by Conrad Jones
He was using a claw hammer to dismantle a row of cabinets, although most of it was crumbling away in his hands. The bolts that had fixed them to the walls were rusty and stubborn. They would take some shifting. He hooked the head of one of them and pulled hard. The entire wall tilted and collapsed. He stumbled and fell backwards onto his back. The shelves and cupboards fell on top of him, pinning him to the floor. An entire section of kitchen had come down, with the wall behind still attached to it. He cried out and the other tradesmen came running to help him. They grabbed both ends of a stud wall and lifted it from him. The entire wall was one unit. Bolek was shocked but not hurt as he brushed dust and rotten wood from his clothes. As he looked up, he could see the other men staring at something that had been behind the wall. He couldn’t tell what it was at first, then he realised that it was a video library of epic proportions. Hundreds of VHS tapes were lined up on shelves, which were fixed from floor to ceiling. At the centre of the wall was a door. They looked at each other as they studied the metal chain and the padlock that fastened it closed.
‘We should call the police,’ one of the men said. He was an Estonian bricklayer. ‘That isn’t good.’
‘And tell them what?’ Bolek asked. ‘We have found a door in an old farmhouse. Let’s see what is behind it before we do anything. There could be something valuable in there.’
‘Look at all those tapes, Bolek,’ another man said, pointing. He walked closer and studied a shelf full of tapes. ‘All the labels are girl’s names, arranged in alphabetical order. This doesn’t feel right to me.’
‘Nor me,’ another agreed.
‘Can’t hurt to look,’ Bolek argued. ‘Might be some mad old farmer’s treasure-trove. It could be full of family jewellery and collectables.’ He took his hammer and walked to the door. He looked around the anxious faces of the other workmen. ‘Are we all agreed?’ They nodded but looked unsure at best. He hooked the claw beneath the clasp that held the lock. The rusty chain was intertwined through the clasp. He pulled but the lock didn’t budge. Pulling the claw harder, he tried again, leaning back using all his bodyweight to add pressure. The wood creaked and the doorframe splintered. He staggered backwards, one of his co-workers stopped him from falling again. The lock fell to the floor with a clunk. A spider scurried from under the door, it stopped to see what was going on before retreating to where it had come from. As small as it was, its arrival made some of the workers nervous.
‘We should call the police,’ one said.
‘Definitely,’ another agreed.
‘I don’t want to lose my job,’ a third added.
‘Why would you lose your job?’ Bolek argued. He stepped towards the door.
‘You are breaking into a locked door in a property that belongs to our employer. It is like burglary, stupid!’
Bolek stopped and looked at the man. He thought about it and stepped back. The man was right and he couldn’t afford to lose his job. It was then that he got the first whiff of decay. He gagged and put his arm across his face.
‘What is that smell?’ he said, walking away from the door.
‘Oh, my God,’ another said, almost vomiting. ‘Something has died in there.’
‘Get the foreman in here,’ one of the builders shouted.
Two of the men walked away to find the project manager. The others moved as far away from the door as they could but the stench followed them. A few minutes later, the foreman arrived, his hard hat in his hand, he looked flustered and angry.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ he whined. ‘We’re already two weeks behind on this job. Are you trying to get us all fired?’
‘Look,’ Bolek said, pointing at the door. ‘The wall was false. It came down on me when I was pulling the cabinets out. The smell coming from behind it is rotten. Something is dead behind there. We should call the police.’
‘Not a chance!’ the foreman snapped. ‘If the police come in here, they will stop the job and we’re all screwed. It’s probably rats.’
‘It must be a big rat to stink like that,’ Bolek cautioned. ‘But if you want to look then I’m with you. I can’t afford to lose any money.’
‘Open it and see what is there,’ the foreman said.
‘Okay,’ Bolek said. He approached the door and kicked the chain out of the way. It grated along the floorboards. He reached for the handle tentatively, as if it might be hot. It wasn’t. He turned the handle and pulled the door open. It creaked and groaned as it moved. The stench hit him like a sledgehammer. He put his arm over his nose and mouth. ‘Oh my God, it is even worse in here. Pass me a torch.’
