He touched Anna on the shoulder.
“Fräulein Haller. I will show you to the examination room. Once there, you will remove all your clothing and lie on the bed awaiting my examination. When I examine you, no matter what steps or procedures I take, you will not object. You will simply accept them as part of the examination process.” He took her hand. “Come.” He looked over his shoulder and winked at Julius. “Prepare some hot water, my boy. We will both need to clean up after we have enjoyed her.”
8
With the continuous hum of turbofans buzzing through the cabin, Croft’s eyelids began to droop. He gazed at the netbook screen, and the lines of print on it. They had begun to blur into a hazy series of meaningless characters. Having no further patience for Zepelli’s manuscript, shut the machine down.
It was a transcript of the original document, which was in his briefcase. On the Monday after receiving it, irritated by Zepelli’s small handwriting, he had taken it to Santa Cruz de Tenerife, the capital of the island, where he had engaged a multilingual secretarial agency to transcribe it for him, certain that he would find it easier to read on screen.
Returned to him just two days ago, he was satisfied, but he still had not found the inclination to read it, and now, at thirty-three thousand feet somewhere over the Atlantic, east of the Brest Peninsula, with his mind so distracted, he did not feel like going on.
Millie had rung at 10.15am Tenerife time, with the news that Burke had escaped. Croft had been so astounded at the announcement that he was unable to speak for several seconds, causing Millie to wonder if the telephone connection had died.
“Felix? Are you still there, Felix? Did you hear what I said?”
Under the puzzled eye of his maid, he had visibly shaken himself from his stupor. “What? Yes. I’m here and I heard you. I just can’t believe it, that’s all. How?”
“I’ll give you the details later. We need you back here.”
“No way. When I left, I said I wouldn’t come back, and I meant it.”
Millie persisted. “Felix, in the last twelve hours, he’s killed five people, possibly six, and he’ll kill again. We’re sure of it. We think he’s making his way to Scarbeck. The notes will start coming again, and we’ll be so far up the creek without your help. Please come back.”
“Millie, I said…” Croft trailed off as a vision of his long-suffering girlfriend came into his head. “Trish. Has anyone checked on her?”
“Dave Thurrock is on his way to the hospital as I speak. She’s well protected there, and we’re putting permanent people on her until Burke is caught…”
Croft’s heart began to pound. “She’s not at the hospital,” he growled, cutting in on her babble.
“What?”
“She was discharged months ago. Into the care of her brother, Ted.”
“Oh, my God, no. Where does he live, Felix?”
“Warrington. When we’re through talking, I’ll dig out the address and text it to you. Millie, you have to get onto their local police and tell them to get someone out there before Burke learns where she is.”
“No worries. What about you?”
At that moment a text message arrived. He put Millie on hold and checked it.
From an unknown number, it read, You have The Deep Secret, I want it and I have Sinclair. Your move. GB.
Getting back to Millie, he told her of the text message, and concluded, “I’m on my way.”
He passed the next hour packing and arranging with the management of the apartment block for his departure and for the car hire company to collect his compact Seat. Then it was a twenty minute taxi ride to the airport and a seat on the first flight to Manchester, then…
There was nothing to be done for an hour at the airport and four and a half hours in the air. Nothing other than indulge his anxious thoughts, read his transcript of Zepelli’s manuscript, and further indulge his anxious thoughts.
He told himself that Burke’s text was an impossible boast. The mental health unit knew of Trish’s history and they knew they could not give details to anyone, not even Croft, without authorisation. They really were that secure. The police would not give her location away, either, but with hindsight, they couldn’t. Until he told Millie, they obviously did not know she had been moved to her brother’s care. Burke, for all his boasting, could never get through the layers of security surrounding Trish.
Croft reminded himself that Hattersley, the Category A prison where Burke had been incarcerated, was one of the most secure prisons in the country, but he had still escaped.
Then, while he waited for his flight to be called, Millie rang again with the news he feared.
