Authors: Michael Kerr
WHEN
Tom and DS Pete Deakin arrived at Villa Venice, Paramedics were stretchering Nick out to the waiting ambulance.
Tom hauled himself out of the car before Pete had brought it to a full stop, to run across and ask one of the medics what Nick’s condition was.
“I’m gonna live, guv, thanks to Tiny,” Nick answered for himself, raising his head up from the gurney.
“Tyrell?”
“Yeah. He saw the light, blew Santini and another goon away, and then made the call for me. I said we could work out a deal for him, by way of appreciation.”
“That’s enough,” a burly Paramedic said. “You have a man in shock here, who’s lost a lot of blood.” And with no further hesitation, Nick was transferred into the back of the ambulance, to be driven away with the vehicle’s lights flashing and the siren blaring.
Tom and Pete entered the house to find Luther Tyrell sitting in the split-level lounge with four uniforms and a balding guy wearing a leather bomber jacket and blue jeans guarding him. The cop in civvies was a local DI, who in Tom’s estimation had watched far too many TV shows. He looked to be an over-the-hill Flying Squad type, who had been brought up on bile like
The Sweeney, Starsky & Hutch,
and
The Professionals
. His paunch, too-long hair – where it still grew over his collar at the back, to hang in uncombed tawdriness – and greying designer stubble made him look more like a biker, fairground worker, or Greenpeace activist.
Tom beckoned him. “What can you tell me?” he asked the man, trying to ignore the fact that DI John Dale was noisily chewing gum.
John removed the wad of gum, looked round for a waste bin, couldn’t find one, so fished a piece of grimy tissue from his pocket, wrapped the sticky glob in it and tucked it away. He grinned. “Try not to judge a book by its cover, guv,” he said in a crisp, Oxbridge accent. “I look like a nerd because of the assignment I’m on. My team was in the area, and attended the scene because we are armed.”
Tom smiled. His expression had relayed his disdain of the other cop’s appearance. He resolved to mask his feelings better in future.
“When we arrived,” John continued, “Man Mountain over there told me that there were two bodies in the basement, and that the guy with him, who was drifting in and out a bit, was an undercover cop.”
“What have you done, so far?”
“Confirmed that the two vics downstairs are dead, secured the scene, and informed the Home Office pathologist and Forensics that their presence would be greatly appreciated at the earliest convenience. We’ve rounded up all Santini’s men, who had been told by Tyrell to give it up and not start a fire fight.”
“Good job,” Tom said as he walked over to where Tiny was sitting. “You one of the guys in white hats now, Luther?” he asked the black colossus.
“Yeah, I saw the light. Ray, Nick, or whoever the fuck he is, was persuasive. Said it would be in my best interest to switch teams.”
“So you capped your boss and one of your cohorts?”
“Co what?”
“One of your band of merry men.”
“Santini was about to off the kitchen maid if the cop didn’t talk. Then he would’ve killed her baby before startin’ in on your guy again. I decided that enough was enough. Dom was on his way out. I just brought it to a head, to save unnecessary
¯”
“To try and save your own skin, Luther. Don’t try to lay it on me that you suddenly saw the error of your ways. I’m not about to buy a miraculous reformation. What else can you tell me?”
“Not a lot with these bracelets on. I need a cigarette and some coffee,” Tiny said, flashing Tom a wide, toothy grin that brightened his oil-black face.
Tom nodded. “Take them off,” he said, directing his order to the officer standing nearest to Tiny.
DC Tony Kellett fumbled the keys from his pocket and obeyed. He believed that had the giant wanted to, he could have pulled the cuffs apart like Plasticine at any time. They barely encircled the man’s thick wrists, were on the last teeth of the ratchets, biting into the skin, and looked totally inadequate.
“This way,” Tom said to Tiny, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering him one, which was drawn free by fingers that wrongly appeared too cumbersome to be capable of performing such a delicate task. “You make the coffee and tell me everything you know about Gary Noon.”
As they entered the kitchen, Tiny bobbed his head down to accept a light from Tom’s Zippo, then went over to the central island to fill two mugs from a coffee maker.
“Noon is one seriously dangerous motherfucker,” Tiny said, handing one of the steaming mugs to Tom. “The boss was scared shitless of him, especially after the old man was capped. Dom arranged for a stateside hitter to be flown in, not to waste him, but to take him alive. Dom wanted to deal with…Noon himself.”
