“Chivis, whatever we find at this apartment, you had better keep your head on your shoulders,” Cordiline warned him. “I can’t afford to have you assaulting our suspects. Understand? If you punch this guy, it could jeopardize our whole case.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t get in the way of you arresting him.”
It wasn’t a promise not to punch him first, but Cordiline must have sensed it was the best he was going to get out of him. As they turned off the main road into Manchester Square, a call came through on the radio to confirm that Arregui and a passenger named Sant Andreu were booked on a flight out of Heathrow to Barcelona that evening. Cordiline requested that the passengers were to be intercepted if they showed up.
He parked on double-yellows, a couple of doors down from the apartment. A gap had just handily opened up there, as a young man in a leather jacket jumped into a gleaming Range Rover with heavily-tinted windows, pulled out and sped away with a screech of tires. Cordiline muttered something about bloody trust-fund kids but Jake was already on his way up the steps to the building, ringing all the bells until someone buzzed him through.
Cordiline caught up with him on the first-floor landing and knocked smartly on the apartment door. A few moments passed while Jake drummed his fingers against the wall. When the door opened they came face-to-face with Arregui, pulling a small cabin case, a laptop bag slung over one shoulder. His eyes widened but he covered his surprise quickly.
“Tomas Sant Andreu Garcés Arregui?” Cordiline said, in his best cop voice, holding out his warrant card. Arregui spotted Jake at his shoulder, and his gaze narrowed again.
“Yes?”
“I’m Detective Inspector John Cordiline working out of Kentish Town and this is Mr. Jake Chivis who is a private contractor working with the Metropolitan Police. We have some questions for you, sir, in relation to a recent serious offense.”
“I’m sorry. I’m in a hurry, Detective. I thought you were my cab driver.”
“Too bad,” Cordiline said. “You can answer some questions here, or I can take you back to the station. It’s up to you.”
“Can we talk in the car, Inspector? I need to be at the airport in less than an hour,” Tomas said in a crisp tone. “I am booked on a flight from Heathrow this evening. You can check that if you wish.”
“I am aware of your arrangements, sir. Please, may we go back into the flat?” Cordiline said, keeping his tone just the right side of cordial.
“You may check the apartment if you wish, but I must leave in the next few minutes,” Tomas intoned, though he stood aside for them.
Cordiline took his time opening a notebook. The old-fashioned kind made of paper and requiring a pen, which he made a show of patting his various pockets for before beginning his line of questioning. If Jake were less angry or worried, he would have appreciated it more. As it was, he only half-paid attention as Cordiline outlined the barest details of their investigation and asked him if Joseph St. Andrews was his nephew.
Jake listened to the careful answers with one ear while he moved into the living room and let his fingers trail over the sofa cushions, a lamp, the coffee table. He picked up a book and set it down. The room was almost surgically clean. There wasn’t much to hold a memory even if there were one to hold.
He moved on to the kitchen. Cordiline was asking when Arregui had last seen his nephew and whether he had been in the apartment. Jake ran his fingers over the countertop, the back of a chair, willing himself to pick up something, anything. He neither expected nor cared if he saw any trace of St. Andrews. He wanted to see whether Mari had been in this building.
His hand brushed a tumbler drying in a sink rack and he was sucked into a memory.
The world looked weird, distorted. He gulped water from the glass and he could see a blurry figure from the corner of his eye, then it was behind him, murmuring in his ear. “Where are you going, Dr. Gale?”
Jake was standing in the kitchen again, staring at the glass. He could hear Cordiline’s low rumble and Arregui’s impatient response. He made a slow turn and went out into the hall.
There was a bathroom off the end of the corridor and a bedroom through the door on his right. He looked in but the room was empty. The bed had been stripped down to the undersheets and there was no trace of either Mari or St. Andrews, but he recognized the bedroom as the one the pictures of Mari had been taken in. He checked the closets just to be sure, then looked in the bathroom again. There was a faint, sweetish smell of vomit, masked by cleaning fluids. The basin was jeweled with water and had been freshly used. He ran his fingers over the edges of it and was sucked into another memory.
