Det Supt Tommy Cowper watched helplessly as his wife walked over to the corpse of Philip Field. He beat his hands on the armoured glass of the window overlooking the table on which the porn stud was laid out. His cries of anguish soaked into the walls of the sound-proof room he was locked in.
She was unconcerned by his protest, oblivious to everything but the length of rigid flesh she pulled from the stud’s trousers. She lifted her dress and stood naked from the waist down. Her thin legs quivered as she masturbated feverishly while she pulled at the dead flesh.
A door opened at the far end of the room and Freddy Field sauntered in dressed in a bathrobe. He threw the robe open theatrically in front of the window to reveal his stiffened penis to Tommy, and then he walked over to the policeman’s wife. The don whispered something to Stella, at which she squealed and nodded enthusiastically.
She bent over and took hold of the corpse’s oversize member with two hands and started to gorge on Philip’s lifeless flesh.
Tommy watched Stella’s cheeks and gullet swell as she strained herself to force as much as she could of the rigid, dead flesh between her lips.
Freddy positioned himself behind her, lifted her dress and looked round at the window again. He parted her buttocks and rammed his inflamed flesh between the soft cheeks of her arse. In the same movement he thrust in violently. He roared as his penis disappeared between her buttocks. He jerked aggressively, lifting her bodily.
The muscles in Stella’s buttocks were taut as she squeezed them and wriggled tight into his loins to maximise the penetration. She pulled her head from the dead flesh, both hands reached to search between the petals of Pink Dahlia, finding and plucking feverishly at the stamen of her flowering labia. She screamed and shivered as Freddy pumped his lust into anus. Their legs were soaked with the liquid of orgasm, fluid but very tangible evidence of her unbridled ecstasy.
Tommy panted and cursed his basest instincts as an orgasm racked his body. He tried to wipe his brow, reach to attend to his clothing but could not move his hands to do either. As full consciousness returned he felt hot, flustered, and at the same time in a cold sweat. His head was thumping; his mouth parched and choking with the rancid lump where he remembered his tongue used to be. He knew he had to orientate quickly, try to throw off the effects of the drug. But the effort involved in trying to keep his concentration on the intricate detail of the embossed wallpaper pattern and ignore what he knew to be hard reality was taking its toll on his energy and nerve. The image of Freddy Field screwing Stella while she committed fellatio on the porn stud’s corpse had been a dream, no, a horrible nightmare. But regardless of a distinct lack of His influence in most other current proceedings he guessed he was obliged to thank God Almighty it was just a dream. But he still didn’t know what the hell had she been up to at the Field house? Where was she, what the hell was she doing now?
Being unable to clean the dust and perspiration smudges from his spectacles was not a helpful in the exercise to realign thoughts and regain a focus on his predicament. But to allow himself to contemplate what might be his fate at the hands of the mindless Field cretins would in itself be a form of mental self-flagellation. With his hands bound behind him, and his ankles hobbled, he saw little chance of affecting an escape in the seemingly unlikely event somebody should venture to open the door to the windowless room in which he was confined. The struggle to contort his arms the length of his legs and over his feet had served him to no end other than trigger the frequent onset of some pretty bad bouts of cramp. And to exacerbate the helpless torment of his predicament, he had absolutely no idea of the time. There was no mirror in the room he could utilise as a means of checking the wristwatch on his arm. One merciful relief was the oversight Terry Field had made by leaving a light on in the room. But he would have to wait until ten p.m. for any confirmation of the hour, then his watch alarm would bleep, if it had not already done so, an indication it was time for his first cup of coffee on his normal nightshift.
An examination of everything in the sparsely furnished room inspired no hope of there being anything to present him with a means of escape. A solid oak writing table, two battered winged armchairs, the remains of a withered plant in a pot on a beech wood pedestal and a cracked wash-hand basin on the wall. Those were the sum total of the room’s amenities. There was nothing to do but wait for the worst. If only he could douse his head in cold water. If he were refreshed he would better face whatever fate was in store for him. And then, like a light switching on in his brain, came the glare of an obvious answer to his dilemma. He hopped over to the hand sink, turned and dumped his backside on it, exerting his full weight. The unit gave way under the pressure, and he ended up on his knees with a large lump of porcelain grasped firmly in his hands. There was no time to waste. He hacked away at the plasticuffs on the jagged edges of the remaining piece still mounted to the wall.
