Hard Cases (A Ryan Kyd Omnibus)

by Roger Hurn

  Chapter Seven

  I went back to the car, but Carly wasn’t in it. This wasn’t really surprising as she didn’t have a key. I looked around, but I didn’t see her. I gave her a bell on my phone to find out where she was. It turned out that she was still waiting for me under the tree in the woods and her voice was so icy I needed to put anti-freeze in my ear just to listen to her tell me what a twat I was, how worried she’d been and how she didn’t fucking appreciate being left standing under a tree in the middle of a fucking wood on her own for a fucking hour! The problem with Carly was that she was a city girl. The joys of the countryside were lost on her.

  I could tell her temper hadn’t improved much by the way she slammed the car door shut and pointedly ignored my cheery greeting. She sat there staring straight ahead while I told her all about my little adventure with Azrael and his crew. Then, when I’d done, she let out the sigh of a woman who realises that although she is yoked to a man who is terminally stupid she is, nevertheless, going to make the best of a bad job.

  ‘Well, that went well then, didn’t it?’

  ‘Oh I dunno,’ I said, ‘it could have been a whole lot worse. Zander didn’t actually recognise me and we now know things we didn’t know before.’

  Carly frowned. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like there’s no way the Church is making enough money out of its followers to fund a place like Camden Hall. I tell you, Carly, there was enough quality stuff in that place for a whole series of Antiques Roadshow.’

  Carly wasn’t impressed. ‘How do you know they’re not making money out of the people who fall for their bullshit?’

  ‘Because there just aren’t enough of them. And they’re chosen for their looks, not their bank balances. Think about it. You commented on the fact that the Church’s YouTube video had had a pathetic number of hits and that puzzled me, but now I realise it’s because it’s not for general consumption by the great unwashed. It’s a hook for the people they’ve already targeted and made contact with.’

  Carly stopped giving me the big freeze and started thinking. It was a decided improvement.

  ‘So, you reckon there’s someone behind the scenes bankrolling this gig, then.’

  ‘Yup. But the million dollar questions are who and why?’

  Carly sucked her teeth. ‘Call me a cynical bitch if you like, but I’m guessing the only reason you’d wanna recruit beautiful people is for sex. So, I reckon the Church of the Dark Light is some kind of high class pimping agency.’

  I figured she was on the money with this. ‘Yeah, that makes sense to me. The cult stuff that guy Azrael spouts is just warmed over crap from the likes of Aleister Crowley and a bunch of 18th century rakes from the Hell Fire Club.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, the Church of the Dark Light sounds good, but it’s only a name; there’s nothing more to it than that. I mean even Scientology and the Moonies have got a belief system they feed their followers. These guys don’t.’

  ‘OK, so I know about Scientology and the Moonies, but I don’t know who the fuck the other guys you’re talking about are, Ryan, but it doesn’t matter ‘cos all religions are the same. They make stuff up and then force feed it to you. It’s so the people in power can keep control of ordinary people. I mean they keep all the good stuff for themselves, but tell you if you eat shit now you’ll get your reward in Heaven when you die.’ She looked at me like she was expecting me to be impressed. ‘My PHSE teacher told us that. Then he got sacked ‘cos some parents complained, but they were all religious nutters so that kinda proves he was onto something, yeah?’

  I didn’t naysay her. Carly’s wasn’t the most nuanced argument against organised religion I’d ever heard, but it definitely made up in bluntness what it lacked in subtly.

  ‘Yeah, and you can add politicians to the list of lying toe rags who promise you jam tomorrow while robbing you blind today. Blimey, you would not believe some of the arsehole MPs I met when I was in the DPG.’

  ‘Yeah, I would. But can you not bang on about them now, Ryan, ‘cos it won’t help.’

  ‘Actually, Carly, it might. When we get back to the office I’ll give my old MI5/DPG liaison officer a call. If any of our so called lords and masters is the brains behind a high class knocking shop, he’ll have heard a whisper about it. The whole of Westminster is just one big rumour mill, so I reckon a secret squirrel like him will definitely be able shine a light on the situation. ’

  Carly glanced over at me and grinned. ‘Yeah, just so long as it isn’t a dark light, eh?’

