He left her battered body upon the floor while he got dressed, collected his weapon and gave her body once last glance before he left the scene.
“Fucked you good and proper didn’t I”, he said to her?
He quickly joined his mates who were on their way back to the house to look for him, and Thornton had explained that he had to use the toilet as he got took short, and they continued their patrol without incident. One hour later, the badly bruised and violated body of the young girl was discovered by her mother who had returned from the market. Her screams soon brought neighbours and eventually the local Police to the scene of the dead girl.
“Surely, someone would have heard her scream out as the neighbours are so close together. Did anyone hear or see anything”, the police inquired?
“How could my daughter scream”, answered the distraught mother. “She is utterly deaf and dumb and has been since birth! God help us to find the man that done this evil act upon my child”, she cried.
Eventually, after the intervention of the Military Police, Thornton was quickly arrested. After D.N.A. samples were taken, he was linked to the crime itself, and was tried by a Military Court Martial, receiving six years and a dishonourable discharge as ‘Services no longer required’, sentence to be served in a Military prison back in the U.K.
The rape and murder of this disabled young girl, did nothing to further better relations between the Bosnian authorities and the Military, and resent between them grew. After his release from prison, Thornton had been bitter and hateful toward everything and everybody, and had built himself a reputation as a ‘loner’, expanding his criminal activities from basic house burglaries to stealing of valuable paintings, ornaments, expensive vehicles which were stolen to order, and finally, blackmail, prostitution, drug dealing and forgery.
Despite all his criminal activities, he was careful enough never to be linked up with any of them, consequently, his criminal career prospered with each passing year.
Anyone who had crossed him, quickly soon discovered how volatile his temper and personality quickly changed, possibly fuelled by the occasional ‘snort’ of cocaine that he relied upon, and he had personally murdered at least two young girl prostitutes who had failed to provide ‘special’ services to two Arab friends in their luxury hotel room one evening.
The two girls, both nineteen and natural blonde, were selected personally by Thornton to go with the Arabs, the blonde hair something specified by his clients. Unfortunately, the two girls did not take kindly to the Arabs suggestions and wants for sexual favours of a different kind, and decided to leave early instead of spending the entire weekend with the Arabs as had been arranged and agreed by Thornton where a huge sum of money would have exchanged hands.
Thornton was quickly informed by the Arabs of the girl’s decision to leave early, and to save face, he quickly took another girl to their room, also blonde, who would cater for all their ‘requirements’ offering them both his humble apologies for this misunderstanding, as he had to ensure that these clients were suitably catered for in every respect, for not only were they excellent payers, but their contacts and influence with their other Arab friends, would ensure this arrangement would be able to continue for a very long time. He had spent enough time with 2
Para in the Middle East to know what the Arabs preferred!
To ensure that there would never be any repercussions of this disobedience with any of Thornton’s other girls, they were disposed of one late night, both their naked bodies found in an industrial skip in the East end of London.
The file on Peter Thornton had been read by all the team, and they all agreed, this was a case which warranted their special services, and he also would receive True Justice.!
TWENTY TWO
The search for information on Serbio continued by the Russian fraternity and Mafia. Peter Thornton was in one of his seedy clubs one evening, and one of his ‘street-wise’ girls came over to ‘fill him’ in on all the latest developments. She mentioned that there was an open reward of £500,000 for any information regarding the name of the person or persons that were responsible for the murder of Serbio Volokovitch, and she even managed to obtain a certain telephone number to ring.
Thornton was greatly interested in this, and beckoned one of the waiters over to give her any drink she wanted, and his mind started to go into overdrive. He would call most of his contacts to see if they had any information on this, but would not mention the reward money. Many of his associates owed him some favours, and now was the time to call in these favours!
He placed several calls on his mobile, and waited for a couple of days, carrying on his business as normal. One special call came for him as he was laying in bed with his latest female recruit, who, after trying desperately to get into one of his nightclubs as a Lap Dancer, found out that the only way to get employed was to go to bed with Thornton.
She bent over the bed naked as Thornton entered her from behind. Her fingers tightly gripping the pillows and her face buried in them as he savagely thrust into her, her screams of both passion and pain as he came into her.
He withdrew from inside her, and she collapsed forward onto the bed, spent and totally exhausted. He patted her arse, and then lay beside her. The telephone rang.
“Yes”, he said as he poured himself a whisky into a tumbler.
“Peter. Richards here. Just thought that you may be happy to know that I may be able to help you about this Serbio character. Two men were seen pushing him out of the Landsdowne Hotel in a wheelchair about three days before his body was discovered, and the number of their car was noted. I have already traced the owner for you with the D.V.L.C. Swansea as I have a contact there, and she will want paying, so if you are interested, I’ll meet you inside the Vauxhall Tavern pub at 8 pm this evening. I think that £5000 ought to cover everything”.
“Listen you shithead. Yes I am interested, but you’ll get £2000 and fucking like it. I want your info and I will be there, so don’t jerk me around or you’ll come unstuck”, replied Thornton as he switched the mobile off.
