by Rob Sinclair
After all this time Ana still had no idea how this hole had first come about. She imagined perhaps at one point in time there’d been a light fitting suspended there, and when it was removed the warehouse owner – whoever it had been at that time – simply hadn’t bothered to patch the ceiling over.
Ana liked to think that the story was a little more rebellious than that. That at some point in the past, one of the women had snuck in here and deliberately made that hole for the very purpose of spying. After all, Ana had been shown this place by Iulia, so it was something of a little secret among the oppressed.
What on earth had happened to Iulia?
Ana moved closer to the floor and supported her torso on her forearm as she pushed her face and her eye closer to the hole. She squirmed around a little to spy around the space below.
There he was. Victor. On his feet. Arms folded. Eyes pinched. He was staring across the room to…
Ana moved a little more, pushing her head right up against the dirty wall in the far corner so she could see the other side of the room below.
Ana held back a gasp. A man on a chair. A man Ana didn’t recognise. At least not from this angle. That was no surprise. Victor had so many people under his control. The man was naked. His hands were tied behind his back with rope. The skin on his neck and shoulders glistened red from blood.
‘Get him off the chair,’ Victor snarled.
Three men came forward from behind Victor. The bound man moaned and pleaded as the oafs untied him and rough-handled him onto the mottled concrete. Ana watched, aghast. The man’s hands remained bound together, and one of Victor’s men took those while the others grabbed a leg each. They twisted to pull his legs open and prevent resistance, though despite the man’s pleading and begging, he was barely struggling, Ana thought. Had they already beaten the fight out of him, or was he drugged?
‘Last chance,’ Victor said. ‘Tell me.’
‘I don’t know!’ the man shouted.
‘OK, do it,’ Victor said.
Another man came forward now. Where did Victor find these brutes? Why did they all follow his word so absolutely, like he was some sort of deity?
Ah yes, of course. Ana knew the answer. Money.
The man who came forward had a curious-looking jar in his hand. What was that? Food?
He crouched down to the captive and there was a pop as the lid was unscrewed.
At the sound, the barking of dogs became more amplified and expectant. Ana shuffled a little and could just make out one of the animals – a terrier of some kind – its teeth bared, yanking on its chain as it tried in vain to rush forwards.
‘Beef paste,’ Victor said, moving forward to the man now, his voice calm and considered. ‘A little treat for those two. Though nothing beats the taste of real meat.’
The goon spread the paste all around the bound man’s groin. The captive writhed pathetically, his cries now little more than a murmur.
‘Do you know, I first saw this in my village? It was how the men claimed justice. We had no police. No courts with lawyers. The village, the people, we upheld the law. That man’s name was… shit… Who gives a damn? But I was only twelve years old. I remember it so well. This man, he’d raped a teenage girl. Raped her over and over. She was so damaged no man wanted her after that. The villagers beat him, they dragged him naked through the streets, while everyone else looked on and hurled abuse and spat. Then they smeared pig’s blood over his… you know what. That pathetic little sprout you have there. Now, blood isn’t as effective as paste, I’ll tell you that from experience, but we were so poor… Then they set the dog on him. Just one dog.’
Ana was quivering with fear now, she realised. Though still she couldn’t take her eyes off the ghastly sight.
What the hell should she do?
‘Twelve years old,’ Victor said. ‘I’ll admit, I was physically sick.’ Victor put his hand on his heart. ‘There was nothing pleasant about watching that, about seeing that man’s flesh being torn open, sinews pulled and stretched and snapped like if you or I were chewing chicken from a bone.’
There was a tiny scraping sound behind Ana and her heart lurched as she whipped her head around.
She held her breath.
There was no one there.
She looked across to her feet and realised her toes had caught the edge of the flap of a cardboard box. She slowly exhaled, then put her eye back to the hole. Though why was she even watching this?
‘Do you know what happened to that man?’ Victor asked.
There was no answer. The man continued to plead.
‘He survived. Can you believe it? As a boy I thought there was no way a human could live after something like that. He had a hole between his legs the size of a football. But a doctor stitched him up. Gave him a tube and a bag for the piss and the shit to fall into. The man survived. But what kind of life do you expect he had after that?’
Again the man didn’t respond – at least not with any coherence. He was barely even moving now. Paralysed by fear?
‘That’s going to be you,’ Victor said. ‘Unless you tell me what you know.’
No, he wasn’t paralysed. As Victor straightened up, the man found a sudden strength and was writhing around and bucking as he screamed and called and shouted and begged with everything he had.
A tear escaped Ana’s eye. She was petrified, mortified, horrified.
‘Release the dogs,’ Victor said as he turned away.
But then a split second later, ‘No! No! I’ll tell you! Please!’
A dog rushed forward, mouth open, teeth bared, saliva flying. Victor held up his hand and the dog was all of a yard from its meal when it was yanked back again by the chain still around its neck.
When Victor turned back to face the prisoner, he had a wicked smile on his face. He opened his mouth to say something but then his second-in-command, Alex, came rushing over, phone pressed to his ear.
‘Vic, you need to look at this,’ he said, his growly voice hushed but still audible from a distance, such was his style. ‘It’s Stef.’