Mari’s face looked back at him from the mirror, pale and blurry around the edges. He clung to the lip of the washbasin to keep his balance, his stomach still churning as he washed the taste of vomit from his mouth. He heard the murmur of low, angry voices in the hall and at first was frustrated again because they weren’t speaking in English. Then one of them switched and he caught a few words.
“No…you call me an idiot…take him…meet you at Heathrow…”
That was all he could make out before a tall, bearded young man appeared in the reflection at his shoulder. St. Andrews.
Mari’s eyes were huge black pits of fear and confusion and he tried to twist away when St. Andrews put his hands on him.
“Time to go, mate. We’ve got somewhere to be, and we can’t take you with us—”
The vision dispersed. Jake wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and stepped away from the sink. He had never gotten a memory from Mari, not once in all the months they had been dating. Today he had received two, in the space of a few minutes. The echoes of this one were still clear, right down to the taste in his mouth. He turned and strode back into the hallway as Cordiline was ushering Arregui back out, calling his name.
“St. Andrews was here. This piece of shit is planning on meeting him at the airport to get him out of the country before you can connect him to the rapes.”
Tomas narrowed his eyes and glared at Jake.
“All conjecture, my American friend. Josep is my sister’s son, as I already told the inspector. He has been a student here. I paid for his flight home. My sister wants him back there with the family. He has committed no crime.”
“Then I’m sure he won’t mind giving a DNA sample. Mari was in this apartment, too. He left with St. Andrews. Where did he take him?”
“So, it comes to this. UCL’s celebrated Elemental banging down my door, desperate to put me in the frame for some misdemeanor. No, I am not surprised.” He turned to Cordiline with an expansive gesture of both hands, a wry look on his face. “Inspector, Dr. Ilmarinen Gale was, some years ago, my research assistant. He was also my lover. When I ended our fling, he took it as a personal slight and attempted to destroy my marriage. He failed, and he has never quite overcome his frustration at not ruining me. Now he enlists his…boyfriend?” Tomas looked a question at Jake. “In the attempt to get his revenge against me.”
Jake grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him against the wall, his promise to Cordiline be damned. “Listen, you fucking piece of garbage. You instructed your sick fuck of a nephew to take Mari somewhere and Mari struggled against him. You tell me where he took him or the next one buried in a shallow grave will be you. Understand me?”
“Take your hands off me! This is outrageous! You have no evidence for any of these lies!”
Jake shook him and cracked his head against the wall again. Cordiline grabbed his arm and a short, violent tussle ensued before the inspector pried him off Arregui, shoving him away.
“Enough, Chivis!” Cordiline roared.
“You are fortunate I have a plane to catch. I’ll have my attorneys deal with you,” Arregui raged at the same time.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your head, Arregui,” Cordiline barked at him. “I am arresting you on suspicion of harboring a wanted criminal, in connection with cases of abduction, assault and murder. You do not have to
say anything, but anything you do say may be recorded and used in evidence. Do you understand the charges, sir?”
Tomas stared at him, mouth hanging open. “You are joking! You have no evidence on which to hold me, Detective Inspector. The Spanish government, which employs me, will not look with favor on this situation.”
“Save your threats and do as you’re told. Her Majesty doesn’t look kindly on people aiding and abetting rapists and allowing killers to escape her justice.”
Tomas put down his case and put his hands behind his head at once, though he looked far from happy about it. Cordiline cuffed him, his jaw clenched so hard the skin was white amid the hectic red blotches in his cheeks. Jake couldn’t blame him for his fury. John was already sticking his neck out big time for him, and he’d had to step in twice now to prevent him beating the shit out of someone. They had better find St. Andrews and hope to hell the DNA was a match. More importantly, they had to figure out where he’d taken Mari.
While Cordiline took Arregui outside and called for a uniform to come pick him up, Jake tried to call Mari again but it went right to his voice mail.
