by Conrad Jones
Alec and Will looked at each other for a moment, digesting the information. Alec knew Salim was either on the run or dead. Now dead seemed more likely.
“So Salim Oguzhan was strapped in that chair and tortured?” Will mused.
“I am guessing he was made to watch what happened to Louise Parker, too,” Alec added. “This is our link to the nightclub, Will.”
“What about the boy?” Will gasped.
“The man who killed the Oguzhan family wouldn’t give two hoots about making the boy watch.” The doctor looked over his glasses patronisingly.
“You think the robbers extracted the safe code from Salim?” Will asked. “Making him watch what he did to Louise Parker and having his son in the chair next to him?” It made sense, but the method seemed extreme. “Would they need to go to that extreme?”
“It depends, Will.” Alec stroked the greying stubble on his chin.
“On what?”
“What they knew already,” Alec replied.
“I don’t get it.”
“Let’s say you’re the killer, and you know that Salim Oguzhan is a gangster, but that’s all you know.”
“Okay, I’m with you.”
“To go from nothing to extracting the whereabouts of a large amount of cash and drugs and a safe code would take some doing.”
“So he could have gone all around the houses before he got anything useful.”
“Exactly, plus he enjoys doing this,” Alec added.
“So we think whoever robbed the nightclub did this?”
“I think they tied up Louise Parker, tied up Salim Oguzhan and his son and started asking questions. They ended up with a safe code and the location of the safes, and the whereabouts of five kilos of cocaine,” Alec thought aloud.
“He never gave up the second safe code,” Will grimaced.
“Obviously not,” Alec agreed.
“We have to assume he’s dead.”
“Agreed.”
“The killer could have taken them to Jamaica Street in the Porsche and driven the car inside,” Will surmised. “There was plenty of room and the streets are quiet at night.”
“Correct, and he would have had all the time in the world to extract the information he wanted,” Alec added.
“He or they?” the doctor asked, removing his glasses. “Remember there were two sets of footprints in the Parker blood pool. We are still running tests on the older bloodstain, but I have my reservations, Alec.”
“Let’s hear them,” Alec smiled thinly.
“The victims at the Oguzhan residence were subjected to a frenzied attack.” The doctor shook his head as he spoke. He looked troubled. “The killer chased and attacked the woman and her children, but from the evidence at the scene, I would say that they were badly injured by the first attack and then killed sometime later. There are crawl marks near each body.”
“Okay, I’m with you so far,” Alec agreed.
“If I combine that with the detailed and torturous injuries to the Parker woman, then I believe that we are looking for a killer who works alone. He is indulgent, and indulgence is a solo affair. He enjoys things that he alone can stomach.”
“Maybe he has a weaker accomplice. It has to be ‘they’. There were two gunmen at the nightclub,” Alec disagreed.
“The other gunman may not be aware of where the information came from or how it was obtained,” Will guessed.
“You may be right,” Alec said.
“If we find one of them, we’ll get them both, won’t we?” Will asked.
“We need to find Salim Oguzhan,” Alec said. “We’ve been looking for Salim Oguzhan and his Porsche all over the country, but he was right under our noses the entire time.”
“We’ve been looking in the wrong place so far,” Will smiled.
“Where would you hide a body and a Porsche if you had killed the owner?” Alec smiled.
“Especially if you killed them a few hundred yards from the river,” Will returned the smile. They were finally getting somewhere. “I’ll call out the divers.”
“You do that,” Alec nodded. “Doctor, I need your team to go into that nightclub and search the beer cellar again when they have finished at the Oguzhan house.”
“Alec! That is a waste of time!” the doctor protested. “Any evidence we find will be contaminated by now. By the fire, the smoke, by water, by an army of firemen, and god knows who else has been in there since.”
“Humour me, Doc,” Alec smiled. “We’re looking for two very dangerous killers, but they’re sloppy. Look at the evidence they’ve left for us. The Jamaica Street scene, the hotel and now three victims left to rot in their home. I’m certain there will be something in that nightclub if we look for it. When we find them, and we will, I want as much evidence to pin them down as we can muster.”