*
Tina Field looked at the depleted family group seated around the dining table. Two faces in particular were missing from the family gathering. Her youngest son was gone forever, taken from her in diabolical circumstances. Her only daughter, violated despicably and then injured in the same heinous incident, was absent also from the group, invalided and lying upstairs. Sons, William and Terence, were present, enjoying a brandy and cigar with their father like nothing had happened, having demolished the sumptuous main course of leg of Welsh lamb and the almost ritual spotted dick and custard for pudding. It was Freddy’s favourite.
Her two daughters-in-law, with her grandchildren, were up at the family’s holiday house in the Lake District. This was a safety measure she was determined to reject until Philip was returned to her, blessed and laid to rest in peace. And last but not least, there was Francesca, Carla’s lovely, bubbly, naive new friend; who had cemented her popularity with the whole family, judging by the way the conversation had flourished at the meal table.
‘I think I’ll clear up and then retire to my room, boys, when I’ve said goodnight to Carla,’ Tina said.
‘Please, I must help you, I insist,’ Frankie said. ‘It was a wonderful meal and you have all been so kind and hospitable.’
‘Sounds right to me,’ Freddy nodded. ‘Tel, boy, you just take Pavli a doggy bag from your mother’s kitchen, an’ then you can take him with you to check on things in the old wing, make sure everything’s battened down good an’ tight in there. We don’t want to take no chances on getting’ any nasty surprises tonight of all nights.’ He stood up. ‘Then you can turn in, boy. I’ll just go an’ have a word with the rest of the lads, make sure they got their eyes peeled for any unwelcome visitors. I’ll try not to disturb you when I come up, my Lovely Lady. You best get some sleep, ’cause tomorrow is gonna be a bit special for you, for us all, when we get Phil back here in the chapel for you.’
‘Shall I go into town an’ check on the club?’ Billy suggested.
‘Business’ll look after itself for a coupla days, boy, we got more important things to worry about. You been a star, Billy, this last coupla days, I reckon you oughta get yourself a bit of catch-up; your room’s ready an’ waitin’ if you wanna crash. When we got Phil back, you can bet your last bleedin’ chip them Russki bastards…’
‘Freddy!’ Tina’s voice cut in. She pointed at Frankie. ‘Please, we have a guest, Freddy, where are your manners?’ She finished loading the serving trolley with the redundant tableware and linen and wheeled it out of the room.
Frankie followed in Tina’s wake. But the DI had not missed the frequent expressions of apprehension exchanged between Freddy and his son Terry at mention of the matter of a security check in the old wing of the house. Her bet was on this worrisome wing of the building being where they had Tommy confined. The sooner folk settled down for the night, the sooner she might investigate. But she knew she had not seen the last of Freddy yet.
‘You take the cloth and dry, my dear, I do not believe in these awful wasteful machines people use today. We’ll soon be done, and we can go and say goodnight to Carla together, and then you can get some well-earned rest. You must be very tired after the hectic events of the last twenty four hours.’ Tina plunged her rubber-gloved hands into the foamy depths of the huge butler sink.
*
Pavli unlocked the door to the room in the old wing and walked in with the bowl of dinner scraps, shadowed by a large Doberman pinscher.
Tommy swayed and fell from his vantage point on the table, the wooden pedestal he had intended for the head of the next entrant crashed to the floor with him. His ankles were still hobbled with wire garden ties which refused to yield to the porcelain quite as obligingly as the plasticuffs had done. The appearance of the brawny youngster completely wrong footed Tommy and he cancelled his intention to brain the next one of Field’s men who ventured into the room.
Pavli had to drop the food bowl in order to keep the snarling dog’s slavering jowls away from Tommy’s limbs. He looked at the policeman. A hint of recognition and then compassion crept into the vacant space behind his pale blue eyes.
