by Rob Ashman
Kray looked down at her wrist, her watch was gone. She looked at her jeans pocket expecting to see the outline of her phone: that, too, was gone. She had no idea of the time or what day it was. Her head spun with the thought that she had been out cold for that length of time. No wonder she felt like shit.
‘Anyway, to finish my story,’ he continued, ‘I see you get out of your car and walk to my house. It’s obvious what you had in mind, so as you crept in the back door, I crept out the front. It was important that you had the run of the place so the penny would drop. I put the key in the padlock, I knew you would find it and wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek. Then all that was required was a little shove. You are so predictable Roz, honestly, I mean mix it up a little.’ Strickland laughed and flounced off to the other side of the room.
All of a sudden Kray felt a rabid thirst grab her by the throat and a hollow emptiness in the pit of her stomach. She struggled against the plastic restraints tying her to the floor.
‘Do you like my handiwork? It’s called a Hilti bolt. It took me ages to fit, but I think it will do the job nicely, don’t you? I was drilling and hammering away, and you slept like a baby through the whole performance. You’ve caused me some major planning issues but I think I’ve got things straight.’
‘Why did you kill Lucy and Madeline? Why murder the two men? And what does it all have to do with me?’
‘Questions, questions. I don’t have time for that now. I need to pop out for a while. You have water and food, I suggest you make the most of them. I’ll be an hour or so, then I’ll be back to see you.’
‘You won’t get away with this.’
‘Oh, but I think you’ll find I already am.’ He switched off the light and walked up the stairs. Kray heard the door at the top slam shut and the bolt sliding across.
Alone in the basement she became aware of a yellow glow coming from a glass tank in the far corner and red and green LED lights shining in the other. She could hear the low hum of the freezers but the rest of the room was silent. She was ravenous. She shuffled forward and could just reach the bottle with her finger tips, she toppled it over towards herself and grasped the cap. She had enough movement in her hands to twist it off.
How the fuck am I going to drink that? She strained her neck, forcing her head down. Her stomach muscles hurt as they crunched together. The top of the upright bottle touched her lips and she squeezed the plastic sides. Water welled up into her mouth and onto the floor. Kray squeezed until the water would rise no more then turned her attention to the biscuits. She clawed at the packaging with her finger nails, eventually splitting open the wrapping. Biscuits spilled onto the floor. Kray lunged forward and picked one up. She doubled herself over but it was no use, she wasn’t flexible enough to grip it with her teeth. She jerked her hand and tossed the remaining biscuits onto the floor, then rolled onto her side. She shuffled her body around in an arc until the food was in reach, then with her head on the floor she scooped it into her mouth with her tongue. She repeated the process as much as she could. It was arduous work and her body ached like hell, but it was worth it.
Stay calm, stay calm and think. Someone will notice me missing and come looking.
After she had eaten everything she could reach, she scanned the room. There were three freezers over to the left and an odd-looking glass tank with an orange glow in the far corner. Propped against one wall was a bank of tools along with a workbench on casters. Try as she might, there was no way she could pull her hands or feet free from the cable ties: the sharp plastic dug into her skin every time she moved. There were no windows just brick and plaster walls with strip lights in the ceiling. Kray frantically searched for anything that would give her an edge, something that would give her that slight element of surprise when Strickland returned. But there was nothing. Her back ached, her legs ached, her neck ached - everything ached.
Kray lost track of time. The bolt at the top of the stairs slid across. She jumped, forcing herself to be fully alert. She heard the sound of high heels on the wooden steps and looked up but could see nothing. Then the room was flooded with bright light. Kray had to blink her eyes to shield them from the glare.
‘I’ve had to reschedule,’ the soft voice said. ‘Now you are here, my plans and preparations have gone out the window.’ Kray squinted, allowing her eyes to become accustomed to the bright light. Strickland was standing directly in front of her. Tears blurred her vision, she rubbed her eyes against her shoulder. ‘But I’ve made a few adjustments and I think things will work out just fine.’
Kray’s eyes cleared and she stared at him in horror. He was wearing a shimmering dress of emerald green, with a fitted bodice and a pencil skirt. She felt her head was about to explode.
That’s, that’s my dress. He’s wearing my fucking dress!
Strickland walked towards her. It was like looking into a full-length mirror.
Kray froze as her own face gazed down at her.
‘Fucking weird, isn’t it?’ he said in a deep, resonating voice. The hair, the eyes, the mouth, it was her. Kray was staring at herself.
‘Don’t I look pretty?’ Strickland returned to the soft melodic tones, flicking a stand of hair away from his face. ‘Now I’m going out and I will see you when I get back.’ The hair on the back of Kray’s neck and arms stood to attention as she watched herself turn and walk back to the stairs.
‘Now be good. Oh, and don’t bother yelling for help because believe me, no one can hear you. I’ve tried.’ The room went dark and she heard the sound of high heels on wood. The door at the top banged shut and the bolt banged into position.
59
I’m on parade.
The taxi cruises to a stop and I pay the driver.
