“The order’s been given. You know how it works.”
Marie pushed herself up into a sitting position. “That’s a load of shite, Gregorz, and you know it. I want to talk to my brother, and I want to talk to him now.”
***
15th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 19.16.
Silently, Rick and Mark moved along opposite sides of the track, weapons raised. The outline of the house up ahead was just visible through the skeletal tree branches: the track, which wound its way through a small wood leading to the courtyard, was blocked by a white Transit van. Rick motioned to the other man, dropped to one knee and took up a covering position. He then moved to the side of the vehicle and made his way to the driver’s door. Cautiously, Rick pulled it open.
The vehicle turned out to be empty, apart from discarded coffee cups and crisp packets in the foot−wells and an empty packet of cigarettes on the dashboard. Pervading the vehicle’s interior was a foul smell. Rick signalled Mark, who nodded and moved closer to the vehicle, weapon trained on the van’s back doors. Rick followed him, making sure to keep out of his partner’s line of fire. He nodded, counted to three and opened the doors.
The stench of spoiled meat billowed out like a miasma, its source a heavy duty black plastic sack nestled in the van’s interior. Dark liquid pooled beneath it, filling the grooves in the corrugated floor. Rick took out his pocket knife and slit the sack open: he instantly regretted his decision as a mass of blood, bone and tissue spilled across the van and onto the road. He took an involuntary step backwards, simultaneously trying not to vomit. The body was human, but almost unrecognisably so. Rick couldn’t fathom how someone could inflict that kind of damage on another person. The man’s head had been torn in half for Christ’s sake, cracked open like a walnut.
He took a second to compose himself, then activated his radio. “Control, we have a body in a white ford Transit van, approximately one hundred yards from the house. It looks to be the remains of a white Caucasian male, but it’s hard to be certain. No sign of movement from the property. Moving to check the barn next.”
The cold hard knot of fear tightened in his stomach, filling his veins with ice. The tips of his fingers felt numb, and his heart pounded in his ears. He felt glad that DI Fletcher had arrived with the backup and that he’d made Olivia stay at the track’s entrance. He hadn’t caught the details, but he got the impression that something had occurred at the hospital where last night’s bodies had been taken.
Rick teetered on the edge of a precipice, the ground falling away beneath his feet. This kind of thing didn’t happen around here. Sure, there were the usual: fights that got out of hand, petty theft, robbery and smack−heads with re−commissioned pop guns which were more likely to blow up in their owner’s hand than fire. But all this shit they’d had to deal with was unbelievable, and the fact that they had a suspect in custody hadn’t done much to calm Rick’s nerves. He took a deep breath, pushed down the fear, and focused on the job at hand.
He signalled to Mark, and the two officers moved into the woods. The barn loomed up before them; a large wooden framed building, with rotted walls and a heavily rusted corrugated iron roof. Its door stood open, creaking on ancient hinges as it shifted in the breeze. Rick’s every instinct told him to avoid the open doorway, so he crept around the other side of the building while Mark took up a covering position behind him.
He saw it as soon as he’d rounded the corner − a gaping hole in the barn’s side. The rotten walls had splintered into long, viciously jagged shards, as if something (or someone) had burst through it with tremendous force − or had been dragged through.
He moved closer, aiming his tactical light into the hole. The wood was bloodstained, and one of the lower boards had something snagged on it: it looked like a party streamer, pointing back into the tree−line and out of sight. He shone the narrow beam onto the object, realising as he did so that he was looking at someone’s intestines. It was all he could do to stop himself from falling on his knees and emptying his stomach all over the crime scene.
He heard Mark coming closer, but waved him away. He walked unsteadily up to the hole, shining the light through. The lower half of a man’s body lay just inside. Rick knew that if he followed the unravelled guts, he’d find the rest.
“We’ve got another one. There’s…there’s half a body in the barns, with a trail of intestines heading back into the woods. It looks like this one was dragged through the wall, I…”
An electronic beep pierced the silence. Rick looked through the hole once more, trying to locate its source. The beep rang out again, and he saw the trouser pocket of the half−corpse glow in the darkness.