Terry swaggered in brandishing his knife. His callous laugh of ridicule filled the room and echoed along the corridor outside. ‘Fuckin’ London’s finest, eh? Couldn’t fight your way off an empty bleedin’ tube train if someone showed you where to get off, any of you lot of pussies.’ He kicked Tommy in the side, knocking the wind from his body. ‘We’ll hafta do somethin’ about them bleedin’ hands of yours again, though, won’t we, now, Pavli?’ He kicked Tommy again. ‘Hurry up an’ get some more of these garden ties from the conservatory, Pavli, there’s a good little idiot.’ He threw the severed plasticuffs back at the policeman. ‘Don’t be long, an’ let the lads have Jaws back to have the run of the grounds with the other dogs for the night. I’ll stay here an’ make sure this stupid copper don’t get any more of his stupid ideas.’ He kicked Tommy hard again, bent down and grabbed hold of his legs and started to drag him away from the doorway.
Pavli let out a strange grunt as he swung the beech wood pedestal at Terry’s head, connecting with the target with a sickening thud.
The gangster hit the floor like the proverbial empty sack without making a sound.
Pavli looked at Tommy pleadingly. His action had been one of anger and frustration, a spontaneity born of a growing abhorrence of the continued abuse and mockery from the thug and his ilk at the Manor. But seeing Terry unconscious on the floor, the slow witted youth had instinct enough to realise immediately this momentary satisfaction was ill conceived, no long term solution, and his safety would be extremely short-lived.
Tommy rallied his senses and pointed to the ties around his ankles. ‘I need to walk properly – I can’t walk far like this, lad. And we can’t leave him like that. When he does eventually wake up he’ll raise the roof.’
Pavli tried to hack through the wire garden ties with Terry’s knife, to no avail. He shook his head, and then jumped as his eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. He removed the belt from Terry’s trousers, and then ripped off the gangster’s sweatshirt. With these, he hobbled Terry’s ankles with the belt, and then took the gangster’s knife and sliced the cashmere garment in two pieces. The pieces of cashmere were long enough, strong enough, to finish tying and gagging the unconscious thug securely.
Tommy staggered to his feet and tried to hop out of the door. The spectacle was not one of grace or agility. The noise on the old floorboards would be audible to anyone patrolling immediately outside and was prohibitive.
Pauli grunted again, put his fingers to his lips and shook his head. He closed and locked the heavy door and then bent, put his arms around Tommy’s legs and lifted the big policeman over his shoulder as easily as if he were carrying a rag doll. The Doberman jumped up to lick Tommy’s ear and then followed quietly at the adolescent’s heels.
*
Freddy looked over the banister of the gallery upstairs landing and along the two opposing corridors. The house was quiet at last, and the one thing on his mind was the same one that he’d had since the blonde, bitch of a copper walked into the house that morning. He stood for a moment opposite the door to the room where the heartbreaking tease was. Easing open the door to the marital bedroom, he assured himself Tina was fast asleep, complete with her eye mask.
Frankie heard the bedroom door opening as she lay, feigning sleep. She had to work hard to control the pitch and tempo of her breathing. These next few minutes would decide whether she and her boss were to sink or swim. She heard the don’s feet cross towards her through the thick pile of the carpet. His breathing was hurried, almost out of control. And then she could feel his presence behind her, panting at the side of the bed.
Freddy reached out with a hand and shook Frankie’s shoulder, gently but firmly. ‘Freddy Daddy’s got somethin’ here he knows Baby Doll wants to play with.’
The DI struggled to restrain the laugh that was bursting for freedom. She giggled girlishly instead, and rolled over to face the don. She stretched out an arm to switch on the bedside lamp. ‘I’ve been waiting for you, Freddy Daddy; I knew you wouldn’t let your Baby Doll down.’ She reached out to pour sparkling wine into the two waiting glasses. She handed him a glass and raised hers to her lips and said, ‘To happy angel’s lips.’
The don was convinced he was nobody’s fool, especially this teaser copper bitch. He eased her glass away from her lips, put his glass to them. ‘Yours is mine – mine is yours, Baby Doll. Empty your glass, an’ then we can empty this.’
Freddy Field gulped his drink down and dropped his trousers and boxer shorts to his ankles. He grabbed her arm and pulled her hand to his stiffened penis.
