by Michael Kerr
“Think of Tyler as being that kind of creature; virtually invisible, striking with deadly force, and conducting a war against all who confront it. Hold on to that alien image, and you might just see him coming out of the corner of your eye.”
After David left, Ryan and Julie drove over to Wanstead hospital, where the young Russian guy had undergone surgery to his leg.
The rain danced on the windscreen; liquid lances hurtling down with mindless vehemence from a sky that cracked with rolling thunder, and spat tortuous tongues of lightning that branched into silvery neon tree roots against a backdrop of graveyard grey.
“Did you buy David’s evaluation of Tyler’s current mindset?” Julie said to Ryan.
“Yeah. We have to accept that he deals with these creeps for a living. He gets to look at the cogs that drive them. He once told me that some of them are as far removed from normal people as an insect; that they look like us and talk the same language, but that that is all they have in common with the average human being. He brought it home to me by relating the case of a lunatic who believed that he was the last remaining member of an otherwise extinct race of carnivorous shape-shifters. He was convinced that he could metamorphose into anything he wanted to be, and that drinking human blood was as necessary to him as oil was to keep a car engine from seizing up. At no time was the specially designed leather muzzle removed from his mouth. Not since he had bitten a male nurse’s throat out.
“David said that the man could appear quite normal, had an IQ of 140, and was a buff on Mozart.”
Julie sighed. “There doesn’t seem to be an effective way of recognising these...defectives, until it’s too late.”
“Maybe there should be psychiatric assessments done at various stages of a child’s development. They could pick up on any signs of abuse, schizophrenia, eating disorders, depression, and a whole bunch of other stuff, and nip it in the bud before they completely lose the plot.”
“It won’t happen,” Julie said. “Nobody would foot the bill.”
“Prevention is not only better, it’s also cheaper than trying to cure something that has been allowed to get a firm grip. Penny-pinching governments should start looking long-term, or society will end up breaking down.”
“No one cares enough, Ryan. We live in a material world. The average citizen only cares about his or her own well-being, and the cost of fuel and food and mortgages. They go through life wearing blinkers.”
“Tell me about it. I can empathise with that doctrine. At this moment in time I’m really only concerned with keeping my mother and you safe from Tyler. You do know that you can’t go back to your house alone, don’t you?”
“What about you? You’re as much at risk as any of us.”
“Any suggestions of what we should do?”
“Yes. I think we should base ourselves at your place or mine. If he comes-a-calling, we’ll be ready and waiting. I don’t think he’ll go up against us. Do you?”
“Yeah. Wilde impressed me. He painted a picture of a man who probably isn’t able to perceive personal fear. Some people have insensitive nerve endings and don’t feel pain. They can cut, burn, or badly injure themselves and suffer no physical discomfort. Tyler might be immune...impervious to normal perceptions of what would scare the shit out of most of us. It could be a chemical imbalance. Have you ever had to contend with someone high on PCP?”
“Only once, back when I was in uniform. I was part of a team that attended what turned out to be a hostage situation. A scrawny little junkie was holding an ex-girlfriend at knife point, up on top of the Shell Building. He actually dropped the knife, let go of the girl and attacked us. Eight of us! I remember the look on his face as he waded in. He looked...gleeful. We didn’t have a clue that he was out of his head on PCP. It gave him a strength I’ve never seen outside of movies. We couldn’t overpower him. He hospitalised four officers. Pulled an ear right off my sergeant’s head with his bare hand. And then he jumped up on to the parapet and leapt off it. He was laughing and flapping his fucking arms. I heard him shout, ‘I’m a bird! I can fly…I can fly’ I don’t think I would’ve been surprised if he’d soared off across the Thames like Peter Pan. But he didn’t. He dropped like a stone. It was when the tox reports came back after the autopsy that we got confirmation of the phencyclidine.”
“I think we should afford Tyler the same respect as your birdman, Julie. Think of him as being in an altered state of mind; afraid of nothing and extremely dangerous, but in full control of his actions. He might be a homicidal psychopath, but he’s clever, highly-motivated and resourceful. And I don’t think he’d do us a big favour and top himself.”