‘Keep the change,’ I say, giving him my most dazzling smile. I get zero reaction from the cabbie. Roz is attractive in her own way but she is not a Madeline or a Lucy. I very much doubt I’m going to be beating them off with a stick this evening.
The bouncers open the door and step aside, allowing me to pass. There has to be a ten-inch gap between me and the tattooed guy working the door, obviously he doesn’t feel the need to squash his body against mine as I enter. The bar is mostly empty. I order a large dry white wine which arrives in the usual glass bucket. I pay the young man behind the bar but he’s too busy checking out the dolly birds at the other side of the room to even notice me. My favourite table is free. I saunter over and slide up onto the stool.
The place is quiet, not full of the usual pissed-up parties. It looks a little sad. I sip my wine as a rowdy group of men fall through the door.
‘You’re okay so long as you behave yourselves, lads,’ the bouncer tells them as they troop past him. Now this is more like it.
I raise my glass and gaze into the camera in the corner. Cheers. I wonder who will eventually see this and freak out. My skin tingles. I glance over to the crowd who have just walked in. A couple of them are looking over. I bat my eyelashes and look away. I take a glug and drain half the glass, the wine tastes so good. One of the men walks straight up to me.
‘You on your own, love?’
‘Looks like it.’ I smile.
‘Only I couldn’t see another drink on the table so I figured you might be. Or maybe you’re waiting for someone?’ He turns his head in the direction of his mates and smiles. He has perfect white teeth. He’s older than the others, maybe mid-thirties, and in good shape.
‘You always so observant?’
‘Most of the time, especially where a pretty woman is involved.’
I blush at the compliment, this is turning out better than I thought. He is ruggedly handsome with short cropped hair, wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt. His hands have the appearance of someone who does manual labour, strong and hard. The third finger on his left hand is naked.
‘I think your friends want you.’ I nod my head in the direction of the six manic faces smiling back.
‘They are fine without me for a while. What’s your name?�
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‘You can call me Roz.’ I pick up my glass and drain it down in one. He’s not slow to pick up the signal.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘Yes, that would be good, thanks.’ His face lights up like he’s just had a treble come up on the dogs. ‘I need to go outside to make a call. It’s noisy in here.’
‘They do make a racket when they’re out.’ He gestures to his friends who have lost interest in smiling in our direction. ‘Dry white wine, am I right?’
‘Thank you.’ He turns and walks to the bar, his mates jeer as he approaches.
I remove a tissue from my pocket and wipe down the glass. Then I slide from the stool, gather up my bag and walk to the door. He watches me as I leave. I stand on the edge of the pavement and hold my hand aloft. The taxi breaks hard and swings around in the road. I step into the vehicle.
‘The Alexander Hotel please.’ The cab speeds away.
I sit back into the seat and smile, mulling over the ruggedly handsome man waiting at the table for me to come back. I chuckle to myself as I think of him wondering what the hell he was going to do with a large glass of dry white wine. His mates were going to take the piss out of him something chronic. It would have been too easy to select him, and anyway that’s not the plan. I might have DI Roz Kray tied up in my basement, which is a shocking development, but I’m not going to abandon months of planning altogether.
The cabbie pulls up and I hand over five pounds. I step out and a man in a pantomime costume of top hat and tails opens a massive glass door for me to enter. The hotel is pretty basic but has delusions way above its three AA-star rating. I hang a left past reception into the bar. It’s all chrome and glass with a massive silver ice bucket sat on a central stand with the necks of Champagne bottles standing proud. At the far end there is a sign discretely placed at the entrance to a second bar. I offer my ticket to the woman at the door and she hands me something in return. I walk in.
In stark contrast, this bar is more like a state room with wooden panelling around the walls and cut-glass light fittings adorning the ceiling. The place is full of smartly dressed men and equally glamorous women. My shimmering dress of emerald green was wasted in the Purple Parrot, but I fit in perfectly here. I am a week earlier than planned, but the unexpected visit of a certain DI forced me to change the day.
I order a wine at the bar, and it arrives in a delicately ornate glass - no fish bowls to be had here. There was a time when the Alexander had a growing reputation as a pickup joint, then a bright spark worked out they could make a good living out of it. The man next to me introduces himself.
‘Hi, I’m Chris Dodd, with a double D.’ He winks and points to his name badge pinned to his lapel. He has slicked back hair and wears his forty-odd years well. His eyes crease around the edges when he smiles. But when he does, all I can see is a sleazy twat who’s only here for one thing. I like him already.
‘Oh hi, I’m Roz.’ I offer my hand and he takes it in a wet fish handshake. ‘I haven’t …’ I hold up my badge, pointing my name in his direction. ‘I didn’t want to put holes in my dress.’
He laughs. ‘I can understand that. It’s a pretty dress.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Do you live—’ He’s interrupted by an elegant woman striking her glass with a silver tea spoon.
‘If I could have your attention please, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Hotel Alexander and welcome to our Matchmaker event. My name is Rachel, I will be your host for this evening and I’m sure you’re going to have a fantastic time tonight.’
