The hotel didn’t offer much by the way of dining facilities, but a quick conversation with the pretty receptionist had told him that there were a couple of bars and restaurants two minutes up the road at the industrial estate-cum-entertainment park known as Leisure World. Rêmet had thanked her for her help and had walked the short distance, until he found where she meant. The park housed a casino, a couple of night clubs, a cinema, a gentlemen’s club and a couple of restaurant-bars, one an American-Italian place and the other a pizza restaurant; so much for variety! Rêmet headed for the American-Italian restaurant, and was grateful to get a table by the window. He ordered himself a large glass of Rioja as a starter and a dish referred to as ‘Italian Chicken’ as his main. When the meal arrived, he was disappointed to find it was a bread-crumb covered chicken breast dripping in an overly-sweet, red, tomato sauce. He ate as much as he could, but it really wasn’t to his taste. He ordered a second glass of Rioja to clean his palette.
When he was halfway through drinking the second glass of wine, he spotted something out of the window that made him do a double-take. Johan Boller was strolling down the road, with a couple of other tall men, broad smiles on their faces. For a moment, he thought he had fallen asleep and was dreaming, such was his surprise at seeing the face that had haunted his dreams for the last five years, but sure enough it was Boller, looking as arrogant as ever. Rêmet continued to watch him from the restaurant window and saw him turn in somewhere further along the strip. Rêmet downed the contents of his glass, and signalled for a passing waiter to bring over his bill. Rather than waiting for the waiter to return, he dropped thirty pounds on the table and hurried out the door. He was sure it would be enough to cover his bill, and would probably leave the waiter with a healthy tip.
As Rêmet hit the cool night air, it didn’t take him long to work out where Boller must have headed, as the gentlemen’s club was the last building on the strip and was the right distance from the restaurant. Rêmet took a couple of deep breaths, while he tried to work out what to do next. Part of him wanted to approach the young striker and demand the truth, but he knew that was madness. He still needed to convince Sarah first, and then they would approach the police and catch the killer the right way. The sensible thing that he should have done was to turn around and head back to his hotel room. Instead, he decided to go and observe the Swiss and headed for the club.
There was no queue to get in the bar and although the bouncer gave him a suspicious look, he was allowed to pay his entrance fee and head in. The club was almost pitch black, the only light coming from the occasional small red neon lights hanging from the walls. It took a moment for Rêmet’s eyes to adjust to the light, but once they had he headed to the bar and ordered a shot of vodka. He found a small table to the edge of the bar and took a seat. It was too dark to really see any of the other patrons in the club, and Rêmet assumed this was how the management wanted it to be. He figured that the only way he would be able to find out where Boller was, would be to go from table to table; staring at each man in the place, and this would certainly blow his cover. Rêmet decided to remain at his table, by the bar, and wait until he saw Boller approach and order a drink, then Rêmet would be able to follow him back to wherever he was sat, unnoticed, and take a new seat of his own nearby, so he could continue to observe Boller, without him becoming aware. In truth, the best light in the club was around the bar, probably so that the woman behind it could see what change she was giving the punters.
Directly opposite, but a good thirty feet away, was the main stage. It was empty at the moment, but it was only nine o’clock, and Rêmet imagined that the show probably wouldn’t start much before ten. There were a couple of scantily-clad waitresses moving from table to table offering drinks and private dances, and whilst Rêmet was tempted, when he was approached, he declined the offer and remained in his covert position.
Nearly an hour had passed, before he finally saw Boller approach the bar. Rêmet felt his pulse quicken, as he laid eyes on the man he hated more than any other in the world. By this point he was on his fifth shot of vodka and most of his inhibitions had disappeared for the night. Rather than quietly observing the Swiss flirting with the barmaid, he decided to confront him. Rêmet moved to the bar so that he was only five feet from where Boller was stood. At first, Rêmet didn’t say anything; he just glared at the tall striker, until eventually Boller turned and saw Rêmet. Boller didn’t seem to recognise him at first, but within ten seconds, he was glancing back at Rêmet as the penny dropped and he made the connection. The look of terror in Boller’s eyes, gave Rêmet a satisfying feeling of triumph. Rêmet raised his glass in a mock toast to the footballer.