“We better call in at your place later, and you can pick up your toothbrush and stuff.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time.”
Julie smiled. “It’ll be nice to have a live-in bodyguard.”
“We’ll celebrate, tomorrow night. We’ve been asked out for a meal.”
Julie’s mouth dropped open. “Who knows about us? Apart from Gemma Rutledge, who said she could tell there was something between us.”
“My mother. I ran off at the mouth. Sorry. She invited us for dinner at the hotel I’ve stashed her in.”
“Wants to look over the competition, eh?”
“Competition?”
“Yes. A mother always sees a new woman as competition. It’s as if someone is trying to take over her role.”
“Not with Jessica. I’m thirty-seven, Julie, not seventeen. It’s been a long time since she cooked my meals and washed and ironed my clothes. She’s a very independent lady, who is just a little amazed that I’m seeing someone. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has harboured the thought that I might be gay. She gave up a long time ago on envisaging me ever settling down.”
“It might not suit you to be in a relationship. Do you think you could handle it?”
“Yeah, with someone who could take me for what I am. If I’ve learnt one thing, it’s that you have to be true to who you are, Julie. Try to be something you’re not, and it’s just a fool’s holiday. It can’t last.”
“That sounds very philosophical, for a cop.”
“Just how it is.”
“A few days under siege together at my place might be an enlightening experience for both of us.”
“Should be fun, apart from negotiating that bloody spiral staircase, and wondering if Tyler is going to drop by and try to blow us away.”
Chapter THIRTY-TWO
Valentino Pavlovka was awake, raised up slightly with three pillows supporting him. His right leg was now a few grams heavier than his left, due to the alloy rods and screws that now held his tibia together. The limb was elevated by a complex-looking rope and pulley system.
Del Preedy was standing outside the door of the private room that Ryan had arranged for Gorchev’s man to be lodged in.
“Is he talking?” Ryan said to Del.
“Yeah, boss. He said, ‘I vant to make a phone call’. That’s it. Won’t give his name, or say anything else to anyone. I told him there was a pay phone down the hall.”
Ryan and Julie entered the room. It was of a type that the average National Health patient didn’t get to see. There was plush, pearl-grey-coloured carpeting, soothing sea-green walls with a couple of framed prints of windmills and cornfields, and two faux-leather easy chairs. A TV was bracketed to the wall, and there was an en-suite bathroom. Ryan could imagine the bill that the Yard would receive.
The television was on, but the young guy in the bed was just staring up at the ceiling. His eyes looked red-rimmed, as though he had been crying.
“What’s your name, son?” Ryan said, approaching the bed. The taciturn patient did not even look at Ryan or Julie.
Ryan told him who they were. Pulled up a chair. “You realise that we know you murdered the other Russian,” he said. “Want to tell me why? Was it self-defence?”
Valentino stared at Ryan. It was a look that might have frozen water. “I ha
ve nothing to say to you, cop. I know my rights. Get me a phone.”
“To call Sergei? That might be a bad idea. I’ve already told him that you are cooperating with us, and that you’ve admitted that it was him who ordered you and your dead friend to abduct Tyler and deliver him to Savino’s mob. He didn’t sound amused. Truth is, you’re on your own, son. Gorchev isn’t going to admit knowing you exist. But he will believe that you’re trying to save your own skin by selling him out. Maybe you’ll get a bullet for your misplaced loyalty.”
“I have done nothing wrong,” Valentino said. “You have no right to hold me.”
“We found a guy shot dead in the boot of a car, and you with a bullet in your leg. Somebody did something wrong, and the other Russian is on ice at the morgue. That leaves you as the fall guy.”
“Tyler is the man you should be speaking to.”
“We don’t know where he is. You’re all we’ve got, so you better start convincing me that we shouldn’t lock you up and lose the key.”