“Control, it looks like one of them had a phone on them. Mark and I will check the main house, but it’s quiet as a grave up here. It looks like no−one’s home. No−one alive, anyway. Get forensics ready to move when we give the all clear.”
***
15th November 2008. The Angel Public House, Durham City. 21.32.
Gregorz strode through the busy city centre streets, heading for a meeting with Oskar. If circumstances had been different, he would have liked to spend more time in Durham, if only to appreciate some of the architecture. The cathedral and castle dominated the city, especially at night when floodlights illuminated it. The magnificent buildings stood proud on the skyline for miles around, although at ground level the ancient streets had been ‘developed’, with orange and brown brick shopping centres clinging to the old stone like an obscene fungal growth. Gregorz considered it nothing less than vandalism.
Streams of young men and women, in various states of inebriation and undress, staggered past him. One girl, dressed in a PVC nurse’s uniform, stumbled into his path and threw up over his shoes. He considered hurling her from the stone bridge into the fast flowing river below, but quickly reminded himself of his purpose and the need for restraint. He’d have to have another talk with Connie about that later.
He walked away from the bustling centre, turning off into a side−street. It was mostly residential here, with a couple of shops here and there. A gaggle of young people, all sporting long hair and motorcycle jackets, were standing outside a bar, smoking cigarettes. Heavy metal music reverberated incongruously along the old narrow street. Gregorz sighed. Of course this is where Oskar would want to meet. He could sniff bars like this out in a five mile radius, knowing that Gregorz hated them.
He eased his way past the crowd at the door and pushed it open. The noise hit him like a solid wall. Dozens of conversations, screamed over music so loud it made his ears ache. People were squashed together as they jostled to get back to their seats, laden with drinks, or pushed their way through to the bar. One teenager, a dark haired youth with half of his face concealed by his fringe, sat underneath the pool table while one of his friends, a tall, blonde boy in a denim jacket, passed drinks down to him. The air stank of sweat and leather, with a faint hint of marijuana beneath.
He considered leaving and texting Oskar to rearrange the meeting, but then he caught sight of Troy. He could hardly miss the big American. He was six and a half feet tall, with a close cropped blonde buzz−cut. In a place like this, he stood out more than Gregorz was comfortable with. The problem was Troy stood out everywhere. Gregorz pushed his way through the crowds until he arrived at the table where he found Troy sitting with Oskar and Gabriela.
Oskar raised a bottle of dark brown liquid. “Ah, Gregorz, I’m glad you could make it. Would you like a drink? This local beer is quite good. Gabriela, would you mind getting a bottle of…what did they call it again? Oh yes. Dog. Would you get Gregorz a bottle of Dog.”
Gabriela got to her feet, and eased her way into the crowd, which shifted and parted to allow her to get to the bar. She returned minutes later with a cold beer, which she put in front of Gregorz and returned to her seat without so much as a word.
He picked up the bottle and took a mouthful. “Have you seen the news, Oskar?”
The Norw
egian nodded. “It’s unfortunate that those bodies were discovered. The moonstruck is well guarded, meaning it will be even more difficult to get to him. This situation is getting too much attention and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how dangerous a position we are in. This could get worse than 1996 if it escalates any further. Did you get anything from Marie?”
Gregorz took another swig. “She’s adamant that Simpson isn’t moonstruck, but based on the news reports that’s looking less likely.”
Troy raised an eyebrow. “You think she’s protecting him?”
Gregorz shrugged. “I don’t know, and to be honest, I don’t care. Her face is all over the news at the moment, so I’m going to keep her out of sight for a few weeks and then get her back to Russia. She can explain herself to her brother.”
Gabriela snorted. “Even if she is harbouring the moonstruck, do you think her brother will abide by the law? He’s soft when it comes to her. Weak.”
