Sins of the Master

by Catherine Taylor

  Wairarapa, November 2013

  .”Yes, Mum, I’ll come visit you soon, I promise. Yes, I love you, too.”

  Esther switched off the cell phone, opened the back and removed the sim card. Approaching the large mahogany desk, she waited for Dylan to look up at her from the book he was reading. Looking to the end of the library, she gazed at the towering floor to ceiling shelves of books that took up the entire back wall.

  “Was there a problem?” Dylan put the book down and took the phone and card from her.

  Esther snapped back to attention. “Yes, Master. Someone called Gary Smith came looking for me, about two weeks ago. He said he was an old friend of mine, but he mentioned your name as well. I’ve never heard of him. Mum said he was mid-thirties with a beard and moustache.”

  Dylan glared at her. “And why am I only hearing about this now?”

  Esther shuffled nervously. “Because I haven’t rung Mum for a while.”

  “Is that so?” Dylan glared at her. “I believe my instructions to you were to ring your mother every week, to keep her happy, and to be aware of any problems that might arise with you being here.”

  “I can’t talk to her. All she ever wants to talk about is the trial and to tell me how sorry she is, and how she hopes I will forgive her for listening to Steven and burying her head in the sand.”

  “And you obviously haven’t forgiven her.”

  “I have, but it’s not that easy, Master.”

  “No, it’s not. In this house you are punished for mistakes. It’s quick, simple, and after a good cry, the matter is closed. I wonder how many times your mother has cried about her mistakes?”

  “I know, Master. I know I’m holding onto things I need to let go of, but it’s not easy to let go. Sometimes I wish I could be like Mairead. She doesn’t hold a grudge against anyone, even with everything she’s been through.”

  “She doesn’t talk about it. That’s not the same thing.”

  “But she’s never angry. She’s always bubbly and joking and getting into mischief.”

  “Mairead is not as tough as you think. She’s got a lot of healing to do yet and denying it won’t do her any favours. Anyway, I’m more concerned about your visitor. I don’t suppose he left a number?”

  “No, Master.” She looked at him nervously. “What do you think it’s about?”

  “I don’t know, but someone has linked you and me together, and I’d say it would be the same man who visited my gallery, about the same time. Of course I would have known sooner if you had done what I told you.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Wait until he shows his face again and find out what the fuck he wants.”

  “Only a few people know I’m with you.”

  “People I trust,” Dylan said. “And one I’m not happy about, your friend, Melanie.”

  Esther bit her lip. “And Melanie could have told anyone, though I don’t think anyone would believe her. She’s not in a good state of mind.”

  “Maybe she piqued someone’s curiosity.”

  “I don’t know, Master. If she has, it isn’t her fault.”

  “No, it isn’t. I allowed her to see me when I came to get you.”

  “And I let her down. As soon as my own troubles were sorted, I walked away and left her to deal with it on her own. I think I was still angry with her.”

  “She held you in that cellar for weeks. You had a right to be angry, just as you have a right to be angry with your mother, and I have a right to address your disobedience.”

  He got up and went to a display cabinet. Opening it, he selected a long strap of thick brown leather, which split into two thinner tails.

  Esther winced. “Maybe if you forgave me, it would teach me by example and help me have empathy towards others.”

  “It might,” Dylan nodded thoughtfully. “And I promise to demonstrate forgiveness, once you’ve bent over the desk and had this applied to your arse.”

  * * * * *

  Wellington, November, 2013

  There was a distinctly masculine expression about Vivian Easton’s city apartment with its minimalist décor, practicality and lack of feminine touches. The view from the window was a downgrade on the one from the hotel, with the harbour being only a glimpse in the distance and obscured by other buildings.

  It didn’t matter to Brendan. The apartment was comfortable and suited his needs. It was a short walking distance to the hub of the city, especially at night, and it wasn’t costing him a cent. Life had certainly taken a turn for the better, even if it was only short term. This was the life he wanted, and if he played his cards right, he could foresee a prosperous future.

  Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he returned to his laptop and checked to see if there was any reply about his picture. There was none, and instead he opened the spam email that had come that morning with a video clip attached.

  He’d played it several times already, but just couldn’t seem to tire of young naked girls parading across his screen, bending over to reveal and finger their assets. Barely legal, was the term that came to mind. A sultry voiceover promised discretion and young, beautiful girls, yearning to satisfy his every need.

  “Yeah, for how much?” Brendan sat back and opened his legs a little and rubbed his cock through his trousers, imagining himself touching those tight cunts and perky tits. His reverie was cut short by a knock on the door.

  “Fuck.” Brendan quickly closed the email and called out. “Just a minute.”

  He ran to the bathroom and splashed water on his face and got his breathing under control, cursing over the timing of an unwanted visit. Checking his trousers, he was satisfied the bulge was not noticeable, before hurrying to the door.

  When Brendan opened it, Adele said nothing until she was well inside the room and had removed her sunglasses. He was surprised to see how faded she looked with dark shadows under her eyes. He was about to ask if all was well, when she addressed him brusquely.

