Harrogate for the foreseeable future but a bus service was running from Harrogate Station to Pannal. Most people would assume that there had been a fatality on the railway.

  ***

  Cyril sat in the incident room and there was a buzz. Liz Graydon was seated opposite him and put down her mug of coffee. She lazily stirred the dark contents, the sound of the spoon being heard above the drone of working chatter.

  She looked up at Cyril and smiled. “Every cloud…I was talking with Christina’s foster carer and it looks like they’ve found a placement. The little lady will eventually have some stability in her life.”

  “Don’t forget the biological father is still out there somewhere but I doubt whether it’ll affect the placement.”

  “Don’t forget his human rights, Sir. He might play that politically sensitive card if he needs to.”

  “Only if he knows he’s fathered a child. Somehow, from the way he conducts himself, I doubt it.”

  “I see that they’ve found evidence that the tunnel was where Drew Sadler met his end. I can’t see the connection between Negrescu and Drew Sadler unless the former was in debt too.”

  “He wasn’t, Liz. I don’t think that there’s a connection at all other than place and manner of death. It is, however, something you said right after Sadler’s death. I made a note.” He found it before reading it out loud.

  ‘Someone has used our man as an example. The attack was probably videoed and will be used to deter others from some activity, whether it be falling into debt or some other form of intimidation.’

  “I actually think that you hit the nail nearly on the head. I don’t think either was videoed, too risky, but I do think it was a spectator sport, a spectator sport for a macabre reason. It was either a teaching exercise or about gambling. Forensics suggests that there were quite a few people present, that there were two large sized dogs. They’ve also found two used staples in an area where someone was prostrate whilst they struggled. Rares Negrescu was found with a head torch stapled to his skull.” Cyril showed Liz an image of the body. “One man was barefoot so as you can see, we must assume him to be Negrescu as he was naked when found.”

  “I can’t see gambling, Sir, as the odds were so heavily stacked against the runner. Four hundred yards, bare foot, possibly injured, two fast dogs. No, that’s a lose, lose scenario.”

  “What if the stakes were ridiculous? Let’s say for argument’s sake, a hundred to one with a minimum stake each of £10,000? Four punters at £10,000 is a cool profit of £40,000 for an hour’
s work. Better than dealing in drugs. What if Negrescu was fit enough to do the run? What if the odds were increased for him to run bare foot and naked? What if they were Negrescu’s dogs and he knew he was safe if they were to catch up with him? What if he had practised the run many times and they knew just when to release the dogs so that he would succeed? What if the stapling was for credibility? Now we’re stacking the odds in favour of Negrescu. Liz, what if Sadler had been offered the same run to free himself from all of his debts and possibly make a few quid? To set himself free?”

  “Or it could be a massive loss, not win. Would you do that, Sir?”

  Cyril shook his head. “I don’t do hypothetical but I do know desperate people who would though.”

  “The evidence will come, a shoe print, a finger print, something,” Liz said optimistically.

  Cyril felt his mobile vibrate before it rang. He took it from his pocket and checked the screen identifying Julie.

  “You’re an early bird. Where’s my breakfast in bed, Cyril Bennett?”

  “Julie, yes, sorry. We have a serious incident. Any chance you can pop in? It’s urgent. Thanks, see you then.”

  “Liz, do you remember something Owen came up with about dog attacks? He said that they attacked if a person was compromised by ability or physical condition. We know that Sadler was probably drug ged, drunk or both and we await the toxicology results for Negrescu. He also said that if the dogs were mismanaged or treated cruelly, then that would encourage an attack. I can think of nothing more cruel that keeping dogs to fight and attack, starve them and pump them full of steroids.”

  Liz moved away and checked the incoming information on the computer next to Cyril’s desk. The CCTV footage of the Newcastle attack was available. She ran it. The images were grainy and seemed to come in unnatural bursts, but it clearly showed the victim walking away from the camera. The street was cobbled and fairly narrow with no pavements. She flinched as a van suddenly appeared from the edge of the screen before running into the back of the victim, knocking him to the ground. The driver got out, walked round the front and hit the victim with what looked like a truncheon or a bar. The van then reversed. She played it backwards and then forwards at half speed. Cyril came over.