‘Use your phone,’ the foreman said.
Bolek shrugged and took out his Samsung, turning it to torch mode. The darkness retreated as he aimed it at the doorway. Flecks of dust floated around like stars against the backdrop of the universe. He swept the doorway left to right and back again. Bare floorboards formed a small landing, the walls were lined with VHS cassettes. There was another door to his left, the handle was covered in dust. A keyhole winked in the light. He stepped onto the landing and tried the handle but the door wouldn’t budge.
‘It is locked!’ Bolek called. The stench of rotten flesh was more pronounced. ‘Pass me a jemmy.’
One of the men picked up the metal bar from the floor, which they used to pull fitting from the walls. Bolek slid the narrow end between the door and the frame and pushed it against the lock. The wood cracked; age had weakened it. Another push and it sprung open with a bang to reveal wooden stairs which led down to a cellar. Dust and splinters filled the air and the stink that rushed up from below could have been sent from the pits of hell.
chapter 31
Assistant Chief Constable Dafyd Thomas knocked on Alan’s door and popped his head around it. Alan was on the phone to his son Dan, trying unsuccessfully to explain why he had not been home to feed the dogs. Saying that he had been home, briefly before a murder suspect had been picked up wasn’t doing anything to lessen the onslaught. He waved to the ACC to come in and explained bluntly to Dan that he would have to call him back later, to which he had told him to stay there as long as he wanted and not to bother going home at all. He reminded him why Kath had left. It was true that his priority was work. He was only doing his job to the best of his ability, if only he had tried as hard to be a good husband, she might have been happy. He thought about that for a second and decided that she wouldn’t be. Some things just couldn’t be saved.
‘Come in, sir,’ Alan said, apologising. ‘Sorry about that. The son is on the warpath again. It’s time to circle the wagons and defend myself.’
‘Oh dear,’ Dafyd said, rolling his eyes. ‘What have you done this time?’
‘The same as usual, fuck all,’ Alan sighed. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I want to catch up on what’s happened so far. Things seem to have rattled along at some speed.’
‘They have indeed. It would seem that the Matrix informers were compromised somehow and it has snowballed from there. Lloyd Jones is at the centre of it all but we have had the forensics back on the weapon that he used and it is conclusive. It was used to shoot Stuart Radcliffe and Walter Ricks; the ballistics match; and Dr Martin managed to recover skin tissue from the trigger housing.’
‘I thought it had been under water?’
‘It was but the trigger housing on a Beretta is sealed so the trace was inside the gun and was preserved. Will Naylor is going to HMP Liverpool to charge him with both shootings. He’s down for a long time.’
‘Good work, Alan. How are the others linked? What’s the score with that Selby chap?’
‘Brian Selby seems to be a square peg in a round hole. He doesn’t fit with that outfit for a second. I think he was bullied into smuggling drugs into Berwyn with a drone,’ Alan paused. ‘He builds them himself. Anyway, I think he was dragged into their plot and was unfortunate enough to be there when Jones decided to shoot Radcliffe. I think he was forced to help to bury the body but Radcliffe wasn’t dea
d. The forensics say Selby struck the blows which killed him. He doesn’t seem to realise that killing someone who he thought was already dead is a crime. We’ve charged him this morning. He’s on his way to remand.’
‘Didn’t he claim that Jones did it?’
‘Yes. He wasn’t very convincing though. The forensics will clear Jones and convict Selby all day long. He’ll go down without a doubt. I just hope he gets a good barrister to plead collusion. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place but he was forced to be there. It doesn’t excuse what he did but I genuinely don’t believe he would have hurt anyone intentionally. I think he was under duress and panicked.’
‘It’s not for us to worry about or explain, Alan. You’ve done your bit, let the courts deal with him now.’ The ACC said, nodding. ‘Very good work, Alan. Very good indeed.’
