The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To

by S. J. Wardell

  ‘Yes, that’d be a great place to start – I want to hear it from her,’ Karen smiled, still wanting more.

  ‘I am not apologizing and that champagne is not from me, it’s from him. Come on let’s go,’ Valerie barked her disapproval.

  ‘If you were a bloke…’ Greg laughed.

  ‘Well, she’s not a lady,’ Karen interrupted. Roars of laughter bellowed from the surrounding tables.

  Completely humiliated, Valerie stormed out the restaurant to a standing ovation. Brent walked over to Karen and took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing the back of it.

  ‘Bravo, bravo,’ was all he said, through his controlled laughter. ‘Please enjoy the champagne,’ he added as he shook Greg’s hand and left.

  ‘The house has decided that the bill for your lunch is with our complements. Please order anything from the menu, you are guests of the house today,’ Frederick smiled, bowing his head politely.

  ‘Thank you Frederick, we will. That’s very kind of you,’ Karen replied, holding her head high.

  Greg glanced through the window and noticed the couple getting into a very expensive-looking car, he also noticed that the number plate on the vehicle was a private number, a number he could easily memorise – a quick phone call would get him what he wanted to know. He had become a very well-connected man, with contacts in all kinds of places. Val was not going to get away with treating people the way she did. Valerie Hope had just been self-selected.

  ‘The world was going to be a better place without her in it,’ Greg mumbled to himself.

  ‘What did you say?’ Karen enquired, knocking the champagne back.

  Greg did not realise he had spoken aloud, ‘Nothing… I just can’t understand people like that.’ He winked. ‘Not bad this champagne.’

  ‘Chilled perfectly,’ Karen giggled. ‘To the unhappy couple,’ she announced. The pair touched glasses – finely cut crystal flutes pinged with an enigmatic sound.

  ‘Quality,’ Greg winked.

  Karen and Greg ate until they could not eat anymore. The pair had also consumed nearly four bottles of champagne between them. Noticing the couple’s drunken state, Frederick had decided to order the pair a cab, asking Greg where they would like to be taken.

  Once their cab arrived, Fredrick informed the driver of their chosen destination and paid him. When he was sure they were both safely inside the cab, he slapped the roof with the flat of his hand, signalling to the driver it was safe to move off.

  Once the happy couple fell in to Greg’s flat, they went to bed to sleep off the champagne – neither of them in a fit state to do anything else.

  Almost four hours had past when Greg woke, his bladder acting as his alarm clock. On his return, Greg noticed the time.

  ‘Wake up Karen, it’s almost eight o’clock and we’ve both got work in the morning.’ Greg never allowed Karen to stay on a work night.

  ‘OK, OK – give me a minute,’ a croaky-voiced Karen replied.

  Greg went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He needed to get rid of Karen. He had other urgent matters to attend to…

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As Greg quietly exited the stairwell, he could hear voices and he knew who they belonged to.

  ‘Do you think he’s going to leave you here to starve?’

  ‘Why make me swallow that key, and why bring you here?’

  ‘I haven’t got a fucking clue! But…’ Martin paused, he noticed Greg’s movements, ‘he’s here.’ Both men fell silent. Their anticipation made them nervous.

  ‘Martin, glad you could join us,’ Greg said as he approached, using his alter ego’s middle class tone. ‘How are you both?’

  ‘What sort of fucking question is that?’ Martin growled, ‘I’m fuck all to do with this so just let me go and I won’t tell a dicky-bird.’

  ‘A polite one,’ Greg replied, ‘but if you would rather, we can simply speed things along – unless you have any questions, that is? Because once the ball starts rolling, there’s no stopping it!’ Greg continued with his approach.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Martin asked. ‘You sound too posh to be doing this.’

  ‘How stereotypical of you Martin,’ Greg laughed. ‘Does one have to belong to a lower class to do what I’m doing?’

  As he got closer, and both men were able to draw him into their separate focuses, Martin understood what Hector had been trying to tell him – this guy really did exist. From the descriptions on the various news channels and tabloids, this was their guy.