  “I just want to know, that whatever happens, you’ll find Dylan Tyler and you will bring him to justice, that you will leave no stone unturned until he’s put away for life.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Brendan answered tentatively. “I’ve actually been making some good progress. That’s why I got you to come over. Is everything alright, Adele?”

  “It’s been a difficult few days and I’m tired.” Adele took a breath and calmed. “May I sit down?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Adele took her seat delicately and smiled. “So what do you have?”

  Grabbing his laptop, Brendan sat down with her and started showing her images of vicious thugs with tattoos.

  “You remember how I said the tats looked like Russian mafia?”

  “Yes,” Adele frowned.

  “Well, I was right. Each pakhan, or Russian mafia boss has his own spin on them. The ones on Tyler were from this guy called Ivanchenko, and he only awarded that tattoo to a handful of people, his byki which translates as bulls, as in the bovine kind, and they were his bodyguards. They were all psychopaths, who had no qualms about taking out anyone who got in their way, whether it was innocents or rival gang members, or even the KGB. The Soviets finally got Ivanchenko up on murder charges, but while in a Russian prison awaiting trial, he led a massive riot and held the place to ransom. In that time, his brothers and their thugs on the outside went about terrorising the prison guards’ families. I won’t tell you what they did, but it was ugly. In that time, he gained a lot of power and was eventually released when no one would testify against him.”

  “So what happened to him?”

  “That’s where it gets obscure. I’ve found a few stories of Ivanchenko’s demise. They vary a bit, but what appears to have happened was several Mafia bosses, including Ivanchenko and his brothers, were gathered for some meeting at a hotel. Sometime during the night, the entire building imploded as if it had been wired for demolition, completely destroying it and the mob along with it.”

  Adele st
ared at Brendan in horror. “Who did it?”

  “That’s where the speculation comes in,” Brendan told her. “Many say it was the KGB, but a few reckon that one of Ivanchenko’s bodyguards was responsible. Others say that it had something to do with the whores… um, prostitutes that were there.”

  “What about them?”

  “They all left the building before it went up.”

  “Wouldn’t that have looked a bit suspicious?”

  “Probably, but it appears a distraction had been set up, and again, this is only rumour, and I should warn you, a little bit gruesome.”

  “I’m a criminal lawyer,” Adele admonished him. “I’ve seen plenty of gruesome in my time.”

  “Fair enough,” Brendan conceded. “The security they had on that night found a severed forearm in the foyer with a cassette tape sitting in the hand. They took it to Ivanchenko who went berserk when he recognised the tattoos. The arm belonged to one of his brothers. When they played the tape, all they could hear was a man screaming in agony and what sounded like the crack of a whip. The police discovered the poor sod later, still alive, minus his forearm and a few layers of skin from his entire body.”

  “Oh, my god.” Adele balked and quickly put her hand to her mouth.

  “Yeah,” Brendan nodded grimly. “It’s pretty bad, but strangely the Russians didn’t see it that way. After what they had suffered, they considered the demise of Ivanchenko’s family a blessing. Apparently more of their henchman were murdered after that night. The KGB stepped in quickly to control the media and manipulate the reports. With the Soviet breaking up, the whole world was watching. They were too proud to admit that there was any major crimes going on, especially something like organised crime. The whole thing sunk down into obscurity and rumour. A few survivors of that night have since written their own accounts, but it’s hard to know how reliable they are.”

  “Was Tyler one of those survivors?” Adele asked. “Those photos in the hospital…”

  Brendan shook his head. “Taken in ’95. The massacre took place in ‘85. At that time, Tyler would have been seventeen if you go by his British birth certificate.”

  Adele smiled. “And hardly able to take on the Russian mafia. Maybe he just copied the tattoo to look tough.”

  “I don’t know,” Brendan shrugged. “Some woman wrote an article several years ago, saying she was one of the girls there that night. She reckons that a call came for her at the hotel and told her that she had five minutes to get the other girls out. If she tried to warn the men, they would all die. When the building came down, she remembers a young man standing nearby, watching the destruction. She describes him being tall, well built, with black hair and blue eyes that look like crystals.”

  Adele took a seat on the couch, her face clearly anxious. “This Ivanchenko family… were they all killed?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s certainly put me off getting in touch with George.”

  Adele gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment, before staring at him. “You don’t really believe these people would come after him, not after all these years? That’s ridiculous. You’re talking nearly thirty years. Any survivors would be old men.”

  “That probably had wives and kids. These mafia types have long memories and honour codes without use by dates.”

  She sat silently for a moment, staring down at the floor, until she looked up at him. “Brendan, maybe it’s time to end this.”

  “End what?”

  “This investigation, before it gets out of hand. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you said, about Tyler murdering Mary Whittaker, and now you’re talking about Russian mafia. It’s becoming dangerous.”

  “Which is why I’m doing the hard yards. Don’t worry, none of this gets back to you. I’m the first line of defence here, Adele.”