Dodd smiles and touches my arm.
He’s perfect.
‘Let me explain how this evening is going to work. Each of you gorgeous women have been allocated a table number and you stunning looking men …’ The theatrical Rachel emphasised the word stunning and wiped a hand across her brow, the women whooping in appreciation. ‘As I was saying, you stunning looking men have a schedule of names, you will sit with each lady in turn according to your list. You have five minutes to find out as much about one another as you can, then when I blow my whistle …’ Rachel blew it just in case no fucker knew what a whistle sounded like, ‘the men will move around to the next lovely lady. I’m sorry but tonight you men do all the work, am I right, ladies?’ The women whooped again.
‘No change there then,’ Dodd piped up, prompting murmured appreciation from the blokes.
What a wanker. He is absolutely perfect.
‘Thank you for that.’ Rachel was positively gushing. ‘You both score each other out of ten and at the end of the night we will collect your papers and match you up depending on your preferences. We will contact you tomorrow with the outcome and then the rest is up to you. Is everybody clear?’
There was a general nodding of heads.
‘Of course, if during the evening you should feel that mutual spark of attraction … well you don’t have to wait for us to contact you, if you know what I mean.’ Rachel dipped at the knees to emphasise the sauciness of the comment. ‘Now, do you all want to get to know each other?’ She looked like she was about to die from over acting. The group mumbled their approval. ‘So, if everyone has a drink, we will make a start.’ Rachel flounced off waving her arms in the air like she was casting a spell.
Fucking hell I bet she’s hard work. I take up my spot at table fifteen.
I feel a hand on my shoulder; it’s Dodd. ‘See you in a little while.’
‘Yes you will, Chris, yes you will.’
60
Kray’s head was dropping like a nodding dog on the back shelf of a car. The sedative was still in her system and waves of exhaustion washed over her. She fought to stay awake but she was losing the battle. She had to stay alert, she had to think her way out of this, but her head was foggy and her body ached. Her wrists were streaked red raw from tugging and grating them against the plastic ties. It was no good, they were locked firm around the eye bolt.
She felt woozy and lowered herself over onto her side. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a second, just enough to clear her mind. Then she could … The drug took hold once more and Kray was asleep in seconds.
Strickland’s face filled her dreams, it was a face she knew, from way back. She remembered it was a warm night in August, she could recall it vividly because nights like that are so few and far between. There was a house party that had spilled onto the road. The station had taken a deluge of calls from residents complaining of noise and anti-social behaviour. Bottles were being smashed on the road and there were accounts of drug taking. It was all hands on deck.
Kray was in the area working on another case and went along in support. Brownlow was there too. He was barking orders and strutting around like an SS officer on steroids. In her dream Kray could see herself arriving at the property. Two police cars were blocking the road with their lights flashing - it was all kicking off. There were men and women running away, while others stood their ground to yell at the police. She entered the house and could see a young man sitting passively in the corner with his arms folded across his chest. People were being corralled into the living room while the police conducted a search of the premises.
Kray could see herself pushing open the door to the downstairs bathroom to find a ball of coke, neatly wrapped in cling film, floating in the toilet. She fished it out and held it in her hand. She was about to hand it over to the officer in charge when the passive lad caught sight of her and went berserk. He flew into a rage, screaming at her from across the room, something about being an evil bitch. She could see his face contorted and spitting insults.
It was Strickland.
Tavener was flicking through the private tabs on the Boston Magic website. He was not a happy copper. They had worked on this before and had gleaned as much intel from the site as they could. The results were properly documented but for some reason it had to be done again. The investigation was treading water and going nowhere. It was another late shift for everyone. Quade had made it clear that th
ey all had to make their apologies to their families because they weren’t going to see much of them until this was over.
The other reason his frustration was boiling over was because he hadn’t heard from Kray since he saw her at her house. He had called her mobile several times and had dropped by her place with another bottle of wine. But there was no one home and her phone was switched off. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong but it looked like it was serious shit.
Brownlow marched into the incident room. ‘Right, listen up, I want someone to go and calm down the manager of the Purple Parrot. Ever since his place was implicated in the Gorgon killings he’s been like Jodrell Bank looking out for single white females drinking on their own. It would appear he’s had another one and is completely flipping out. He’s talking about involving the press because we’re not interested. So who—’
‘I’m on it.’ Tavener closed his laptop and slung on his jacket. Even a trip out to the Purple Parrot was better than this.
The whistle sounded to signify the end of the dating round and the guy opposite leaned back in his chair. He was a nice enough chap, whose wife had left him for a younger model and was now ready to find love again. It was a sad story, far too sad for it to be him. I scored him a nine.
No sooner than the chair was vacant Chris Dodd was sat in it, leaning forwards with his elbows on the table. ‘Well, how have you got on?’
‘Okay I suppose. How about you?’
‘Okay, there a few interesting women here but I’m not really sure. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I do, Chris, but I reckon things are about to get a lot more interesting from here on in.’ I smiled and sipped my wine maintaining eye contact.
‘Me too.’