  ‘Holy shit!’ Martin involuntarily mumbled, ‘it’s you.’

  ‘Do I look that bad?’ Greg chuckled.

  ‘You’re that guy… fucking hell,’ Martin’s slow, astonished voice made him seem illiterate. ‘You’re that guy on the news.’

  ‘What guy?’ Greg knew where Martin had identified him from, but enjoyed the game play.

  ‘From the Swiss Cottage murder – you’re all over the news.’

  ‘I doubt that very much – no one knows I actually exist… until now, that is.’

  ‘If you kill us both they won’t!’ Hector added.

  ‘But if you let me go…’ Martin interrupted.

  ‘I’m not going to kill either of you – but all that will become clear once we wipe away the fog,’ Greg said. ‘Only you will be able to let you go Martin…’

  Greg had completed his approach, and stood in full splendour in front of Martin.

  ‘Fuck me, you’re not that big, are you?’ Martin growled, trying to test Greg.

  ‘Size is of no significance – it’s the size of your arsenal that equips each and every one of us.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Martin spat, ‘and let me go. I’m nothing to do with this.’

  Greg took a large step forward and slammed the sole of his foot into Martin’s chest. The impact stole the air from in Martin’s lungs.

  ‘That’s where I beg to differ,’ Greg growled.

  ‘Nooo…’ Hector pleaded, ‘please, it’s me you want. Leave him alone.’

  ‘I just think that a lesson in control is what is needed here. I’m the one in control; your fate lies in my hands.’

  Martin laid on the floor, gasping for air to replenish his empty lungs. His eyes stung as the salty tears streamed and phlegm raced up his windpipe. Martin coughed uncontrollably.

  ‘You can stand, if you think you can offer me a respectable challenge?’ Greg giggled. ‘Your hands are free and you have a free kicking leg – I’ll handicap myself, and I promise not to use my legs. What do you think, Martin? Are you up for the challenge?’

  Martin sat up, still trying to regain his composure his mind was in overdrive without being in gear.

  ‘You look bigger than me Martin… but Hector is bigger than both of us. I took him without any effort – what are your thoughts on the matter, Hector?’

  ‘Martin, stay down. Please stay down, don’t make things any worse than they already are.’ Martin lifted his head – the fire in his eyes announced his aggression.

  ‘Lose your temper, and you’ve already lost the fight!’ Greg said. ‘Your brother-in-law is right, stay down. Hector is the target, not you – but all that can be subject to change – your choice.’

  ‘I’ve got you sussed,’ Martin smiled.

  ‘No, Martin, you foolishly think you have. I don’t have time for this, save it!’ Greg walked away, heading for the table.

  ‘If you don’t kill me, I’ll find you, you mother fucker!’ Martin barked, his anger getting the better of him. ‘I’ll tie you in knots and feed you to the fish.’

  Greg retrieved an object from the table and returned holding Martin’s mobile phone.

  ‘I’ll leave this on here,’ Greg laughed, ‘and to show you an act of good faith, I’ve switched it off in order to preserve the battery life. Your mobile phone, Martin, is your second prize. Once you have freed yourself, you can use it to summon help. Guess where your first prize is?’

  Hector’s face filled with horror, ‘M
artin’s first prize is the key?’ he stammered.

  ‘Correct – sorry, no prize though. Martin, do I still have your attention?’

  Martin nodded his head slowly.

  ‘Good. Now, Hector is not a very nice man and, worst of all, he just so happens to be married to your sister. I think before we continue our talk regarding potential prizes, I should give you a bit of background information on Mr and Mrs Hector Hylie’s sex life.’

  Greg glared at Hector.

  ‘There’s no need… Martin hates me enough as it is.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Martin asked in shock.

  ‘I know everything, Hector!’ Greg snarled. ‘There are certain blanks that need filling…’ Greg paused. ‘Your brother-in-law, in times of need, will force himself on your sister, his wife. A common word for this kind of sexual activity is rape! Your sister, his wife, gives in only to save any commotion disturbing the children. Hector would not dare deny any of this. What those on the outside don’t know, they have no need to grieve.’

