Black Noise (29 page)

‘I don’t think he knows what’s happening in Dillon’s house,’ she said. ‘Dillon doesn’t want anyone coming in. He wants to be alone there in the kingdom he has created for himself.’

They only had a few minutes to prepare to meet the killer in his own world.

They left the van two streets away, partially as a precaution and partially because many of the alleys in Shangani were too narrow for car traffic.

It was almost four o’clock. They still had a good two hours of light. In Zanzibar, sunset was always after six, year round.

If the men hadn’t been with them, Lia would have been so terrified she couldn’t have moved. Now she was just able to keep it together. Knowing that Paddy, Rico and Ron were there helped, and knowing that they had guns.

Mari also had to have other safety measures she wasn’t talking about. She had to.

Lia and Mari walked together, slowly. Step by step they approached the house. The streets were so narrow here, just small lanes surrounded by high building walls. It felt as if someone could have just reached out from one of the houses and touched them at any moment.

They saw the crumbling walls of Tippu Tib’s great house and the gaping windows of the upper floors. A bad smell wafted from the large, once beautiful door, like the stench of a mouldy cellar. They circled the building, approaching its corner and the side alley with no name.

Philip Dillon was there.

They recognised him immediately, the man whose legs they had seen on the videos, the man who had killed Berg on their own snuff film.

Dillon almost had his back to them, stopped in front of his house staring at his phone. They saw his strong back and that he was punching buttons on the device.

They just had to go, Lia knew.

Mari walked ahead, a large tourist map held poorly folded in her hands. Dillon heard them coming and turned to look. For a quick moment Lia gazed at the man who had killed five people, a man the likes of whom should not even exist and who did not deserve to walk free in the same world as real people. And yet, here he was.

Lia lowered her eyes. She couldn’t stare. Dillon looked surprisingly small and strange. His hair was cropped unusually short. He was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit any puzzle, and yet his bearing exuded a focused power.

God help me. Get me away from here.

Lia felt Mari’s grip on her arm. Mari went first and Lia had to follow. Mari’s will carried them forward. Lia felt her legs faltering.

How would they look to him? Dressed for the heat, sunglasses, the woman in the front carrying a big wrinkled tourist map.

Does he realise who we are? Has he seen us in the city? Does he suspect something?

‘Excuse me,’ Mari called to him.

Lia froze. Mari dragged her along, encouraging her to continue walking, and Lia thought she had never seen anyone be so brave. Her head was pounding, echoing warning cries of danger.

They walked forward slowly. Dillon was only ten metres away now, staring at them.

They could see his face properly now. A narrow, expressionless face, as if chiselled with a knife. The man whose videos of murder were like personal messages from the Devil.

‘Excuse me,’ Mari said, ‘is Freddie Mercury’s house around here?’

Lia walked towards the man in a complete fog. She registered his movements, saw the distance to him growing shorter but didn’t know how Mari could continue forward.

Lia couldn’t any more. She couldn’t even breathe.

Then Dillon took a long step towards them. They saw his strength, his body pure pent-up power. He moved lightly, his phone still in his hand. He didn’t say anything.

Dillon looked at them intensely, with something in his eyes Lia didn’t recognise. She had never seen eyes like that before.

Was it possible that eyes like that existed in this world, eyes that showed both intelligence and some unnatural presence?

Dillon extended his hand with the phone, pointing with it at their map, the big pile of paper in Mari’s hands.

Then Ron appeared behind Dillon, something black flew through the air, the same black arc as in the House of Wonders.

This is a miracle,
Lia thought.

Dillon was already on his way to the ground when he shouted and lashed out. The black hood blinded him, but he flailed back furiously with something sharp and shiny that had appeared in his hand. Lia gave a yelp, and Mari jerked backwards, but Ron was prepared for the attack.

Ron dodged and with a quick, calm motion of his arm knocked the knife from Dillon’s hand. A shiny silver switchblade fell to the ground. Ron grabbed Dillon by the neck and forced him down to the street.

They heard Paddy coming, running up behind them and jumping on Dillon.

