Vienna is a beautiful city; a place bathed in imperial grandeur with a pastel palette of Baroque and Renaissance architecture which is wondrous to behold.
To do such a dreadful thing in such a beautiful place was a shame, but Harry Andrews was a terrible man who deserved everything he got. I had to humiliate him first, make him pay for all those women he’d hurt. It was easy, really. Point the gun at the head and issue the command. The weapon sleeps at the bottom of the Danube now.
‘What do you want?’
It seemed a strange thing for him to say, considering I was pointing a gun at him. Only when I gazed into his eyes did I realise he wasn’t afraid. His arrogance stopped him from worrying about his situation.
I waved the weapon at him. ‘Take your clothes off.’
My finger on the trigger removed any reluctance he might have had. He stood there in an undershirt and pants an old man would wear.
‘I’ve got money if that’s what you’re after.’
The mania in my eyes must have told him I was a druggie in search of a fix. If that was the case, he wasn’t far wrong. I pointed the gun towards the shirt, and he pulled it over his head. There were fresh scratch marks on his chest.
‘Did your last victim hurt you?’
He ran his fingers over the scratches and grinned at me. ‘Is that what this is about? You’re a friend of the family?’
He shivered in the room as I wiped the sweat from my forehead. ‘Yes, something like that.’
The fear seeped through his skin, dripped from his eyes, eroding the person he thought he was, consuming all the arrogance and confidence which drove him through his existence. The contortions were visible in his stomach, my invisible hand crushing his insides in anticipation of what was to come. His breathing was fast and erratic, coming in great clumps before disappearing for seconds as he struggled to come to terms with his imminent future.
For one moment, I recognised a promise of resistance in his startled eyes until I pushed the revolver against his skull. Any hope of defiance was crushed against the blackness of his soul. I made him strip naked before forcing his head against the flaking plaster of the wall. Whatever he’d paid to rent the property was far too much.
My knee was pressed tight against the bare skin of his back, the plastic in my left hand, gun in the right and glued to his cheek. I thought a man of his violent proclivities would protest more, would put up a fight, but all he could do was piss over the floor as I slipped the bag over his head. I dropped the gun onto the ground and got both hands on the bottom of the bag, forcing my leg even harder into his back as my fingers grabbed hold of the plastic.
As the life slipped away from him, his hands grasped at his throat, struggling to pull upwards as my knee pushed down. As I pulled hard on the plastic, his head tilted in the air, and my eyes followed his as they focused on the wall and the last things he’d ever see. I’d thought about placing photos there of the women he’d attacked, but dismissed the idea as too risky. Taking no chances of leaving any evidence behind, instead, I placed random postcards of Vienna’s sights on that spot on the wall: the Belvedere Museum, St Stephen’s Cathedral and Schönbrunn Palace. It was ironic a man so ugly on the inside would see such beauty as he breathed his last.
It’s a cathartic experience, taking another’s life, a cleansing of the soul. I wanted to defile his body, burn every part of him so he’d disappear from existence. But I couldn’t; it had to follow the same pattern as the others, be part of the larger plan.
Once it was done, I removed the postcards and dumped them into a rubbish bin as I wandered towards the Österreichische Galerie Belvedere. The museum was open for another hour, giving me plenty of time to visit some old friends. The lateness helped to thin out the annoying tourists and their selfie sticks. I glared at a few of them, picturing my technique for thinning out the herd. Once the plan was completed, plastic bags would be neither practical nor safe for when I continued. I needed to think of new methods.
As I considered using an array of knives in future endeavours, my eyes were drawn to the glitter of my old friends. A gun would also be essential to get people in position. I could still use the plastic bags on the odd occasion. It would be a sweet memory, homage to the grand plan.
I stared at my old friends, her face permanently turned away from his. A long time ago, I believed they were deeply in love, the way he embraced her in that field of cloth and gold; they were bound together, through choice, as one being – one entity.
My interpretation had changed over the years; now, I saw her as an unwilling victim of his oppression. Rather than the embodiment of true love, they were the quintessential symbols of death. Head turned away or eyes closed, pale skin contrasted with the opulent gold and green of life surrounding them. She was limp; she was passive; was she alive?
I stared at them until it was time to leave. Ushered outside, I was thinking about life and death. Dreaming about what I’d do once I returned home.
The journey to Brighton was a straight drive down the A23. Frank gave Astrid his car while he took the train to London and returned to the Agency.
‘How do you know where his home is? Only a few people at the top of the Agency hierarchy know where a director lives.’
Laurel fiddled with the seatbelt as Astrid ignored her question and cruised down the road. Laurel was uncomfortable wearing the same clothes for more than a day and had repeatedly told Astrid that as they readied to leave the Delaney household.
