He didn’t know what to expect, all he knew was he was looking for this guy Brown. The brief was short and to the point: take Brown by any means necessary, but get him alive. Marks kept to the corners, his back always to the wall; he could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he swept the room with the light. He stopped and began to relax. “There’s no one here,” he called out. “Room’s clear.” He blew out the lungful of air that he had been holding.
He was just about to relax when a clatter of metal against metal came from a corner he had almost missed. He shone the beam towards the noise and out ran a ginger cat that quickly made its exit. “Thanks a lot, you stupid cat,” he muttered but couldn’t help laughing as he tried to get his breath back.
The beam of the flashlight hit the kitchen floor and lit it up as though it was daytime. Bloody paw prints marked the cat’s escape. The police officer lifted his flashlight and pistol and followed the trail. He stopped and listened to what sounded like water dripping into a pan. Slowly he moved forwards towards the sound, the tap, tap, tapping growing louder. His hand began to shake, making the light distort his view. He edged round the corner where the sound was emanating from, and the tap, tap, tap became hypnotic in a terrifying way. He wanted to know what it was, but his imagination told him it was something he’d rather not know about.
He directed the flashlight’s beam round and found a washbasin on a far wall, so he moved towards it and saw on the side of the work surface what appeared to be some plates stacked up with what looked like tomato ketchup on them. A medium sized pan was in the basin, which was catching the water from the leaky faucet. He reached for the faucet to stop the dripping, his outstretched fingers almost at the handle when his radio crackled from feedback, scaring the already nervous police officer almost to death.
“For the love of...” He calmed himself, secured the faucet, and smiled at how foolish he had been as he picked up one of the dirty plates. He placed it down and turned round casually, the flashlight held up to examine the rest of the small area. He froze as the light illuminated something in the shadow. It was a large wooden kitchen table, the kind of size suitable for a number of servants to eat or take tea breaks. Slowly he moved forwards towards the table. The heavy smell of copper filled his nostrils as he approached. His flashlight flickered as the batteries began to give up on him.
Marks reached the table and pulled two spare batteries from the small pouch on his belt. As he fumbled in the dark Marks began to curse the timing of the batteries fading. Slipping the battery compartment cover back on, he switched the light back on, almost blinding himself at the sudden brightness. He jammed the flashlight under his arm as he stowed the dead batteries into the pouch.
The light illuminated a large area of the room ahead, as he leant against the dining table. The smell was strongest behind him, causing him to turn slowly.
On the top of the thick oak table top a lay naked man. He was in a pool of his own blood. Razor wire was wrapped round the body, loose enough to allow movement. Marks’s face cringed at the sight but he couldn’t take his eyes off the brutal vision and he moved closer. Now he could see the shape of the two electrical cables that ran from the electrical socket in the wall to the table .The long thick cable spiralled its way along the floor to the large kitchen table, where it terminated in a pair of crocodile clips that had presumably been attached to either end of the coiled steel wire.
From what Marks could make out, someone had passed a current through the wire causing the man’s body to shake and convulse as the massive voltage passed through the wire and through him. The many small razor marks showed that he had been slashed deeply—there were long gashes in his flesh.
Marks stared into what was left of the man’s once-screaming face, and his expression of horror burnt into Marks’s mind and he dropped his flashlight as he ran from the kitchen, hardly realising when he collided with the heavy furniture. He had seen something that made his stomach churn, something that would probably give him nightmares for the rest of his days.
Marks came through the kitchen door and out into the blissful light of the main hallway. There he found the others equally disturbed by what they had discovered. Tony sat on the bottom two steps of the staircase, his head between his knees, trying not to vomit. Tooms took out his cell phone and dialled the captain’s number. “Hey, Captain, we found Brown,” he told him. “No, sir, we can’t bring him in. He’s a little pinned down at the moment.”
Captain Brant arrived on the scene with CSU and Tina. Tooms had requested that the ME’s department should bring more than one meat wagon, which made his stomach turn at the thought of what else they may find inside the house. As they pulled up the long driveway to the house Brant saw the Tony and Tooms sitting on the front step with the four uniformed guys, each wearing a look of utter revulsion. The two detectives stood up as Brant approached with the others in tow.
“Okay, Detective, what have we got?” Brant asked.
Tony looked at Tooms then back at the captain. “Follow me, I’ll give you the guided tour. Oh, and if you have just eaten I suggest you stay here.”
Tina shot a look at the CSU team leader. “What the hell is in there?” she asked.
He shrugged as they went in. Tony led them down the corridor of the main entrance towards the kitchen; the lights had been put on to ensure nothing was missed and that there’d be no more surprises. As they reached the swing door to the kitchen Tony stopped and turned, saying, “Officer Marks found the butler when he came into here.”
Tony stopped for a second as though he was bracing himself before entering the large kitchen. As they all entered the first thing they noticed was the red paw prints on the tiled floor. Tina shivered at the prospect of what lay behind the dividing wall. “Looks like the butler was tortured,” Tony said. “Why, we don’t know.” They turned the corner and immediately backed off to catch their breath.
