by Rob Ashman
They met at the end of the day in the incident room. It was late and everyone was exhausted.
‘We got a stack of intel from the club,’ said Bassano, still smarting from Jo’s comment about his inadequate training scores. ‘They were keen to help and wanted to know how the club was involved. Loads of woman had seen the poster but no one we talked to had called the number. We have a list of the remaining people we still have to interview and we need to follow them up. And that phone line tracking you wanted me to check out with the techy guys, they said it should be possible. If it works it will be in place by mid-morning.’
‘Good,’ said Lucas, gathering up his papers and packing them into his briefcase. ‘Well I sure found the place where the bastard watched me at the front door talking to that guy, but there was nothing to connect it to Mechanic.’ He was sounding more in control. ‘It’s late,’ he continued, ‘let’s make a fresh start on those numbers in the morning. But before we go, haven’t you left something in the cells?’
‘Yeah, I suppose I have,’ said Bassano reluctantly. ‘I’ll drop by and see if Wainwright has been a good boy. I suggest we just drop the charges.’
‘Sounds okay to me,’ Jo agreed.
Bassano was relieved his boss wasn’t going to suggest another all-nighter. He was in need of sleep and some alone-time to mend his dented ego.
‘See you both tomorrow,’ said Bassano. ‘It feels like the balance is shifting in our favour at last. We’ve been on the front foot today and taking the fight to him.’
Eight hours later, when all three were sound asleep, the balance was about to shift away from them once more.
35
Mechanic looked at the illuminated watch dial. It was 3.15am. The air was still but for the faint sea breeze blowing across the beach, while a watery half-moon spilled a silver glow onto the property
The point of the scalpel cut easily into the mesh, creating a slit in the netting against the frame. Mechanic slid the blade along the edge, watching the black material gape open as it became detached. There was a soft buzzing noise as the sharp knife severed the individual strands. At the corner of the frame Mechanic twisted the scalpel and cut downwards against the metal support.
The flap of netting peeled away and Mechanic eased through the gap. Once on the other side, Mechanic reached into a small pocket, withdrew a roll of black insulating tape and wound off about two feet. Then ran the tape along the top part of the severed netting, sticking it back in place against the framework.
Mechanic crossed the decking and stood at the side of the double sliding doors, out of sight of anyone who might be inside the house, and waited. Listening for anything unusual, anything which could suggest the occupants were not soundly asleep. Nothing. The house was silent.
From another pocket Mechanic slid out two metal bars about an inch and a half round. Each bar had been flattened at one end to form a chiseled edge which curved upwards. The chisels were inserted into the runners at the bottom of the right-hand door until they stood proud like levers. Pushing downwards and pivoting them to the right the patio door lifted from the runners and released the locked catch on the door There was a soft metallic click. Mechanic pushed the levers down further and the whole door eased out. It was suspended in the air on the points of the metal bars.
This was the tricky part.
Mechanic shifted position and brought a well-worn toe cap under the base of the suspended door, supporting it so the levers could be removed. Placing them on the ground, Mechanic grasped the sides of the patio door and lowered the base down, leaning it against the other frame. Mechanic stepped inside and slid the door along the patio decking to an almost closed position. To the outside world nothing was amiss.
Standing in the living room Mechanic couldn’t help but compare it to the previous visit. Someone had been tidying up. The long pile rug near the fire place had the telltale signs of being freshly raked, magazines were stacked neatly under the coffee table and the coasters were all packed away in their ornate box. Even the oversized cushions were puffed up and placed at the ends of the sofas. Maybe today was the day the maid came.
Mechanic fought hard to control the rasping breaths escaping into the cool air of the living room as the adrenaline surged. Absorbing the ambient sounds of the property and tuning into the environment was always a pure rush, no other feeling came close. Now was the time to acclimatize. Mechanic stood and waited, eyes adjusting to the gloom.
Several minutes passed.
Everything was in order, it was time to move.