“What’s the closest cemetery to here?” Jake asked Cordiline.
The inspector looked like he’d had it right up to his eyes but, to his credit, he didn’t snap. He sat Arregui down on the pavement, ignoring his protests, and retrieved a plastic zip tie from his pocket to attach his cuffs to a signpost. He took Jake’s arm and moved a few feet away. “Look— St. Andrews thinks his good old Uuncle Tomas is gonna save his arse and take him home. The MTPs at the airport are waiting for him. If the flight goes when Arregui says it does, he’s not got time for fooling around in cemeteries.”
“Mari must have figured out that Arregui knew what his nephew was up to, and he came here to confront him. Arregui took a leaf from his nephew’s book and drugged him. I’m sure of it. The memories I picked up were distorted, blurry, and I smelled vomit in the bathroom. His nephew took Mari, and he’d have to leave him somewhere before he went to the airport. What if the bastard decides on one last hurrah before being forced to go home and buries Mari like he did those girls he attacked?”
“Jake, if Arregui sent you those pictures of Mari as revenge for what Gale pulled after they split, it doesn’t make sense that he’d kill him afterwards. He’d have to know you’d figure it out.”
“I doubt Arregui would tell his nephew to kill him, but that doesn’t mean St. Andrews won’t act on his own. John, Mari was in that fucking apartment and now he’s with a man that raped multiple women and murdered at least one of them.”
Cordiline glared at him in silence.
“He’s fucking got Mari!” Jake erupted.
Cordiline sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and exhaled it in a testy sigh. “We’ve been here at the apartment for nearly twenty minutes, enough time that he could have dropped Gale off anywhere within at least a five-mile radius. Our best bet is to find St. Andrews, since we know where he’s ultimately heading, and question him about Mari’s whereabouts.”
“I am not sitting on my fucking hands and waiting to see if he actually shows up at the airport.” Jake brought up the map on his phone and did a quick search.
“Well, what’s your plan, hot shot?” Cordiline flashed back at him. “You’re just going to run around half-cocked, hoping you somehow run into them?”
“Let me borrow your car. Hammersmith Cemetery is directly between here and Heathrow. If that’s where he’s heading, it’s the easiest place to try something. Mari said he was working for the Parks and Recreation Department, right? He’d know the best places to bury a body and he even has the tools for the job.”
Cordiline’s scowl was fierce enough to leave permanent lines, but he pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’ll put in another call to have a patrol meet you there. Do not— Are you listening to me? Do. Fucking. Not. Approach St. Andrews on your own if you see him.”
“I will wait for backup as long as I can,” Jake said, the most truthful answer he could give.
Cordiline heaved a sigh but he handed over the car keys without a word. Jake didn’t waste any more time. There would be time for thanks later, or recriminations, and they both knew it. He pulled away from the curb and headed into traffic, waiting until he was at least around the corner before he put his foot down to see how hard he could push the car. Detroit steel it was not, but it still had some pep, and if worse came to worst, he could always put the lights on.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Time to go, mate. We’ve got somewhere to be, and we can’t take you with us. More’s the pity.”
Mari stumbled and almost fell against the washstand as a young man appeared, reflected in the mirror behind him. His hands were strong and warm on Mari’s shoulders as he turned him and steered him back into the hallway, still unsteady on his feet. Tomas helped him to get Mari back into his coat.
“Make sure you leave him where no one will find him before he comes around,” he instructed, his tone sharp and edgy with irritation.
“Keep your hair on. It will be fine, Uncle,” Josep said.
Mari was ushered down the hallway and into the lift, with Josep holding tightly on to his arm. His head swam and he grayed out for a moment, though he was trying to keep focused. In the bedroom, he had mercifully lost consciousness, but at the moment, he could barely feel enough to control his own body. Whatever Tomas had given him, it had robbed him of any resistance. He couldn’t even make his tongue form words.
