‘Exactly!’ Viktor had other things on his mind; Thursday was looming and he was ill prepared. He scoured the internet, his street view guide, effectively allowing him to drive the routes he was planning, looking for sites that would be fit for purpose. Viktor was meticulous. It was this trait, that natural attention to detail that had enabled him to develop a successful business. Now he was putting it to more sinister use; nothing would be put to chance.
Chapter 7
It was lunchtime; Roger arrived at the Bistro and was surprised to see that his regular table was occupied.
‘Table for one Sir?’ A waitress had appeared.
‘I was looking for Ana.’
‘Called in sick Sir. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.’ The waitress gave him a knowing smile.
Roger settled into his meal, quietly cursing. His beeping phone alerted him to an incoming message . . . See you at 8. He smiled . . . So there is a God!
It was Thursday evening and March, true to form had come in like a lion, the weather being filthy, cold and wet. Viktor looked at his watch; it was time. He went to leave but had one last task to perform. He opened the bedroom door; the curtains were drawn but a bedside light offered some illumination.
Ana sat on the bed looking at herself in the mirror. She didn’t turn as Viktor entered but watched his reflected image as he spoke. ‘Don’t think of leaving; if you go . . . I’ll find you.’ His forefinger pointed menacingly towards her. ‘And you know what that means!’
She shied away, avoiding any eye contact and remained silent as he left the room.
* * *
It had been a tiring day for Roger. As a sales representative he got paid on results and that meant cramming as many calls into a day as he could muster. But his last call was behind him and he was now heading for Dorridge, a small village in leafy
Warwickshire. He had stayed at the Forest Hotel a number of times; it suited his purpose. The price was right; it was off the beaten track, but most importantly, his date liked it too. Ana had stayed overnight with him a couple of times and being well away from the regular haunts she would visit with Viktor, there was little chance of meeting a familiar face.
Roger had organised his day so that he would have time to freshen up before she arrived. He would park on the Station Approach just below the hotel. Ana would slide in beside him and they would be away to a quiet pub for drinks before they got down to more serious business.
It was eight o’clock; Roger sat quietly in his car humming along to the Black Eyed Peas; “I got a feeling”. It reflected his mood; he felt fresh and alert, getting excited at the thought of what lay ahead for him tonight.
A rat tat tat at his window startled him. A large man was beckoning him to lower it. ‘Is your name Roger?’
‘Yes, why do you ask?’
‘A lady asked me to tell you that she has broken down just up the road. She is supposed to be meeting you but she asked if you could go and collect her. She tried to phone you but there was no signal. I was walking this way so she asked me if I would let you know where she was. I can take you back to her . . . it’s only a short drive.’
‘Of course, come around and jump in.’ Viktor opened the rear door and climbed in behind him.
Roger immediately felt uneasy. ‘Rather come and sit up front . . . beside me.’
‘No, it’s OK. I'm in now and it's only a couple of minutes away. Turn the car around and go under the bridge.’
Roger quietly accepted the situation and quickly had the car on course. ‘How far?’
‘Just up the hill and follow the bends around.’
‘That’s not an English accent . . . where are you from?’
‘I’m from Serbia . . . and in that instant, both of them knew this was not going to be a pleasant ride.
There was no response from Roger. The sudden rush of adrenalin to his brain had activated his basic survival instincts. Ana is Serbian! What are the chances? Who is this guy?. . . Shit! What have I got myself into? Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he kept his gaze directly ahead.
‘Go past the tavern here . . . and take the left fork.’
Roger hammered on the anchors and veered into the car park, shuddering to a halt. ‘Get out!’
‘But we have only a short way to go.’
‘Get out! I won’t ask again.’ Viktor slipped the Glock from his coat and held it against Roger’s ear.
‘Drive . . . now!’
Roger half turned, his cheek catching the gun. He froze. ‘No . . . I won’t . . .
The bullet tore into him, ripping through his shoe, tearing the middle toes off his left foot. The noise and the crushing pain were followed by his screams as he clutched his leg. He cried out, ‘Oh God . . . What have you done?’