‘Just feel this now, Baby Doll, it’s never been as hot an’ as hard, an’ it’s all yours. We got all night, Baby Doll, an’ Daddy Freddy wants to make it one neither of us is gonna forget.’
Frankie gave her intended treat a squeeze and in the child-woman mode said, ‘We both have to be naked, Freddy Daddy.’ She released his hard-on, got out of the bed.
Freddy’s good eye was nearly out of his head as she peeled off the thin singlet over her head and sidled up to him, wearing only the most miniscule thong.
‘Lay down now Freddy Daddy, because Baby Doll wants a mouthful of your lovely hard joy-stick before I taste it in here.’ Frankie pulled the gusset of the thong aside to tease him. ‘Let me get down on my knees so I can enjoy it in comfort.’
Freddy was drooling. He knew once he got his knob and bollocks in her mouth, he could throttle the copper bitch and have done with her. But only after he had thoroughly lubricated her gullet with whatever bull-dust he had left in him. It would take him some time to come anyway, considering the demands he had put on his balls already. But the memory of his humiliation with the young girl worsened his obsession to plumb the depths of the luscious pussy that was so close it teased his nostrils with its intoxicating scent. He closed his eye and shivered, anticipating the ecstasy of the plump, fleshy lips closing over the end of his penis. So what if he did come? The whole night was his in which to do the bitch what and how he pleased.
What Freddy did feel was the cold end of the G-1’s silencer shoved into his ear. ‘Dream on, minute man, cos there just ain’t gonna be no more “angel’s lips” for you. But you will be sucking the end of the devil’s dick here if you don’t tell me what I want to know; and you can get these on, you wanker.’
The cold tone of the voice giving the order made it very clear his little Baby Doll had disappeared and DI Burns, who he now suspected she was, called the tune.
Normally the don would have reacted impulsively and violently to such an affront, regardless of the odds of success or outcome. But his physical and mental coordination was hampered by the small draft of Gamma-hydroxabutric acid he had ingested with the glass of wine he too cleverly fooled himself into drinking.
Of course, he knew he could not shout for help. How the hell did he explain to his Lovely Lady his being stark bollock naked in the bed of his daughter’s new friend? Besides, it was clearly an ill-omen that the silencer was on the gun, for good reason. The bitch was intent to use it if she had to, and nowadays the Bill didn’t have to worry too much about shooting anyone, especially someone with his track record. He had no choice but to allow his wrists to be handcuffed around the iron bedstead.
‘Where’s Superintendent Cowper?’
‘Somewhere you won’t fuckin’ find the stupid soft shit, you hard-faced, dyke bitch.’ Despite being light headed, Freddy could not resist resorting to his customary air of bravado.
Frankie squeezed the trigger and a bullet spat into the pillow beside Freddy’s ear, scattering feathers over his face and the bed. ‘Perhaps you don’t see so good with one eye, or perhaps you really have got shit-for-brains, but I just wanted to show you that this is not a fucking potato gun, dickhead. So lighten up a bit and do yourself a big, big favour. I really am genuinely sorry I had to ruin one of Tina’s pillows, but I won’t ruin any more of these lovely pillows or waste any more rounds – the next one goes through your knobbly fucking knee.’
Freddy was literally spitting feathers. But he had not lost his guile. If the copper shot him in the knee, he would not be able to suppress a scream, for sure. The bitch had to know he would, and daren’t risk it. The knee-capping threat had to be a bluff. ‘Go fuck yourself, bitch, you’ll never get away with this, an’ you know it. Just get these off, get yourself laid down here an’ open them lovely bleedin’ rib-crushers of yours, cos at least you’ll live a bit longer while I shag that tasty arse off you.’
Frankie tutted and smashed the butt of the G-1 hard into his ribs, and then stuffed as much of the remains of the damaged pillow into his mouth as she could when he gasped with the pain. ‘It’s me who will fuck you like you have never been fucked in your nasty, miserable life, mister East End. And you can bet your fat, saggy arse it won’t be the fuck that you’ve been looking forward to all day. Now tell me where you bastards have got my Tommy.’
The use of the possessive had been a slip of her tongue, but she thought it sounded about right to her at that moment. She put the gun to Freddy’s knee.