  ‘Why has she lied to me?’ Martin begged to know.

  ‘Martin, remember this – your sister loves this piece of shit. We will never understand why. Secondly, lies hurt and harm but it’s the truth that destroys and kills.’

  Hector remained silent. His secret was out; the shame crushed him.

  ‘OK, moving on,’ Greg said, now holding a scalpel, ‘as you may have noticed, Hector is not in a position to defend himself and, on the other hand, you, Martin, are only restrained by one ankle. The chain attached is long enough for you to reach Hector. The key that you need to free yourself is now swimming away in Hector’s digestive system. You may need this,’ Greg said, sliding the scalpel he was holding across the floor. The surgical implement stopped as it came in contact with Martin’s leg.

  ‘You want me to cut him open?’ Martin gasped. ‘Fucking hell! Who do you think I am?’

  ‘How else are you going to get the key? If you don’t, you’ll die in here with him. Hector is going to die here. You need to choose whether you are going to die in here with him. Everything begins with choice; your next choice will shape the rest of your life Martin. Save yourself. No one will blame you. Hector’s going to die anyway, why should you die with him?’

  ‘Why don’t you kill him?’

  ‘It’s not my place… you have wanted this day to arrive.’

  ‘You fucking coward!’ Martin blurted through hot tears.

  ‘All these years you’ve wanted to teach him a lesson – the lesson is to be taught today, or are you not man enough?’

  ‘Why’s Hector got to die? You’ve taught him his lesson – you said he was going to die here.’

  ‘Because it’s Hector’s time.’

  ‘If I don’t kill him… who will?’ Martin interrupted.

  ‘The bulldozers. They are going to demolish this place tomorrow with or without you in it,’ Greg bluffed.

  ‘You mother fucker!’

  ‘Anyway, it’s been a blast but I’ve got to be off. Things to do, people to see – you know how it is. Time is ticking away Martin. Goodbye Hector.’ Greg walked away.

  ‘Wait!’ Martin begged, ‘I’ve got money, about thirty grand, it’s yours. Just let me go!’

  Greg did not look back.

  ‘Martin…’

  ‘What?’ Martin barked.

  ‘You have to save yourself.’

  ‘Fuck me, Hector,’ Martin gave Hector a disgusted glare. ‘How the fuck could you treat my sister like that? I’m not going to die here. I just don’t know how to do it quick, so you don’t suffer.’

  Hector’s eyes welled with tears – tears of horror, not pity.

  ‘Listen, you dirty bastard, if I had of known about this before, I would have beaten the fuck out of you, and then beat the shit out of you, and then kicked you into a fucking coma!’ Martin’s aggression grew. ‘You always knew what would happen if I ever found out, that’s why Mandy has been so careful to hide it from me. What did you think I would do? You fucking mug!’

  ‘I never realised… I love Mandy, she’s my wife.’

  ‘She’s your wife, but she ain’t your life. She’s your whore, that’s how you treat her. She’s my sister.’ Martin stood and made his way over to Hector.

  ‘Hold on a minute… Please Martin,’ Hector begged, ‘for pity’s sake.’

  ‘I only pity my sister. If you’ve touched any of those kids...’

  ‘Fuck off – not my own flesh and blood!’

  ‘Other kids?’ Martin growled, slashing Hector across the top of his head.

  Hector screamed, ‘No! No kids. Stop, you bastard!’

  Martin started to kick Hector randomly. Then one of his kicks landed square across Hector’s throat, causing Hector’s windpipe to collapse. Hector choked; blood from the ruptured internal vessels spilled from his mouth. Martin, blinded by rage, stabbed Hector in the face.

  Hector tried to curse, his words wheezed; blood bubbled from his lips.

  ‘Die! Die! Die!’ Martin barked, repeatedly.

  Then Hector froze – his eyes fixated, though empty. A sorrowful look donned his blood covered face.

  ‘Tell Mandy that I’m sorry. Do that for me. Kiss my kids…’ Hector wheezed.