“Come here you little tart. Fuck me until I say stop, as I feel lucky tonight, and if you are really good to me, you may even get the job”!
Later on that evening, Thornton entered the Vauxhall Tavern, a popular place that was regularly frequented by all walks of life, from lesbians, homosexuals, transvestites, and all other gender bender freaks of human life, and people who just went there for a view of the ‘other side of life’.
The tavern had become famous back in the sixties when the BBC decided to do a ‘fly on the wall’ documentary programme with no holds barred, and after editing the programme which would provide suitable entertainment after the (Watershed), for adults, it had become a huge success, and suddenly, everyone wanted to go to The Vauxhall Tavern for the ‘experience’. He went in, glanced around for any sign of Richards, ordered a drink and then sat down at one of the dirty tables to wait. He was shortly approached by a ‘fairy’ as he called them. “Hi, my name is Gloria. Would you like to buy me a drink? Maybe, after we get to know each other a little better, we can go back to my place, or yours if its nearer, and I can ‘take you around the world’, and give you an experience you will never forget”.
Thornton glanced up into the heavily made up face. Thick, bright red lipstick which sparkled. Caked-on light blue eye shadow which he thought must have been administered with a brickies trowel, and long cheap, thin earrings which supported a gold looking pendant. The disgusting smell of cheap perfume combined with the heavily stained tobacco teeth was putting him off his beer. Huge, false eyelashes and nails which were painted orange. He’d had enough of this queer.
“Listen you fucking piece of pig shit. Take your pox-ridden body and crater filled face away from my table and don’t come back here again, or I’ll take your wig off and ram it so hard up your arse that it will come out of your mouth, now piss off before I get really annoyed, or you’ll get an experience that you will certainly not enjoy”
!
Gloria burst into tears, dabbing his/her eyes with a delicate handkerchief, and stepping backward to get away from this very, very rude man, and made his/her way over to another table, taking small close steps which accentuated the movement of his/her arse to be consoled by another two queers who were sat there. Much crying and comforting between them, before they all disappeared into the toilet, and after about ten minutes they all returned to their table until another possible ‘client’ arrived.
“Fucking shirt-lifters”, said Thornton as they passed his table, one of them returning his compliment with a two fingered gesture close to his face.
Shortly after, Richards turned up, noticed Thornton at a table, ordered himself a drink of beer and joined him.
Thornton insisted on having all the details of the vehicle and the registered owner before he would part with the £2000 and Richards knew better than to upset him, and parted with the piece of paper with the details on.
Having read it quickly, Thornton passed a brown manila envelope over to Richards, placed the piece of information into his pocket, and swallowed the last of his drink before he got up from the table without mentioning or speaking to Richards, and walked out of the Tavern back to his car and drove home to his apartment where he planned how to get his hands upon this £50000 reward.
TWENTY THREE
Chief Inspector Gary Arnold had not been idle, and had used his numerous contacts in the London area, to try to establish contact with some of the underworld and gangs who owed favours to various serving Officers in the Met. He had also served ten years in the Met himself, and had been respected by most members of the criminal fraternity as a trustworthy and fair ‘copper.’
Someone who could be relied upon to bend the rules a little, and now he was, once again, seeking their help.
His fellow officers were applying pressure to all their contacts, new an old, for any information about the ‘hit’ on Serbio, and finally, after three weeks, they got a break. One Officer was undercover patrolling a park area where numerous cases of robbery had been committed, all small stuff, mainly from single female joggers or the occasional youngster where they were threatened with violence if they did not hand over anything they had of value, which normally consisted of a watch, mobile telephone and the odd handbag or two.
Steve Marchant was sat on the park bench, although holding a newspaper in his hands was not interested in the contents, but was watching a youth for a considerable amount of time. He had followed this youth across the park unnoticed, and had relied upon his instincts, that this yob was about to commit a crime. As he watched, the yob made his way slowly toward a young girl dressed in tight blue Lyrca top and silver Spantex shorts who had just finished her daily jog, and was finally, stretching her long, tanned golden legs one at a time, onto one of the park benches, bending over her thighs and holding the tip of her trainers alternately, her hot breath releasing from her sensual mouth into the frosty morning air as though smoke was coming out. As she bent down, her firm breasts pushed hard into the Lycra top, displaying her shortness of breath as they rose and fell with each breath that she took, while her trim gymnasium trained pert waist, displayed its firmness and perfection.
The yob had been watching this young girl for a few moments, and had noticed her watch and mobile telephone, and also a silver pendant around her neck. These items would provide a nice little earner for him. He decided to act!
Dressed in a track suit, he jogged slowly toward the girl and approached the park bench where she was still carrying on her exercises, and as he got close to her, suddenly turned his direction toward her and rapidly increased his speed, pushing her over as she balanced on one leg.
She crashed to the grass floor, shaken and stunned at what had happened, and tried to fight off this man who had pounced upon her, snatching her mobile from her waistband and pendant from her neck, and grabbed at her watch, snatching it cleanly off her wrist. As she tried to get up, he delivered a slap to her face with such force, that she fell onto her back dazed and stunned, not being able to concentrate.