  I smiled and winked at her. It was a relief to be back in her good books. But I wasn’t kidding myself. I knew it wouldn’t last.

  Chapter Eight

  The secret squirrel I was meeting was a guy called Robbie Sheerwood. He didn’t look like James Bond, in fact you’d probably put him down as a bank clerk if you saw him. But he had a mind like a steel trap and he and I had always got on. He was a big fan of Arsenal and so was I. Or at least I was when I was in Robbie’s company. The truth is I’m just mad about football – full stop. In fact, it was when I was playing for my local Sunday League team, All Nations United, that I’d got the knee injury that ended my career with the DPG – and yet I still love the game!

  Anyway, Robbie and I’d gone to a few games together and I’d saved his bacon when we were on an away trip to Amsterdam to see the Gunners play Ajax. We’d ended up drinking in the wrong bar after the match and a couple of the Ajax hard cases had cornered Robbie in the bog when he’d gone for a piss. Luckily for him I’d noticed them follow him into the karsy and dropped both of the bastards before they could do Rob any serious damage. We’d legged it out of there and Robbie was my mate for life. Now it was payback time.

  We yakked on about the Gunners’ perennial pursuit of a Champions League place to the exclusion of all else; the Board’s transfer policy; why Spurs would always be in our shadow and so on, but then I finally cut to the chase.

  ‘Have you heard anything on the grapevine about a group who call themselves The Church of the Dark Light? Some chancer who glories in the moniker Azrael Bodach, fronts it and they operate out of a stately pile called Camden Hall down in Kent.’

  Robbie eyed me over the top of his Guinness. The gooner had gone and the MI5 guy had taken over. ‘What’s your interest, Ryan? Are you getting religious in your old age?’

  I grinned at him and took a sip of my lager. ‘Nah, but I’ve got a client whose sister has got involved with them. So, I went down to Camden Hall to see if I could have a word with her, but no joy. However, I did get to speak with this guy Bodach and he told me they’d never heard of my client’s sister. He even let me have a nose around the gaff just to show they weren’t hiding her away.’

  Robbie’s expression didn’t change, but he asked one question. ‘Your client’s sister – really pretty girl is she?’

  ‘Stunningly pretty.’

  Robbie took a large swallow of his pint. ‘Hmmm. Thought she might be.’

  I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. He obviously wanted me to buy him another pint.

  ‘I got the feeling the Church isn’t a cult at all, but a front for a top-notch knocking shop.’

  Robbie frowned. ‘It’s a bit more subtle than that, Ryan. It’s more of an exclusive club for those high flying members of our society who have, shall we say, particular tastes and don’t wish to satisfy those tastes with prostitutes who are only in it for the money.’ He drained his pint and looked pointedly at the empty glass before adding, ‘they want willing participants who wish to share their darkness.’

  I knew if I wanted him to name names I was going to have to make another trip to the bar.

  I came back with another Guinness and a whisky chaser. ‘So who’s behind it then, because, whoever they are, they’ve got to have access to some serious dosh as well as some serious connections.’

  Robbie knocked back his whisky then wrapped his palms round the glass of Guinness. He stared into it as if seeking in
spiration. Then he reached a decision and looked up. ‘Take my advice, Ryan. Give your client her money back and then walk away from this one.’

  I snorted derisively. ‘I’m not that sort of a bloke, Robbie, I don’t walk away from people when they’re in trouble as you well know.’

  He winced. ‘Ouch! But a fair point well made. OK, mate, but on your head be it. The guy behind this business is Yuri Borzov, financier, fixer, Chelski supporter and man of serious influence with the powers that be.’

  I didn’t know much about Yuri Borzov, but I did know that he moved in very high places and I wasn’t talking about the upper tier of the East Stand at Stamford Bridge.

  ‘Why is a guy like Borzov involved with the Church of the Dark Light. It can’t be for the money. He must make more in a week than the annual GDP of a small country.’