The don shook his head, the eye-patch slid down his cheek, revealing the scarred tissue covering the pit of the empty eye socket. He wriggled, squealed and grunted, frantic to indicate a sudden keenness to cooperate. He stifled a coughing fit when the pillow was wrenched from his mouth.
But Freddy Field was not one to cooperate without issuing threats, even with the odds stacked high against him. He croaked, ‘He’s a bit tied up at the moment, but you’ll find your other stupid girl’s blouse of a pig sittin’ over in the old wing of the house cryin’ over what his cock-happy skinny bitch wife might be up to – or rather who’s up her. But you’ll never get away with this, pig bitch. My men are all over the house and the grounds with dogs. An’ then I’ll watch while my Dobermans eat that tasty, teasin’ muff of yours. An’ you can bet they’ll enjoy tearing lumps off the cheeks of that pretty fuckin’ arse of yours. So you better get your juicy little angel’s lips good an’ ready for their next muffin’, but it ain’t gonna be no kinda platin’ like you ever had before. It certainly will be one I know I’m gonna come plenty of bull-dust, watchin’ when my dogs eat your fuckin’ pussy.’
Frankie dressed quickly again, ignoring the don and his mumbled rant. She put on a matching combination of black denims, sweatshirt and ski-cap to cover her bleached hair. Suitably attired for the dark, she grabbed a torch from her bag and stuck a spare ammo clip in her belt. She stuffed her singlet in Freddy’s mouth and covered it with a strip of duct tape. ‘You’ve been as near as you’ll ever get your mouth to my tits again, you sad old perve. You better believe I’ll shoot anyone walks across my path with the wrong fucking look on their face tonight. So don’t get too excited about watching your doggies eat my pussy. They’ll eat lead, more likely, just like I’ll make sure you or yours do if I don’t find Tommy in one piece.’ She concluded, ‘Goodnight, sleep tight, Freddy Daddy, don’t let the bugs bite,’ she mocked; then she put the phone out of his reach, switched off the bedside light and left the room.
Outside in the grounds of The Manor, the sulphurous heat of the night hung heavy beneath the storm laden blanket of cloud that blocked any trace of the moon and stars.
Pavli wiped the sweat from his brow as he watched from the window of his room above the garages for signs of reaction to the bad thing he had just done to Mr Terry. He was filled with anxiety, but felt no guilt. He liked the man who didn’t want to ridicule him, who got angry at what Mr Freddy and the other men made him do to the frightened, pretty girl while they watched. His apprehension was caused by concern, not for himself, but for the man he had rescued, now huddled, trying to collect his senses, on the sofa in the darkened room with him. He was not like any of the other men he knew. The copper was a good, kind man and reminded him very much of his Mrs Tina.
The youngster’s gaze was momentarily distracted by a small, dark figure as it hugged the shadows on its way across from the conservatory door around the back of the house towards the old wing. It was a lady. But it was not Miss Carla. He knew she was not well and in bed in the house. Besides, if it was Miss Carla out there so late, she would be coming to show him more of Mr Philip’s films to make his tadpoles come while she tickled the little bud that puffed up and poked out of her beaver.
After he spilled his tadpoles, she loved him to clean her with his tongue, though she didn’t put cream over her beaver or let him taste her breast-buds. To tell the truth, he preferred no cream on it, because he liked to feel the soft, smooth lips of her beaver on his face while he pushed his tongue right inside them. And it didn’t spoil the salty taste of the juice that poured over his face when she wriggled and moaned like the girl’s in Mr Philip’s films. Then, when he went to bed, it would be a while before his beaver cleaver would lie down and sleep, so he made more tadpoles come to make it.
The lady in the dark was not the unhappy girl Mr Freddy and Mr Terry had made him put his tadpoles into this afternoon. It was a shame, because Mr Terry had made her fall asleep and then someone took her away from him before he got chance to show her he was sorry and make proper friends.
But it was definitely a lady. And mute he might be, with little proper schooling, but he was not so slow-witted he couldn’t deduce the reason for her nervous behaviour and the direction in which she was headed made it obvious who she must be looking for. He instinctively made the sign for “Friend” to Tommy and gestured for him to come to the window.