‘I told you to drive . . . Now do it!’
‘I can’t, you’ve shot me. Oh hell, why the fuck did you do that?’ He winced with pain, ‘I’m finished!’
‘It’s an automatic; you don’t need that foot . . . Now drive!’ Roger slowly edged out of the car park, tears obstructing his vision. Passing close to the pub’s door he hoped someone would appear that he could call out to for help, but there was no-one; the place was deserted. They pulled out onto the country road. The street-lights fell away, leaving the headlights to scythe through the darkness.
‘Turn here.’ A gated farm road appeared on the left hand side; the gate was open. Viktor had seen to that on an earlier recce severing the chain with bolt cutters. As they entered the track, Viktor thrust the sharpened bicycle spoke through the backrest and into Roger’s body. He gasped with the new source of pain and began to vomit. He cried out. ‘Help me . . . please . . . no more.’ The car rolled to a halt.
‘When you start to mess with other people’s lives by screwing around with their women, expect them to get upset. Your problem is you have to deal with me.’
Viktor quickly wound the noose around his captive’s neck; he tightened his grip. Roger sobbed, now realising that there was no way back. He was fighting for breath; he couldn’t focus. The noise in his ears was booming as his senses left him; he passed out. Viktor slackened the wire slightly; he tied it securely to the headrest.
‘You’re lucky . . . I don’t have time to play with you.’ The firelighters were soon in place beneath the driving seat and as Viktor left the scene their flickering light began to show. The tree lined track would form a good screen that would make it difficult for local traffic to spot the burning car.
Viktor now had to get back to his van unnoticed. If he retraced the driven route, it meant a half hour walk but his time spent on the net had been fruitful. He had located a footpath that ran from close to his present whereabouts, across the fields, emerging close to the rear of the Railway Station where he had left his van. He had effectively halved the distance. The lousy weather had also played into his hands. The streets were empty and without having to skulk in the shadows, he went unseen.
Chapter 8
Ana had had all day to reflect on her situation. Viktor had her keys, phone, and her money. But now alone with her pain, she had found a new strength; she deserved better. The last year had been hell . . . No more! She was getting out.
Cases! Where are the cases?. . .The spare room! She pulled a couple of soft topped suitcases from under the bed, unzipped the lids and flung them open. A glance at the clock showed it was nine thirty. Shit, I could have been gone! Picking her time to leave would be tricky, but this was the only way. Half an hour later the cases were back under the bed, packed with all the clothes and effects that were worth taking. She left a smattering of clothes hanging on the rail. If Viktor saw that the wardrobe was empty, she wouldn’t survive the beating. Settling herself back on the bed, she waited for his return.
Ana’s ear had been fine tuned to recognise the sound of Viktor’s truck and being at the end of a cul de sac, there was little passing traffic. She stiffened as she heard the distinct note of the diesel engine as the vehicle approached. She began to swea
t, her pulse now rising as she sat on the bed, knees pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her ankles.
Viktor opened the door; the place was in darkness. Switching on the lights he walked into the bedroom.
She spoke first, ‘I hope you haven’t done anything stupid.’
‘That’s rich; coming from you . . . Where’s my drink?’ He grabbed the bottle from the sideboard. ‘If you want me I’m in the bath.’
She watched as he disappeared into the bathroom. Why the fuck would I want you? The door closed and Ana found herself back in the darkness that allowed her to think more clearly. She listened; the bath was filling. Viktor was humming quietly, seemingly without a care in the world. She heard him climb into the bath and sigh as he laid full stretch. What’s he doing? What are those noises? Climbing from her bed, she shuffled up to the bathroom door. It was quiet at first but then she heard the unmistakeable sound of the slide of an automatic pistol being operated. My God, he has his gun in there! She scurried back to the security of her bed. An hour passed, the cold began to bother her. There was no sight or sound of Viktor.