Valentino had already formulated a story. “I went to the flat in Snaresbrook with Georgio to collect some money that Tyler owed him. We were not armed. Tyler pulled a gun and shot me in the leg. He then tied me up and left with Georgio. That is all I know.”
“Tell me Georgio’s surname.”
“Kriukov. He is Sergei’s nephew.”
“And what’s your name, Son?”
“I am Valentino Pavlovka. And I am not your son.”
“Okay Val. Let’s start again, and cut the bullshit. You or Georgio shot the lock out of Tyler’s door, and cut the security chain. You broke in, and it went wrong. What happened?”
“We did not use firearms. We picked the lock and cut the chain. Tyler was in bed. He said he would get us the money he owed Georgio. When we went into the kitchen, he drew a gun from a drawer and shot me. What happened then is what I have already told you.”
“You’re lying, Val. Think about it, and when you decide to tell the truth, ask the officer outside your door to give me a call.”
“It won’t happen, cop. You have no proof of anything. Sergei knows that I would not say anything that might incriminate him. I have done nothing. I am the victim here.”
Ryan smiled. “Do you really believe that Gorchev will risk his freedom for you? How would I have known that you and Georgio were planning to hand Tyler over to the Italians? Only you could have given us that information. You’re a marked man, Val. Whatever you say, your boss will believe you to have been disloyal. Sometimes you have to know when to bail out. Help us, or take your chances with Gorchev.”
Valentino let his eyes drift to a small crack in the ceiling above him. He needed time to think. He would have to speak to Sergei before he made a decision. The cop was putting his life in danger, and might have already done too much damage to undo. Sergei was a very pragmatic man. He always negated any possible threat. If he did not have unmitigated faith in what Valentino told him, he would instruct Gregor to have him eliminated. He knew that he would then have about the same chance of survival as an alcoholic had to grow a second liver.
They left Valentino to work out how bad his odds were with Gorchev. Ryan was sure that the young Russian was astute enough to know that he was now a liability to his boss.
“You think he’ll give us enough to put Gorchev in the dock?” Julie said as they went down in the lift.
“Perhaps. The kid is older than his years. I saw a lot of living in those eyes. He’ll sell his boss down the river if we offer him a good enough deal to get up in a witness box and burn him.”
“It would be a good result. Doesn’t help us collar Tyler, though.”
“Tyler will keep going until we lift him. It’s just a matter of when, not if.”
“You really believe that?”
Ryan nodded. “He’s like a lot of the suits on the top floor at the Yard; intelligent and arrogant, but lacking commonsense. You have to know when to quit, and he doesn’t.”
It was still raining hard. Ryan told Julie to wait under the portico at the main door, where he had dropped her on the way in. Pointless both of them getting soaked. He jogged to the car park and climbed in the Vitari like a drowned rat.
When they got to his flat, Julie made a pot of coffee while Ryan got out of his wet clothes, took a shower, dressed, and put together enough clothes to last for a week. It amounted to not much more than a few changes of underwear, socks and shirts. As an afterthought he stuffed a clean pair of Levi’s into the top of the flight bag he had filled and added his Remington shaver and toilet gear from the bathroom. He was all set to go when he joined Julie in the kitchen.
“If we get serious, then one of us will have to transfer out, Ryan. You do realise that?”
Ryan sipped his coffee. Shrugged. “That’s a bridge we haven’t come to, yet.”
“You must have thought about it. You do look at consequences, don’t you?”
“Everything works out. And plans are usually a bad idea. They go wrong. I look at life in the main as a series of setbacks and mishaps along a winding road. Some are minor, some are major. It’s a trip. An obstacle course. And you don’t ever get to go back and alter one second of it. Places might hardly change. But you can’t replicate the events. It’s the feelings, people, weather, and all the little idiosyncrasies that make it impossible to experience the same thing twice. Tomorrow really will take care of itself, Julie, whether I worry about consequences or not. Looking for reasons for anything just complicates life.”
“You’re pretty deep, Ryan.”