Tom picked up on the hesitation. “Him and who else?” he demanded. “Don’t hold out on me, Luther, or you’ll be as old as Nelson Mandela when you get to walk on the outside again.”
“The cop, Barnes. Dom wanted the Yank to waste the cop, and to deliver Noon up for his personal attention.”
“Who is this Yank?”
“I don’t know. Only Dom met him. He came highly recommended from one of Frank’s business partners in New York. The boss told me that he was maybe in his mid-fifties and a real cold fish. Rumour is, he would hit the Pope, or the President of the United States if the payoff was right. He never fails to get the job done.”
Tom reached for his mobile and punched-up Matt’s home number.
“Barnes.”
“It’s Tom. I’m out at Santini’s drum. What news do you want first, good or bad?”
“Good,” Matt said.
“Dominic Santini got whacked. Tyrell helped our man out of a tight spot by capping him and Falco.”
“That’s music to my ears. What’s the downside?”
“Not only is Noon after your bony arse. There’s another player. A Yank shooter who Santini flew in to find Noon and top you.”
“Terrific. Do we know him?”
“No. We don’t even have a description. All I’ve got is Tyrell’s word that he’s reputedly the best. He isn’t some young gun like Noon. We’ve got a real pro out there.”
“No problem,” Matt said. “Once he knows that Santini is dead, he’ll be on the next plane home. He won’t fulfil a contract for a corpse who isn’t about to pay the balance of his fee.”
“I hope you’re right. I’ll ensure that Santini’s misfortune hits the late news, and call a press conference.”
“Send a car over. I should be there.”
“Not a chance. There’s nothing you can do. Stay put, where we have control of the situation.”
“I feel like a coconut in a fucking shy, Tom. I have the feeling that Noon will get to me if I sit back and do nothing.”
“I don’t buy that. We have you covered. If he makes a move, we’ll take him.”
“He doesn’t do what he’s expected to. And so far, no one who he made a play for has survived. He gets past any protection that’s set up.”
“You’ve already survived him once. Just keep away from windows and sleep with your gun under the pillow. I’ll drop by later, when I’ve finished up here.”
Out of habit, Beth looked through the peephole. Marion’s moon face was close up to the other side of it, and looked wider and slightly grotesque beyond the distorted magnification of the fisheye lens.
Slipping off the security chain, Beth opened the door. “Come in,” she said, before realising that Marion was not alone.
Gary pushed Marion forward, closed the door behind him and pointed the business end of the Glock at Beth.
Beth could not move. Her muscles locked up on her as she appraised and struggled to come to terms with the immediate situation. There was a choice of reasons why Marion would have led Noon to her; either out of fear, under threat, or because she was willingly aiding and abetting the deranged thrill killer. The pained expression of guilt on Marion’s face gave Beth her answer. She was Noon’s accomplice, lending him her unfailing allegiance.
“You’re worse than him,” Beth said as Marion looked down at her shoes, unable to face the woman who had held out the hand of friendship to her.
“Shut the fuck up,” Gary said. “Go and sit down before I knock you on your cute arse.”
Beth found her legs, backed up into the lounge, unable to take her eyes off the black hole at the end of the gun’s silencer. When her calves met the front of the settee, she fell back off balance, but sat up quickly to perch on the edge, her back straight and hands on the cushions at her sides for support.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Gary stepped forward and lashed out, to whip her head round as the cold steel smashed into her cheek.
“I told you to shut up,” he said. “That means, keep your fucking lips zipped unless I ask you something. You know what I want, Doctor. You’re supposedly the smart bitch who worked up a profile on me, so you know exactly what I’m capable of, and where I’m coming from. I strongly suggest that you try very hard not to upset me. You really wouldn’t want to see me lose my temper.”
Now lying on her side, Beth stayed in that position. Her face burned, and she could feel the skin tightening as the bruised flesh beneath it began to swell.
Gary tucked the pistol into the waistband of his pants, and then withdrew a roll of duct tape. Within seconds he had secured Beth’s arms behind her back, bound at the wrists. He then grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her upright, back into a sitting position. Sitting next to her, he grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted it, bringing her face up and sideways to meet his gaze.
“You’re going to phone Barnes,” he said. “You’ll tell him to get over here, by himself. Right?”
Beth shook her head. “Wrong,” she replied. “His house is under surveillance. He can’t move without being seen by a dozen armed police.”
“He’ll improvise and find a way to cut loose. You need to tell him that Marion is here, and that she knows where I am, but will only talk to him.”