“I’m sorry, Felix, but it seems someone rang Scarbeck General a few weeks ago, purporting to be you and they told the caller that Trish was living with her brother.”
Croft’s heart pounded. “What? I don’t believe I’m hearing this. Aren’t there procedures to prevent that?”
“You’ll have to take that up with the hospital,” Millie replied. “Warrington police have sent men out there. Do you know Ted Sinclair?”
If Millie could have seen him, the grim set of Croft’s face would have told her everything. “I know him, all right. He hated me. Listen, Millie, I’m about to board the plane. You’d better get back to the Warrington police, and warn them to put a watch on Andrew Sinclair, too. Trish’s other brother. He lives in the same part of Warrington. He’s an electrical contractor or something. They’ll have his address.”
“Leave it with me, and I’ll be at Manchester to meet you.”
“And Millie…”
“Yes?”
“The minute you get anything, I want to know. No matter how bad the news is. All right?”
“You have my word on it.”
And now, here he was, trapped inside a pressurised cigar tube, six miles up in the air, helpless to do anything other than grind his teeth and tap impatient feet on the aircraft carpet.
It was a scheduled flight, not a charter. No first class option, and even the extra legroom seats were reserved for disabled passenger, but the aircraft was mostly empty. Croft enjoyed a row of three seats to himself, and with so few passengers aboard, there was no delay when calling the cabin crew. But he was too wrapped up in his anxiety to enjoy the comparative luxury.
If only someone could give him some reassurance that Trish was fine. Without being consciously aware of it, every time a member of the crew moved, he looked up, hoping it would be with a message from Millie saying Trish and her brother had been found safe and well, and they were now under the protection of the police.
Looking through the window, the waters of the Atlantic Ocean appeared placid, in stark contrast to his churning emotions. Occasional clutches of cotton wool cloud floated over the seas below, casting dark shadows between the areas of sparkling blue-grey, and to him it seemed that Burke was there, hiding in those shadows, as he had hidden amongst the residents of Scarbeck when he terrorised them as The Handshaker.
Half a dozen rows ahead of him, the cockpit door opened, a flight attendant emerged, closed the door behind her, and made her way along the single aisle. Once again, Croft looked up at her, and this time, she really did make for him.
“Mr Croft?”
He took in her smiling eyes, reminding himself that this young blonde, like all her colleagues, had been rigorously trained in putting forward a pleasant aura. Even if it was bad news, she would not give it away. “Yes.”
“There’s an urgent call for you. If you go to the cockpit, the pilot will feed it through the radio.”
Croft felt an unpleasant gurgling in the pit of his stomach, and rightly diagnosed it as fear. The words of his old headmaster came back to him. Fear is weakness, Croft. Loxley men never show their fear. Loxley men are not weak.
God, how he would love to have that old fool sat in front of him now.
Dreading the worst, Croft left his seat and followed the flight attendant to the cockpit door where she knocked, t
hen punched in the four digit code, and pulled the door open to admit him. Leaning past Croft, she spoke to the pilot.
“Mister Croft, Captain.”
“Thank you.”
During this brief hiatus, Croft took in the cramped environment with its arrays of switches, knobs, displays, and the narrow view through the letterbox windows front and either side. He was a man who preferred space, and it remained a mystery to him how anyone could work in such a claustrophobic environment.
While the stewardess left, the pilot removed his headset and left the aircraft management to his first officer. Half turning, he shook hands. “Peter Duggan.” He waved behind his seat. “Jump seat there. If you pull it down, park your bum and put the cans on, I’ll pipe the young lady through and you can talk in private.”
Croft grunted his thanks, followed the instructions, and after sitting down and putting on the headphones, and adjusting the microphone so that it came close to his lips, he said, “Croft.”
“Felix? It’s Millie. You’d never believe the trouble we’ve had to go to just so I can speak to you. Bloody anti-terrorism rules. A total pain in the arse.”
