by Matt Drabble
“And now to top it all off, we are about to be under siege from the glare of the national media spotlight!” Chalmers exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Do you know what that means? Have any of you any comprehension about the sort of storm that’s about to land on my shoulders?”
“Our shoulders, Sir,” Danny couldn’t help but interject. “Meaning that we’re all in this together,” he added quickly.
Chalmers stared long and hard at him, trying to figure out if he was taking the piss or not; after a few seconds, he passed the test. “Of course. We are a team, after all,” Chalmers offered magnanimously.
The intercom buzzed on Kim’s desk and Danny motioned for Selleck to answer it. The young DC’s face paled as he listened before hanging up. “Commander Barrett is downstairs, Sir,” he said to Chalmers. “He’s coming up with a Mr Ramsey.”
Every face in the room paled at that announcement, Chalmers’ the most of all.
“Alright you guys; take off and do it quickly,” Danny said as soon as Chalmers ducked out of the room to greet his unwanted guests.
“We can wait around, Boss,” Wilson said as the others nodded in agreement. “It’s no problem.”
“I appreciate that, Bryan, but there’s nothing you guys can do here tonight, other than get tarnished so take off and use the back stairs.” He held up a hand to quieten any other shows of support.
Once they had left, he wandered over to the display in the centre of the room. The large white board was covered in information but nothing that had yet yielded results. There were boxes of details from the first Crucifier case still sitting in his office that he hadn’t gotten around to and he couldn’t help but feel like today’s answers were linked to the past.
The intercom on Kim’s desk started to flash and buzz loudly; he had been summoned to learn his fate.
As he approached Chalmers’ office, the sound of raised voices echoed along the long empty hallway. Danny braced himself to bear the brunt of a father’s misplaced anger, but as he drew closer it became clear that the loud voice belonged to Commander Barrett and the bereaved.
He tapped gently on the door. “Get in here, Meyers!” an angry voice greeted him.
He stepped inside and saw immediately that Barrett had sequestered Chalmers’ desk and chair. The commander was basically Chalmers on steroids - ambition and bureaucracy taken to a higher plane. He was a tall man who carried himself with an air of superiority and entitlement, a career officer in the job for the pension and perks with no interest in police work. His hair was military short and gun barrel steely grey; his shoulders were broad and his figure fit and trim.
“What the hell kind of investigation are you running here, Meyers?” Barrett demanded as soon as he entered the room.
“I can assure you, Sir, that everything is being done by the book and no stone is left unturned,” Danny answered firmly.
“Then where are my results?” Barrett demanded.
“This is not an ordinary case, Sir,” Danny said carefully, holding on to his temper. There was nothing more galling than being second guessed by a man who had never walked a beat in his life. “99 times out of 100 when you find a body, you find 20 people who saw who did it and you find the guy still covered in the evidence of his crime. But this is the 100th case where nothing makes a whole lot of sense.”
“So what do you have?”
Danny looked over as Alfonso Ramsey spoke for the first time. The media mogul was a short, unassuming man somewhere in his mid to late fifties. His accent was hard to place but obviously foreign at some point despite his elocution lessons. He was a ball of dark thick hair with unruly tufts protruding from his cuffs and collar. Danny had only ever seen the man within the pages of his own carefully monitored publications. He had received multiple honours from the British establishment, including an honorary knighthood. But now he seemed a far stretch from the global striding mastodon; now he seemed like a man, like a father.
“I can assure you that we are very close to finding the man responsible, Sir Ramsey,” Chalmers blustered.
Danny held his tongue as Ramsey stared hard at him; he didn’t say aloud that the superintendant was lying, but he also knew that he didn’t have to.
“I can’t begin to tell you, Sir Ramsey, that a mass media outbreak at this time would be hugely detrimental to the investigation,” Barrett said warily.
Danny watched as Ramsey seemed to mull the options over in his mind.
“I find myself placed in a somewhat disconcerting position, gentlemen,” Ramsey stated as they all listened on intently. “My daughter is dead and her killer still walks free. I was born in a small village where what you had, you took and what you took, you held. I have built an empire with my own two hands by sticking very closely to that motto, never showing weakness and always projecting an overwhelming sense of force. I have many enemies, gentlemen, and many would love to see me fall, but I can’t have that. I won’t stand for it.”
Danny risked a sideways glance and saw that both Chalmers and Barrett were listening on in deference despite their surroundings and ranks.
“I remember as a small child I used to play by the sea. Every now and then the ocean would offer up a gift. Sometimes I would rise before the sun and wander the sands just in case. One morning I found a small red plastic tractor; the silly little thing only had three wheels and had been battered and twisted by the waves. I was only 6 years old at the time but I loved that toy and it was mine. One morning, one of the neighbours’ children caught me playing with it and he wanted it for himself. He was a large child, much bigger than me and he bloodied my nose when he took it. That night I crept into his bedroom as his family slept. I took a rock from the garden and I battered his face until my hand was wet and sore. It wasn’t the toy, gentlemen, it was because it was mine. You protect what is yours and you never let anyone take it from you.”