The cold air on his face, as they came out onto the misty street, roused him for a few seconds and he tried to pull away, but Josep was holding his arm firmly and steered him across the pavement to a waiting vehicle, a large, black SUV of some kind. He didn’t see enough of it before the locks popped and he was heaved into the back. Josep pushed him down across the rear seat and strapped him in with both belts, then was gone. Moments later the driver’s door opened and he climbed up, cursing, and slammed it behind him. The engine rumbled to life and his stomach rolled again as the young man pulled away at speed, still swearing under his breath in Catalan.
“Josep, please…” he managed to slur, though his tongue still felt as if it belonged to a dead person. He remembered the gray, lifeless features of the girl in the morgue and choked back the urge to spew. “Let me go… I won’t…won’t say…anything.”
“Too right, you won’t.” Josep laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly happy sound. “Where you’re going, you won’t have anyone to talk to anyway—just the worms.”
“Don’t be…stupid.” Mari tried to struggle upright but he couldn’t get his arms and legs to function properly. “They’ll wor…work it…work it out. The cops…Jake.”
Jake. Oh my stars, my precious, precious Jake. I am so sorry.
“Too bad I won’t have time to draw you,” Josep muttered as he drove. “I made sure the others could dig their way out, so I could capture the moment, but they never saw me. You? I can’t let you get out. I’ve got a nice deep hole for you. You’ll have time to think about things down there, I reckon, before the air runs out.”
Mari sagged against the leather seats. Panic kicked in as his drug-addled senses darkened around him. He managed to free one of the belts then forced his hand across the upholstery and curled his fingers around the door handle, squeezing it for all he was worth. The rear door clicked open and a rush of cold air and petrol fumes washed over his sweating face.
He hissed an incoherent curse and struggled with the second belt as the car bounced to a halt amid a wave of irate curses and vehicles honking their horns. It was like trying to tie a knot in a stream of water. He could not make his fingers obey the desperate imperative of his brain.
But if he couldn’t, he was going to die. No two ways about it.
I’m not ready. No. I can’t die, not without apologizing to Jake first.
“Help! Help me!” he cried out, but the words sounded too frail in his mouth and he cursed himself again.
Then Jos
ep leaned into the vehicle and dealt him a smack to the head that sent him reeling once more. He slammed the door shut and jumped back up behind the wheel, activating the central locking and wagging a finger at Mari as he glanced back between the two front seats.
“No need for that. If you wanna kill yourself, just leave it to me. I’ve got it all sorted out.” Josep put the car in drive and released the brake and Mari felt them lurch forward again, moving off at speed.
For a little while he grayed out again, and when he came to his senses, the car was traveling more slowly. Mari walked his fingers down to the pocket of his coat, checking for his phone. If he could just activate the keypad and dial nine-nine-nine, the operators would have to trace the call. Surely, someone would come after him. It was better than doing nothing at all. That was easier said than done, though. For one, his fingers were pretty reluctant to play ball and his slender Android was deep enough in his pocket that he was struggling to reach it.
He’d lost some motor control since Tomas had drugged him but he wasn’t aware that his status had deteriorated during the car journey. His worst-case scenario was blacking out completely. If he did something monumentally stupid like fainting, he was pretty much screwed.
Mari figured he ought to be more frightened and—had he not been tranquilized to the eyeballs—he guessed he would have been. But, for the moment, he was just running on adrenaline.
Eventually the car rolled to a stop and Josep got out.
“Stay there,” he warned, then slammed the door.
Mari just glared at the ceiling. Like I have a choice!
Sep’s footsteps crunched around to the back of the car, then the boot opened up and the young man rummaged around there for a moment or two. Finally, with a metallic scraping sound, he dragged something out and banged the rear door shut once more. The locks clunked down and the alarm beeped as Josep left him alone in the vehicle.
He tried to calculate how long it had been since Tomas had drugged him. Back at the apartment, he had lost consciousness, and he could only guess at how much time he had lost. His mind, at least, was functioning now, even if his body didn’t want to play along.
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