Concrete Evidence; Crime Book 6 (Detective Alec Ramsay Crime Mystery Suspense Series)

by Conrad Jones

  Peter felt a heavy blow to the back of his head. A flash of blinding white light shot through his brain like a giant camera flash before the world went dark.

  CHAPTER 53

  There was an air of anticipation in the MIT office. Annie stood in front of the screens and an image of Benidorm and the surrounding area appeared. “We know that Geoff Ryder bought a villa near Benidorm,” Annie added. “The Guardia have been trying to trace, which properties are owned by Brits.”

  “They’ve narrowed it down and this is their target. It’s a villa purchased from a UK bank account.” Alec explained. “It’s somewhere here in the hills north of the resort in a forest reserve called Cocentaina.” He pointed to the aerial map of the area on one of the screens. “It’s a secluded property in a wooded area with no neighbours in the vicinity. The closest house is five kilometres away.”

  “Our friends in Spain are in a spin because of the death of Officer Peres, their top brass are taking it very seriously. They’re going to hit the villa with an armed unit and their bomb squad at dawn tomorrow.” Murmurs spread between the desks. “If there’s anyone home, they’re in for a nasty shock.” She nodded at Alec. “You said that we’ll have someone on the ground, Guv.”

  “There’s a DI Rind working on Organised Crime with Interpol. I’ve asked him to go along as our observer. He’s meeting up with the Grupo de Acción Rápida tonight.” Alec said. “There’s nothing more that we can do from here regarding Geoff Ryder. Go home, get some sleep and keep your mobiles on just in case.” Annie needed a decent night’s sleep. They all did but she wasn’t sure that sleep would come easily without the aid of a bottle of Merlot.

  CHAPTER 54

  Tod Harris edged along the wall with his back pressed to the bricks. Despite having just showered, his shirt was drenched with sweat. His mouth felt painfully dry and he couldn’t swallow. He wanted to scream for help but it was pointless. The guards were barricaded out. No one would hear him crying for help and if they did, they couldn’t do anything. The sense of dread and helplessness was overwhelming. He could hardly draw his breath. Beast was only metres away. His steps were measured and purposely slow. He was toying with his prey, enjoying his fear. It’s all about control, Tod. Like you did to so many of us, remember? He watched in horror as the landing filled with the other inmates. Each one carried a weapon, some sharp, some blunt and heavy. Their eyes were filled with loathing.

  As they approached, his survival instincts kicked in. He did the only thing that he could do. He turned and ran into the washrooms. Running away sparked his stalkers into action. He could hear them running along the metal walkways, their heavy footsteps echoed through the wing. ‘Kill, kill, kill, kill,’ he heard them chanting. Tod bolted through the showers into the toilets. ‘Nonce, nonce, nonce,’ their voices boomed in unison. He lost his footing on the slippery tiles and fell hard onto his elbows. Tod tried to scramble to his feet as the inmates streamed through the shower room. He looked around in panic as if some imaginary door would appear and let him through but none appeared. The walls were thick and the windows were barred. There was nowhere to run; nowhere to hide. He ran for the toilet cubicles and skidded as he reached them. He was gasping for air as he slammed the door and put his weight behind it. Beast hit the door at full speed with his shoulder. The wood cracked and Tod was catapulted across the cubicle. His head met the bricks with an audible crack. A wicked gash opened on his forehead and blood poured into his eyes. He could smell its coppery tang and taste it at the back of his throat. His legs couldn’t support him any longer. He fell onto the stainless steel toilet pan, splitting his top lip and splintering his front teeth. As he tried to clear the blood and fractured teeth from his mouth, Beast grabbed his ankles and yanked him violently backwards from the cubicle. Rough hands grabbed at his clothes. They lifted him above their heads and carried him into the wider space of the shower room.

  “Switch on the water,” Beast growled over the clamour. “This could get messy, Harris,” he goaded. “Drop him!” he ordered. Tod hit the tiles face up. The impact knocked the wind from him. Blood blocked his airways and choked him. He tried to scream but it came out as a gurgle. Blood and vomit spurted from his mouth and splattered onto the tiles. “Hold him down,” Beast said gruffly. He held the razorblades in front of Tod’s eyes and a smile touched his lips. “You can watch yourself running down the drains piece by piece.”