Danny got the strangest feeling then that the man was more concerned with the act of someone murdering what was his, than the actual loss of his daughter. It was a very clear and succinct feeling that he thought Jane would have been proud of. It made Ramsey seem like a much more dangerous man than before.
“I will give you a week, gentlemen; a week to end this and bring a killer to justice. If you do not have a suspect in custody by then I will use the full force of my empire to scorch the earth and burn every living thing alive until I find the man myself. I will make sure that there is no explosion of press coverage to muddy the waters for now, and in the meantime I have a gift for you. There is an FBI Special Agent who is currently in Amsterdam at a conference. I’ve arranged for him to come and take a look at the case, to offer some insight.”
“That’s very kind of you, Sir Ramsey,” Barrett said immediately. “Any assistance is gratefully received.”
“You,” Ramsey said, looking straight at Danny. “I understand that your father caught the last killer?”
“Yes, Sir,” Danny replied.
“Make sure that you honour his name and replicate his deeds.” With that, Ramsey stood and left the room to nervous faces.
----------
Randall was pulling his way through the digital images on the laptop. He was fast getting to grips with the technology that Marion Ramsey’s money had provided and he was only sorry that he hadn’t managed to tap her for more before she’d fallen to the Crucifier.
The photographs on the screen were turning his stomach and he reached for the bottle of whisky on the nightstand by the hotel room bed. He had managed to largely stay away from the booze for the past few days as his story had been all the sustenance that he’d needed. But now he needed the steely shoulder of the bottle to lean on, to hold him up and keep him afloat.
The other bed in the twin room was currently covered in his research. During the day he kept the large box hidden in the wardrobe but at night he pulled all of his work out to review.
According to all of the official records, Arthur Durage had been the Crucifier serial
killer. He had been shot and killed by Detective Inspector Karl Meyers in his own basement. Durage had been a loner with no family to mourn his loss and no one to speak in his defence. The basement had been full of indisputable evidence and Durage had been buried by a local charity up north in his home town, a charity that remained nameless so as to not hurt their fundraising.
Randall also knew from the journal that Meyers had kept - and from his old partner, Tom Holland - that Jane Parkes had been unofficially consulting on several cases with Meyers and that she had been with him on that night.
Lana Genovese had been saved as a child from Durage’s basement and she had been the first new victim. She had been followed by Donna Moss and now Marion Ramsey. According to a Globe source within the police, another murder of a guy at a picnic area that had been written up as a mugging gone wrong was currently stuck up on DI Danny Meyers’ wall.
Randall had been unable to find any reason to link Alan Holmes’ death to the Crucifier case, but if Danny Meyers was then he was going to listen.
He was letting his mind wander across the assembled information when a sound from outside caught his attention. The noise was soft, but as Randall slid from the bed onto his hands and knees he could clearly see a silhouette under the door. Someone was in the hallway outside and they didn’t want to be heard.
Randall’s mind started to panic as he suddenly found himself potentially within the pages of a story instead of writing it; it was not a place that he wanted to be. He thought back to Marion Ramsey’s apartment and whether or not he’d actually been alone, apart from the bodies that was. The killer may well have been lurking and followed him back here.
He glanced down and saw that the time on his watch read 2.15am and knew that most of the hotel’s guests would be sleeping and the staff were on a skeleton rota.
He grabbed the memory card from the laptop that held his information and images and slipped it into his pocket. The hotel was a large building but he was only on the first floor.
He crept to the window and eased up the pane, praying that it wouldn’t make a sound. There was a metal fire escape outside that led down to the ground and he carefully stuck one leg outside. The door knob behind him softly turned and all hope of a reasonable explanation fled from his mind.
He quickly exited through the window and started to clamber down the metallic staircase. His hand slipped on the cold handrail due to his sweaty palm and he fought to maintain his balance as his legs wobbled beneath him. He hurried downwards, no longer caring about the noise that he was making.
He reached the bottom of the staircase and was horrified to find that the steps didn’t reach the ground. There was a drop of about 15 feet and a sturdy padlock had been inserted to stop the remaining staircase from falling into place. Presumably the hotel had installed the measure to stop guests from leaving without paying and had not yet been caught during a health and safety inspection.
Randall hoisted himself over the barrier and gripped onto the railing. There was a collection of bin bags beneath him as he dangled, and he could only hope that they contained something soft. With a deep breath, he dropped into the black night and braced himself for the impact; the bags were not soft.
His ankle buckled as he landed and a roar of pain shot up his leg. Something broke inside one of the refuge bags and speared him in the side. He dragged himself to his feet and started to limp along the alleyway. There was little light, save for the dim glow from a few windows. The back alley was where the surrounding buildings all took deliveries and left their trash for collection. There were tall metal industrial bins which stank of rotting food and Randall used the containers to lean on as he hobbled towards the street and the occasional flash of a car’s lights as people passed.
His progress was slow but he could see hope up ahead. As long as he could reach a more public setting then he would be safe.