“Never mind your communication problems. Is it bad news?”
There was brief pause and Croft guessed Millie was psyching herself up.
“I’m sorry, yes. The worst. You did say you wanted to know and I didn’t think you’d want to wait until you were on the ground. Ted and Belinda Sinclair and Trish, all murdered. Warrington’s preliminary inquiries indicate Belinda and Trish were both raped before they were killed.”
Croft felt shafts of pain hurtle through him. He wanted to break down there and then, and again the words of his headmaster came back to him.
Loxley men do not cry, Croft. Crying is a sign of weakness, and Loxley men are not weak.
Dismissing thoughts of his privileged upbringing and education, steeling himself against the turgid sea of emotions swirling through him, he asked, “Have you been to the house?”
“No. We’re liaising with the Warrington police.”
“Did Burke leave a note?”
“There was a note. How did you guess?” There was no humour in Millie’s voice. “Want me to read it out?”
Croft took out a pocketbook and pen. “It’ll give me something to tackle between here and Manchester. Go on.”
She read it to him and he quickly scribbled it down.
“Got it,” he told her. A frown creased his brow. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“What? The note?”
“No. I mean Burke killing Trish. He needed her alive. How else could he bait me?”
There was a long silence. Eventually Millie came through again. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Two more bodies. Both police officers. They were sent out after we rang Warrington first thing this morning. It could be that Burke was disturbed.”
Croft was stunned almost into silence. Recovering, he gasped, “Oh Christ.”
“There appear to be several weapons missing from Ted Sinclair’s personal arsenal, too. We don’t know how many or what sort. Warrington say there are just gaps in his gun cupboard.”
“That’s means Burke has upped the ante.”
“Either him or his accomplice.”
“Accomplice?” Croft repeated the word so loudly that Captain Duggan turned in his seat to ensure everything was all right.
“I’m sorry, Felix,” Millie said. “I haven’t told you, have I? We’re fairly certain Burke had help escaping from prison. Now listen, there is a danger that they will be waiting to greet you at Manchester. We’re taking no chances. When you get off the plane, you’ll be brought through VIP channels, and fast-tracked out of there. I’ll have a car airside to get you away quickly.”
Croft stared at the verse Millie had dictated to him.
It begins with grin or want
How does it end?
Beech mole
“Felix? Are you still with me?”
“Yes, I’m here. He won’t go for me at the airport.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“Yes, I can,” Croft assured her. “The first line of his verse translates as, ‘It begins with Warrington’. He’s tried to disguise it, but my guess is ‘beech mole’ is another location. I don’t know where yet, but it’s not Manchester or Ringway airport.”
“All the same,” Millie replied, “We’re taking no chances. You’ll be on your way out of the airport within five minutes of landing. We’ll have someone collect your luggage.”
“Hold on, Millie.” Croft lifted one cup of the headphones. “Captain Duggan, how long before we land?”
“About an hour.”
Croft checked his watch as he returned to his conversation with Millie. “We’ll be landing about half past four. What you can do is get someone out to Oaklands to check it over. Whoever he is, I don’t believe he would be stupid enough to go there, and his message doesn’t indicate Oaklands, but you never know.”
“Felix, we can’t let you go home. You’d be a sitting duck. You can stay with me.”
“A sitting duck for what, for Christ’s sake?” Croft argued. “You think I can’t take him face to face?”
“You wouldn’t get the chance,” Millie told him. “He’s armed, remember. If he’s taken a rifle, he can pick you off from a distance.”
Croft shook his head even though Millie could not see the gesture. “Remember the text I got this morning? Think about this message now. He wants me alive. He wants The Deep Secret. He won’t harm me.”
“Nevertheless, this is a different ball game to The Handshaker killings, and we’re taking no chances. As of now, you are officially under police protection.”
***
Croft was not first off the plane at Ringway. Once the aircraft stopped on its appointed gate, there were the usual delays while the telescopic bridge was moved into place, before the passengers began to disembark.