‘Bonjour,’ mouthed Rêmet.
The music in the club was loud enough to drown out most conversations and when Boller started speaking, Rêmet couldn’t make out what the footballer was saying and remained stood in his spot, smiling back at him, oblivious to the obscenities being screeched at him. Boller seemed to realise that his message was falling on deaf ears and moved in closer to Rêmet.
‘What the hell are you doing here, Rêmet?’ Boller shouted in the journalist’s ear.
‘I am here to finally prove what you did to young Nichole in Baden,’ he shouted back. ‘I have all the proof I need, you understand?’
Boller tried to exude confidence, but it was undermined by the look of fear in his eyes.
‘You couldn’t prove it five years ago, Rêmet, and you have nothing on me now!’
‘I know you abducted and killed Natalie Barrett as well, Boller! Your time of freedom is nearly up,’ beamed Rêmet, pleased that his confrontation was clearly unnerving his nemesis.
Unable to think of what to say, Boller pushed out at Rêmet, who responded with a shove back of his own. This was followed by a couple of further shoves from each man, until the barmaid signalled for the bouncers to come and break up the scuffle. When the bouncers saw that it was local celebrity Johan Boller, they decided to ask him what was going on. Rêmet couldn’t hear what he whispered to the bouncers but he guessed it was something like, Rêmet was an obsessed fan who was causing trouble and could they turf him out. In fairness, it’s what he would have said in Boller’s position. During the scuffle Rêmet’s wallet had fallen out of his pocket and once he had been thrown out, to add to the embarrassment of the situation, he had had to ask the bouncer to go back in and fetch it for him. Satisfied with his evening’s work, he had casually strolled back to his hotel room but found that his room key was not in his pocket. Thankfully, the receptionist recognised him and gave him a spare. He had watched some late night chat show on the television in his room, and had then fallen asleep.
Something moved near the foot of the bed that caught Rêmet’s attention and brought his mind back to the room. There was somebody sitting in a chair.
35
Rêmet sat up, so that his back was against the headboard, with his pillows serving as filling to this unorthodox sandwich. He pulled his knees up to his chest, instinct taking over. Only one, chilling, thought raced through his mind; why was someone in his room?
In the same way, as some have described in the past, where a person’s life flashes before their eyes in their final living moment, so a thousand thoughts were whizzing through Claude Rêmet’s mind as he tried to make out the figure at the foot of the bed; Did he even realise that Rêmet could see him?
As if to answer the Frenchman’s question, the figure rose and moved closer to the bed. Rêmet imagined the figure pulling out a blade, and ending his life there and then. Instead, the figure reached out an arm and turned on the bedside light. The face and torso of Johan Boller standing before him. It made Rêmet shudder; how had Boller got in his room?
‘Boller,’ he uttered hoarsely under his breath.
‘Bonsoir, Monsieur Rêmet,’ Boller hummed back, before returning to the seat at the foot of the bed. Rêmet could see it was the lone, stationary chair provided by the hotel for those more discerning guests who refused
to watch television from their bed.
‘Wh-wh-what are you doing here?’ he stammered, unable to hide the fear from his voice.
‘I decided we should talk. You’ve been shouting your mouth off about me for too long and I’ve come to ask you to stop. I am happy here in Southampton; settled. Go home, Rêmet, you are not wanted around here.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘I was the one who handed your wallet to the bouncers. I guess your key must have fallen out.’
Was it fear? Was that why Boller had come here tonight? Had Rêmet said something earlier that had caught him off guard? Yes, that was it.
‘You don’t scare me, Boller,’ Rêmet challenged, growing in confidence.