Frankie stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of her name. It sounded like Tommy’s voice. Yes, the hoarse, whispered call echoed around the stable yard again, bounced off the walls, made it difficult for her to discern its source. A distant flash of lightning lit up the stable yard and grounds for some agonising moments.
‘Frankie, I’m up here – at the window. Pssst.’
There it was again. Her heart pounded. It was Tommy’s voice, calling her name. She peered into the darkness around her, trying to regain a proper visual focus, but could see no one. Then she heard the tapping of something metallic on glass, a contrast to the accompanying, faint rumble of thunder rolling across a leaden sky beneath the heavy clouds. The tapping noise came again, from behind her, high up, above the roof of the car-port running the length of the garage block. And there she saw Tommy’s face, in the window of the darkened room above the double-doors.
In the temporary security of the garage, the two officers exchanged emotional hellos. Their hug was fierce and a distinct, intimate charge of electricity flashed fleetingly between their bodies. Her heart sang again as she realised her date with him and fulfilment of the forbidden pleasures their postponed lust had in store for them were not to be denied her. But greetings had to be brief, and emotions curtailed. Frankie brushed her lips on the bruised face of her boss.
‘No time to talk, Tommy,’ she said. ‘We’ll take Stella’s car and get out of here, even if we have to drive straight through the bloody gates.’
‘They slide in tracks, Frankie, are made of high-tensile steel, four inch box section running in RSJ, girl, and the pillars anchored in reinforced concrete foundation. Even belted up, and assuming we could make enough speed, we’d most likely kill ourselves trying to smash through them.’ He looked at the lad. ‘And I’m not going from here without the boy here. You really don’t want to know how Field and the rest of the bastards in there abuse this poor soul for their own depraved amusement.’
Pavli’s face lit up.
‘Very noble, Tommy, but what on earth do you think will happen to him out there, even if we do all manage to get out. If we can get you in the boot, I might bluff my way out of here somehow, if we’re quick. But there’s only room for one in there, and it’ll be a bloody uncomfortable ride. I just can’t see how we are all going to get out of here, Tommy’
Pavli grunted and put up a finger, to indicate he had thought of a possible solution. He pulled a small bottle of pills from his short’s pocket, emptied the few tablets it contained into a grubby handkerchief, shook the empty bottle in an exaggerated fashion to illustrate it and then handed it to Frankie.
She looked at the bottle label. ‘These tablets are hypoglycaemic generics, for a non-insulin diabetic condition,’ she said.
Pavli nodded his head vigorously, got into the passenger seat of the car and closed his eyes, shammed being asleep.
‘Bloody hell, Frankie, this kid is not just a pretty face, eh? We’ll worry about his future welfare when we get to safety. Right – so I’ll get in the boot; you drive us out with Pavli playing possum. Tell the gateman it’s urgent, a life or death errand of mercy for the youngster to get immediate medication from the night chemist in town. They might just fall for that, because I bet anything you like he’s had a similar kind of emergency before.’
Pavli opened his eyes again, nodded confirmation.
*
DS James Dennis stood back and gave the order for the civilian technician to light up the cutting torch and burn the heavy padlock off the steel doors.
He stood in the open doorway and when satisfied there was no imminent danger, arced the beam of his torch slowly around the operating theatre. The only sound was the whine of the motor powering the thermostatic control of the cryogenic units, accompanied by the rumble of London’s underground rail traffic.
‘I’ll look for some lights, Sarge.’ the uniformed constable with him said.
DS Dennis flipped his cell phone off. ‘We won’t – we can’t touch a thing until the SOCA guys get here, their van is on its way. They’ve had to get one or two guys over from the team at the vet’s place – and what with the pub bombing, those guys are well stretched. You might be tied up here some time, keeping an eye on this place, Constable’
‘But surely we’re wasting precious time, Sarge. You can hear the tube trains through the walls – perhaps there’s some way from here out to the tunnels for those Ukrainian bastards to plant their bombs.’