Sophie Barrock lived in a single-storey house which Mechanic always preferred, no creaking stairs to negotiate. The master bedroom was at the front left-hand corner of the villa adjacent to the hallway. The large TV in the corner beckoned, it was calling-card time.
Now that no one could be in any doubt about the authenticity of what was about to happen, Mechanic moved through the archway towards the bedrooms. The flooring changed from plush carpet to expensive wood block. Mechanic slowed to ensure the wood surface didn’t squeak against the rubber-soled shoes. Intensive training had become second nature.
The bedroom door was ajar and the slow rhythmic sounds of deep sleep drifted through the gap. Mechanic went through the steps, the ones carefully rehearsed in the Pachelbel facilitated fantasy. No need to open the door fully, just enough to slip inside. The door glided across the flattened fibres of the carpet as Mechanic edged it open.
The heavy curtain drapes blocked out more light that the rest of the house. Mechanic’s night vision needed to adjust. That was easily fixed – just breath easily, keep perfectly still and wait. Absorb the atmosphere and tune in. Soon the defined contours of two figures sleeping beneath white cotton covers came into focus
One was much bigger than the other. Steve Barrock slept on the right. He stirred and threw his right arm out of the confines of the bedding and rolled over. Mechanic didn’t move.
Then, when the breathing of deep sleep had returned, Mechanic unclipped the Browning M1911 from the side holster. It was already silenced which made the barrel look out of proportion to the body of the gun. Mechanic didn’t need such a powerful handgun for close quarters work. It was .45 calibre which was way too big but in all the years of trying different sidearms this was always the preferred choice. The weight, the balance when the silencer was attached, the grip and the retort all felt just right. But most of all, it was the suppressed spit it made when Mechanic pulled the trigger which never failed to raise a smile.
Mechanic placed a gloved left hand on the frame at the foot of the bed and rattled it back and forth. Steve Barrock moved a little but didn’t wake. Sophie Barrock didn’t stir.
Mechanic shook the bed again, this time a little harder. Steve let out a low moan and turned over. Sophie didn’t stir.
Mechanic shook the bed again, this time with enough force to cause the frame to make a creaking noise and the headboard to knock against the wall. Steve Barrock woke and sat up staring at the blurred image at the foot of the bed. This part always amused Mechanic. Inevitably the men were the ones to wake, and they would look straight at Mechanic, but it always took a while for the brain to yell ‘intruder!’ They would just stare and do nothing.
Mechanic kept the gloved left hand on the bed frame, levelled the gun at his forehead and, before he could make a sound, squeezed the trigger.
The gun went spit and the back of his head exploded.
The force catapulted him back and he was once again lying in bed. The back wall was decorated with a starburst of crimson. Sophie Barrock was sitting up in bed rigid with horror.
Mechanic replaced the weapon back in its holster and unclipped the rubber riot baton. Sophie was sitting upright when the first back-handed blow struck her. It was aimed at her head but she instinctively put her arm up and deflected it. The baton smashed into her forearm and she yelled in pain. She was quicker than Mechanic had anticipated and, if that was unexpected, what came next was unprecedented.
&nbs
p; Sophie leapt from the bed and flew at Mechanic screaming and punching, completely ignoring her broken radius. Mechanic took a step back and swung the baton again. Sophie ducked down and it caught her on the back of her shoulder blade. She screamed with pain but just kept coming low and hard.
Just as Mechanic took aim with what was to be the knockout blow to the back of Sophie Barrock’s neck she snapped her head violently upwards, smacking Mechanic under the chin. Mechanic reeled backwards under the force of the blow. This was not supposed to happen. Sophie Barrock was strong and she was fast.
Mechanic tried to take a step back but Sophie bulldozed her way forward, catching Mechanic in the upper chest with her shoulder. Her legs kept pumping after the impact and they both toppled to the floor. The weight of the collision caused Mechanic to lose grip on the weapon and it rolled under the bed. Sophie was now on top with her head buried under Mechanic’s chin and her arms swinging wildly.