  Tod felt a warmth spreading through his pants as his bladder released its contents. He trembled uncontrollably, his vision blurred by blood and tears. He whimpered like so many had at his hands. “Mum,” he whispered.

  “She can’t help you now,” Beast said slowly. He pulled his hair violently and looked into his eyes. “This is going to hurt,” he whispered as the blades sliced through his lips. Tod prayed for unconsciousness to take him and spare him from the pain but God wasn’t listening.

  ****************************

  Peter Barton felt his face being slapped. He opened his eyes and pain flashed in his brains. His head felt as if it was full of molten lead. He tried to focus on what was directly in front of him. His understanding of what had happened became crystal clear when he realised that he was staring down the barrel of his own shotgun. Geoff Ryder gestured with his head. “Get up,” he ordered. Ryder’s breathing sounded laboured. “Make a move and I’ll blow your head off, clear?”

  “Clear,” Barton nodded.

  “Put your hands on your head and walk towards the stairs.” Ryder waved the gun. Barton glanced at Simon but the boy was cowering in the corner of his cage. The girl followed his lead, her body racked with sobs. The sound was pitiful. “Stop there,” he said sharply. Ryder kept the shotgun aimed at his head as he backed down the stairs. “Walk very slowly. I really have no qualms about spreading your brains across the ceiling.”

  Barton followed his orders. They progressed down the stairs and Ryder forced him into the living room. “Lie down on the floor, face down, hands behind your head. Move and you’re dead.”

  Barton did as he was told. Ryder sat on the settee and kept the gun aimed at him while he reached for his oxygen mask. He placed it over his face and sucked in greedily. Barton clung to the thought that without the shotgun, he would be easy to overpower. He took one last deep lungful and put the mask down. “Now then,” he aimed the shotgun at Barton’s groin. “Would you like to tell me why you’re creeping around my home with a shotgun?”

  “An ex-client of yours called Brian Taylor told me that you might be here. Do you remember him?”

  Ryder looked thoughtful. “Brian Taylor, Brian Taylor,” he frowned. “Ah!” he nodded. “I know exactly who you mean.” He eyed Barton with suspicion. “I understand from the news that he is deceased?”

  “Yes.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my,” he lifted a hand. He looked impressed. “You do look very different without hair. I never would have recognised you.” He paused thoughtfully. “You shot him, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was this the gun you used on him?”

  “No.”

  “Shame,” he shook his head. “I like a weapon that has history, don’t you?” he watched Barton for a reaction. “When a weapon has been used for its original purpose, they take on an entirely new character. They’re no longer just a piece of steel. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I bet you do. You’re a killer after all.”

  “I am.”

  “Poor Brian.” He said thoughtfully. “I’m curious. Did he tell you anything else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please expand. I get tired very quickly these days and my patience wears thin.” He picked up the mask and sucked deeply again. “Emphysema,” he explained cordially. “It’s chronic. I’ve been a smoker all my life but not for much longer,” he smiled thinly. “They say I have months.” He gestured with his hands. “Anyway, you were telling me?”

  “Taylor t
old me that a man called Tod Harris might have abducted Simon.”

  “Tod Harris.” Ryder shook his head. He sucked oxygen and frowned. “Slow down. You need to assume that I haven’t been following the news from home for a long time. At least until Tod was arrested. That gained my interest. Explain it to me.”

  “I was accused of kidnapping my nephew and sent to jail but they released me on appeal.”

  “I remember that.” Ryder seemed genuinely interested. “What exactly came to light on appeal?”

  “An alibi.”

  “That will do it every time.” He paused and took another blast of oxygen. “And as the ‘falsely’ accused uncle, you’ve taken it upon yourself to solve the mystery of your nephew’s disappearance to keep you in the clear?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What made you focus on Brian Taylor?”

  “His mother lived next door to Simon.”