Ana slipped off the bed and crept towards the bathroom door. She could hear soft snoring sighs. He’s asleep! Shit! I’ve left my insulin in the bathroom cupboard. She tried the door; it was unlocked. It creaked softly as she entered. Viktor did not stir . . . his right arm lay stretched out to one side. Clamped in his hand was a 9mm pistol; the bottle of vodka lay half floating in the bath beside him. She looked down at his sleeping form and a feeling of revulsion swept over her. Viktor lay there, helpless and naked. Ana had the chance to inflict serious harm on this hateful pig of a man but she was in no condition to get physical. Creeping past him, she emptied the cupboard of her personal toiletries and with her hands full, turned to make her way back to the door. Struggling to hold everything together, her toothbrush slipped from her grasp . . . it hit the floor. Ana gasped, she stood rooted to the spot.
Viktor jerked . . . half awake, he spluttered. ‘What the hell!’. . . He tried to rise but was disorientated. For a split second he was back in a Balkan war zone. Feeling the gun in his hand he instinctively drew back the slide putting a bullet into the chamber aiming the gun at Ana as he did so. His heels slipped on the soapy surface and he crashed back into the bath, water cascading over the sides. His head hit the rear of the bath momentarily stunning him; he began to collect himself. Still holding the Glock, he began mouthing obscenities and in that moment of grief and confusion, Ana’s mind cleared. Leaping forward she dropped everything. With the adrenalin pumping she grabbed hold of Viktor’s gun-hand, bringing the pistol swiftly up in an arc, the barrel against his temple. With her finger wrapped around his, she pulled the trigger. The noise and recoil sent Ana and the gun flying backwards. Blood and brains sprayed up the tiled wall and backwards onto the glass shower-screen. Gasping and gagging she spat into her hands; her face contorted in horror, she fled the scene.
‘Oh my God!’ She collapsed to her knees. The noise of the blast was screaming in her ears. She tried to lessen the pain by covering them with her hands, but it didn’t help.
Had anybody heard?. . . A million questions seemed to fill her head, but no answers were forthcoming. She crouched motionless for an age. Gradually a calmness began to settle on her. No one had come to the door; Viktor was no longer a threat.
Ana got to her feet, her mind now clear; she slowly lifted her nightdress above her head. She wiped her face and hands carefully, then rolled up the bloodied garment and with all lights ablaze, made her way back to the bathroom. The floor appeared to be clear of any blood, the shower screen having caught the bulk of the splatter. Most of the mess was on the far side of Viktor’s body; the bathwater itself was crimson. She cursed as she stretched for her medication and needle kit. They were reachable and she quickly retrieved them; the rest she left. Careful not to leave any prints or evidence of her being there after the event, Ana retreated back into the bedroom. She bundled her nightdress into a plastic bag to dispose of later. Now wide awake, she set about getting her departure in order. Keys! Where are my keys . . . and purse? Where has he put them? She needed money but there was no way she could revisit the bathroom to rummage through Viktor’s clothes. Eventually she was done and settled herself on the corner of the bed, exhausted but already dressed. She cast a glance at the clock; it was ten past two. There was nowhere she could go at this time. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 9
Assistant Chief Constable Janet Warley was rattled. ‘Where’s DI Matthew Black when you need him?’
‘He’s on leave Ma’am.’
‘Can we reach him?’
Her Personal Assistant shook her head. ‘Doubtful! He's gone on a tour of Iceland, walking up volcanoes; that sort of thing. He left for Reykjavik on Sunday and I believe he’s away for a month.’
‘Dammit! I need him here.’
Two vicious killings within days of each other had sent a shock wave through the local populace. The cold blooded murders had been carried out with clinical precision and identical methods of execution had been used. Nothing this savage had ever happened in this quiet and sedate area. The media had grabbed the story and were giving it front-page coverage. Questions were being asked and the police were under pressure to come up with some answers.
‘I need our best people on this one. These high profile cases are always a pain in the proverbial and believe me, this one’s going to be high profile.’