Oskar raised his hand. “That’s enough. Michael is our pack leader, and he will deal with matters according to the law or face the consequences. Until he goes against that law, he is our alpha and you will treat him with respect. We have more pressing matters to attend to. Did you get anything else from her, Gregorz?”
He took another mouthful of the ale, enjoying the flavour. “Yes − she said that Stephen Wilkinson is involved and he silver−shot her. I don’t know what he did, but she’s not healing like she should. She also said that he was a casualty, having been badly mauled. However, there’s been no mention of him in news reports. I’ll get Daniel to look into it in the morning.”
Troy let out a whistle. “Jesus. Wilkinson? How the hell have you kept a leash on Connie?”
“It’s not been easy. Daniel is currently baby−sitting them both − I’ll try to keep them from killing each other or doing something equally stupid tomorrow, while Daniel checks into Wilkinson’s involvement. I’m sending Connie back to Moscow. She’s got too much personal involvement in this, and she wasn’t behaving rationally before she heard about Wilkinson. I dread to think how she’d behave in the field now.”
Troy grinned. “We heard about the hospital. You can’t deny the girl’s got a refreshing directness. Plus, if she hadn’t torched the evidence you might not have made it out with Marie.”
Oskar laughed. “Dear Connie is a blunt instrument, one you aim and then get out of the way. I’m not sure why you brought her, if I’m honest.”
Gregorz nodded. “We thought we were coming over to retrieve a corpse. As you say, the job changed and she’s no longer the right tool. Do you know how you’re going to solve the Simpson problem?”
Oskar raised his bottle to Gregorz and took a long swig. “Yes. When you speak to Michael, you can tell him that John Simpson will be dead within the next thirty six hours.”
Chapter 3
15th November 2008. Seven Bells Hotel, Durham City. 22.35.
Marie paced the floor of the tiny hotel room. Daniel sat in the corner, reading a book while Connie lay on the bed, watching X−Factor on a small flat−screen TV. As the programme went into an advert break, she craned her head to look at Marie, a snarl on her lips.
“Can you pack that shite in? You’re driving me mental. Sit your arse down before you wear a hole in the fucking carpet.”
Marie stuffed her hands in her pockets and flopped down in the other chair. “When’s Gregorz coming back? He’s been gone for hours and I need to talk to Michael.”
Connie rolled her eyes. “He’ll be back when he’s good and ready, and not a second before. Now settle down and shut the fuck up. Ah’m trying to watch telly.”
The door handle twitched. Daniel dropped his book, motioning for Marie to get into the bathroom. Connie sprang from the bed and positioned herself to one side of the door. The lock clicked and it swung open. Gregorz stepped inside, with a mobile telephone held to his ear. He nodded to Daniel and held the phone out. “You can come out now, Marie. Your brother wants to talk to you.”
The bathroom door burst open and Marie grabbed the phone from him, quickly putting her hand over the mouthpiece. She looked at the others and waited for a moment. “Any chance you lot could piss off, and let me talk to my brother in private?”
Connie looked at the TV. The adverts had ended, and the show’s theme music was playing. “Oh, ye’ve gotta be fucking kidding. Ah’m gonna miss the sing off. Can’t ye just stand outside?”
Gregorz picked up the remote control and turned the TV off. “Connie, Daniel, let’s give Marie some time to talk things over with her brother.”
Daniel shrugged, picked up his coat and stepped out into the corridor. Connie gave Gregorz a pleading look, then huffed, grabbed her jacket and stomped after Daniel. Gregorz turned to Marie. “We’ll be downstairs in the bar. I discovered a wonderful local beer that I think Daniel would appreciate. Take your time. I’m sure you both have a lot to talk about.” Then, without another word, he followed the other two, closing the door behind him. Marie sat down on the bed and put the phone to her ear.
“Michael?”
“Fucking hell, Marie. You don’t know how good it is to hear your voice. When I heard you were dead…”
Marie cut him off mid−sentence. “Cut the crap, Michael. Why did you order a hit on John, instead of an extraction?”
