Rebwar The Missing Parts: A London Murder Mystery Book 1 (A Rebwar Crime Thriller)

by Ols Schaber

  ‘Rebs… Zara is dead. She’s fucking dead because of you. The fucker killed her and stole her heart. You were going to catch him. I can’t…’ She had said it out loud and now it was real. ‘She’s dead, did you hear me? The wall, your name was on the wall! Pick up! For fuck’s sake pick up!’ She sobbed all the way home, trying to block out the image that was constantly in her line of vision, even with her eyes open. Zee’s naked body with the gaping hole. She shook her head to try and clear it and calm herself so she could hold it together and make it home. She put her head down and jammed her hands in her pockets. And remembered she had Zee’s phone. She walked faster, sped up and then broke into a run.

  Forty-Two

  Geraldine had ignored the order to stay at home. She had to do something to avoid the pain. It made her sick, like it was twisting and turning her inwards. She was also compelled to catch the sick fucker that had done this to Zara. He had to know that they were onto him. But where was Gibson?

  She made herself a comforting mint tea, soothing and gentle, and switched on her computer. No one had confronted her on her being at the office. She avoided eye contact with her colleagues and focused on the job, viewing hours of CCTV footage. A few days before, Rebwar had chased a scooter to a pub called The Angel in Southwark. He hadn’t found anything there. The car park had a camera but all she could find was evidence of an exchange between a van with stolen plates and the scooter. Pretty standard trick.

  The RAF Northolt lead was equally frustrating. It was a military airfield that let private planes fly from it but was still under the jurisdiction of the MOD. She was still waiting for permission to get information on flights and camera footage. The killer had hidden his tracks well. She heard a few whispers of gossip from the cubicle next to hers. O’Neil had slept with some young community officer. It didn’t surprise her. Of course it had ended up in tears and betrayal. The officer had been dismissed. For a moment Geraldine thought of finding her and helping her make a complaint, but she had to focus. How did O’Neil know about their meeting at Brent Cross?

  She was onto something and was struggling to control her agitation. She looked around her to see if anyone else was spying on her. She also had to concentrate, as she was flitting from one lead to another and was no closer to finding any evidence on the killer. She wanted to bounce ideas around with someone, get some fresh perspective. Where was Rebwar? They needed each other. In her bag was Zara’s mobile that she had taken from the flat. Zara had shared her pin with her on numerous occasions and Geraldine typed it in.. She wasn’t too sure what she was looking for. On the log were a couple of missed calls from Gibson. Her mobile phone rang and an unknown number flashed on the screen.

  ‘Hello, Geraldine.’ It was a very distorted electronic voice, it was being masked.

  ‘Who is this? Some prank call?’ She stuck her head above the privacy walls in the office to see if she could spot anyone suspicious.

  ‘You haven’t caught me yet, have you?’

  ‘Hey, stop this. It’s not funny.’

  ‘Not it’s not. Did you see what I did to Zara?’

  Geraldine’s heart stopped. She felt her face drain of blood and struggled to say something.

  ‘Now that I’ve got your attention – are you listening? Well, Geraldine, you’re next. I have grand plans for you and I’ve got a taste for it now.’

  ‘You know I’m a police officer, I’m–’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh! You haven’t got a clue who you are looking for.’

  ‘Listen, Gibson… we will catch you. We always do.’

  ‘You haven’t got a clue who I am, have you? Zara did. She found me. That’s how I found you. Got her mobile? Mmm, good luck with that.’ The voice laughed. ‘See you soon, Geraldine. I’m looking forward to meeting you.’ He hung up.

  Geraldine’s hands shook as she put the phone down and took a moment to process what had just happened. She felt lonely and vulnerable. She wanted to do something. The office felt cold. She pulled her hair – a tic from childhood. It brought a bit of comfort.

  Zara’s mobile was a shell. The programs had no data. It was as if everything had been reinstalled. There was no info anywhere apart from meetings with Rebwar. Geraldine typed a text for the Squirrel. As each word appeared, it was like a cry for help. It’ll be OK, she repeated to herself meditatively in an attempt to control herself. A response appeared on the screen; it was the Squirrel. He was on his way to her.