  “I know.” Her gaze became intense. “And I don’t want to be reading about your murder in the morning paper. I couldn’t bear it. That would be the last straw and I’ve had enough. I can’t sleep. I can’t think…”

  Adele burst into tears and Brendan got up, stunned and at loss to know what to do. Grabbing a box of tissues, he put them in front of her and sat down next to her. His arm hovered, ready to put around her, but instead he settled for a pat on her shoulder.

  “Hey, Adele, it’s alright. You’re worrying over nothing. I mean, I’m not scared or anything.”

  Snatching a handful of tissues, Adele cried into them.

  “That’s what journalists do,” he continued. “We put our lives on the line to get the story, because, in the end, it’s worth it.”

  “You’re not a journalist,” she said. “Up until recently, you were a car salesman…”

  “And you think that’s what I want to be?” Brendan stood up glaring at her. “You brought me here to find Tyler and I’m going to fucking find him. Don’t start fucking me around now and telling me you want to stop.”

  His outburst startled her. Adele wiped her face and frowned up at him. “I wasn’t…”

  “This is mine, Adele. You might be paying for it, but I’ve got just as much invested in this as you have and you’re not going to take what I’ve done this far and give it to some other cunt to take the credit.”

  “Brendan, that’s not what I was doing.” She stood up and faced him solidly. “You need to calm down.”

  His face was furious, glaring at her, until he suddenly strode to the fridge. Getting out a beer, he popped the cap and swallowed back half the bottle. When he turned back to her, he was grinning awkwardly.

  “Sorry,” he laughed. “Looks like you’re not the only one stressing out.”

  Adele continued to study him warily.

  Brendan laughed again. “Up all night on this research. I’m really sorry, Adele, swearing at you and all. It’s just that this means a lot to me.”

  She eventually nodded. “I know, but you need to think realistically if it’s worth your life. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

  “I hear what you’re saying.” Brendan adopted a sober expression as he returned to the couch. “But I don’t have a life unless I get Tyler. Let me do this, Adele.”

  She nodded. “Alright. The apartment is yours until the end of February, no matter what happens. You’ve earned it and maybe it will help establish yourself back here in New Zealand, if nothing comes of this. If at any time, it gets too much, then stop and I will make sure you’re compensated for your time and stress.”

  Brendan grinned. “You make it sound so terminal. I’m telling you, the future is looking bloody good.”

  “Is it?” Adele smiled. “I’d really like to believe that.”

  “Those girls, in the picture you took… well, I wanted to know who that fat woman is. I’d been looking at these places that use facial recognition software and there’s been some good developments in it. The FBI uses it and makes big corporations use it to run checks on their employees. So I’ve sent her picture off to one and could get results any day now.”

  “That’s really good, Brendan.” There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Adele got to her feet. “I have to go. Take care of yourself, and I really do wish you the best for your future.”

  He was glad to see the back of her. There was nothing like a woman to rile his temper. Returning to his laptop, he brought up the video of much more appealing feminine behaviour. He wasted no time in unzipping his pants and getting his cock in his hand. The phone number kept flashing across the video.

  “Yeah, let me think about it,” he panted. “First things first.”

  * * * * *

  Upon arriving home, Adele was met at the front door by her father, who was looking animated and anxious.

  “Adele, I want you to gather your files, everything you have on your case, and then come into my study. I have someone in there, right now, who you need to meet.”

  “Who, Dad?”

  “I’ll introduce you as soon as you come in. Just get everything.”

  “Dad, we can’t b
e telling anyone…”

  “This man is the person who needs to know. Please, trust me, Adele.”

  She didn’t have the strength to argue. For a long time now, it seemed as if everything was beyond her control. There had been no reply from George, and with Brendan spinning tales of Russian mafia, she wasn’t certain she wanted a reply.

  As she entered the study, the stranger rose from his chair to greet her with a thin sober smile. He looked to be in his forties, impeccably dressed in a dark blue tailored suit. His stern face had a long sharp nose and dark eyes. There was still some dark brown hair at his temples and he looked more distinguished than handsome. He studied Adele as she tentatively approached.

  “Come in, Adele,” Lance beamed. “I want you to meet Bevan Miller.”

  She was intrigued as she shook his hand. Miller bowed his head slightly and spoke her name, with a deep, refined voice.

  Adele felt some warmth in her face. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Miller.”

  Lance brought a chair for Adele and put it near Miller’s before taking his own seat behind the desk. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Bevan.”

  “Not at all, Lance. I hope that I may be of some help.” He looked at Adele. “To both you and your daughter.”

  She smiled. “I’m afraid you have the advantage.”

  “Sorry, Adele,’ Lance said. “Bevan is the current head of our Intelligence Service, and has agreed to hear our case, off the record and in complete confidence.”

  Her mouth fell open, but she maintained her composure. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Miller, though I’m little overwhelmed that you would grant me an audience.”

  “Your father and I are well acquainted, and I’m here at the request of another mutual colleague, who believes there are several allegations of which I need to be aware.”

  Adele knew he was talking about the Deputy Prime Minister, but she didn’t ask. “Mr. Miller, I do hope you understand that my information is based on theory at this stage. I have no solid evidence and would be embarrassed to waste your time.”