Janet, a fifty-year-old divorcee now married to “The Force”, was a stickler for discipline and protocol. She had arrived at her hallowed position through a lot of hard work, but ultimately through being in the right place at the right time. Political pressures were responsible for elevating women into roles that they had previously been denied. Many women were up to the task of running the show and often now outperformed the men but others were promoted because political correctness demanded it. Janet was one of the latter. Once seen as attractive, she now bore the signs of a tired and weary individual.
Trudi Baker had run Janet’s office for some two years now and had got to know her strengths and weaknesses; especially the weaknesses. Now irritated, Janet asked the question. ‘We can’t wait a month! I’m going to have to get someone else to run with this; who have we got available?’
‘I believe DI Crystal has just wound up that domestic battery case.’
‘Is he our best option?’ Janet Warley hoped it wasn’t.
‘His appointment would be the least disruptive to the division.’
And the most disruptive to me. Janet looked apprehensive.
‘You seem troubled Ma’am.’
‘I think you know that DI Crystal and myself go back a long way. He’s charming of course but whether he’s the right man for this job?’
Kevin Crystal stood a little over six feet tall. His blond hair and searching blue eyes got him noticed. He had a special relationship with DCC Warley; he knew how to feed her ego. He would flash her a smile and compliment her on whatever would appeal to her vanity. She enjoyed his attention, secretly believing that it could develop into something more physical and was happy to let this mild flirtation prevail but Crystal’s ability to lead this investigation was something else.
‘Get him in Trudi; see what he has to say!’
An hour later, a smug and smiling DI Crystal emerged from Deputy Chief Constable Warley’s office.
‘You won’t regret this Janet . . . I'll have an action plan in place by tomorrow.’
* * *
The room was abuzz. Some twenty detectives were eagerly chatting about the task that lay ahead. Although short on detail, all knew that there had been two murders, the investigation of which was going to take over their lives for the immediate future.
The bigger buzz was the fact that Kevin Crystal had been appointed to lead the Murder
Investigation Team.
‘Why isn’t Matt Black here to head this up?’ seemed to be the main talking point.
&n
bsp; Charlie Frayne was fuming. ‘I’ve got more idea how to run this show than that fucking idiot Crystal!’
‘Who is this Matt Black everyone seems to be talking about?’ Detective Constable Orla Graham knew full well who he was but was playing down her interest.
All heads in the vicinity turned towards the speaker. ‘Of course Orla . . . you’re quite new here.’ Charlie continued. ‘Matt is a legend around these parts. He has that sixth sense, that natural ability to wade through the crap, to see people for what they are. His success rate on cases and I mean difficult cases, is just extraordinary. He leaves us all for dead; he should be here, not this bloody poser.’
‘Well why isn’t he?’
‘He's away on leave and they need to get this show on the road. If they had settled for second best, we could probably live with that but what we’ve got is . . . well!’ Charlie’s remark didn’t need completing.
Simon Hawkes looked over. ‘Poor old Matt, every time he takes some leave, he misses out, big time!’
Orla was all ears. ‘You can’t leave it there! What happened before?’
‘Well Matt had this big love affair. We all knew about it because he had never been involved with anyone before. Her name was Catherine, he was obsessed with her; mind you she was gorgeous.’ Smiles and nods from the surrounding gallery agreed with the sentiment. ‘They went away together on a week’s leave but while away, Matt stumbled onto a crime scene that needed him to set up some surveillance. Catherine came back early and left him to it. Anyway, to cut a long story short, when he got back,
Kevin had moved in and queered the pitch. They got married almost immediately. Matt never got over that . . . well I mean, who would?’
‘Oh the poor man!’ Orla imagined the hurt he must have felt.
The room went quiet; DCC Warley and DI Crystal had entered the room. ‘I know you are all aware as to what is going on, but I just want to put an official stamp onto the proceedings.’ Janet Warley had their attention. ‘I have appointed DI Crystal to head up the team to investigate the double killings that have occurred on our patch. I know you will give him your full support; we need to apprehend those responsible post haste. The eyes of the country are on us and we need results. I’ll leave DI Crystal to bring you up to speed. Thank you.’
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