Stone Cold: A Stone Cold Thriller (Stone Cold Thriller Series Book 1)

by J. D. Weston

  A few days later, Harvey was sat on the beach with a book relaxing, and planning. Reading was one of the few past times that did actually push his thoughts to the back of his mind. A few families dotted the length of the sand, but too far away for the ambient noise of children to taint his mood.

  The beach had been perfect. The sea in front of him was blue and soothing. The sand, clean and warm, and the long wild grass behind him completed the picture, his dream.

  Things had worked out. He'd paid the price in full, more than the market rate if he was honest with himself. But he'd done it. He’d found the man he’d been hunting, though fate had dealt him a curve ball. He laid back and closed his eyes, letting the book fall to his side and losing his page. The type of careless behaviour that the old Harvey would not have approved of. He considered a trip to the Maldives, to find Donny, and finish the chapter. Maybe the dust would settle and present him the opportunity he needed. Life was funny in that sense; things had a way of turning out. Balance, Harvey thought.

  He thought of his sister and the dream. He remembered the days when she would take him for walks in the gardens. Whenever they played, she’d always let him win. It was a trait Harvey had learned was quite rare among children. But Hannah had been rare. He wondered if she was able to see him. If she knew what he'd done for her. Was it all for her? Or for himself? It was for them. Every child whose life had been affected by the monsters he had caught, tortured and killed. That's who he had done it all for.

  The sunshine on Harvey’s closed eyes fell into shadow. Harvey felt the temperature on his face drop a degree or two.

  “You’re in the light.”

  “I am the light, Mr Stone.”

  Harvey heard the smile in the voice. “Would you mind shining somewhere else then?”

  “You’re not an easy man to track down.”

  “I’m not exactly hiding.”

  “I followed you from Essex.”

  “I’m not exactly running either.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I’m done with it. It’s finished.”

  “Is that why you spared him?”

  “It was never about him. Or the others.”

  “You’re finished are you?”

  “I am.”

  “Its a shame. You’re an interesting man.”

  Harvey heard the man walk around him, and felt the light return to warm his face. He saw the man in his mind’s eye walk around Harvey, stand to stare at the sea, and then turn back to him.

  “How do you want to do this?” the man asked.

  Harvey opened his eyes and saw the man silhouetted against the sky, his long jacket flapped in the breeze. Harvey rolled onto his elbow and plucked a piece of long grass from the edge of the sand.

  “There’s another way you know.” The man’s accent had a soft touch; it wasn't a harsh voice, and Harvey had recognised it immediately. “I need someone. Someone who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Somebody with a particular skill set.”

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  The End.

  END OF BOOK STUFF

  Stone Fury - Chapter One

  Harvey Stone found the stage door unlocked and slipped inside the old building; he closed the heavy wooden door softly behind him and let his eyes adjust to the soft light. Years of damp poisoned the air and a hundred years of debauchery had left a chill in the very core of the old theatre.

  He heard the slap of bare feet running on the hard linoleum covered floor, the noise came from one of the corridors that led off from the main one where he stood.

  Giggling girls were loud and shrill, and slamming doors boomed then hushed as another door slammed. He crept up the three steps in front of him and ducked into another side corridor to his right, this one was much shorter with fewer doors.

  The wardrobe rooms were larger on this wing. It was meant for the big stars or celebrities, not the unknown extras, or dancers that filled the rest of the backstage rooms and probably shared one room between two or three. He heard the faint sound of applause somewhere far off behind many more heavy wooden doors. The show would be over soon.

  He found the room that had been allocated to his target, wardrobe six. He slipped inside. The lights were on, and possessions lay sprawled across a makeup bench, with two lines of cocaine and a rolled up twenty pound note in front of a large mirror that was lined with lights.

  The room itself was divided into two by a temporary screen, the type that Marilyn Monroe or Rita Hayworth might have changed behind, way back when lines of coke and rolled up bank notes were only available to the wealthy and more successful performers.

  Behind the screen was a small couch, cheap and stained from years of parties, makeup, alcohol, bodily fluids and general disregard. Next to it was a small table, on which sat what Harvey was looking for.

  Harvey opened the laptop and was presented with a Windows login screen. He pulled a small transmitter from his pocket and inserted it into the USB port, then pushed the button on the ear-piece in his right ear, "It's in."

  There was a crackle of static and then, “I see it.”

  Harvey watched as the laptop was remotely controlled. The password was found on the third attempt, and the controller was soon navigating through the laptop’s hard drive. The controller found a maze of disorganised files, and ran an automatic search for MP4 files. Several showed up, and the thumbnails began to render and show.

  "Bingo," said the controller over the comms. Harvey put a thumb drive into the laptop’s second USB port. The navigator saw the external drive pop up window and copied the videos to it. Harvey removed the device and pocketed it.

  “Switching to visual, the screen will go dark, but don't close the lid.”