‘You’re right. On the flip side, Derek Makin knew exactly what he was doing when he emptied both barrels at Jones. Luckily our taxi driver didn’t frighten when Makin threatened him. Jones will testify that Makin shot him and our witness nails him down. He’s not as squeaky clean as he looks, that man. We’ve made some enquiries and it appears that he is a high-end dealer. I think he was a customer of Jones and there was some kind of fall out between them, whatever it was, they can rot.’ Alan said with a sigh. ‘The rest of Jones’s outfit are either running or banged up. We’ll get them all in the end, just a matter of time, sir.’
‘Outstanding work, Alan. You and the team deserve a pat on the back.’ Alan was thinking that if anyone tried to pat him on the back, he would punch them in the face, when Kim knocked on the door. ‘Come in, Kim,’ he said. Her perfume drifted to him.
‘Sorry to interrupt but I thought you would want to see this,’ she said, holding her laptop up. ‘We focused on the surveillance tapes from February just like you said, Alan. Watch this.’ She brought up a recording which had been filmed on a belt-camera. It showed a group of men walking through an industrial unit of some kind. ‘That is Jones and look who that is!’
‘Viktor Karpov,’ the ACC answered. ‘Well, bugger me.’
‘Not right now, sir,’ Alan said, dryly. The ACC blushed and cleared his throat. ‘I don’t like the look of this.’ Alan watched as they approached a badly beaten man who was tied to a chair. Two Russian gorillas stood aside as they approached. There was a brief exchange of words and then Viktor pulled out a Glock-17 and put a bullet through the centre of the man’s forehead. The back of his head exploded up the wall behind him. ‘Jesus Christ!’ Alan said, inhaling sharply. ‘Who was that?’
‘We don’t know yet but we think he was probably one of their own. When they speak, here,’ she said, pointing to a frame. ‘He asks if he has said anything and he answers that he admitted taking the money and the drugs. A translator at the university said that the word he used would be related to a consignment or a package. Like a delivery.’
‘So, you think he was a courier,’ the ACC asked.
‘Maybe. We’ve passed it on to the Met. They are going to arrest Karpov this afternoon.’ Kim grinned from ear to ear. Alan nodded slowly and thought about how he had come by the information. He was now convinced that Lloyd Jones had had a hand in delivering the message. Karpov had put a contract out on him and this was his way of hitting back without looking like a grass. Jones was a dangerously clever man.
‘If they manage to lock that man up, there will be street parties from here to Siberia,’ the ACC said, excitedly. ‘Bloody well done, you two!’
‘Don’t get too carried away just yet, sir,’ Alan said, cautiously. ‘He’s a slippery bastard and no one has managed to get a grip of him yet, not through the lack of trying either.’
‘True, true, true,’ the ACC said, looking out of the window. The Straits looked grey and choppy. A seagull was battling against the wind but the wind was winning. It soared and then dived out of view. ‘You should be very pleased with your results. Outstanding work, both of you.’ He patted Kim on the shoulder, awkwardly. Alan smiled to himself at the expression on her face. She threw daggers at him from narrowed eyes, knowing exactly what he was thinking.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Alan said. ‘I think we’ll take the team for a few beers after work.’
‘So, you should!’
‘Are you buying?’ Kim asked, looking at the ACC. He blushed again and smiled.
‘Keep up the good work,’ he said, making a mock salute. He stepped out of the office and closed the door.
‘He’s not a bad old stick,’ Alan said.
‘What is an old stick?’ Kim asked.
‘It is just an old saying.’
‘It must be very old because I’ve never heard it. I don’t think you should use old sayings. They make you sound like a wrinkly.’
‘I feel like a wrinkly,’ Alan said, smiling.
chapter 32
Bolek began to descend the steps slowly, the jemmy in one hand and his phone in the other. His foreman was right behind him, holding a torch that someone had retrieved from their van. He had a cloth to his nose but it wasn’t helping to dampen the stench. The wooden stairs creaked and groaned beneath their weight. Gossamer webs hung from the walls and ceiling and a warped handrail was attached to the bare brick wall. Bolek used his phone to illuminate each stair, half expecting them to collapse at any moment. Halfway down was a small landing and the staircase bent to the right out of sight. They reached the landing and the foul smell intensified. Bolek thought he was going to vomit at one point. They paused on the landing and looked back. Worried faces peered around the doorframe at the top of the stairs.