He pushed the phone towards Victor who glared daggers at his friend. He snatched the phone away and stared at the screen.
‘Police?’ Victor said, disgusted. ‘OK. Let’s go.’
He slammed the phone into Alex’s hand and looked down at the meat-paste-covered man.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ Victor said, showing true anger for the first time. Anger because his plans had been abruptly halted? ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said to Alex.
Then he stormed off…
Not in the direction of the exit. But in the direction of the stairs.
Shit.
Ana jumped up. Grimaced in pain when her head smacked off the metal racking right above her. She saw stars and fought to get her focus back. She couldn’t lose consciousness now. If Victor found her in here… she imagined herself tied up, covered in meat paste, the dogs barking and salivating with predatory greed as they raced towards her.
No. No. No.
She fought through it. Shook her head. Slid the MDF back into place. Heaved the boxes across. Was up on her feet as, out in the corridor, she heard the clunk-clunking as Victor and Alex strode up the metal stairs.
Ana smoothed her robe down, straightened her hair to remove the dust, then stepped out into the corridor. With shaking hands she pulled the door closed, then rushed on wobbly legs the few steps to the bathroom door; spinning on her heel when she reached it, she saw the boot of Victor emerging from the top of the stairs.
‘Hey,’ he said.
Ana stopped and turned back to face him, trying her best to appear calm as she – apparently – exited the bathroom.
‘You’re up,’ Victor said, his face not hiding his suspicion.
Ana forced a smile and nodded.
‘What were you doing?’ Alex said, moving past Victor and up to the bathroom door. He stared inside the empty space.
‘What do you think?’ Ana said, surprised
at how snarky she sounded. Better than fearful. ‘I went to the toilet.’
‘I didn’t hear it flush.’
‘You walk through life listening for toilets flushing?’
He scowled and glared. ‘You didn’t wash your hands.’
‘Wanna smell to make sure?’
She lifted her hand towards his face but Victor stepped forward and grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard enough to make her wince.
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Back inside. Now.’
Victor released her wrist and spun her around by the shoulders.
‘Party time already?’ Ana said, as she started to walk back.
‘No,’ Victor said.
And that was all that he said to her before they were back inside the unkempt space.
‘You didn’t call her back?’ Victor said to Alex as he rummaged about the place. Wallet. Keys. Coat.
‘She didn’t answer,’ Alex said. ‘Maybe they’re still there.’
‘Why the fuck are the police talking to Brigitta?’
‘About Nic. But not just about Nic, apparently.’
Victor scoffed.
‘Right, let’s move.’ Victor looked over to Ana. ‘Tidy this place up. It looks like a dump.’
Ana said nothing.
Victor and Alex moved for the door. Alex headed out first. Victor turned back to Ana as he grabbed the handle to pull it closed.
‘This time you’ll stay put,’ he said with that usual smile-cum-sneer. He lifted up the key in his hand to show her, then slammed the door shut. Ana rushed forward as the lock clicked into place. She heard them padding away. Rattled the handle. No. It was locked tight. And now she was trapped.
Victor and Alex’s footsteps faded away.
Downstairs was strangely subdued now too.
What had happened to the man? To the dogs?
Still, at least those animals hadn’t had their feed of fresh meat. Yet.
At the thought, Ana’s insides stirred uneasily and she had to hold back the urge to dry heave again.
There was a clunk and a bang somewhere in the distance below. Victor and Alex heading out?
After that everything was quiet, except for Ana’s uneven breaths, and the constant throb of her jittery heart.
Chapter 11
Dani started up the car but didn’t drive off, instead waiting for the heat to kick in, and the mist to clear from the windscreen. Next to her Easton blew into his hands then stared back up to Brigitta Popescu’s home.
‘Is it just me, or was that place seriously—’
‘Weird?’ Dani suggested.
‘I was going to say spooky.’
‘Spooky? I didn’t think you were the type to scare easily.’
‘Neither did I.’ He shivered theatrically. ‘Though did I ever tell you about the time I went to the haunted house at Drayton Manor when I was a kid?’
‘No, but you should.’
He seemed to dwell on that. ‘Nah, no point in opening myself up for abuse.’
He actually looked genuinely contemplative now, only adding both to Dani’s intrigue and her amusement. Easton dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone and Dani realised she wouldn’t be hearing the story today.
She pulled the car onto the road, turned it around and headed back the way they’d come. She was approaching the T-junction at the end of the street when another car turned in and pulled to a stop on the kerb. A battered Vauxhall Insignia, two men sitting in the front, hard glares on their faces. Dani caught the eye of the driver as she passed.
‘What’s that all about?’ she said.
Easton was paying no attention.
Dani glanced in her rear-view mirror as they moved on, and made a mental note of the registration.
‘What’s got you so engrossed?’ she said to Easton after a few seconds of silence.
‘Strigoi,’ he said, eyes glued to his phone screen.
Dani waited for him to expand on his answer. He didn’t.
‘And?’ she said.
‘You heard of them before?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither. But I thought, when Brigitta said it, that it was going to be some sort of gang or something. Like the Mafia.’
Which had been Dani’s first thought too.