Dr Libby frowned and removed his glasses. He chewed on the end of them thoughtfully as if he had a choice in the matter. “I will need more man-hours. We are already flat out on this case.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Use whatever you need, Doc,” Alec said. “I need the rest of these results yesterday.”
“Don’t you always, Detective?” Libby grunted.
“All in the pursuit of eradicating crime, my good Doctor,” Alec touched his head and bowed.
“You sound like Batman,” the doctor grumbled.
“That would make you Robin,” Alec turned to Will and winked.
“I could think of several other names for him,” Dr Libby said as he walked away from them.
“How long for the remaining results, Doc?” Will called after him. The forensic man turned and raised two fingers in a v-sign and waved them in the air offensively. “Two hours or so,” he smiled sarcastically.
“I don’t think he likes me,” Will shook his head.
“You deduced that all by yourself?” Alec frowned. “You should become a detective, Detective.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Patrick: The Past
Nate Bradley was aware that Patrick wanted to capture Salim Oguzhan immediately, but he wanted to take more time to plan it properly. They had agreed to plan it together, but while Patrick was watching Salim in the planning stage, he saw Louise Parker and became obsessed. He had to have her. He had to hurt her. Patrick had violent urges sometimes, and they were becoming more frequent and more difficult to control. This time around, he was desperate to get to her. There was nothing in the world he wanted more. She was on his mind night and day. He wanted her, and he wanted her now. Interrogating Salim became secondary. Louise Parker was his focus, and nothing else mattered.
It was Friday night and Patrick knew that Salim and Louise would be at the club. They arrived at around ten o’clock. He waited in the alleyway outside of Connections nightclub until Salim arrived and parked his Porsche behind it. Louise Parker was with him, and as she climbed out of the car, her skirt rode up, exposing her tanned thighs. He groaned aloud in the dark and felt himself growing hard. Her thighs were lean and muscular and her skin looked silky smooth. Patrick couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted her badly. She was beautiful and she was a slut. She would be his slut and she would do whatever he wanted. Patrick decided that he couldn’t wait for Nate Bradley to finish off his ‘pissing around’ reconnaissance. He would take Salim and Louise and kill two birds with one stone. He could question Salim and have some fun with Louise, too. Patrick couldn’t risk taking them at gunpoint. He would need to be more subtle than that, and he had the Porsche to think about, too. Patrick parked his car a few streets away and walked back to the club. Salim and Louise were talking to the bouncers outside and smoking cigarettes. She was laughing and tossing her hair back as she giggled. She was flirting with them, the slut. She had no idea how much he wanted her, but she would soon. No one had ever wanted her as much as he did, and he would show her things that no other man had ever shown her. He would show her pain and excitement beyond her wildest dreams, beyond her wildest fantasies or dark nightmares. She would know how
it felt to really feel before she died.
Patrick waited for ten minutes after the couple had entered the nightclub. Then he approached the door and paid his entrance fee into the club. He watched the couple from a distance and waited until they had drunk half a dozen cocktails before standing near them. Louise was drunk and high on cocaine. Everyone was her friend when she was in that zone and she was hugging people left, right and centre, especially the men, the slut. Patrick spoke to Salim first.
“You must be Salim,” Patrick stuck out his hand.
“Who’s asking?” Salim stopped smiling and ignored the outstretched hand.
“Barry Mills,” Patrick lied. “I worked with your uncle in the Smoke.”
“Which uncle?” Salim was suspicious.
“Checo,” Patrick said, keeping the hand outstretched. “We did a job together on Green Lane, if you know what I mean.” Patrick laughed and looked around to see who was listening. “I had to disappear sharpish.”
“Right!” Salim relaxed. “How is the old goat?” He still ignored Patrick’s hand.
“He’s okay, still ducking and diving.”
“Is he still driving that old Rolls Royce?” Salim asked.