“No, Julie. Really. I just don’t expect a lot. If things go wrong, I’m not usually surprised. If good things happen, I am. I like it simple.”
“Is your mother like you?”
“No. I’m like her. It’s a gene thing. You get to blame your faults on those who have gone before. We look and behave the way we do because of our parents.”
“Doesn’t always follow.”
“True. Stuff can skip generations. Maybe one of Tyler’s ancestors was Jack the Ripper. The bad genes might have lain dormant for a few generations.”
“Do you really believe that stuff?”
“Yeah. It’s like race memory, it exists. A lot of things are built-in at birth.”
“You mean the way most people have an instinctual fear of snakes?”
Ryan nodded. “That’s why I tend to disagree with some of the psychology hype. Not the classification of personality disorders, or the motivational aspects, but guys like David Wilde tend to look for patterning caused by childhood experiences: abuse and social depravation. I don’t believe that all rapists and serial killers were kids who got treated badly. It doesn’t explain why so many youngsters mistreat animals, start fires, and go on to be full blown sociopaths by the time they’re in their teens.”
“So what is your diagnosis, Dr. Ryan?”
“Evil, plain and simple. Some people are born bad.”
“You honestly think that good and evil actually exist?”
“Absolutely. Same as love and hate, and envy and greed. Their strength is visible in word and deed. Good, evil, sex and power drive humanity. I think they’re a natural part of what and who we are. We are all capable of committing good and bad acts. Depending on the mix in the gene pool, you might end up being the Pope, or Hitler. It’s luck of the draw.”
“I see the logic, but think that there has to be more to it. If what you say is true, then all that someone like Tyler does is normal. Who decides what is right and wrong, if both are...natural ingredients of who we are?”
“Beats me, Julie. Some ancient civilisations had a society, gods they worshipped, and saw nothing wrong with immolating...sacrificing children on a regular basis to pacify whatever it was they believed in. It was acceptable and normal practise. So who are we to say it was wrong? With hindsight, we can condemn lots of traditions that were commonplace in the past. Right and wrong depend on which side of the fence you happen to be standing at. Nothing is set in concrete.”
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Julie wasn’t sure whether Ryan was oversimplifying. Maybe he was right. History was a catalogue of mans’ inhumanity to man. You had to be a little insular, she thought; work the cases that hit your desk, and close out all else. That’s how most people got through the day, by filtering out all the gloom and doom that was taking place. If you let all the heart-rending events get through your defences, you would be suffocated under the emotional avalanche. A certain level of detachment was the only way to handle it.
Ryan got up and stood behind her. Massaged her neck muscles. She closed her eyes and almost purred. One thing led to another, and it was another ninety minutes before they left the flat and headed for the Yard.
Chapter THIRTY-THREE
He drove out to a small village west of Chesham. After considering his options, Andy had decided to spend a few days with a widow he had taken considerable time grooming.
Faith Conway had found solace in having real-time conversations in online chat rooms. At first, after her husband had died, she had tried to run the small farm single-handed, but it had proved too hard a task, and her heart was not in it. After selling the livestock, tractor, and all the other equipment, Faith had found herself floundering without direction. At fifty-one, she had spent thirty years of her life as a farmer’s wife, working long hours with little free time. Now, she had nothing but free time. The difficulty was finding something to fill it with.
The Internet had been her salvation. Through it, she could reach out and contact other people, and unburden herself without ever having to face, or be known to the strangers she confided in. Faith had led a sexually frustrated married life, finding no fulfilment in the perfunctory coupling with her late husband. It was in some way ironical that Percy’s heart had given out while he was labouring on top of her. He had cried out and slumped over her. She could still remember the slack weight of his dead body pinning her to the bed. Detaching herself from him and sliding out from the sweat-lathered corpse had been a trial she would never forget. Percy had weighed in at eighteen stone, and his inert mass had almost collapsed her lungs. Her loss was also a renaissance. She felt liberated; free to begin a new life without any constraint. The computer was a perfect means to strike up anonymous liaisons.