  ‘Fuck off!’ Martin replied and sliced Hector across the throat twice. Hector’s body convulsed – shaking as if it had been struck by a bolt of lightning. The blood slowed with Hector’s heart rate. The synchronisation of his life, soul and spirit divorced and departed from the shell that was now his corpse. Hector flopped, his whole body limp and lifeless.

  Martin panted. Sweat poured from his entire body, he felt exhausted, drained.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Martin gasped, ‘you took some killing you fat fucker.’ Adrenalin not allowing reality to set in. ‘Where’s that key?’ Martin shouted, as he sliced into Hector’s abdomen.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The telephone rang continuously, interrupting Terry’s sleep.

  ‘What?’ he bellowed, not bothering to open his eyes.

  ‘There’s been another one, mate – another killing.’

  ‘McFarland? What do you mean?’ he said, as he sat bolt upright, opening his eyes.

  ‘Another murder, same pattern.’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit! Pick me up now.’

  ‘I’m outside. Are you going to let me in? I’ll make us some coffee to take with us.’

  ‘Hold on, I’m on my way down.’

  ‘Who is it?’ a sleepy Natalie enquired.

  ‘There’s been another murder – you go back to sleep darling, I’ve gotta go.’

  ‘OK – be careful.’

  Terry kissed Natalie on her forehead. She had already returned to her deep slumber.

  Terry dressed as he descended the stairs and unlocked the front door.

  ‘You know where the kitchen is,’ he told McFarland.

  ‘Don’t bother putting your make-up on, we don’t have time,’ the Scotsman joked.

  ‘Nat’s asleep upstairs, mate,’ Terry said. ‘Keep it down please.’

  ‘Hurry up, and get the rest of your fucking clothes on, you’re making me feel sick.’

  Terry did not bother responding. He was dressed and back in the kitchen just as McFarland was pouring the milk into the cups.

  ‘Tell me what you know,’ he demanded.

  ‘We’ll go to the scene – a multi-storey car park, of all places.’

  The two men got in McFarland’s waiting car.

  ‘OK this is what I know: a man phoned the three nines and was put through to a police station in Borehamwood. The caller told the duty sergeant that a man in a black rubber suit had kidnapped him, Mr Martin Pringle, and his brother-in-law, Mr Hector Hylie, and had taken them to a disused car park in Arkley. Now this is the sick bit, the guy in the black rubber suit chained Hector Hylie to the wall, hands and feet, and handcuffed Martin Pringle to the wall by his ankle. He then forced Hector Hylie to swallow the key to the handcuffs around Martin Pringl
e’s ankle and gave him some sort of knife, telling him to choose what he was going to do. Save himself or die with his brother-in-law.’

  ‘Which nick is he in now? Terry asked.

  ‘He’s being moved to The Yard as we speak.’

  ‘OK, we’ll go there later. Is the brother-in-law still at the scene?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  McFarland knew that Terry would want to visit the scene of the crime first – while it was still fresh.

  As they arrived at the multi-storey car park, Terry had already removed his seatbelt and was ready to get out the car. Both men took the stairs three at a time, stopping at the floor where they could hear activity. A uniformed police officer stood on the other side of the exit door.

  ‘Oh sorry sir, please go in,’ the police officer said apologetically, feeling a little embarrassed after Terry had accidentally hit him with the door.

  ‘Keep up the good work,’ McFarland said, reassuringly patting the officer’s shoulder.

  The two men walked in to where the crime had taken place. There was blood everywhere. The chains that imprisoned both men were still there hanging from the safety railings. McFarland and Terry paced slowly around the area, being careful not to disturb anything. The forensic team were already hard at work.

  ‘What’s the story, Dan?’ McFarland asked.

  ‘Two men found at the scene – one dead and the other in custody and no trace of anyone else being here. It’s a mystery,’ the short stubby man answered.

  ‘What was the murder weapon?’ Terry asked.

  ‘Early implications suggest a scalpel as that’s the only thing that’s been recovered. Once we clean him up and get a closer look, I’ll be able to give you a more accurate cause of death.’

  ‘Was the weapon left here, close to the body?’ Terry continued.

  ‘Yes, indeed it was.’