Mechanic placed two strong arms around the back of Sophie’s head and scissored her body with powerful legs, squeezing hard. Sophie’s face was crushed flat against Mechanic’s chest and her furiously flailing arms and legs had nothing to grab or hit.
What had started as a fight for life was now a desperate fight for air. Sophie kicked against the bed but Mechanic maintained the crushing hold and squeezed the last drop of breath out of Sophie Barrock’s burning lungs. She fought like a wild cat but Mechanic kept increasing the force. Finally, Sophie heard a loud crack in her head as her pretty aquiline nose broke under the pressure. That was the last thing she would recall as she went limp and blacked out.
Mechanic released her from the vice-like grip and rolled her onto her side. ‘Bitch,’ Mechanic said massaging a bruised jaw and feeling a loose back tooth. There was the unmistakable taste of blood.
Standing up, Mechanic retrieved the baton from under the bed and stood over the unconscious Sophie. Rolling her onto her back, Mechanic brought the baton down full force on Sophie Barrock’s left kneecap. There was a loud crack as it splintered under the skin. Mechanic changed position and smashed it down onto the right kneecap. It disintegrated in the same way. Pockets of blood welled up under her skin and her legs began to turn black.
Mechanic rolled Sophie onto her stomach and extended her arms flat to the floor. The baton swished through the air and came down hard on Sophie Barrock’s left elbow. Same with the right.
Blood spurted onto the carpet as jagged bones exited the flesh. Around her head a deep red pool of blood formed from her smashed nose.
Mechanic surveyed the damage, the calm and control returning. The kids were next and then the careful arrangement in the garage. The rest was child’s play, except that is if you were one of Sophie Barrock’s children.
Mechanic tied a gag over Sophie’s mouth and stepped over her broken and bloodied body before walking to the other bedrooms.
‘Now play tennis, bitch.’
36
It was 8.30am and the sun was trying its best to penetrate the dust and grime of Lucas’s office window. He stood with his second cup of coffee of the day, looking out at the commuters below busying their way to work. The note from Mechanic had rattled him. To think that he’d been so close made Lucas feel very uneasy.
The furious activity that followed had helped. They were finally getting results and that made everyone feel they were moving in the right direction.
Wainwright had behaved himself and Bassano discharged him with a caution and no transport home. The whole experience of being locked up in a cell had served to quiet him down considerably, and he was in complete compliance mode when he left the station. Melody would have loved the transformation.
Lucas took a slurp from his mug and ran through the key tasks for the day. Finishing the interviews with the Brightwood members was top priority – they had gained a ton of new information yesterday. The only problem was that Lucas wanted to keep the team to a minimum, so it was going to be time-consuming. Then there was the forensics team working on the note. Plus another visit to Ellis Baker to see if his apartment had been used while he was out of the country. Lucas was feeling good and, to top it all, his wife was due back from her conference that evening. Another reason for it to be a good day.
The phone rang, breaking his chain of thought. He put the coffee on the coaster and lifted the receiver. ‘Lucas.’
It was an out-of-breath Bassano.
‘Sir, it looks like we’ve got another one. Westfield Park. The response guys called it in fifteen minutes ago.’
‘Fuck,’ said Lucas thumping his hand onto the desk. ‘I’m on my way, and get Jo Sells over there, I want her to see this first-hand.’
‘I tried that, sir, but I can’t reach her. She left a message at the desk early this morning saying something about a cracked filling and a dentist.’
‘Okay, I’ll meet you there, we can talk then.’ Lucas slammed down the receiver and stormed out of his office, not feeling quite so good about the day.
Ten miles across town Mechanic was just getting up and experiencing the usual feelings of decompression from the activities of the night. There was a notable difference though. Mechanic had never before had to spit blood into the sink from a loosened back tooth and a badly bitten tongue. Mechanic looked in the mirror with mouth open wide and head tilted back, trying to survey the damage. Couldn’t see a damn thing, except the ugly gash along the side of the tongue.
