‘Please, Mr Stratovsky,’ the man whimpered. ‘Please, sir, I’ll get you the money, I swear.’
Victor held up a hand to silence the man. ‘I know what you’re thinking: why not just cremate the body, right? There are issues with this method too. For starters, finding a large enough furnace where questions won’t be asked is a challenge, but even if you did find one, did you know it’s possible to extract a D.N.A. profile from the ashes left after burning? Well, I say it’s possible, I’m not sure it’s been achieved yet, but hypothetically there is a chance that the ashes could still be tracked back to the victim. So then what? How can you ensure that the body is gone, leaving no trace? After all, the police cannot charge you with murder if there is no body.’
Victor watched the man squirming, and supressed the smile that was bursting to break through on his face. He loved to crush the spirits of other men. The feeling of omnipotence was quite overwhelming; like a drug he couldn’t kick.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Stratovsky,’ the man wept. ‘I’m so, so sorry. If you give me one more chance, I swear I’ll get you what I owe. Please? I don’t want to die.’
‘Well, of course you don’t,’ Victor dismissed, running a hand over his thin grey goatee. ‘But what choice do I have? If I let you go, how will that make me look?’
‘Merciful?’ the man tried.
‘Weak!’ Victor bellowed. ‘People will think I’ve gone soft! I have no choice.’
‘Please, Mr Stratovsky? I can get you the ten grand by tomorrow. I’ll do whatever you want; just give me a chance.’
Victor slammed the freezer lid down, before walking back to his desk and sitting down on the black leather office chair. ‘Did you know this is the chair they used to use on Mastermind?’
The man whimpered, but didn’t respond.
‘I’ve learned that the most effective, albeit time-consuming, method of corpse disposal is dissolution in lye. When heated to three hundred degrees, a lye solution can turn a body into a brown-coloured liquid, like molasses. It takes about three hours for the body to dissolve once the temperature has been achieved. Add in a couple of hours either side to heat and cool the solution, and the body is gone. Of course, you will require a pressurized drum to heat the solution and bathe the body, and of course, equipment for hiding the fumes produced during the process. However, once complete, the molasses is safe to be poured down the drain, though it is worth passing it through a large sieve to catch the bits that might not have fully dissolved. We found somebody’s pace maker once.’ Victor laughed to himself. ‘Some people think you need to buy expensive acids to dissolve bodies. What they don’t realise is that the sale and purchase of such acids is highly regulated and monitored. Lye, on the other hand, can be purchased quite easily. Did you know, you can buy enough lye to dispose of a dozen bodies for under twenty pounds? It’s used to make soap, which is why I now own a soap-production factory in East London. The added perfumes and scents do wonders for covering the smell of the dissolution.’
A loud knock on the office door caught everybody’s attention.
‘I said I didn’t want to be disturbed,’ Victor growled angrily.
The door opened and one of Victor’s crew poked his head through. ‘Sorry, governor,’ he said cautiously, ‘but I thought you’d want to see this.’
‘See what?’ Victor sighed.
The man at the door reached out an arm and pulled something close to him. Victor’s jaw dropped open as he recognised who it was.
‘I found him outside trying to break in. I thought you’d want me to bring him straight up to you.’
Victor slowly rose, not sure whether to believe his eyes. ‘If it isn’t London’s most wanted man…Dylan Taylor.’
Dylan freed himself from the goon’s grip and straightened his sweatshirt. ‘Hello Victor,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time.’
Victor chuckled. ‘You’ve got some balls, kid, I’ll give you that. The last time I saw you, you were planning to steal a million pounds of my money and the coke I was selling. And now here you are, as bright as day.’
‘Look, I know you’re probably pissed off…’
‘Pissed off?’ Victor interrupted. ‘You think I’m pissed off? I’m beyond pissed off!’
‘Let me explain.’