“Rolls Royce,” Patrick looked thoughtful and Salim’s eyes narrowed. “No, he’s been driving an old Golf convertible for years. He won’t part with the thing! When did he get a roller?” Nate Bradley had researched the Turks well. Maybe he wasn’t such a waste of space after all.
“He has one parked in the garage,” Salim shook his hand. The suspicion in his eyes was gone. “How long have you worked with Checo for?”
“Over two years now,” Patrick answered. “He doesn’t know I’m up here, no one does. It’s better that way.”
“Yes, better safe than sorry,” Salim smiled. “Do you want a drink?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having, thanks.”
“Who’s your new friend?” Louise Parker joined them. She looked wobbly on her feet and her speech was slurred.
“A friend of my uncle’s from London, sorry, what was your name again?”
“Barry,” Patrick held out his hand to Louise. “Barry Mills, my pleasure.”
“Nice to meet you, Brian,” Louise said without taking the handshake. She didn’t like him. Patrick sensed her distaste. He didn’t mind. She would grow to love him soon. She would do anything he asked to stop the pain. She would look into his eyes and beg him to stop the pain. They all did, eventually.
“Barry,” Patrick corrected her.
“Barry,” she frowned. She didn’t like him at all. “Can you get me a drink please, Sally.” She turned away and spoke to someone behind them. The snub would cost her dearly.
Patrick chatted to Salim when he returned with the drinks. Their research into Salim had armed him with enough names and places to sound credible. The Turk bought him another drink, and when Patrick returned the gesture, he laced their drinks with Rohypnol. Twenty minutes later, Salim was feeling unwell and Louise was passing out on her feet.
“The champagne’s gone to my head, Sally,” she mumbled her words. Salim was holding her up. “Can we go home?”
“I’ll get us a cab,” Salim slurred. His eyes looked glassy.
“Have you brought your motor?” Patrick asked.
“Yes,” Salim struggled to focus. “It’s round the back.”
“Here, I’ll take you home,” Patrick held up his glass. “I’ve only had two and you won’t be the first Oguzhan I’ve driven home from a club,” he laughed. “I’ll drop you off and then drive back here, shall I?”
“You sure you don’t mind?” Salim was feeling the drug slowing him down.
“Not at all,” Patrick smiled. “I can be back here in an hour and I’ll leave your keys with the landlord, how’s that?”
The couple left with Patrick. He had offered to drive the Porsche back to the Parker residence, pretending to be concerned that Salim was over the limit. Salim believed that Patrick had worked for his family and he agreed. He was in a drug-induced sleep within the first two miles of their journey. When Salim passed out, Patrick turned the Porsche around and headed for Salim’s house. He knew that Louise lived with her father, and that wouldn’t do at all. They arrived at the house in Woolton. Patrick took the keys from the car and opened the front door. The house lay in darkness. It was perfect for what he wanted to do. He wanted Louise.
Salim was a dead weight and dragging him into the house was a struggle, but he managed it. He went back for Louise. Salim was tied up on the floor. Patrick scoured the garage for tape, and that was where he found the hatchet. Patrick was sweating with anticipation. Louise Parker was lying on her back on the kitchen table. She looked beautiful. He pushed up her skirt and pulled her thong to one side, and then he unzipped his jeans. She was about to become his forever when Mrs Oguzhan and two sleepy children appeared in the kitchen doorway. Patrick Lloyd was demented with anger and a red mist descended.
When they came round, Louise was strapped to a workbench in Jamaica Street and Salim was tied to a chair nearby. Next to him was his six-year-old son. Patrick raped Louise while she was still half-unconscious, and Salim’s cries for help and abusive threats about what his family would do to him turned him on more. His insane lust was satiated momentarily, and he turned his attention to extracting information from Salim. Salim was compliant because he didn’t want Louise or his son hurt. Had he known what he was about to witness, he would have tried to overpower Patrick despite the bonds which held him. Had he known the pain he would endure himself before he died, he would have taken a bullet instead any day of the week.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Gecko: The Past
Nate Bradley scribbled notes in a shorthand style he had learned in the intelligence service. It was unreadable to the average person. His notes referred to the people involved in his family’s tragedy, the murder of his wife and son. He listed the people he considered lowlife drug dealers, and he aimed to kill them all. They would pay, and they would keep on paying until they locked him up or shot him. He didn’t care who came first. The boy who had given his son ecstasy was dead, as was his supplier. Their dealer, Benjamin, was dead too. And this was where the Gecko made a crucial mistake. He allowed Patrick Lloyd into his trust.