  Robbie nodded. ‘He does, and you’re right, he doesn’t do it for the money, he bankrolls it. He’s a jumped up barrow boy who made it big in the Russian mafia and then cleaned up when the old Soviet Union went tits up. But he’s got this fascination with England and the upper classes. He wants to be one of them.’

  Robbie shook his head at the stupidity of people’s ambitions. Like me, Rob is a grammar school boy, but he works for an intelligence service where, ironically, the school and university you went to still mean more than your brain power. Robbie is as smart as a whip, but he knows his IQ is only going to take him so far up the ladder. He’s not bitter about it, but he’s as cynical as they come – except where Arsenal is concerned. But then we all have our Achilles heel.

  ‘He’s got no hope of them ever accepting him just because he’s richer than most of them could ever dream of being. He tried, but he was frozen out. And the more they knocked him back the bigger his obsession to be a fully-fledged English gentleman grew. Still, he didn’t get to be where he is without a fair bit of native cunning and he soon figured out that there’s nothing as kinky as an English aristo ex-public schoolboy. So he decided to cater for their particular tastes. That way he’d have something off them that his money could never buy – he’d have their souls.’

  I sat back and took a swig of my lager. ‘Blimey mate, you’re getting poetic in your old age; sounds to me like he’s got their balls not their souls.’

  Robbie shrugged. ‘Who cares? It’s all pretty harmless. I hear the birds are pretty special, and the boys are too if that’s what floats your boat, but frankly I’d rather have a ticket to see Arsenal beat Barca in the Champion’s League Final.’

  I gave him an old fashioned look. ‘As if that’s gonna happen any time soon.’

  He grinned. ‘Yeah, I’d say it’s about as likely as you getting another round in.’

  Robbie was pretty sure that Angie had probably taken fright at doing some S&M with a 40 something public school old boy saddo and legged it.

  ‘Listen to me, Ryan. She’s probably in a rented room somewhere trying to pluck up the courage to go home and confess all to her big sis. Now shut up about it and get me another drink. A bloke could die of thirst talking to you.’

  I did, but really all I wanted to do was go home and do some serious thinking about what to do next.

  Chapter Nine

  I have to say that Susan Walker was not impressed when I told her Rob’s theory about what had happened to Angie.

  ‘You really don’t know my sister if you think she’d be afraid of telling me what happened at this Church of Dark Light place.’

  I cleared my throat. It’s not easy telling somebody something they don’t want to hear. ‘But you didn’t know her when she fell under Zander’s spell,’ I said. ‘People change when they get themselves involved in a cult.’

  Susan and Carly glared at me. I didn’t let it stop me.

  ‘Okay, I’m not denying that Angie’s a good kid at heart but what I’m saying is that she’s probably embarrassed as hell that she fell for all this dark light guff. I know I would be. And I’m pretty sure it would take me a while before my wounded pride would let me show my face back home. So I think we should all just let the dust settle and give her some time and space to get herself together.’

  Susan’s face was set like stone. ‘But you have no idea if Angie is off sulking somewhere, do you Mr Kyd.’ I noticed that I was no longer Ryan. ‘For all you know those people could be holding her against her will. In fact they must be because they had no worries about you seeing the other cult members.’ Susan began to speak faster as she warmed to this idea. ‘If Angie was still a willing convert they would have taken great delight in parading her before you – but they didn’t did they?’

  I mumbled that they hadn’t.

  ‘Precisely. Look, I may not know as much as you do about cults, but I’ve met more than my fair share of bullies, and bullies take great delight in rubbing your nose in things. They have to flaunt their power and show you just how helpless you are to change anything.’ She nodded to herself. ‘So, believe you me, Mr Kyd, they’ve got Angie and she’s their prisoner.’

  I shook my head and started to argue, but Susan wasn’t finished. ‘And if Angie had just walked out they would have told you. I mean why would they lie about it? It would have been the easiest way to get you off their backs. And they would have known that she was bound to turn up sooner or later. But they pretended they’d never seen her so, to my mind, that proves that they’re hiding something. And, whatever it is, it means that Angie won’t be coming home until we discover what that secret is.’