He was no more than 10 feet from the street when strong hands suddenly reached out and grasped his shoulders in a painful clamp. The light at the end of the alleyway started to grow further away again as he was dragged backwards into the dark. He tried to kick out but his shattered ankle refused to function and he could feel blood seeping from his side.
He was waiting for the sharp cut of the blade to fall when the shadow fell upon him. Powerful hands reached down, but they were not holding a knife. Instead, they reached roughly into his pockets until they found the memory card secured within.
“Mr Zerneck, so nice to meet you,” a man said, stepping out of the shadows. “I believe that you knew my daughter.”
Randall looked up to see Alfonso Ramsey standing before him. There was a large, brutish-looking man that still held onto his collar. The hands let go and the thug walked over to his boss and handed him the memory stick.
“I’m afraid that we will no longer be requiring your services at The Globe,” Ramsey said officially.
“I don’t need your paper to write a story, Mr Ramsey,” Randall grunted from the floor.
“No, no … you don’t; but you do need your hands,” Ramsey smiled and nodded to his accomplice.
The man stepped forward and, without warning, stamped down on Randall’s left hand, breaking a couple of fingers instantly. He let out a stifled scream, keen not to show his pain but falling some way short. He rolled onto his side, clutching his wounded hand to his chest.
“This is going to be handled strictly in-house, Mr Zerneck,” Ramsey mused aloud as he strutted over with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “I won’t bore you with the details, son, as quite frankly they’re none of your damn business. Suffice to say that if I catch you working on this investigation then your hand won’t be the only thing that gets broken.”
Randall could only sit and watch as the media mogul wandered away with his bodyguard in tow. As the filthy water soaked through his trousers, his hand throbbed monstrously, competing with his ankle for his full attention.
CHAPTER NINE
STRONGER
Jane waited patiently at the rear door of the building. She wore a comically large overcoat and wide-brimmed hat. Both were boiling her alive in the summer heat, but they did afford her a disguise of sorts. Her features were obscured because the front of the building was swarming with reporters. Danny had told her that Alfonso Ramsey had promised to shut down his own media’s attention on his daughter’s murder, but word had soon spread about her death. Details were sketchy amongst the other news outlets and they had no idea as yet that Marion Ramsey had been butchered by the Crucifier, but the fact that she was dead was still news.
The fire door opened and Danny ushered her quickly inside.
“We alone?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yes; don’t worry, it’s just you and me here.”
She followed as he led her up the back stairs towards the penthouse apartment.
“How much does one of these places cost?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“A lot more than I’ll ever see in my lifetime, I can tell you that,” he shrugged.
“What’s the official police stance on all this?”
“You mean as far as her old man is concerned?”
Jane nodded as they climbed the steep stairs.
“Officially, the police service stands no interference of any kind in any investigation. In reality, Alfonso Ramsey had more juice and power than I ever thought possible. Chalmers is a snake who only ever cares about his own career prospects. But Barrett is a commander; he’s the guy usually pulling the strings and Ramsey has even got him running for cover. Ramsey gave us a week to find a suspect before he goes to work.”
“Do you believe him? That he’ll keep out of it for now?”
Danny considered the question. “No. I don’t think so. The impression that I got is firstly, that he’s one scary dude, and secondly, that he doesn’t care much about Marion Ramsey; he only cares that one of his possessions got damaged and he has to be seen making someone pay.”
“He sounds like some kind of
James Bond villain.”
“To be honest that sounds about right,” Danny said, stopping outside of Marion’s door. “Look … if you want to back off, I wouldn’t blame you. If this guy can make senior police officers crap in their pants then I’d hate to think what he could to you.”
Jane thought about the drive over here and she thought about her crowded backseat with four spirits crammed in. “I’m in it now, Danny, for better or worse; there’s no turning back until this is done.”
He stepped aside and allowed her into the plush apartment. There was a strong chemical smell in the air that must have come from the cleaning, but it still couldn’t quite mask the aroma of death. The main reason that she’d wanted to see the crime scene first-hand was to try and understand why she hadn’t witnessed Marion Ramsey’s murder. She would have wondered if the killing had been a copycat crime of some nature, but Marion was currently following her around with the other three victims.
“So what do we do?” Danny asked. “Light some candles, burn some incense?”
Jane withered him with a harsh look until she realised that he wasn’t taking the piss. “Just a little quiet,” she answered honestly as she took her mother’s brooch in her hand and ran her thumb over the surface.
The lounge was large and full of expensive - but cold - tastes, as though the owner had little sense of themselves and more how they should appear to the world around them. Jane couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Marion, however much the woman would hate the sentiment.
Jane walked slowly over to the spot where Marion had been found chained to the walls with her arms stretched out on either side in a crucified pose. The long blinds were drawn all the way across the back wall, plunging the room into darkness. A sudden thought of inspiration struck her and she carefully pulled a corner of the covering aside. She could see immediately that the whole wall was sparkling glass. “This is why he didn’t show me this one,” she thought aloud.
“I’m sorry?” Danny asked.