  Forty-Three

  Rebwar had found refuge in Shishawi’s storeroom. Basic metal shelving lined the walls with a mix of products that reminded him of home. The room was filled with stale smoke from previous domino games; a sweet powdery scent cut through. In the middle of the room were two small camping tables with a large full ashtray, a Metro newspaper and pieces of a revolver.

  Rebwar was servicing it. Bijan had lent it to him. He slotted the pieces back together. An old Webley pistol. He hadn’t used one since his military days. It was like a long lost friend, like putting on an old pair of boots. He clicked the last components together, slid a bullet into one of the six chambers, spun the drum, cocked it and pointed it at a pot of hummus. A light tinkling broke his concentration. It was a Persian cat, stubby legs and more fur than his mother-in-law’s old fur stole. It came to purr on his trouser legs and slid its fur around them. Rebwar flicked through his notebook trying to find something. It was more of a collage of names, addresses and random thoughts. He picked another cigarette and lit it.

  He sat there thinking, hoping that the killer would contact him. The cat slid through the half-opened door. He got up to unzip an empty black holdall, went over to the shelves and, at random, picked some cans and cardboard boxes and filled the bag. He threw it over his shoulder and picked up his pack of cigarettes. Then he slipped a few dominos on an unfinished game.

  Berker’s head popped in. ‘Phone call for you.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. A man wants to talk to you.’

  Rebwar followed Berker to a wall-mounted plastic phone that had once been white, leaned against the corridor wall and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Is this Rebwar?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘What? You haven’t guessed, I still have the cast on from our last meeting’.

  Rebwar knew he had to leave quickly. This place was now compromised.

  ‘Where is my wife? Is she all right?’

  ‘She is. We have allowed her to return home. There is no point running.’

  Rebwar tried to buy himself some time in the vain hope O’Neil would slip up and tell him something useful.

  ‘Why were you at the crash site? Did you run the scooter guy off the road.’

  ‘I know what you’re doing’, O’Neil hissed, ‘time is running out for you.’

  Rebwar’s phone buzzed and he read a text: Heartwood Forest Car Park. By the Scout hut. 7pm sharp. No surprises. Just money for the goods.

  Rebwar left the receiver swinging by its cord and ran off down the corridor.

  ‘Hey! You know I’ve got a surprise for you…’ the voice faded into the distance as he disappeared through the back of the restaurant. As he got through the back exit, a stocky man wearing a casual blue jacket and jeans confronted him.

  ‘No silly business. You’re coming with me.’ The man went for his handcuffs and in a flash clicked one end on Rebwar’s left wrist. Rebwar used his free arm and leg to trip him backwards and he fell to the ground. With the momentum, Rebwar hit the man’s chin with his elbow, his head flipped back and hit the concrete. The man was out. In the scuffle he hadn’t managed to secure the handcuff to his own arm. Lucky. Rebwar picked through the man’s pockets looking for the key. He found one but fumbled and it fell bouncing into a grate. He could hear running footsteps, so he got up and ran out onto the road. He stopped running and walked across, looking ahead and trying not to stop to see where the other officers were.

  Forty-Four

  Geraldine was standing
near the famous rotating sign outside New Scotland Yard, smoking. She was on her third cigarette, pacing around the sign like a dog chasing its tail. She hadn’t bothered to wait for the Squirrel to come by and tell her sweet nothings. She hadn’t heard anything from Plan B other than that the case had been passed on. Usually there is some gossip about cases or press but not this one.

  ‘Hey, you’re spoiling the view,’ said a stocky man with a huge beer belly and a square, red face. He could have been a former rugby player, his features bulged like they were swelling.

  ‘Hi, Greg,’ said Geraldine, and immediately looked back down.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing here? We’ve talked about this.’

  ‘I’m not here because… I have a question that needs answering.’ She looked up at him. It had been a while since she had seen her ex-husband.

  ‘Oh, serious face.’ He took out a gum and Geraldine offered him some cigarettes. He looked at them for a second and took a step back. ‘Thanks for the support. Six months.’ And showed her the nicotine gum pack. She crouched a little to look at his lying eyes. ‘OK, had a bad weekend – fuck off. So what is it you want? Money?’