‘I’m almost certain we’ll find out that this place is run by a member of the Field family, Constable, when we sort out the maze of bogus leasing companies involved with this property, so I don’t think we have to fear any involvement with Monday’s bomb threat. Look around you, my old son. Can you see anything, like some kind of operating table or something, to give us some link or clue as to where all the gutted bodies we’ve been fishing out of the Thames recently have been coming from?’ The sarcasm dripped from DS Dennis’ voice.
The sound of the lift doors opening back along the corridor interrupted the conversation.
‘Thank you, Detective Sergeant, a fine piece of good old fashioned police work this. At least we’ve got some sort of lead on this frightful business at last.’
DS Dennis stood, his mouth wide open in astonishment, as the Deputy Police Commissioner arrived with the squad of crime scene investigators.
‘Well – not all down to me, actually, Sir, I acted on information supplied by DI Burns, the SIO on the case.’ The DS blurted out the accolade before he had time to act in self interest, as was his custom at every conceivable opportunity.
‘Good, good – where is the DI then, young man, she must be congratulated, too, and Det Supt Cowper, of course.’
DS Dennis looked around nervously at the burgeoning numbers of police personnel and forensics specialists. He saw his opportunity to spread a bit of poison and perhaps, surreptitiously, do his prospects of promotion a great deal of good. But he had no wish to be overheard.
He motioned the DPC to move away from the crowded doorway. ‘The DI is gone deep cover, Sir. She’s successfully infiltrated the Field family, according to reports. But the Superintendent is also incommunicado at the moment, on her instructions. I am more than a bit concerned though, and I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn when I tell you that I was at the crime scene with him when we found evidence suggesting his wife is playing – well, I can only describe it as fast and lose, with one or more of certain parties possibly involved in this mutilated bodies case.’ He nodded at the operating table.
‘Hmmm.’ The DPC pondered a moment. ‘And what exactly is your concern, then, Sergeant? You think the Superintendent has got himself in some kind of danger, or suggesting perhaps that the DI has found something out at the Fields’ place which has further compromised him?’
‘I’m supposed to be the DI’s cover officer, Sir, but to put it bluntly, I seem to have been cut off completely from what is going on between my two immediate superior officers on the case. I’m just saying I don’t know what to make of it, Sir, other than that the Superintendent is in trauma, obvious domestic trouble. The DI is his protégé, a very attractive one, who utterly idolises him, and I have heard nothing from either since early this morning.’
‘Just make sure you keep your conjectures under your hat, for now then, Sergeant. We’ve got enough to worry about with the news media trying to contain speculation about the crazy Ukrainian’s bomb threat. It doesn’t help us that we can’t deny the Knishovo family and his soldiers have just disappeared into thin air, without trace. But it certainly looks like this lot will give us adequate grounds to jump on the Fields when we confirm ownership here. Any action, unfortunately, must wait until we avert the damage this Knishovo maniac has threatened the city with. There just isn’t the manpower available for the next thirty-six hours. We thought we had the Field bunch bang to rights with The Crimea incident, but the DPP unfortunately reckons that the Ukrainian’s have too many enemies, not least of them a suspected Al- Qaeda element among the local Asian population. It would be too embarrassing, after recent incidents, for us to pin the pub bombing on anyone with such a risk of extremely expensive repercussions, whether justified in the name of the Prevention of Terrorism Act or otherwise. We’re just too thin on the ground to cover all subversive elements with twenty-four-seven surveillance. So you make sure you keep me informed at my office, there’s a good chap.’
‘I will get onto it right away, Sir.’
DS Dennis waited until the DPC disappeared from view on his way back to the lift, and then dialled a number on his cell phone. ‘Bee-Bee – tomorrow is a definite go for Knishovo’s appointment with the Fields. Call me soon as you can, to confirm.’
*
Petruso Knishovo poured another glass of vodka. He was sat out on the wooden decking of the patio-come-veranda in the coolest, most relaxing place he could find. He looked out across the pastures at the farmhouse on his two thousand acre estate in Essex. Safe from surveillance there, he ruminated on the fine detail of the proposed raid on the Fields. His unseeing gaze rested on what appeared to be two endless, uniform processions of red and white fireflies. They flickered in their opposing paths across the dark, velvet blanket of the horizon. In reality, the spectacle was a perfectly typical optical illusion caused by the endless stream of vehicle lights in the clammy darkness of the summer night, some six kilometres distant on the M11 motorway.