The three men wrestled. Hooded, Dillon was like a bellowing, nearly uncontrollable animal. He pulled and kicked, struggling with his whole muscular body. And then Ron pressed his pistol against Dillon’s metatarsus and fired a shot through the silencer. Dillon twisted in pain, and as he collapsed to the ground, it occurred to Lia that she had never seen anything like that happen to a person. It was as if the plug powering him had simply been pulled out of the socket.

Paddy and Ron carried the killer in.

Philip Dillon was still wearing the black hood Ron had put on. It was made of a light fabric that wouldn’t suffocate him but kept him from seeing and muffled his voice. As the first order of business, they tied his hands behind his back and bound his feet at the ankles.

The front door of the house wasn’t locked, so getting in was easier than they had dared to hope. As they stepped through the dark, low wooden door set in the thick, white stone walls, Lia noticed that she could breathe again.

The order of tasks was clear to everyone. This was what they had been going over all day. They had to find out what was in the building and make sure they were safe. They had to put Dillon somewhere he couldn’t get out of and then immediately determine whether his prisoners were in the house and alive.

Ron locked the front door after them and, weapon in hand, checked that no one was in the inner courtyard. Paddy and Rico dragged Dillon, and Mari and Lia followed.

Lia had a hard time taking her eyes off Dillon, even though staring at him was strangely taxing. Here was the killer who had taken so many lives. Even sprawled on the floor unconscious he was frightening. It was as if he might power back up at any second and attack them.

Dillon was wearing heavy, black shoes – the ones they had seen in the videos. His trousers were a lighter, thinner fabric than the jeans in the video images. His shirt was thin with short sleeves.

This man who kills almost for fun wears lighter clothing in hot climates. Just like everyone else.

The thought felt absurd but also helped her snap back to reality. Philip Dillon was a man, dangerous but stoppable.

Suddenly Lia was back in the situation and in control of herself.

The house was big, the rooms connected by narrow, winding corridors. Ron listened at each door for a moment, pistol at the ready, waiting for sounds inside.

One by one the rooms turned out empty.

No one. Neither of the prisoners they had seen on the videos.

Finding that Dillon didn’t seem to have any accomplices was a relief, but they immediately moved on to other matters. It was much more important that the prisoners weren’t there.

‘There must be a cellar,’ Mari said.

An old building like this was almost guaranteed to have a cellar. Rico went to look for it.

Paddy and Ron were lifting Dillon off the floor when the kick came.

Lia saw it but didn’t have time to cry out. All they heard was Ron’s terse grunt when Dillon’s legs shoved him in the temple.

Suddenly revived, Dillon had strained his body to the limit, but the kick didn’t land hard. Dillon couldn’t see where to aim through the bag, and his legs were tied at the ankles, so his effort was imprecise. Ron only staggered backwards.

‘Shit!’ Paddy yelled, grabbing Dillon by the legs.

He tried to kick Paddy, but Paddy’s grip held and then Ron was back in charge of the situation.

‘Stop,’ he said and pressed his gun against Dillon’s head.

The kicking stopped.

‘His shoes,’ Mari said.

Paddy took off Dillon’s shoes. Feeling the touch of Ron’s weapon, Dillon didn’t try to resist any more.

Paddy and Ron dragged Dillon into the next room and dumped him in a chair. Paddy checked the cords on Dillon’s hands and ankles while Ron stood guard.

None of them could speak. Surprising the killer, getting into the house, sweeping the rooms and getting him tied up had been a huge effort. Now the strain began releasing bit by bit.

Only Dillon remained tense. Lia could see his muscles flexing as he tested the strength of the ties on his hands.

When Rico returned and asked Mari and Paddy to come with him into the cellar he had found, there was a moment of confusion.

Paddy didn’t want to leave Dillon, but Ron claimed he could guard him alone.

‘Lia, can you stay here with Ron?’ Mari asked.

Lia blanched.

‘Yes… Yes.’

Everyone heard the uncertainty in Lia’s voice.

‘Take this,’ Paddy said, handing her the familiar Heckler & Koch P7.