They aimed the lights down the staircase. The cellar floor was concrete and covered in dust. They set off cautiously, testing each step as they descended. Bolek had to duck beneath a low wooden beam at the bottom. He pointed the phone at the walls, his foreman doing the same with the torch. They looked at each other as the lights revealed the contents. A filthy mattress lay on the floor in the centre of the room, the material was discoloured by age and there were dark stains all over it, like ink on blotting paper. Dull metal anchor rings were fixed into the floor at each corner of the mattress. Two tripod cameras were standing in the far corner of the room, both aimed at the mattress. A desk and solitary chair were positioned against the far wall, piled high with DVD’S. A row of shelves was packed with laptops, their screens covered in dust. Cardboard boxes, marked memory sticks, were piled three high in another corner.
‘This is weird, Bolek,’ the foreman whispered. ‘I don’t like this one little bit!’
‘Why are you whispering?’
‘Because I’m nervous.’
‘Stop it. Whispering is making me nervous,’ Bolek said, shaking his head. ‘Over there, look,’ Bolek pointed to a door to their right. The smell reached a new low. The foreman gagged. ‘Do you still think it’s a dead rat?’
‘We don’t know what it is yet. Could be anything,’ the foreman said stubbornly but he didn’t sound convinced. ‘Rats, cats, dogs. It could be a freezer full of gone off food.’ Bolek smiled nervously. He didn’t think it was any of those things. ‘We’ve come this far, let’s get the job done. I don’t want the police in here unless it is necessary. Use that jemmy again. I’ll shine the torch on it.’
Bolek approached the door and looked at it closely. There were three mortice locks fitted to the door.
‘Don’t you think that is overkill for a freezer?’
‘Just open the door. This place is giving me the creeps!’
Placing the jemmy next to the highest lock, he pulled hard on the metal bar. The frame splintered and cracked, exposing the brass plate. He moved down to the middle lock and forced the bar between the frame and the door. A good hard tug cracked the doorframe and the lock popped free; the brass deadbolt glinted in the torchlight. The last lock took the most effort, both men leaning on the bar to crack the wood. Finally, it gave way and the door creaked open. They aimed their torches into a small room and both stepped back instinctively from the horror
within. Three bodies were sitting on the floor, their arms chained to the wall above their heads. Their eyes were sunken black sockets, their teeth yellowed and bared into a permanent smile, their lips long since rotted. Long scraggy hair hung from paper thin scalps, two blonds and one brunette. They were clothed only in underwear, which had been discoloured by their bodily fluids. Their flesh was blackened and split in places; bony toes had popped through the skin. The smell was so bad that both men vomited simultaneously as they turned and ran for the stairs.
chapter 33
Lloyd Jones was gutted. He felt like had had been stabbed in the stomach with a giant corkscrew and someone was twisting it. DC Naylor and a female DC, whose name he couldn’t remember, had taken less than ten minutes to charge him with the murder of Walter Ricks and Stuart Radcliffe. The CPS had decided that he was equally as guilty as Brian Selby for the murder in the woods. Even the silky-smooth Jacob Graff couldn’t throw him a lifeline. He said that his chances in court were zero and the best thing that he could do was to plead guilty and hope for a chance of parole in later life. It was a severe mental blow to realise that his liberty was probably gone forever. He would probably not leave prison alive. Somewhere in his subconscious, he had genuinely thought that he would wriggle out of it. The meeting with the MIT detectives had blown that assumption to smithereens in eight minutes. They hadn’t even asked him any questions. It felt like being in an open coffin while someone closed it and then screwed the lid down with a drill. He felt crushed by the thought of being locked up for the remainder of his days. It was claustrophobic.