  “And?”

  “He has a record for kiddie porn.”

  “He was always a bad apple,” Ryder sighed. “I knew him when he was a juvenile but you know that already don’t you?”

  Barton nodded that he did. “He pointed me at Harris as another possible suspect.”

  “Did he indeed?” Geoff frowned. His breath quickened and he put the mask over his face. He breathed in and out for a full minute before he could continue. “Taylor was a rogue but Tod Harris was a different animal altogether. He had pure evil running through his veins.” He sucked oxygen again. “Did he offer any proof that he wasn’t lying?”

  “He said that Harris had kept his library book.”

  “And did you find this library book?”

  “I knew where to look.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “I showed it to his mother and explained a few things.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “She gave it to the police.”

  “Did she now?” he paused and narrowed his eyes. “And how did you persuade her to turn her son in?”

  “It wasn’t that difficult.”

  “I’m sure.” Ryder stood up. “And did you persuade her to testify?”

  “She hung herself.”

  “Did she? Very clever.” He put the gun to the back of Barton’s head and patted him down. “I think you’re a very resourceful man.” He muttered as he searched his pockets. “You shot Brian, persuaded Mrs Harris to turn in her own son and then kill herself. I need to be very careful around you. What have we got here?” He held up a bundle of cable ties. “We might as well put these to good use.” He said fastening one of them to Barton’s right wrist. “I assume these were for my benefit.” He added as he slid the tie tightly around both wrists. His breathing was laboured again. “What did you come here for, Mr Barton?” he asked. “To kill me?”

  “No,” Barton lied. “To find out where Simon is buried. Harris is locked up but he’s not talking. The police were looking for an accomplice called Rob Derry. Taylor indicated that you were pulling the strings. I didn’t expect to find him here.”

  “When he was young, Tod Harris always worked alone. Whatever he did, he did it by himself. As far as I’m concerned, his accomplice doesn’t exist.” Ryder walked back to his chair and sat down heavily. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The air rasped in his lungs. “Do you know why I left the UK in such a hurry?”

  Barton contemplated his words carefully. He couldn’t tell him what he really believed. “No.”

  “My health was already deteriorating. I could hardly walk up the stairs. Tod Harris became obsessed with my nephew, Brendon,” he looked at Barton for a reaction. “You know who Brendon was?”

  “Yes.” Barton nodded. “But when I heard that the police were looking for an accomplice called Rob Derry, things fell into place. They were confusing before that.”

  “Were they?” Ryder asked thoughtfully.

  “I think that Harris invented a persona,” Barton paused. “He began to call himself Robdenn Derry.” He looked at Ryder to see if he was following. “It’s an anagram.”

  “I worked that out.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “He thought that he had some kind of affinity with him?”

  “Who knows what went through his mind.”

  Ryder paused to breathe from the mask again. “We are who we are and we can’t change that. I knew what he would become so I took the opportunity to leave. Harris was a nuisance, impatient, childish, a fucking idiot!” His chest heaved and he coughed. He put the oxygen over his face and sucked deeply. “Tod Harris is a schizophrenic. He was obsessed with my family. I had him followed for a while; he spent a lot of time digging at his father’s grave.” He paused. “He was attracting attention. Attention that I didn’t want focusing in my direction. I moved here for some peace.” He took another breath. “It seems none of you can let me move on.” He pointed to the ceiling with the gun. “Bringing the boy here was like handing a bag of crack to an addict. Then the girl!” He shook his head. “I didn’t know where they were from and I didn’t ask. Maybe I should have.”

  “And you just happened to have cages in your loft?”

  “Oh, no,” Ryder shook his head. “The previous owners were dog breeders. The cages were in the backyard. It didn’t take long to rebuild them.” He sighed. “You’re sure that boy is your nephew?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “I think you did.”

  “I suspected.” He paused. He took another deep breath from the mask. “Now what do we do, Peter?” Ryder closed his eyes again. “This is all such a mess.”

  “Leave the kids here with me and run,” Barton suggested. “You could be across the border before anyone knows that we’re here. Give us all a chance, you included.”