  ‘No. No it’s…’ She looked around her.

  ‘Ah, OK. Work stuff.’

  ‘Is there an open investigation into some murders involving organ trafficking?’

  ‘Not that I know of, and you know I can’t tell you very much other than that.’

  Geraldine started telling him everything she knew, the words spilled out and merged together in one long deluge.

  ‘A polish guy called Vasiles Konstantine disappeared, then his foot was found. A guy confessed to his murder under duress, but we know he didn’t do it, and then he disappeared. Then another guy who talked to us was killed and his organs taken out, and other random body parts have been found in the river’. Geraldine tried to keep it together. ‘And now my g…f-friend Zara was butchered and her h-heart taken out, and I think the killer is after me.’ She could barely hold back her tears.

  ‘Really? What the Fuck! No, I haven’t heard anything. You need to talk to someone.’

  ‘I can’t, they’ve.. the Konstantin case has apparently been closed,’ she said angrily, ‘and my new boss DCI O’Neil I think has something to do with it…’

  Greg’s expression changed. ‘Listen G, you can’t go around saying stuff like that, about a DCI, what evidence do you have?’

  ‘I don’t, that’s why I need your help.’ She lit another cigarette, her hands shaking. ‘Oh no no. Not again. I nearly got caught up the last time with your sister.

  ‘Please, Greg, I just need to get hold of some CCTV from Northolt Airfield. I think that’s where the organs are being sent from. If I give you the time and date, can you just check it out. O’Neil was there, I’m sure of it.’ Greg paced up and down shaking his head. ‘What about your super? Can’t you go up the chain of command. Ask about this guy?’

  Geraldine snapped. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? I have nothing on him, what the hell am I going to say? I’m on shaky enough ground as it is. Please Greg. I just need that footage.’

  ‘Leave it with me, G, OK?’ He held both of her hands and looked into her eyes. ‘I’ll make some calls and see what I can do, but I’m not promising anything. Now go home. I’ll call you.’

  Geraldine took Greg’s advice and made her way back to her flat at on Elms Road in Clapham. Also known as Nappy Valley, a genteel neighbourhood. She didn't know many people on her road; she didn't have the time to meet people. But it was in a nice secure building, clean and safe, with large family SUVs lining the streets. She had been in a daze, lost in though, as she opened the main front door and went upstairs to her flat. She fished out her keys, opened the double lock and pushed open the front door, with a huge sigh of relief. Then she was aware of a sudden rushing noise behind her, a hand covered her mouth and nose and she tried to breath in. Everything went black.

  Forty-Five

  Geraldine tasted the metallic tang of blood as her nostrils drew in air. She tried breathing through her mouth but she couldn’t. Her chest pulled as she tried as hard as she could to breathe. Her head pounded but she couldn’t reach the pain. She was tied up. Looking down, it was to her chair, the one she sat on to watch her favourite telly programmes. She looked around to see her landscape posters, books and O’Neil on the floor flipping through her magazines. He looked up, his side parting still immaculate. She wanted to punch his smiling face, knock those long white teeth out of his mouth.

  ‘Hi, G! Is that what your ex calls you?’

  The bastard had followed her. She tried to scream ‘you shithead’, but muffled versions came out. He stood up, tall, lanky and with his scuffed plaster on his arm.

  ‘So how do you know Rebwar? Why didn’t you tell me, bitch?’ He slapped her. ‘You don’t keep information from your commanding officer. Didn’t they teach you that at NIE? Next time I’ll use this hand.’ He raised his cast.

  Geraldine’s cheek stung as if angry insects had attacked it. She tried to take deep breaths to keep the pain at bay. With a sharp, quick sticky rip, O’Neil freed her mouth of the gaffer tape. Her skin burned as if it had been torn off. She took a few quick breaths to control the pain.

  ‘No more fucking lies, OK? Or…’ He showed her a bunched up handkerchief and the roll of gaffer tape. ‘Ever been tortured? If you thought what your poor butchered girlfriend went through was bad…you need to start talking. Now. Why did you meet Rebwar at Brent Cross and what did you talk about?’