  Carly nodded vigorously. ‘That makes total sense to me, Sue.’

  I wondered when Susan had become Sue. And just when exactly Carly had decided to join forces with our client rather than me? But the one thing I did know was that they made a formidable team and no way were they going to let me sign off on this case. I decided to go with the flow.

  ‘Okay, you may well be right Susan, but I don’t know quite where we go from here.’

  Carly sighed. ‘Well, it’s bloody obvious, Ryan. I keep on seeing Zander and get him to tell me what the hell is going on down at Camden Hall and where they’ve stashed Angie.’

  I frowned. ‘And how are you going to get him to do that?’

  ‘Oh for Chrissake, Ryan. He’s a guy, right and I’m already tripping over his freakin’ tongue whenever I go near him. He thinks he’s playing me but he hasn’t got a freakin’ clue.’

  I guessed Carly was moderating her language because she didn’t want to upset Susan. I made a mental note to ask Susan for tips on how she did that, but I wasn’t convinced it would be a transferable skill. Then Carly smiled at Susan. ‘And don’t worry, Sue, if the worst comes to the worst I’ll go in undercover as a convert.’

  A look of genuine concern clouded Susan’s plain face. ‘Oh but Carly, I don’t want you putting yourself in danger, sweetheart.’

  Carly laughed. ‘Don’t you stress about me, Sue. I’ve survived on the Keir Hardy estate for the past nineteen years so a few days in Camden freaking Hall will be a walk in the park.’

  Carly sounded bright and full of bravado. I just wished I shared her confidence in her own abilities. But nobody was interested in my opinion on the advisability of Carly’s scheme. Instead Susan said a bit snippily, ‘and Ryan, what will you be doing to help find Angie?’

  Well, at least I was back to being Ryan again, though, in any popularity contest with Carly, I was a non starter in Susan’s eyes.

  ‘I’ll ask a few of my mates in the DPG if any of the hotshots they’re babysitting have been on any away days to Hortonhurst recently. If they have, my pals may well have seen or heard something. You know, you wouldn’t believe how these people carry on in front of us DPG guys. It’s like we’re invisible as well as blind, deaf and dumb.’

  This seemed to satisfy Susan and she dutifully wrote out a cheque to retain our services for another couple of weeks. I felt a bit of a fraud for taking it because I was still pretty convinced that Rob was right. Despite what Susan and Carly seemed to believe, my instincts were telling me that
Angie was on the lam somewhere and would come home in her own good time. Which only goes to show that my instincts talk as much sense as your average politician.

  Chapter Ten

  A couple of small jobs came in over the next couple of days so I switched my focus to these while Carly carried on meeting Zander. She was also spending a fair bit of time round at Susan’s house. When I asked her why she said she was keeping Susan in the loop, but it seemed to me that she was taking over Angie’s role in Susan’s life. I didn’t think this was healthy and I said so.

  ‘Oh for Chrissakes, Ryan, just leave it will you? You’re doing stuff all to help find out what’s going on with Angie so one of us has gotta earn our wages. And, as it happens, I’m getting somewhere with Zander.

  I arched my eyebrows. ‘Ok, Mata Hari, tell me what you’ve got.’

  Carly frowned. ‘Who’s Mata Hari?’

  I was tempted to say she was a waitress in the kebab joint downstairs, but my sarcasm would’ve sailed right over her head so I just shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  As it happened, Carly was more interested in telling me what she’d discovered about Azrael Bodach than uncovering Mata’s identity.

  ‘Azrael’s real name is Marcus Sullivan. He’s an actor who got lucky when he went for an audition and landed this gig.’

  ‘And who set up the audition?’

  ‘Zander says it’s that Russian guy, Yuri Borzoi. You know, the guy your mate was banging on about.’

  ‘Yuri Borzov. A borzoi is a breed of dog.’

  Carly pouted. ‘Yeah, whatever. But Zander says that despite Marcus being a fake, the Church is for real. Embracing the darkness is liberating and it frees you up from all the guilt trips that mess with your mind.’ She looked at me with her soulful brown eyes. ‘And he wants me to join.’