‘So what is it?’
She glanced at Easton and caught his eye. He looked genuinely puzzled.
‘Bloody vampires.’
Dani laughed. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. Well, kind of. When I say bloody vampires, I don’t mean literally suck-your-blood bloody.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
His eyes were back on his screen as he scrolled.
‘Strigoi,’ he said. ‘Romanian folklore. They’re believed to be the origin of all modern vampire stories. Werewolves too, in a way. Though they’re not blood-sucking bat-loving immortals or anything like that. They’re basically evil spirits that terrorise the living, that can transform into animals and all sorts.’
Dani wanted to find the revelation ludicrous – because it was – and make light of it, yet as she thought back to that dark house, to Brigitta, the eerie shrine by her side, the cold breeze on her neck, there was no doubt something had left her feeling hugely unsettled.
‘So Brigitta Popescu thinks vampires took her daughter,’ Dani said.
‘Not just her daughter, apparently.’
That was true. Brigitta had intimated there were ‘others’. Other what, though? Other mysterious deaths, like Clara Dunne’s? Or other unexplained missing persons, like Clara’s brother Liam? And like Brigitta’s own daughter.
‘What on earth are we supposed to do with this?’ Easton said, sounding as flummoxed as he looked.
‘An exorcist? Or maybe we just need to stock up on silver bullets.’
‘And stakes. And garlic.’
‘S-t-a-k-e-s or s-t-e-a-k-s?’
‘Too early for s-t-e-a-k.’
Although they were both smiling, the mood soon turned contemplative during the silence that followed. Yes, they were making light of the ramblings of an old woman, but there was little that was funny about what they were stumbling over here, Dani realised.
‘Let’s get back to HQ,’ Dani said. ‘I want you to dig further into Nicolae Popescu. His crimes. What he’s been up to since he was sent back to Romania. Make sure we can pinpoint his whereabouts.’
‘You don’t believe he’s really there?’
‘I really don’t know. But I do think there’s an obvious link between all these people, and what’s happening. Liam, Clara, Nicolae. We’re just not seeing it yet.’
Another silence followed. Dani could feel Easton staring at her. When she next stopped at some red lights she looked over at him. She couldn’t read the look on his face. Suspicion? Disbelief?
‘You think there are more, don’t you?’ he said.
‘More what?’
‘More deaths. More bodies. Dead bodies.’
Dani said nothing. But based on past experience, she certainly wouldn’t rule it out.
* * *
‘I’m getting lost in all this,’ Dani said, sticking her head up over the divider to grab Easton’s attention.
‘Which bit?’
‘All of it.’ Dani sat back in her chair, away from her screen, sighed. ‘I just can’t find anything that links the Doyles to the Popescus. I mean, at one point Liam lived within a couple of miles, but so did thousands of other people, but that’s the closest thing I’ve got. There’s no commonality in employment records, no links I can see on social media—’
‘We could always ask him,’ Easton said. He got up from his seat and moved over to Dani.
‘Who? Nicolae?’
‘Yeah. Why not?’
‘Except for the fact he’s in Romania and probably would rather cut his own eyes out than help the UK police.’
‘A bit of a leap.’
‘Maybe, but certainly if there is anything untoward happening here—’
‘Which I thi
nk is what you’re trying to tell me, right?’
‘Right. So why would Popescu ever tell us anything if that’s the case. And it’s not like we can haul him in to make him sweat when he’s across the far side of the next continent.’
‘Unless he isn’t even there.’
A sudden flash of hope washed over Dani as she looked up to Easton, but it was dashed even before he spoke when she saw the apologetic look in his eyes.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean I’d found anything to confirm that,’ he said. ‘In fact, I did find a Facebook profile that I’m pretty damn sure is him, and it shows him posting pictures back in Romania as recently as three weeks ago.’
‘Pictures of what?’
‘A walk in a forest.’
‘How do you know it was in Romania then?’
He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. ‘I don’t, but—’
‘For God’s sake. Social media posts are just a tiny aspect of what we need to cover here, Easton,’ Dani said, her agitation rising, even though it wasn’t really directed at him. A voice in her head warned her to soften her tone a little. A self-awareness she’d developed recently to try and keep her TBI-enhanced brusqueness in check. ‘What I mean is, he could be there on holiday. Someone else could be posting on his account. The pictures could be Photoshopped or not even of Romania in the first place.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘We need real evidence before we rule him out.’
‘Rule him out of what?’
A good question. But one Dani didn’t know the answer to. Which was why she ignored it.
‘I’ll speak to McNair,’ she said. ‘We’ll look to get a request put out to the Romanian authorities. We need to know an address, details of employment, taxes, phone records, whatever. Hard proof to show Nicolae Popescu is really in Romania. And if he is, we need to know what links he still has to people in the UK.’
‘Why are you even doubting his whereabouts?’
Again, Dani didn’t answer. ‘There is this, too,’ she said.
She clicked away and pulled up the details she’d found earlier.
‘That car I spotted at the end of Brigitta’s street.’
‘What car?’
Dani rolled her eyes. Of course, he’d been too engrossed in his vampire search to have spotted the car.