The need for a sugar fix was making Mechanic shake. First job was to fill the toaster with strawberry Pop-Tarts and put the kettle on to boil. To make matters worse Mechanic’s jaw hurt like hell, hopefully the painkillers washed down with tap water would help. Mechanic winced as the cold water hit the offending tooth. ‘Damn,’ Mechanic muttered.
The Pop-Tarts bounced out of the toaster slots with a metallic clatter. Mechanic put four of them onto a small plate and reloaded two more slots. They were difficult to eat – the hot jam burned and chewing was a real problem. But the sugar was good and the first tart was quickly gobbled up. The kettle flicked itself off as the water boiled and Mechanic poured it into an oversized mug, with instant coffee and mounds of sugar. The second Pop-Tart was well on its way to disappearing. The sugar craving subsided and Mechanic walked into the living room. The red light on the phone said that no one had called. Kaitlin had managed to go through a whole day without ringing to offload her latest set of neuroses. There was an urgent rapping on the front door.
Looking at the clock on the wall Mechanic tutted at the inconvenience of such an early interruption, disposing of the third Pop-Tart. Mechanic opened the door. ‘Hey! This is surprise, come in.’
‘We need to talk,’ said Dr Jo Sells.
37
Lucas could see the squad car’s blue and red flashing lights long before he reached Sophie Barrock’s house. The in-car briefing was a little scant on details, but it appeared that she’d regained consciousness while Mechanic was still at the property but was too terrified to move. The asphyxiation had not been so severe as to cause brain damage but she was physically in a bad way.
Sophie had waited until Mechanic left the house before somehow dragging herself eight feet along the carpet to the bedside table. She pulled the phone onto the floor and dialed 911. She couldn’t speak but just left the line open. During her struggle toward the phone, she kept passing out from a mixture of pain and lack of oxygen. The gag prevented her breathing through her mouth and her shattered nose prevented the passage of air. She lost count of the number of times the darkness descended and she went to that woozy place where her body no longer hurt. That simple act of travelling eight feet had taken her almost one and a half hours to complete.
Fifteen minutes later two police officers smashed their way through the side window and entered the scene of carnage.
She had lost a lot of blood and when the response officers arrived they felt unable to move her due to the extent of her injuries. The bedroom carpet looked like the floor of a busy abattoir. With her twisted limbs and blo
od-soaked nightwear, Sophie Barrock resembled nothing more than a carcass.
Mechanic had dispatched the children while they were both asleep and pulled Steve Barrock out of bed by his feet. His head disintegrated into the carpet pile when it hit the floor. Mechanic dragged his body across the bedroom and over Sophie Barrock. Later she would learn that much of the blood she’d been covered in was in fact her husband’s.
The officers concentrated on Sophie until one of them followed the trail of blood leading to the garage. Shining his service-issue flashlight into the window of the Dodge Sebring made the officer think twice before touching anything else. The kids were seat-belted into the back and Steve Barrock was in the driving seat with his hands placed at the ten to two position on the steering wheel.
Lucas parked his car and walked to the house. He was greeted by a uniformed officer and he flashed his badge. The officer nodded and lifted the yellow tape to allow Lucas to step onto the driveway. He made his way to the front door, donned a pair of forensic overshoes and went inside the slaughterhouse.
38
Jo sat on the edge of the soft leather sofa, leaning forward with her hands clasped tight in her lap. ‘You have got to stop,’ she cried, tears of frustration welling in her eyes.
‘Don’t see why, honey,’ Mechanic replied. ‘Everything is fine and, anyhow, I have you as my guardian angel. What could go wrong?’ The fourth Pop-Tart disappeared off the plate. ‘Coffee?’
‘I’ve not come here to drink damned coffee.’
‘I appreciate your concern but everything is going well. I mean it won’t—’
Jo Sells cut Mechanic off mid-sentence.