The young yob had not seen P.C. Steve Marchant rapidly approaching him on his blind side using the cover of the trees to get near. Marchant reached out and grabbed the yob in a stranglehold, kicked his legs from under him, and then placed a pair of plasi-cuffs on him.
“Are you alright”? he spoke to the female jogger as he helped her to her feet. “Come on, let me have a quick check, and don’t worry, I am a policeman”, he said as he provided her with his identity card.
She allowed him to help her up, and he checked her face.
“Looks as though all you’ll have is a red cheek for a day, otherwise you seem to be fine” he said as he relieved the yob of the stolen items. “We have been after this cretin for some time, and at last we have got him, so if you would care to come down to the police station we need a statement from you and then can get him processed and charged accordingly”, Marchant said.
“Look. I have a plane to catch in one and a half hours as I am only on holiday here as I live in Canada, so as I am not hurt, it would be better if you just give me back my things which he stole from me, I can get back to my hotel, get cleaned up, and still make the flight”.
“Are you quite positive that you do not want to press charges”? Marchant asked.
“Quite positive, now please, my things as I haven’t got very much time”, she replied
She left the park after thanking Marchant for his intervention, and he was now left with the yob, unable to take any action against him for now it would be his word against him
“So, you little piece of scum. What am I going to do with you? Well, I think to myself, shall I take you around the back of the bushes and give you a good slapping? Do I give you a good beating, possibly resulting in a few broken ribs, or maybe, just maybe, if you have anything that may be of use to me, I could be persuaded to let you go and to forget all about this incident”?
The yob was now sat upon the park bench, shaking with fear. Shit, he thought to himself. This copper looks a real mean bastard and would beat the shit out of him if he wanted to! He quickly tried to think of anything that would be of interest to this copper, and remembered something that he had overheard on the streets.
“If I tell you something, would you promise that you would let me go, and that you would not get me some other time”? he asked.
Marchant agreed. Maybe there might be something that may be of use.
TWENTY FOUR
Arriving back at Paddington central Police station, Marchant got in touch with the C.I. Arnold, and gave the information that he had just received from the yob.
“Sir. P.C. Steve Marchant here from Paddington. Just picked up a yob attempting a mugging who was readily agreeable to tell me that there is an update on this Serbio murder that you may like to hear about. Well, apparently, the car which was used to transport Serbio, possibly to his last location where the murder took place, the number plate, make and colour was eyeballed. This info has, or is going to be, passed onto the Russian mafia sometime this week by a certain person in exchange for the ‘reward’ money put up by the Russian mafia, reported to be around £500,000, all probably crime takings one way or another. All my ‘snitch’ knows that the guy with the info is someone called Peter Thornton, and a meeting is going to be arranged where both the information and the money will be exchanged”.
C.I. Arnold listened with interest at this information, thanked P.C. Marchant, and immediately started to plan an operation which, if handled carefully, would net him Thornton, some elements of the Russian mafia, and if lucky, even the possible murderer or murderers.
Within hours, Thornton was being watched 24 hours each day, all his telephone calls were monitored, with close surveillance undertaken without his knowledge.
1245hrs, Wednesday, the following call between Thornton and Michalov was intercepted by one of the surveillance team.
Thornton. ” Michalov, you don’t know me, but I have some infor
mation about the disappearance and murder of your boss Serbio. If you are interested and are prepared to pay, in full, the reward money, which I believe is still £50,000, then maybe we can do business”?
Michalov. “If you have this information, and after we have checked it out and it is proved to be genuine, then you will get this money, but don’t take me for one of your mugs that work for you, to try and cheat us would be rather foolish on your behalf. So what have you got that would be of use to us”? asked Michalov who was already gesticulating to others that were in the same room as him to pick up the extensions and to listen in to their conversation.
Thornton. “I have the vehicle registration number, the make and colour, and more important, I have the registered owners name and address of the person who collected your boss from the Landsdowne hotel so I am sure, with your ‘persuasive’ methods, you will be able to get the information that you want from this driver”.
The two men agreed on a time and meeting place for the exchange, and then rang off.
This information was quickly relayed to the appropriate Police department, and urgent preparations for further surveillance was put into operation with a view to arrests.
The next day, Thornton visited one of his clubs in the West end of London where a table had been reserved for him and his ‘guest’ at two thirty in the afternoon sharp. Precisely at two p.m. Thornton arrived and ordered a small beer. He refused his usual Captain Morgan and coke as he wanted to be alert and sharp as he had heard about the Russian mafia.
You never, ever tried to cheat them, for they had some nasty ways of dealing with people who crossed them, some who were still propping up the concrete supports on the motorways and underpasses. Some had even been provided with ‘concrete boots’ and had gone ‘swimming’ in the Thames fitted late at night, and in recent cases, were used as hardcore underneath new or recently, re-furbished, tarmac roads, houses or highways.
Beyond Doubt: the ULTIMATE vigilante (legal thrillers) Page 8