Victor walked over to the thin man who was still squirming between Victor’s men. ‘It seems that today is your lucky day,’ he said, squeezing the man’s cheeks roughly. ‘I only have enough room in my freezer for one of you, and this motherfucker is more valuable than you are. You have twenty-four hours to get my money or your sister will be joining you at my soap factory. Am I clear?’
The man was dragged from the office before he could respond. Victor signalled for the goon holding Dylan to leave them in peace. The goon obliged, closing the door behind him.
‘I heard that you died,’ Victor said, rubbing his goatee once again.
Dylan shrugged sheepishly. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, I guess.’
‘Where’s my fucking money?’
‘It’s safe. Listen, I didn’t mean to take it…’
Victor lunged at him suddenly, connecting a limp fist with Dylan’s jaw. Dylan ran his tongue over his gums to check for any loose teeth or blood, as Victor walked away, clutching his now sore knuckle.
‘What did you expect,’ Dylan said. ‘You sent two men to kill me. The money I took was compensation for the attempt on my life.’
Victor pulled a gun from behind his back and pointed it at Dylan. ‘I should kill you right now, you cocksucker.’
Dylan lifted his hands in passive surrender. ‘Easy Victor, I haven’t come here for a fight.’
‘You shouldn’t have come here at all.’
‘I thought you deserved to know the truth.’
‘Truth? What truth?’ Victor barked.
‘The truth about who’s been using you like a pawn.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
He was about to speak when the office door burst open, Tyrese stampeding in. He raced over to Dylan and kicked the legs from beneath him. Tyrese jumped on top of Dylan, pinning Dylan’s arms under his knees. ‘Where’s my fucking coke?’
When Dylan didn’t answer, Tyrese punched him hard in the face.
‘Where’s my fucking coke?’ he repeated.
Victor placed his gun on the corner of his desk and pulled Tyrese away.
‘Get off me, man,’ Tyrese argued. ‘I got business with this schmuck.’
‘As do I,’ Victor replied. ‘This is my office so I go first. You can have him when I’m done.’
Tyrese nodded his acceptance, and walked back to the office door, to prevent any thought Dylan might have had of a swift escape.
‘Start talking,’ Victor said, leaning back against his desk.
Dylan climbed slowly to his feet, using his bandaged hand to soak up the blood dripping from his nose. ‘Why did you send your men to kill me at the exchange on the farm?’
Victor shrugged.
‘The deal you two had set up was to exchange a million pounds of coke for cash, right? So why did I nearly end up in a body bag?’
‘Is this true?’ Tyrese asked.
Victor shrugged again. ‘I cannot be held accountable for the actions of my men. I didn’t know who you were sending to the exchange, Tyrese. The men this cock killed, had history with him. If I’d known you were going to send Dylan, I’d have used someone else.’
Dylan shook his head. ‘You’re lying. Someone ordered you to kill me; who was that?’
Victor feigned puzzlement. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t know you would be at the exchange. I wasn’t ordered to kill you by anyone. You saw a chance to abscond with my coke and his money. That’s all that happened.’
‘No, you’re lying,’ Dylan repeated. ‘Okay, okay, how about this: who ordered you to kill Dreyfuss?’
Victor stopped leaning against the desk as a thought dawned on him.
�
�Dreyfuss?’ Tyrese asked. ‘As in Ed Dreyfuss, the Prime Minister?’
Victor held a finger up to his lips as he moved forwards towards Dylan.
‘What are you doing? What do you want?’ Dylan said, eyeing him suspiciously.
Victor began patting Dylan down.
‘I’m not wearing a fucking wire,’ Dylan exclaimed, lifting his shirt to prove there was no recording device stashed anywhere. ‘Is that what you think?’
Satisfied, Victor returned to the desk. ‘Dreyfuss was just a job. You were rewarded very handsomely for that, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Yeah, but who paid you to have it done?’ Dylan challenged.
‘I forget.’
‘Bullshit!’ Dylan shouted. ‘Come on, Victor. Who paid you to have Dreyfuss executed? I already know who it was, but I need to hear you say his name.’