‘Don’t I?’ Boller challenged back, leaning forward in the chair. Rêmet responded by shrinking back closer to the pillows, causing Boller to let out a laugh.
‘I know what you did. Doesn’t that bother you? I know what you did to little Nichole in Baden. I have seen the photograph of you…raping her.’
‘Shut your fucking mouth!’ bellowed Boller, his eyes tightening.
‘Why should I?’ replied Rêmet, eager to see how far he could push the young Swiss. ‘What you did to that little girl was monstrous! She was innocent, and you…you destroyed that innocence!’
Boller launched across the bed and grabbed Rêmet by the neck. ‘You shut your fucking mouth! You know nothing!’
Rêmet was worried. His attacker’s grip was strong, and Rêmet wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t keep squeezing and end it all. Rêmet tried to loosen one of his arms, which were both being pinned down by Boller’s sheer weight. He continued to wriggle beneath him until he managed to wrench his right arm free. It took all his might but he managed to swing the limb around and catch Boller in the ear. It was a pathetic attempt to overpower his assailant but it was enough as Boller leapt from the bed, clutching his ear, howling. Rêmet took the opportunity to scramble from the bed and make a move for the bedroom door. Exiting in just his underwear would hardly be dignified, but it didn’t matter; survival was more important.
Boller could see Rêmet heading for the door and chased after him. The benefit of being an athlete was his speed, and he reached the fleeing journalist just as he reached the door. Rêmet swung his flabby arms around as Boller wrapped his strong arms around Rêmet’s midriff and dragged him back to the bed.
‘You sit down!’ demanded Boller as he flung Rêmet onto the mattress. ‘I came here to talk with you, not to fight.’
Boller moved the chair he had been sitting in earlier, so that it was between Rêmet on the corner of the bed, and the door behind them.
Rêmet sat up and allowed Boller to sit in the chair, meaning they were fewer than two feet apart. Even though the bed was several centimetres above the seat, Boller’s frame dominated Rêmet’s vision. The two men sat in silence for five minutes trying to suss each other out. Eventually, Rêmet spoke. ‘What do you want, Boller? Why are you here?’
‘I want you to leave Southampton. You tried to drag my name through the mud the last time we met. I have a good life here and I don’t want you to take that away.’
‘You have a good life? What about Nichole? What about her life?’
‘What happened in Baden is…is…in the past. What I did…’
‘What you did was to brutally rape her, then kill her and dump the body, like a piece of rubbish. You deserve to spend the rest of your life in prison, and I will see that it happens. You might have frightened the goalkeeper all those years ago, but I will not be so easily intimidated.’
‘You have no proof. It will be your word against mine, and you will lose. Why even bother? You should just forget about what you know and move on with your life.’
‘You think it’s that easy? I have seen the photograph of you fucking her. I see it every night when I close my eyes. I swore I would avenge her death. I will see justice served.’
‘Don’t be stupid! You couldn’t prove anything five years ago, you will fail again now.’
‘We’ll see,’ replied Rêmet, letting out a sigh. He knew deep down that it would be tough to prove Boller was responsible for Nichole’s death. He was more confident about proving that Boller had something to do with Natalie Barrett’s death.
‘If you go now and forget about what you have seen, I can make it worth your while. I’ve seen your clothes; I know you don’t earn much. I can give you some money, to make things more comfortable.’
Rêmet burst out laughing; it was so typical of today’s world, thinking money could solve everything.
‘I don’t want your money, Boller. I want to see you put away for life.’
‘That won’t happen, old man. You have no proof.’
‘If that’s what you want to believe, then so be it,’ replied Rêmet. ‘Why don’t you just tell the truth? Confession is good for the soul.’
Boller walked towards the bedroom door, as if he was going to leave. When he reached the door, he turned back to face Rêmet. He smiled when he saw that Rêmet was sweating.