  “Look at me,” Ryder sighed. “Do I look like a man who could go on the run and start over somewhere new?” he shrugged. I can barely walk to the bathroom to wash myself.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Peter,” he sounded sincere. “Get up.” Barton stood up, his hands fastened awkwardly behind his head. “Walk to the patio window.” Ryder slid the door open and stepped outside. The night air had a chill to it now. Barton stepped out and thought about running. He wouldn’t get more than a few metres before the shotgun brought him down and he couldn’t leave Simon in that cage. “There’s a spade over there,” Ryder gestured to a storage box. “Lift your hands over your head carefully and pick it up. Try anything silly, I’ll blow your head off.” Barton nodded and slid his hands above his head. Bringing them in front of him, the blood began to circulate again. “Where is your vehicle?”

  Barton picked up the spade from the box. “Just off the road at the edge of the woods.”

  Ryder gestured with the gun. Barton looked at a brick built barbeque wide enough to hold a full hog roast. The chimney was almost as tall as the villa. “I need you to dig a nice deep hole behind the barbeque.”

  “Just the one?” Barton asked sarcastically. “It won’t be deep enough for three bodies.”

  “Deep enough for one pile of ashes,” Ryder replied flatly.

  “You’re going to burn three bodies on your barbeque?” Barton shook his head. “That will take time.”

  “If I could dig a grave, those kids would have been dead years ago. So would you. Like I said earlier, I haven’t got long left. It’s not a permanent solution but it’s permanent enough for my needs.” He waved the gun again. “Now dig.”

  Barton stabbed the blade into the ground and began to dig. Ryder looked weaker with every minute that went by. The topsoil was loose and broke up easily but he took his time. He shovelled the dirt into a pile in silence until he was knee deep. Half an hour had gone by at least. He stopped and wiped sweat from his forehead. Ryder was leaning against the brick chimney and breathing heavily. “You look like you need oxygen,” Barton said.

  “I do,” he nodded slowly. “This is where we have to part company I’m afraid.” He waved the barrel of the gun. “Get out of
the hole.” Barton stepped up onto the patio. “Around there near the barbeque.” He walked around the chimney. “Put the spade on the ground and kneel down.” Barton bent down to put the spade on the floor and their eyes met for a moment. Ryder aimed the Mossberg at his head and pulled the trigger.

  *************************

  It was still dark when the Grupo de Acción Rápida crept into position. DI Rind was the fifth man in the entry team; behind him were two members of the bomb squad. They moved in silence, hugging the walls of the one storey villa. Guardia officers positioned themselves at the front door as the entry team went around to the rear. The windows were covered by ornamental shutters and Rind noticed that some of the hinges were coated in cobwebs. They hadn’t been opened for a long time. Piles of decaying leaves had built up along the bottom of the walls and the grass was overgrown. As they reached the rear garden, they moved in tandem towards the back patio. Leaves and litter floated on top of a puddle of brown water.

  The patio was twenty metres square and the tiles ran from the glass sliding doors which, led from the house to the garden. A wide brick barbeque stood at one end, an upturned Y-shaped chimney reached as high as the roof. The entry team split into two and crouched either side of the doors. Rind heard a dull whirring sound as they drilled holes into the doorframes and inserted snake cameras. They scanned the frames for wires or switches and then checked the area around the doorways for devices. The team leader studied the screen once more and then signalled to move in. They dismantled the handles with drills and then forced the locks quietly with wrecking bars. The doors popped with the minimum of noise and the entry team moved inside in a practiced formation.

  The patio doors led into a wide split level living space that was furnished with expensive leather settees and goatskin rugs. The smell of must was overpowering. A thick layer of dust coated the Terracotta tiles that covered the floors. The team leader pointed to the floor indicating that there was no sign of footsteps anywhere. Weapons raised, they peeled off into the hallway that serviced the bedrooms. When the hallway door was opened, the smell of human decomposition hit them like a brick. The first three bedroom doors were wide open and they moved from one room to the next without disturbing anything.