‘If you know already, why do I need to say?’
‘They’re using you, Victor. Don’t you see that?’
‘I’m supposed to believe a man who is accused of planting a bomb somewhere in London? Wait, do you have it with you now? Am I the target?’
‘They’ve set me up. There is a bomb in a flat, somewhere in Newham. It’s set to go off any minute. I know, because they had me tied up in the flat before I escaped. They know that I know too much so they want me out of the picture. That’s why they ordered you to have me killed.’
‘I’ve told you: nobody ordered me to have you killed!’
‘What’s going on here?’ Tyrese interrupted. ‘Where is my coke?’
Dylan turned to address him. ‘I sold the coke, I’m sorry. There’s a group called The Cadre, Tyrese. They’re a bunch of rich twats, who are trying to launch a world coup. Victor knows who they are as they paid him to have Ed Dreyfuss executed, so they could have one of their own elected. What Victor doesn’t realise is that they are planning to launch a world war, starting with the invasion of mother Russia, before waging war on the Middle East.’
Victor eyed him carefully. ‘Why should I believe you?’
‘It doesn’t matter if you do, Victor. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. The best you can hope is that they reward your loyalty. It was The Chairman of General Financial wasn’t it? He was the one who paid you to take out Dreyfuss? He told me as much back at the flat.’
Victor ignored the question. ‘Why have you come here? You risked your life to tell me this, but why?’
‘I’m the only one who can stop The Chairman. I need to meet with him face to face, and I want you to make that happen. There will be a reward for my capture, once he discovers I wasn’t in the flat when the bomb exploded. I want you to contact him and claim the reward. It will probably be worth more than double what I owe you, so then you and I will be even.’
‘Why should I help you?’
Dylan considered the question. ‘You’re many things Victor, but you’re still a patriot. If you don’t help me, Russia will fall, I guarantee it. Whether you believe that or not, turning me over to The Chairman will result in a big payday for you.’
‘Where do I tell him you are?’
Dylan checked his watch. ‘The bomb is going to explode any minute now. The police will confirm the flat was empty by seven. I want you to phone him after that. Tell him one of your people heard I was heading to Southampton to make my escape. He won’t be able to resist sending his right-hand man to get me. That’s all I need you to do.’
Victor shrugged. ‘What’s to stop me killing you now and delivering you to him myself?’
It was a fair question. ‘Because you know I’m right. You’re not a stupid man, Victor. You must have been looking for the bigger picture from the moment he first contacted you. If you kill me now, nobody will be able to stop him. I’m your only hope.’
Victor picked up the gun from the edge of the desk. For a moment Dylan thought he had underestimated him, but was relieved when the Russian returned the piece to his waistband.
‘You have three hours and then I will phone him. You better not be lying to me, cocksucker or you’ll be bathing in a vat of boiling lye, whilst you’re still breathing.’
Victor waved his hand, the signal for them both to leave. Tyrese escorted Dylan to the back door and, once they were outside, he grabbed Dylan’s arm and pulled him in close. ‘Find D.I. Tony White and D.S. Kyle Davies,’ he whispered. ‘Tell them everything you know. You can trust them, but nobody else. Is that clear?’
Dylan eyed Tyrese carefully.
‘Find them and tell them,’ Tyrese repeated, before adding, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’
33
SOUTHAMPTON, UK
15:55 (G.M.T.)
‘It’s no use, man,’ White declared. ‘It’s got a flippin’ password on it. It’s useless to us!’
‘It’s probably her husband’s date of birth or something,’ Kyle offered.
‘Isn’t she divorced, like?’ White said, pushing the laptop across the desk in a fit of rage.
He had been surprised to receive Karen’s call so soon after she’d visited Eve Partridge’s office. He had told her to go in and cause some panic, allowing him to get into the office unseen, so he could search for any kind of evidence of the M.P.’s involvement in the May terrorist attack. He had never expected her to steal the woman’s laptop, although he had to admit, he was impressed with the move. He’d been parked around the corner from the offices when he’d received her call, and the request for him to meet her at the hospital had thrown him at first.