‘Okay,’ said Boller, still smiling. ‘You want to hear my confession? Here it is. My friends and I left the hotel after an argument and started walking along what we thought was the main road. We eventually came across what looked like a barn or a shed and I went in, looking for something to drink. It soon became clear that we had stumbled upon a campsite and as we turned to leave, a pretty, little girl walked in. She looked half asleep, but she recognised me. She said her father was a big fan of mine and he reckoned that I would make a great Swiss international one day.’
Rêmet moved uncomfortably on the bed. He desperately didn’t want to hear Boller’s version of events, but at the same time he wanted the vindication that his theory had been right all these years. A pain in his side, made him adjust his positioning again.
‘There was an innocence about her,’ continued Boller, moving back into the room. ‘She wasn’t like the girls I was used to seeing, so willing to sleep with me, just because I was becoming famous. This girl didn’t seem interested at all…and…it made me want her more. I asked her if she would stay to talk with me, but she said she would have to get back to her tent. I signalled for my friend to grab her hands and hold her down. It was like I wasn’t me, something took over my body. The more she struggled, the more turned on I became, and the more I had to have her.’
Rêmet felt sick to the stomach, and he had broken out in a cold sweat that he couldn’t explain.
‘It was the most exhilarating night of my life,’ Boller continued. ‘But when I was finished, she was bleeding badly and weeping. I knew that what I had done was wrong and I couldn’t allow her to tell anyone else what had happened. I sent my friend to find some sheets that we could wrap her in. While he was out looking for them, I picked up a nearby stone and brought it down on the back of her head. It took half a dozen swings, until she stopped making any noise and I knew that she would not cause me anymore bother. I told my friend that we needed to bury the body and he helped me dig a hole. He was scared of me, so I knew he wouldn’t say anything. At that point I didn’t realise the other two guys with us knew what had happened. One of them approached me, a couple of days later, to say he was going to tell the police what had happened. I told him that if he did, I would tell the world the truth about his sexuality and his football career would be over. He knew I knew he was gay, and that if his secret was revealed, he would be shunned by the football community. He put in a transfer request shortly after, and I haven’t spoken to him since.’
Rêmet had to fight the gag reflex pulling at the back of his throat.
‘I have slept with dozens of women since that night, but none of them gave me the thrill that Nichole had. Not until...Friday night.’
Rêmet could feel his chest tightening and he knew what Boller was about to say. He wanted to stop him, as he had heard enough, but the words refused to leave his mouth.
‘I saw the same look that Nichole had given me, in the eyes of
Natalie Barrett. She seemed impressed by me, but not in the same way as the usual girls I sleep with. I offered to give her a lift home, but instead I took her to my house. She was very impressed with how big it was, and how I had a television in every room, including the bathroom. She kept telling me she should phone her parents and tell them where she was. I told her I would do it and I would say that I would drop her home later that night. She seemed so happy and so glad that I was taking an interest in her.’
Rêmet felt a second stabbing pain in his lower back and thought if he didn’t throw up soon, he might actually pass out.
Boller glanced at the watch on his wrist and then continued, ‘I slipped something into her drink that would help rid her of her inhibitions and would stop her remembering anything in the morning. And then…I made love to her.’
Rêmet doubled over and fell to the floor. A numb feeling was rapidly rising from the pit of his stomach and up his body.
‘Like Nichole, she bled heavily and when I was finished, she wouldn’t wake up. I left her overnight and in the morning, I realised she was dead. I panicked and knew that I would have to dump the body.’
Boller moved closer to Rêmet and crouched down so that he was only feet away from the journalist’s face.
‘So you see, Rêmet, you were right all along. I am a monster, and now you know the truth, you know my story. Tell me, what are you going to do about it?’
Rêmet wanted to say he was going to write it down, word for word, as he had committed most of the passages to memory. He wanted to say that he was going to tell Sarah Jenson everything, and that when the sun came up, he was going to go to the police and tell them everything too. He wanted to finish by saying that he would then sell the sensational story to every media outlet across the globe. All Rêmet managed to do was gurgle as he lay on the floor, frozen still.
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