Beth jerked her head back and broke his hold. “If you believe for one second that I’m going to help you murder Matt, then you’re a lot more unbalanced than I thought.”
Gary smiled. “Ah, the voice of true love. Your protestations are commendable, but I promise you, you
will
call him. The only choice you’ve got is, whether you do it before I cut off your nipples or put one of your come-to-bed eyes out. Think about it. Do you really want to be mutilated and blinded before you beg to do whatever I say?”
Beth searched the black pools of Noon’s eyes. There was no expression in them. They held all the emotion of a reptile’s impassive stare. The unblinking, soulless orbs were devoid of all humanity. She knew with utter conviction that this was an individual who was capable of any act, however depraved. But as he talked, she devised a way to warn Matt. He was a match for Noon, knew his capacity, and was trained to deal with extreme situations; sometimes finding it necessary to take life without compunction. On one level, the two men shared the same faculty to inflict extreme violence, though Matt’s was reserved wholly for use against individuals such as Noon, who threatened the sanctity that law-abiding citizens had a right to expect.
“Well?” Gary snarled. “Which way do you want to play it, Doc? Are you going to call Supercop, or give me the pleasure of doing things to you that would make dying seem like a dream come true?”
“I...I’ll do whatever you say,” Beth replied, allowing tears to flow, and for her shoulders to slump in resignation, assuming a posture of defeatism to present him with the outward appearance of a vanquished spirit. Her vocational training and experience of patients/criminals with personality disorders was a boon to the predicament she now found herself in. He expected to be feared, and would believe that she was psychologically cowed by his threats; just so much putty in his hands to shape in whatever way he wished.
“That’s better,” he said, visibly relaxing as he intimated to Marion that he wanted her cell phone. “What’s his number?”
Beth told him.
“Okay. Before I make the call, be advised that if I think you’re trying to warn him, I’ll peel and core you like an apple. Be very, very careful Dr. Holder, or all he’ll find here is cuts of raw meat.”
Marion had listened, standing unmoving as the man she had believed she was in love with conversed with Beth. To see the pleasure that even the act of just issuing verbal threats gave him, sickened her. Watching Gary terrorise Beth led to her doubting his feelings toward her, and to regret her participation in what was to be the slaughter of innocent people. He had used her once; blackmailed her with the video of their lovemaking. Was he still manipulating her? She now thought so. Rationality kicked-in with a vengeance, and with a fresh perception as bright and shiny as a new penny, she saw Gary for the rotten, twisted killer he was: A user, who with calculated determination took life for wanton pleasure to feed and pacify some inner demon. She had allowed herself to believe his hollow words; to revel in their energised and frenzied lovemaking, and to be duped and to suspend belief, denying the reality of the situation. He had generated an upheaval of her emotions. But in the final analysis, she was not like him and never could or would be. He was a drug, like heroin, that she had craved for and could not get enough of, but was now ready to give up, recognising it for what it was. She knew that the killing would not stop with Beth and Barnes. Maybe he also planned to murder her before the night was out. She had put her trust in a monster whose only concern was selfish, perverse gratification. He did not have the capacity to love, only hate. She believed that he was consumed by mental agony, and killed in an unachievable attempt to lessen the pain. He was an incorrigible sociopath.
A vivid image sprang into Marion’s mind. In it, Beth and the cop were both dead, and Gary was naked, laced with their blood. She was beneath him on the carpet, being taken. He was growling like some wild beast, and as he spent himself, he slashed her throat open. She watched in horror as her lifeblood jetted out and up to paint his already crimson face. Was it a premonition of a possible near future? Maybe. Maybe not. She remembered that her Aunt Pamela – dead for over ten years now – had sometimes felt forebodings that she took notice of. Way back in ‘74, Pamela became aware that on numerous occasions, when she glanced at clocks, the time would be 7.47 a.m. or p.m. She cancelled a flight out of Heathrow on the strength of what she considered to be a portent, and the Jumbo jet she had been due to catch, a 747, crashed shortly after takeoff, barely missing the centre of Staines as it fell from the sky into a field. There had been no survivors. Pamela always insisted that instinct or premonitions should not be ignored. Marion determined not to let this episode play out, and by doing so risk being too late to modify unfurling events. The thought of trying to somehow stop Gary was enough to cause a hard ball of fear to form in the pit of her stomach. Had she the will, or the ability to intervene? Only time would tell.