‘It’s so they didn’t know you were involved,’ Karen had told him when he had met her outside of the A&E department. ‘If they contact the taxi company to find out what happened to me,’ she had said, ‘the guy’ll confirm that he dropped me here.’
White had thanked her for the laptop, knowing he wouldn’t be able to use it as evidence if the case ever went to trial, but pleased that the intelligence it contained might lead him to valid evidence. He had thanked Karen, and had handed her fifty pounds for her efforts.
‘Any time,’ she had replied as she had wandered away.
‘You need a lift?’ he’d offered.
‘It might look weird,’ she’d replied with a wink. ‘You’re old enough to be my father.’
Kyle hadn’t been pleased when White had returned to the car. ‘What the fuck is that? Do you realise what you’ve done? It’s one thing to carry on a secret investigation, it’s quite another to break the law to do it! We’ll both be finished if we fail!’
‘You’re always so scared of breaking the rules, man,’ White had chastised. ‘Sometimes, in this job, you’ve got to do whatever it takes…don’t worry, like, I’ll take the fall for this if it ever comes out. Okay? Now get us the hell out of here.’
With nowhere else he could think to go, Kyle had driven them to his own house in Totton.
‘So this is where you live?’ White had commented. ‘Get us a beer whilst I figure out what we’ve got.’
That had been twenty minutes ago. They still hadn’t managed to get past the opening screen.
‘Maybe we could remove the hard drive and attach it to my computer,’ Kyle suggested.
‘Be my guest,’ White said with a wave of his hand.
Kyle picked the laptop up and examined the back of it for a couple of minutes before eventually putting it back down. ‘I don’t know how,’ he admitted. ‘I’m no good with computers. What we need is some kind of techy genius.’
‘We can’t use anyone inside the force, man. We don’t know who we can trust, besides, the laptop’s stolen, remember.’
‘So it’s useless then! You’ve stolen a piece of junk. Well done, Guv!’
White finished his bottle of beer and slammed it down on the table top. ‘You’re right! What we need is some kind of expert who can help us; someone who isn’t afraid to bend the rules.’
‘I don’t like where this is going, Guv. You’ve got that manic Geordie twinkle in your eyes, which you only get when you’re up to no good.’
�
�You must know of some ex-cons with gadgetry skills, surely? A hacker maybe? Someone who’s used technology as part of their modus operandi?’
‘No, Guv, absolutely not. We’ve stolen a laptop from a possible suspect. I’m not going to allow you to make matters worse by colluding with someone likely to blackmail us for our involvement in all this.’
‘Stop being such a fairy, man!’
‘I want to nail Partridge as much as you, Guv, but this isn’t right!’
‘I told you: I’ll take the fall, if necessary. Give me a name.’
*
‘Johnson Carmichael, meet Detective Inspector Tony White. Guv, this is Johnson Carmichael: ex-Met Detective, turned Private Investigator.’
The two men shook hands in the small office in Eastleigh.
Kyle had first met Johnson Carmichael a couple of years ago, when the P.I. had been hired to investigate a sexual assault. Because the rape had never been formally reported, and the victim had subsequently passed away, it wasn’t an investigation Mercure was willing to sanction. The victim’s daughter, the only witness to the crime, had hired Carmichael to find out who had perpetrated the assault. Carmichael’s investigation had come to Kyle’s and D.I. Vincent’s attention when the victim’s daughter was herself murdered. Carmichael had proved himself to be a decent detective, not afraid to do whatever it took to get the job done. Kyle found it amusing that White looked wary of the large black man before him.
‘What can I do for you?’ Carmichael asked, his deep voice perfectly reflecting his rugby prop-like frame.
Double Cross: A gripping political thriller (The Cadre Book 3) Page 21