  “Copy,” said Harvey. The screen went blank, just the little LED next to the inbuilt webcam was lit.

  Harvey had a look around. There was a large walk-in wardrobe; pitch dark inside and empty of clothes. A small wash basin stood in the corner of the room, underneath which was a cupboard where Harvey found a few old rags presumably for cleaning, some disinfectant, ant killer and a toilet brush that looked like it was twenty years old.

  He found a waste paper bin full of tissues, an empty wine bottle and cigarette ash. Then he used a fresh tissue from the makeup table and wiped the two lines of coke into the bin. He tipped out some of the ant killer and racked up two identical lines of the white powder, chopping it finely to imitate the drug it replaced.

  "What's going on, Stone? I can’t see what you're doing," said the voice over the ear-piece.

  Harvey didn't reply. He stepped back and studied his work, then slipped into the shadows of the wardrobe.

  Harvey judged the wardrobe where he stood to be around eight-feet deep and five-feet wide. It smelled like years of musty disinfectant. He considered time. Applause, encore, then the maze of corridors. He estimated eight minutes from the applause he'd heard around six minutes ago. Harvey could wait. He'd waited in far worse places.

  Screams and cheers came from the corridors as actors and actresses ran from the stage in celebrations of success, maybe even adrenaline. Who knows what emotions these people feel once they have finished a performance? More doors slammed, and more female voices approached, along with a male whose voice resonated through the old walls.

  The door opened, and two people fell into the room. The girl came first and walked directly to the makeup table. She unfastened her costume jacket, it was brightly coloured, shiny and barely reached her hips. She slid out of her slender armaments and tossed it to the floor, revealing long gloves and a tight, bright red dress. The man closed the door with a flourish and danced to join her at the makeup table. He slid in behind her and ran his hands up her torso, then spun like only a professional dancer knows how, and began to unbutton his shirt.

  "Did you see Julie in the final scene?" the girl asked him. "Here, help me."

  The target stopped unbuttoning his own frilly shirt and helped the girl with the zipper on the back of
her dress.

  “I did, wasn’t she wonderful?”

  Harvey rolled his eyes.

  “I thought the whole audience was going to simply burst into tears, she was so very convincing.”

  "That's what happens when daddy sends you off for private tuition, darling," the girl said in a mock aristocrat voice. She pulled her long gloves off her long arms and let the dress fall to the floor, then dumped the gloves on top, turned and admired herself in the mirror.

  "Maybe this daddy could give you a little private tuition?" said the man as he stood behind her and joined her in the admiration. He ran his hands from her waist to her chest and cupped her breasts. He kissed her neck, softly at first, then harder; he began to grind himself into her.

  "Maybe this little girl needs punishing? She didn't do any of her homework." She gave a naughty schoolgirl look, with one finger in her mouth, "Not. One. Bit." She accentuated each of the last three words by moving her hands to her hips. She finished by sliding her panties down to her ankles, pushing herself into the man as she bent over.

  “Oh dear, Miss Norman. You have been a very, very bad girl indeed.”

  Harvey stood motionless in the dark while the charade played out before him.

  "Wait," she said, as the man was pulling his costume trousers off. He tossed them onto the pile of clothes she had created.

  She stood up and stepped over to the makeup table, picked up the rolled up bank note and expertly tightened the roll. Harvey had never been into drugs, but he'd been around them all his life. Drugs and crime went hand in hand for the most part.

  She bent to snort one of Harvey's lines. Her pert chest bounced then hung as she leaned towards the table. She sniffed the line clean off the old wooden surface and passed the rolled up note to the man, who was now naked and keeping his less-than-impressive erection occupied while she was bent over. He took the note, and she dropped to her knees. He rolled the note tighter, and she took him in her mouth greedily. The man watched her for a moment, his eyes darted to the line but he clearly didn't want to disturb her. Tough choice.

  She coughed once then twice. The third time, she dry heaved and coughed again. A trickle of blood ran from her nose. Harvey had a clear view of it running, but she didn't and he didn't.

  She moaned as she took him all the way into her mouth then coughed and gagged once more. She pulled him away and saw the blood on him; a look of horror spread across her face. Then she fell to one side, supported herself with one arm and wiped away the blood from her nose. Her eyes widened in fear, and the dry heaving turned wet; a flood of blood fell from her mouth to her chest.

  "Angie? What's wrong?" the man asked in a whiny, panicked tone. She looked up at him in shock. Struggling to breathe, she couldn't take in the air, but still dry heaved. She fell to the floor and rolled to her side. Her eyes remained open, and blood pooled from her mouth. It was quick but not painless.

  The man bent down and grabbed her head, he slapped her face, "Angie, no, no, don't do this, come on, Angie." He looked around the room, "Shit, shit, shit." Then the realisation of the situation hit him. He stood and began to distance himself from her naked body. He stepped backwards, he was panicking, and was about to make a fatal error.