“What the hell was that?” asked the young CSU tech. Tina walked round slowly, followed by the others, who recovered slightly. They looked down at the butler’s shredded body, all of them utterly sickened at the sight.
“So, Doc, what do you make of this?” Brant asked, shaking his head, unable to conceive a reason why anyone would want to do this to a person. Tina looked back at the captain as she put on a pair of blue examination gloves
“This guy was tortured. From the look of the cuts I would say they shocked him around five or six times.” Tony shook his head as he looked at the blood-soaked corpse. “We found a tub of salt on the counter and it’s all over the floor as well, they put salt on to him. Why for God’s sakes? He was only the damn butler.”
“How do you know he was the butler?” Brant asked.
Tony pointed at a pile of torn clothes that had been tossed into a corner. “There was a wallet amongst all his clothes. His ID says he was one Evan Sanders, originally from New York State.” Tony held up the clear evidence bag with the brown wallet inside it.
Brant nodded then looked back at the mangled mess that used to be the butler before looking up again at Tony. “You made it sound like there was more.” Brant’s soul froze when he saw the expression on Tony’s face.
“Yes, sir, there is.” Tony turned and they all followed back the way they came. “We have to go to the games room.” Tony’s words were hoarse, his mouth dry from fear. He stopped at the door, the two officers who stood watch were pale-faced and looked shaky. “This is where we found Brown and his wife—or what was left of them anyway.”
His words were a warning to them, but Brant couldn’t fathom how much worse could it be after seeing the butler. Tony opened the door and they all entered. First they saw Brown. He was sitting in a chesterfield armchair, his hands lying on top of the armrests, with two kitchen knives embedded in each hand, pinning him to the chair; two six-inch nails hammered through his feet prevented him from moving. His clothes were soaked in blood from where they had shot at his knees. Clearly he had died slowly, they had made sure of that.
Next they saw Mrs. Brown. The poor woman had been pinned down on to the pool table; her chest lay on the green fabric and her lower half hung loose. The long tiebacks for the curtains had been linked together and used to bind her wrists, while her lower half was fastened to the legs of the table. Later they’d learn that she had been raped several times and her husband had been made to watch before they killed him. However they had made sure she died first from the puncture wound to her kidneys.
The men who had done this were presumably paid killers, but Brant couldn’t believe anyone would have such sick people on a pay roll. “How did Brown die?” Brant asked, looking over at Tina, who had given Brown a quick once over.
“They cut his tongue out and fed it to him.”
Brant looked confused. “And that’s what killed him?”
Tina stood up and turned to the Captain. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t just his tongue. Looks like they sprinkled it with broken glass before they fed it to him.”
Brant winced at the thought. “Ouch!”
Tina nodded grimly. “Yeah, he would have cut all of his throat and stomach to pieces.” They all turned as they heard someone enter the room.
It was Sam McCall. After dispatch had informed her of the murders at the Browns’ residence, she decided that coming here was more important than going to the electrical company. Her face turned white at the sight before her. “I don’t get it,” she said in disbelief. “Why kill them like this? It makes no sense.”
Tony was chewing on gum to take his mind off the coppery taste that filled the air. “Maybe it was a warning to anyone else that was going to talk or mess up, who knows?” Tony faced McCall, bafflement evident in his face.
“Anyone else? Who else?” McCall looked round the room.
“Whoever did this is connected or has the cash to pull it off, that means an organization or very rich person.” Brant said, angry that another valuable piece of evidence had been taken away. He told everyone to stop talking, and the room froze at his words. He wanted to tell them he needed these men found no matter what. He wanted to say that everything else stopped and this was priority. However, he blocked off the words.
“Edwards? Blake?” Brant called out.
The two detectives turned towards the captain.
“This is your case. Everyone back to the precinct. Okay, let’s move.”
McCall seemed surprised. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.
Brant tapped the side of his nose with his right index finger. “They are trying to do it again. Every time we get close they throw something. Normally I would have called this as a priority but it’s not. What you are working on is, this is just another road block. Which means someone is getting nervous.”
McCall admired his cunning. She just hoped he was right.
TWENTY-TWO
Steel had excused himself from dinner and stood on one of the open decks, feeling the need for peace and time to think. The ocean breeze was cold and refreshing against his warm skin. He loosened his tie and popped a top button, letting the cool wind find its way to his chest. He leaned against the balcony and looked out across the expanse of crashing waves, and smiled.
This was the most tranquil moment he had known all day and it felt good. In the far distance the sky looked dark and foreboding. They were heading for a storm either tomorrow or the day after and it looked like a bad one. Steel closed his eyes, letting himself drift away as the cool breeze blew past him and across the decks. Steel opened his eyes and looked up at the towering side of the ship and the thousands of balconies that seemed to cling to its side. His mind was beginning to clear of the loud conversation and complicated facts that he’d learnt at dinner. It was as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes and he could once more see clearly.
Jane Doe, the woman who’d died in the sauna, must have been a passenger, so where was her room? He had to find her room, then he could discover her name and circumstances.