The final hour of the flight had been agony. His insides twisted and churned with alternating grief and fury, the need to cry out his loss, and the blood lust urging him to get his hands to the throat of the man who had murdered Trish.
For the benefit of his fellow passengers and the cabin crew, he put on a face of rigid control, the only external manifestation of his troubles being a curt response to a routine query from a flight attendant. Croft had promptly apologised for his rudeness, and applied even sterner control over his emotions. Grief, anger, perhaps even murder if he could get his hands on this madman, could come later. What was needed right now was cold, hard discipline.
Carefully packing away his netbook and ensuring the handwritten Zepelli manuscript was secure in his holdall, Croft was one of the last to leave the aircraft. He followed the line of passengers along the telescopic bridge towards the terminal, but where they turned right towards immigration and customs, Millie and two armed, uniformed officers intercepted him, took his hand luggage and led him by a different route, back down towards the airside.
“We have no jurisdiction here, but the airport police have been great,” Millie explained as they made their way down a flight of stone steps to ground level. “We know he can’t get at you airside, and they have AFOs like these lads stationed here as a matter of routine.”
Croft cast a glance over the two armed men and their lethal artillery. “AFOs?”
“Authorised firearms officers.”
Stepping out onto the concrete and tarmac, where the whine of turbofans, the smell of aviation fuel, and the background noise of a busy airport surrounded them, the raw heat of a sultry July afternoon hit Croft. He loosened his tie and took off his jacket.
“I told you, he won’t come for me here anyway,” he said.
“And I told you. No chances.” Millie led the way around the terminal spar, to an area where a few light aircraft were parked. Amongst them was a patrol car, its blue lights flashing in anticipation of their arrival. “After he found out about what had happened at the Sinclairs’ place, Erni
e called for armed backup, and we have two men outside your place and mine.”
Dropping Croft’s bags into the boot, she climbed into the rear of the car and Croft got in alongside her.
“I told you, it’s unnecessary,” Croft said, slamming the door to shut out the airport noise.
“And do you remember the runaround Burke gave us the year before last?” Millie demanded. “The station, Dave,” she ordered the driver.
Thurrock looked over his shoulder and smiled at Croft, who grinned back. “Well, well, Detective Constable Thurrock as my personal bodyguard and chauffeur.”
“It’s Detective Sergeant now, and I got lumbered with this job because we’re short of bodies.” Thurrock bunched the gears, knocked the parking brake off and gave the car its head towards the exit.
To Croft’s surprise, two motorcycle outriders fell in front and rear.
“No chances,” Millie told him.
“I suppose the windows are bulletproof, too?”
“Of course.”
Croft settled into his seat and watched a wide-bodied jet approach the runway. He wondered idly whether any of the passengers were coming in to the same kind of turmoil.
“Do you have details on what happened at the Sinclairs’ home?”
“We had a report from Warrington just before we left Scarbeck,” Millie said. “I can give you the overview. Ted Sinclair was found in the hall. He had a hole in his head where the bullet went in and a bigger hole the other side where it came out. Belinda’s hands had been tied, but her legs, obviously, were not. She was laid on the bed, across Trish, who was tied to the bedrail. Semen in the vagina of both women. That’s gone for analysis so the DNA can be compared to Burke’s and any other man with him. The car stolen from Leeds in the early hours was on the road outside the Sinclairs’ home, but Ted Sinclair’s Range Rover is missing.” She paused a moment. “There’s something else.”
“I’m listening.”
“About eleven o’clock this morning, the Northwich police answered an emergency call. A body found in a lay-by on the Northwich, Warrington road. Face blown away. Shotgun injuries. They thought no more about it. They’re separate from Warrington, you see. At three o’clock, the Warrington wallahs latched onto it because the dead man’s clothing was too big for him.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve seen the pictures and it’s not pretty. Too early to be absolutely sure, but we think it may be Burke.”
The Deep Secret Page 7