“You have to be kidding me? Have you seen the news? John’s a fucking celebrity. The UK’s latest serial killer. His face is all over every TV station, newspaper and website in the civilised world. There’s no way we could get him out of the country, and even if we did he’d still be recognised wherever we took him.”
Marie’s knuckles tightened around the phone. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up on him?”
The line was silent for a moment. “Do you have any idea how serious this is? One of the papers has already started calling him “The Wolf Man”. If he changes in police custody, then it’s over for all of us. It’ll make what happened in Czechoslovakia seem like child’s play. You told Gregorz that he’s not moonstruck earlier. Is that true? Because the news reports from John’s farm sound a lot like the work of a moonstruck to me.”
“They had him tied up in a fucking chair and were beating the shit out of him with a hammer. I’d have done the same thing. So would you.”
“So it’s just a co−incidence that this happened on a full moon? Don’t lie to me, Marie. You know what the penalty is for harbouring a moonstruck. I won’t be able to help you if this comes out later.”
“He’s something else, Michael. He told me that he brought the change on himself, before the moon was up, because Billy was going to take his eye out. And when he came after me the following night, he changed and killed Malcolm without a full moon. I think he’s learning to live with his beast.”
“But is he moonstruck?”
Marie clenched the phone and took a breath. “He was. He isn’t anymore.”
Michael’s voice turned hard. “It makes no difference. Given the circumstances, I’d have to order the hit irrespective of who it was, even if it was you. You know what’ll happen if they find out what he is. You’ve seen it. We’d be hunted down. Those of us who’ve survived would spend our lives hiding in the shadows or fleeing to the forests like frightened beasts. I won’t allow it. Not again.”
Marie held the phone at arm’s length, with her hand over the receiver as she tried to stifle her sob. She wiped her eyes and brought the phone back to her ear.
“Marie? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Good. I’m only going to tell you this once. Don’t fuck me about on this. It’s too important. There’s too much at stake. You keep your arse out of sight until we can get you out of the country and don’t get in Gregorz or Oskar’s way. If you do, then I won’t be able to help you. Do you understand?”
Marie stared at the faded floral wallpaper and gritted her teeth. The plastic casing of the phone creaked as she tightened her grip. The urge to throw the device at the wall swel
led almost irresistibly. Everything that Michael had said was right. She’d hunted down and killed people for acting on the same urges she was having now. There was nothing she could do to save John. Killing him was the right move. In that instant, her rage evaporated into a thick, cloying fog of resignation and despair. Tears moistened the corners of her eyes. “Yes, Michael. I understand. I’ll do as you say.”
***
17th November 2008. High Moor Police Station. 07.30.
John lay on the cell’s hard bed, watching the world come back to life. The sky turned from a muddy orange to a dismal flat gray that leeched the colour and energy from everything beneath it. Even the birds were unimpressed, their songs muted as if they lacked the enthusiasm to greet the cold, wet morning. He could sympathize.
The sound of jangling keys caught his attention, but he remained still until the steel cell door creaked open. Four police officers, armed with pepper spray and batons entered the room, keeping as much distance from John as the confined space would allow.
One of them moved forwards and held out a set of handcuffs. “Face the wall and put your hands behind your back. Don’t try anything funny or we might be forced to break a couple of ribs while restraining you. Got it?”
John swung his legs off the bed, taking amusement in the fact that all four officers took an involuntary step backwards. He stood, faced the wall and moved his arms behind him. Rough hands grasped his shoulders and wrists, pushing him against the cold concrete wall as the handcuffs locked into place.
He tried to turn his head and found his face forced against the wall. Deep within him, the wolf growled. He forced the beast down with difficulty. “Do I not get a shower before I’m dragged into court? I’ve not washed or shaved for three bloody days and in case you hadn’t noticed, I fucking stink.”
One of the police officers, a squat, foul−tempered thug called Carter grabbed John’s shoulder and snarled in his ear. “Does this look like a hotel to you? Get a fucking move on. DI Fletcher wants you at the court nice and early.”
High Moor 2: Moonstruck Page 4