  Geraldine looked around the room. She was stuck. But she couldn’t tell him the truth. She knew that O’Neil was somehow involved in the organ smuggling ring. His face kept showing up, or had she got it wrong? But why did he want Rebwar so badly? Did he have a plan for him and where were Plan B? Geraldine watched his intense stare, his nervous energy building up steam.

  ‘OK yes, we met. But I don’t know where he is now. And we didn’t have time to talk about anything. Maybe if you lot hadn’t turned up he wouldn’t have run off.’

  He stamped on her foot. She felt something give way and pain flared up instantly.

  ‘'It's the truth.’ She gritted her teeth as the pain travelled. ‘You sick fuck. It’s the truth. I can't tell you anymore.’

  O’Neil stared at her and stepped back. He held his hand to his chin. ‘Who are you really working for?’

  ‘No one and if you hit me again I'll report you to the DPS.’ He laughed.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare, everyone knows your background.’ He started to walk around the apartment. ‘What are you hiding? You’re not telling me something, and I will find out what it is.’ He opened drawers and tipped them out on the floor, books and files were flung off the shelves. ‘You don't know what I am capable of.’ What did he think he would find? She turned her head and saw him go into her bedroom. More smashing and throwing. She tried to jump the chair across the floor while he was out of sight.

  ‘Oh look what I found!’ O’Neil walked out of the bedroom, holding a strap-on. Geraldine couldn’t watch his broad smile, his sick mind reveling in the find.

  ‘You lesbians are all the same, self righteous pricks – oh, hang on!’ He laughed at his own joke and then swayed over to her suggestively. It made her stomach turn. ‘You know it does turn me on, a bit of strap-on action.’

  Geraldine tried to spit in his face. ‘If I found out that you killed Zara or were in any way involved I’m so going to fuck with you.'

  O’Neil stepped behind her and bent down close to her ear. ‘No need to be crude, potty mouth.’ He slapped her twice for good measure. ‘Is Rebwar running a gang? Are you on his books? Is that why you’re protecting him? Naughty Geraldine, at it again. It's you who should be worried about the DPS.’

  Geraldine looked away, her anger boiling over. She wasn’t a good liar. They had trained her to make-up cover stories, but she wasn’t a natural. O’Neil must have known that he also was well aware of her past and that she wouldn’t want any trouble. That was
the only reason he knew he could get away with this. Keep quiet, she told herself. Hold your nerve. Don't rise to it. Don't rise to it.

  ‘I’m just a temp – you know that. I was acquitted of any wrongdoing. I’m just trying to do my job.’

  O’Neil was mid pace and suddenly turned around and yelled at her. ‘Enough! I’ve had enough of your lies.’ He bent down in front of her, she could smell his stale breath. ‘So, let’s go back to the beginning shall we? With you telling me what you know, and what Rebwar is up to. I need the truth. No more of these pathetic stories. How about a bit of this?’ O’Neil grabbed her jaw and shoved a handkerchief into her mouth. Geraldine tried to fight it, but he was too strong. The fabric filled her mouth making it harder and harder to breathe. She could feel panic rising, taking her over. His smiling face was right in front of hers. ‘Don’t worry, we have as long as it takes.’

  Forty-Six

  Rebwar was at West Ruislip which was the end of the Central line. He’d changed trains and carriages a few times just to make sure he wasn’t being tailed. By the time he got to the last station it was pretty much empty and only a few lonely passengers got off. He wandered around till he found a car park by the Ruislip golf course.

  In the mix of parked cars, he spotted an old white van parked by the edge. He jemmied the lock and hot-wired the ignition; a useful talent from his days as a street kid.

  Using the phone’s sat nav, Rebwar arrived at the address he’d been sent. Geraldine had agreed to meet him there so she could witness the exchange and arrest him. Or take him for interrogation which seemed the preferred method. She was late, but that was nothing new. The van’s headlights shone across the open fields as he parked in the empty car park. He switched off the clonking diesel engine and silence replaced it with the sound of the sharp cold breeze that cut through the rough grass. He listened out for any unusual noises and looked at his phone. The anonymous text mentioned a Scout hut, which was a short walk from where he’d parked. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted the top of another van in the second car park opposite.