Nate knew he was a special kind of person. His years working in extraordinary rendition had changed him inside. He had no sympathy for human emotions any longer. Killing to avenge his wife and son was simple. Taking the drugs and money from dealers and ruining their business was his mission, and it wouldn’t be finished until they were all dead. Simple. Nate knew that his mindset was not that of your average male, but Patrick Lloyd was different again. He was mad, a psychopath. Patrick killed because he enjoyed hurting people. He thrived on it. Nate knew that Patrick had tortured Benjamin to death for fun, not because he was a drug dealer. The difference between them was obvious to Nate. Nate was killing for a reason, whereas Patrick was a lunatic.
Patrick passed the information he was gleaning from Salim on to Nate, but he wouldn’t disclose where he was holding him and he didn’t mention that he had Louise Parker too. He said that it was safer if Nate didn’t know. Nate knew there was an ulterior motive, and he followed Patrick one day. Patrick led him to Jamaica Street. Hours later Patrick left the unit and Nate broke in. What he found shocked him to the core. Louise Parker was close to death. She was barely alive, and her injuries were horrendous. Patrick had removed her hand with a saw and left it on a workbench. There was no sign of Salim Oguzhan, but there was blood around a chair, which Patrick had screwed to the floor. Louise opened her eyes for a split second and Nate knew what he had to do. He slipped his right hand around her head and grabbed her chin. Twisting his body at the waist, he snapped her neck and put her out of her misery where Patrick Lloyd couldn’t hurt her again. Nate took Patrick’s roll of medical tools, scalpels and bone saws, and he put Louise’s hand into a bag. He would confront Patrick once they had completed the nightclub heist,
and the hand would prevent him from talking bullshit. Nate knew his partner had made a huge mistake.
He had hoped the body would remain undiscovered until after the heist, but the police found the body before Patrick could move it. Nate could not believe Patrick had been so careless. His obsession with hurting people was clouding his judgment. Although they had discovered the body, the police were keeping quiet about the details of the murder until they were ready. It didn’t matter how hard they suppressed it, the Parker murder would hit the press soon. Nate knew the police had found the body and he was amazed they had managed to keep it quiet so far. It would lead the police to Salim Oguzhan, and they would eventually connect it to the robbery at the nightclub. Patrick was a liability, a threat to his mission. He had to remove Patrick from the equation and then demolish Leon Tanner and the Oguzhan cartel. Nate Bradley packed up his gear and headed to the car. First stop was Patrick Lloyd’s home.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kisha
Kisha shivered as she drove through the derelict streets of Kensington. Once families had sought after the houses for their size and desirable location close to the city centre, but now developers had boarded up the majority, ready for demolition. It was a playground for local teenage graffiti artists and vandals. In the seventies and eighties greedy property owners had begun buying up the rundown houses and had turned them into bedsits. They rented the bedrooms to unemployed people and made fortunes from the social services. Tenants were easy to find, and Giro cheques never bounced. It was a recipe for disaster as communities of unemployed people turned into crime hotspots, red light districts and drug havens. After decades of decline, the city had put compulsory purchase orders on everything and a massive regeneration scheme had been planned.
That was before the recession had hit and the money had run out. Now the houses stood empty, stripped of electric wiring and copper water pipes by drug addicts who cashed in the metals for scrap. There were a small number of determined homeowners in the area, clinging on to their bricks and mortar. Some of them wouldn’t move until the bulldozers came through the front wall.