His wife, Sveta, was sprawled out on a sun lounger, enjoying the cool kiss of the night air on the vast area of her flesh not covered by a two-piece sunsuit. Her senses revelled in the aroma of the early dew on an expanse of landscaped lawn skirting the back and both sides of the building. The myriad sounds of the rural night creatures were all but obliterated by the grating squeak of the recliner as the woman rocked to the tempo of her lethargy.
The languid ambience was pierced by the shrill tone of a cell phone.
Petruso checked the call-number display and then picked up a tarot card from Sveta’s pack on the table and flicked it over. ‘The four of cups – I know that one, I like it. What shall we do – fuck, eat? We are already drinking, and I’m not ready to fuck.’ He flicked the card at his wife. ‘Come, woman, it is the sign for us to feast, and my guts begin to think my throat has been cut and they have started chewing on my arse. I would like you to bring us supper – now.’
The command was non-compromising, but in his tone was the hint of all the affection he was emotionally able to display.
‘Vanko.’ Petruso’s excited shout accompanied the click as he snapped the phone shut.
The mafiya captain ambled to the crime tsar’s side from out of the shadows further along the veranda.
‘That call was the text message we have been waiting for from Borysko. The barge is loaded and ready for Monday. The bulk of the explosive is adequately primed with urea nitrate. And word from source assures us the police will definitely not be in our way for our visit to the Fields place.’
Sveta untangled from the embrace of the recliner, flicked the card back at Petruso and went inside the farmhouse. Plying her husband with food was always a good excuse to indulge her addiction to comfort eating, and her figure suggested the addiction was taking her steadily towards the exact opposite of the subconscious aim. But the least she knew of Petruso’s activities, the more unaware she was of what dangers might befall the family and the less frightened she would be for her life. The bombing at the Plaistow pub had robbed her of the services of one gem of a man who had made a big contribution to making her life bearable in this new, godforsaken homeland. Oh, poor Mikel, God rest his soul, was only too happy, when circumstances presented a safe, heaven-sent opportunity, to make a pleasurably big contribution. But he was gone now, and the only attentions to the hunger for tender loving care and the constant throb in her knickers would be the inescapable ritual with Petruso. Whether their sexual encounters were a sixty-second, one-off skirmish, or a booze and temper inflamed series of attacks, their bouts of coital union were, for far too long, sad matters of “Wham, bam, thank-you, Mam”.
She selected a carving knife and took a packet of saveloy sausages from the refrigerator. The East End delicacy was one of Petruso’s favourite sandwich fillers. As she put the knife to the skin and her fingers tightened gently, fondling the sausage, she sighed and a tear ran down her cheek. A smiled creased her face through the tears at the ridiculous picture in her brain. The size, the texture, the firmness, everything about the smooth length of meat reminded her of the look and feel of Mikel’s very tasty sandwich filler. She rolled one in a tissue and slipped it inside the folds of her sunsuit to protect it. Petruso would be drinking for a considerable time yet. He would take no more notice of how she whiled her time in the sun lounger than he had all evening. While he ate, drank and trumpeted his bravery and ingenuity with Vanko, she would hold close to her the foolish reminder of a man who lived to satisfy the part of her that ached so, with only that one purpose in mind. But now, with the death of poor Mikel, gone forever was the kind of loving they had shared in many torrid, stolen interludes. She squeezed her thighs together; there was a strange warmness, deep in her belly, which had nothing to do with the oppressive heat of the night or want for any man she would see again. With luck, Petruso would drink past the ability to make his way to her bed, because his inept romancing would do nothing but add to the ache inside her.
Sveta carried the refreshment out to the two men, taking great care not to disturb their enthusiastic elaborations on how they were to vanquish the remains of the Field family, and with them the City of London’s underground rail system. She returned to her recliner. It was a pity Petruso couldn’t be primed with some of that urea nitrate he was on about, because there was very little explosive in his bedroom ability lately as far as she was concerned. She sighed again. If the four of cups card was kind to her tonight, she might dream of Mikel.