  He was three feet from Harvey, with his back to the dark wardrobe where Harvey waited.

  Harvey held up the blade, ready to slice his throat if he came too close.

  “Oscar? Are you coming?” a female voice from the other side of the door called.

  "Come on, Oscar. We’re heading to the bar for the after-party," said another girl.

  "I'll, um, I'll be right there, I'll meet you there, at the bar."

  "Well, don't be long."

  "Apparently he won't be, not according to Angie anyway," the other girl sniggered, and the sounds of the two girls trailed off.

  Oscar stepped over to the makeup table and picked up the waste paper bin. He pulled a fresh tissue from the box on the side and was about to wipe the last line into the bin. He stopped, and dropped the basket to the floor; its contents scattered onto the old, dirty carpet. He picked up the rolled note from the floor and tightened it, bent down and snorted the line. He wiped the residual powder with his finger and rubbed it on his gums, then immediately spat it out.

  “That a boy,” said Harvey quietly, from the dark shadows of the wardrobe.

  “Who’s there?” said Oscar, as he dry heaved and spat into the bin.

  Harvey stepped from the shadows into the light.

  “What the…Who the hell are you?”

  The blood began to trickle.

  “Who sets them up?”

  “Who sets what up?” Oscar began to cover his modesty.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about covering yourself after what I just witnessed, Mr Shaw.”

  “I didn’t do that, you saw? You saw what happened?” He coughed once, “She overdosed.”

  “You didn’t do that, but you did this.” Harvey held a flash drive up.

  “What’s that?” He coughed again, there was liquid in his throat.

  “It’s a video.”

  "Of what?" He wiped his nose, and a smear of blood ran across his wrist. He saw it and began to panic even more.

  “It’s a video of you and two hookers.”

  "So what," he coughed, "how do you know they're hookers anyway?"

  “There’s something special about these particular hookers though isn't there, Mr Shaw?”

  Realisation spread across his panicked eyes.

  “Oh god, I’m sorry, please help me. Call an ambulance.”

  “Tell me who set them up for you and I’ll see what I can do.”

  He fell to his knees and coughed up a large amount of blood onto the floor.

  “You want help, Mr Shaw? I can make the pain go away.”

  “Make it stop, make it stop,” he cried, he was clutching his chest with one hand and holding his bleeding nose with the other.

  “Tell me where I can find them and I’ll make it all go away.”

  “You bastard, help me.”

  “I can make the pain stop, or I can make it worse. You choose.”

  “There’s a number,” he coughed and blood sprayed onto the floor in front of him.

  “Where?”

  "My phone, pass me my phone."

  "What’s his name?"

  "I didn't save the number, but there’s an SMS," he reached forwards and supported himself with one arm while clutching his chest. Blood hung from his face in a long string.

  “I’m in his phone now,” Harvey heard over the ear-piece, “I’m copying all the messages.”

  “How much did it cost you?” Harvey asked, casually.

  “How much did what cost?”

  The man looked up at Harvey, he was a mess. Harvey didn’t reply.

  “Fifty. Help me, god damn it.”

  Harvey didn’t reply. The man looked up at him, shame etched all over his crooked face.

  “Okay, each, it was fifty-thousand each.” His lungs failed, and he fought to take in air.

  Harvey watched with wonder as Oscar Shaw, the infamous stage actor searched for breath; his final act. His eyes were wide and terrified. He fell forward onto the girl. Blood leaked from his mouth onto her stomach and ran, dark and sticky, across her skin.

  Harvey placed the flash drive on the makeup table. He pushed the button on the receiver in his ear three times and left the room. He checked both ways but knew the supporting cast were nowhere to be seen, they were all in the bar less than ten minutes from curtains. He stepped out and walked casually along the corridor, jumped down the three steps and quietly opened the stage door. Checking both ways again, he dropped down into the alley below.

  Pools of rain reflected the dirty back streets of London's West End, and the sounds of the busy streets in the distance brought a constant hum to the dark and otherwise quiet alley. He stepped around the puddles and clung to the shadows. As he reached the end of the alley, where street lights lit the grou
nd, a black Audi pulled up. It stopped abruptly in front of Harvey. The passenger door swung open. Harvey barely broke stride, he climbed into the car and pulled the door closed. The car pulled away without any exchange of words.

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  APPRECIATION

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  J.D.Weston

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  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  The Stone Cold Thriller series is set in East London and Essex and features places from my own childhood.

  While many of the buildings, pubs and streets are fictitious, some of the more prominent locations in the series are borne from my own life experience and are as accurate as my memory allows.

  My family are from Theydon Bois, where John Cartwright’s house is located. In fact, my parents lived in the great house before I was born, renting a room off the wealthy owner.

  The headquarters building is based on the same road as my first flat in Silvertown.

  In the first book, Stone Cold, the location of the first murder was in fact in the same building as my first job.