‘I’m sure Frank has kept all of Cara’s clothes upstairs in her room; ask him if you can borrow some.’ Laurel declined, and Astrid was glad. She shuddered at the thought of seeing Laurel wearing her dead ex-girlfriend’s clothes. ‘You’ll have to make do with what you’re wearing, then. George might have something at his place.’
They drove past a sign for Mud Mania, and Astrid grinned at the thought of getting dirty.
‘His full name was George Cross?’
Laurel appeared bemused, her pretty eyes creeping upwards as those delicious lips headed south. Astrid kept on smirking.
‘Yeah, he wanted to change it but never did. His parents were dedicated patriots. They were none too pleased when they discovered what they called his alternative lifestyle.’
On their right was a large billboard advertising Hot Tubs. Laurel scratched at her stomach as the car slowed because of the traffic.
‘How do you know where he lives?’ Laurel asked again.
‘Because he told me, and I’ve been there before. He was my friend.’
Astrid didn’t know why she’d slipped into the past tense when she mentioned him. She kept her eyes on the road. It was warm outside, so she turned on the air conditioning.
‘What happens when we get to Director Cross’s house?’
Laurel pulled at her trousers and scratched under her shirt. Her constant frustration began to annoy Astrid.
‘I take one of George’s computers and hack into the Agency system and see what they have on me.’ She was pleased with the idea, but Laurel frowned. ‘Why the long face, beautiful?’
Astrid always enjoyed flirting, more so with women than men. She’d found that men expected it to develop into something else. For them, it was an aperitif guaranteed to lead to an entree as a gateway to the main course. But for most women, it was an end in itself, something frivolous that could just be a bit of fun.
‘All your files have been moved from the main server.’ Laurel passed on the information as if updating somebody about a loved one’s death.
‘Why?’ It was disappointing to hear. She could think of any number of reasons, but wanted to know the official line.
‘I was told it was a new security protocol issued by Director Davis.’
‘And the files for the five murders?’
‘They were still on the server before I was dragged away.’
‘That will have to do then.’
Astrid sped up as the traffic cleared in front of them. She turned off the main road and headed to the retail park.
‘I thought we were going to Brighton?’
Laurel sounded puzzled. Astrid kept on driving before pulling into the underground parking for their little diversion.
‘We are, but I can’t put up with you twisting and scratching in those clothes for much longer; it’s driving me crazy. We can get you some new apparel here, assuming you have cash on you?’ It was the one thing that might scupper her impetuous plan. Laurel frowned again before checking her pockets.
‘I’ve got a card and about fifty quid in notes.’
‘The card is no good. They’ll trace you with it. Fifty is enough for a cheap and cheerful outfit.’
‘You said we didn’t have the time.’
‘It can’t be helped.’ Astrid frowned. ‘You’re distracting me too much.’
She’s distracting me in more ways than one.
‘Aren’t you worried someone might recognise us?’
She parked the car in the first empty spot.
‘You’ll need to keep some cash for the parking charge on the way out,’ Astrid said before answering the question. ‘They’re looking for us, but they’re not looking for us; officially, anyway. They can’t have any photos in the media or with regular law enforcement in case an ordinary Joe or Josephine picks us up. They wouldn’t trust me not to blab. And I know a hell of a lot.’
The Agency was the clandestine government organisation the public could never know about; the people who broke the strictest laws in the state’s name. Not that any government official could ever be connected to the work the Agency did. But Astrid knew enough to bring the government down and put many well-known high-profile public figures behind bars. Perhaps that’s why she’d been set-up as the Reaper.
They got out of the car together, Astrid’s senses assaulted by the aroma of damp concrete and dried piss. It was dark, but Astrid found the parking machine, striding towards it without a care in the world. She came back and stuck the ticket up against the glass of the windscreen where even a myopic parking attendant wouldn’t miss it. The last thing they needed was Delaney’s car in the system because of some trivial parking fine.
‘How long are we here for?’ Laurel scowled at her.
‘An hour should do it. Unless you want to go for a coffee while we’re here?’
‘You’re taking this awfully casual.’ Laurel scratched at her leg.
Astrid checked the parking lot to see if they were alone.
‘Nerves and excitement won’t do us any good; this isn’t a date.’ Though she was beginning to wish it was. ‘We treat this as if it was a normal day out.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘As long as we stay cool, the rest is only a matter of detective work.’
They strode towards the lift. Inside it, Astrid considered the last time the two of them had done this, back at Agency headquarters. Not the time squashed against the guards, but the time before when it was only the two of them, and Laurel had blushed so spectacularly at her suggestions. They went down three flights. She didn’t blush now.
‘How quickly things change.’
‘And yet still stay the same.’ Astrid stepped into the illuminated world of materialism. She grinned as she grabbed Laurel’s hand and dragged her towards the shiny new clothes adorning the multi-coloured plastic stands.