The information desk was in the centre of Deck Twelve, next to three elevators and a couple of vending machines for the guests to use after closing time. Sandy Shaw was the pretty little redhead who had lucked out enough to get the nine-till-three shift, but she didn’t mind as it was quiet and it gave her chance to catch up on her induction exams for the police department when they got back Stateside. She had a large stash of books and folders hidden under the counter out of sight, and she restricted her reading to one book at a time, so she could easily put them out of sight if someone arrived.
She did not see Steel as he approached, nor did she see him as he leaned on the counter, his head resting carefully on his hands as he watched her reading one of the manuals. He must have waited a good ten minutes before giving a small fake cough, making her look up with a start.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir, how may I help you?”
Steel smiled as she hurriedly put the book away before straightening herself against the counter. Initially, Sandy had been startled by his presence, but now she lost herself in his large blue-eyed confident smile. “If there is anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.” She smiled as she rearranged the papers on the counter.
John Steel returned her equable grin. “Thing is, I’m looking for someone. A woman.”
Sandy couldn’t prevent the twinkle in her eye. “Really? Anyone in particular?”
The investigator knew that this next part would be the most awkward to explain. “It’s the woman who was killed in the sauna. I need to find her room.”
Sandy backed away, her face freezing over.
“Look, sorry, let me explain.” John decided to mount a charm offensive. “I am working with the NYPD and I just happen to be on vacation. To be frank, I don’t think that lady’s death was an accident, so I want to make some enquiries.” He noticed that her eyes lit up when he mentioned the prospect of a real police investigation, and she felt she could be a part of it.
“Have you got a name?”
Steel leaned onto the counter looking down at her and breathing in her sweet perfume. “Sorry, I don’t know her name.”
Sandy looked up into his eyes. “I was meaning you. My name’s Sandy.”
John stood up straight and bent his head in apology. “Do forgive me. I am Antony Black. That’s ANTONY with a ‘T’, not ANTHONY with a ‘TH’. And it’s Black without the ‘E’.”
The information desk clerk looked up at him in confusion until she saw the computer’s search programme giving a passenger list, which had two men with remarkably similar names. “Oh. Okay, now I see. What are the odds, eh?”
“Indeed, what are the odds?” Steel shrugged. “Do you have any cameras in the gym area?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not allowed, for obvious reasons. But I can get footage from the corridor if that will help.” Her large brown eyes seemed to sparkle with the reflections from the ceiling lights.
“That would be great. Can you get the footage from two nights ago until today?” Sandy made a note of it on a yellow post-it note and stuck it to one of her books so she didn’t forget. “I really don’t know how to thank you.”
She gave him a calculating look, all the time with a purposeful glint in her eye. “I get off at three, so you can buy me breakfast if you like. Pick me up at the Irish Bar at around half past.” She reached out her right hand for him to shake. Taking it gently, he laid a soft kiss on her knuckles.
“Until then,” he said, before turning and heading for the set of stairs opposite the desk leading down to the next deck. Sandy sat back in her chair and started to fan herself down.
“Wow!” she said under her breath, feeling giddy with excitement as she drank the small bottle of water dry. “Wow!” she repeated to herself.
Steel returned to the internet café and decided to find out as much as he could about Mr Anthony Blacke. The café was almost empty, apart from the twelve people checking emails or kids checking out websites, but then it was around two in the morning. He found his usual spot, sat himself d
own, and began to log on. He looked up as one of the bored waiters came over and asked him if he required anything. Steel ordered a large coffee, as he thought he might be there for some time.
For page after page, Steel read how at eight years old Anthony Blacke was made an orphan after a car accident took away both his parents. Judging by the photos, this was the same man he’d met at dinner the other night. Blacke had studied business at Yale and eventually made a name for himself in business, buying and selling. He had a motto: If you want it I can get it. Blacke apparently moved around the world rubbing shoulders with royalty and presidents. He was a rich and powerful man, which made him, in Steel’s opinion, dangerous. John Steel knew all too well that the higher up the food chain you were the more you thought you were untouchable.
He read through the articles as he sipped the coffee he had just been given, every now and then looking up and scanning the room for anyone new or suspicious. He looked at his watch, hoping to have more time there: it was quarter past two in the morning. He would stay until half past, then go back to his room and quickly change, to be ready for his rendezvous with Sandy at the Irish Bar. At first he thought that meeting place was a strange choice, because he assumed it would be closed for the night. But he shrugged it off, assuming she’d chosen it because it was a well-known landmark.
He sat back in his chair and took a sip from the large coffee mug as he waited for the next page to upload. His mind wandered back to the way Sandy had looked and that cute smile she had. Something on the screen caught Steel’s eye. It was a buried page on how Blacke had been selling weapons to both sides during the gulf war of 1991 and done the same during several other conflicts since then. Blacke was a major player in arms trading throughout Mexico and the Middle East.
Steel moved closer and read the page further down, taking in as much information as possible. He sat back in his chair as his mind buzzed with questions, but the main one was, what was Blacke doing on this ship? John couldn’t risk printing off the information he’d gleaned from the net, just in case someone could trace the last print produced. He took a pen from his pocket and wrote down the website’s name for later. Right now he had to get back to his room and get ready for his date.
Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2) Page 26