Holding the pistol helped. Lia immediately felt surer with it in her hands, as if all those hours she had spent practising shooting were concentrated in this moment. No matter what kind of creature Philip Dillon was, he wasn’t going to be able to get up and out of that chair without Ron and Lia having time to stop him.

Mari, Rico and Paddy left for the cellar. Lia and Ron waited quietly, both of them staring at Dillon bound to the chair. The only sound in the room was Dillon’s breathing. He seemed to be gasping for breath under the hood, but Lia didn’t want to take it off. If someone asked her to remove the hood, she didn’t know if she would have the courage.

They each took a turn inspecting the cellar. Rico soon returned to ask Lia and Ron to come with him once Paddy was back to guard Dillon.

‘Bastard,’ Paddy hissed at Dillon when he walked into the room, and in the cellar Lia saw why.

There were three small rooms. Windowless chambers. In the first there were only shelves on the walls with containers, boxes and paper files. In the middle one there were metal buckets filled with something festering with a dark, saccharine smell. Lia had no desire to linger, and didn’t dare look at the contents of the buckets.

In the rear room was a desk with computers and a tangle of wires on the floor nearby leading to devices Lia didn’t recognise. Somewhere beyond the walls a generator hummed.

All of the computers were on, and Lia could see that Rico had used one of them. On the screen were images. The machine had a camera connection to somewhere. In the small windows they could see movement, people just barely visible in the darkness.

Just barely alive, Lia thought. Theo Durand and Aldo Zambrano.

Dillon’s prisoners were alive, but the cameras were connected to an unknown location.

Mari’s ability to lead in difficult situations came to the fore again.

‘Look at the camera connections to see if you can find out anything,’ she said to Rico.

On the stairs leading back up, she told the others what would happen next. They would set up a command post in one of the rooms and hold Dillon there. Rico would concentrate on the computers in the cellar and try to track the prisoners that way. Mari would talk to Dillon.

‘The men will be there in the next room. It would be better if Paddy and Ron weren’t visible,’ Mari said.

‘Why?’ Lia asked.

‘Because Dillon feels uncertain around women.’

Lia knew Mari was expecting something of her too, but she didn’t dare think what.

While Ron rejoined Paddy to guard Dillon, Mari and Lia held back for a while to walk through the empty living quarters of the upper floors. Mari wanted to see what was in the rooms.

The furnishings were scant and all well-worn. The kitchen looked downright crude. Half rusted pipes ran along the walls, and the table and shelves were full of used dishes.

A strange sight waited in two other rooms. When they stepped into them, at first they just had to stop and stare. Everywhere there were photographs, framed and unframed. Mixed in were boards plastered with newspaper clippings, but most of the area was covered with small photographs.

All of them showed Freddie Mercury. Other members of Queen appeared in some of them, but as she walked from wall to wall Lia realised there wasn’t a single picture without Mercury.

Some of the pictures were familiar, the same pictures from album covers and concert placards used everywhere. But soon they noticed something strange: most of the pictures looked like anything but professional, touched-up advertising images. Freddie Mercury laughing with his eyes shut surrounded by friends. Freddie Mercury sitting on the steps of a building smoking. Freddie Mercury walking down the street so fast all you could make out was a blur.

Philip Dillon had collected hundreds, perhaps thousands of pictures of Freddie Mercury’s private life.

‘Some fans do this,’ Mari said.

Fans could pay considerable sums for pictures that let them feel in touch with a star’s everyday life. Friends, domestic servants and people who just happened to meet a star on the street were constantly selling them.

Some of the pictures were already yellowing from age, and they spanned the singer’s entire life. Lia noticed a strange effect from the old photographs. Looking at them you started to feel that Mercury was almost present. Philip Dillon must have felt like a part of his idol’s life.

‘We don’t have time to look at these any more closely now,’ Mari said.

Lia nodded.

‘I need you for something, if you can handle it.’

‘What?’

‘Come with me to talk to Dillon.’

Paddy didn’t like Mari’s plan but agreed to it when he heard that he and Ron could monitor the situation from the next room.

‘It’s enough for one of you to be there the whole time,’ Mari said. ‘The other can search the cellar and upstairs rooms.’

‘What are we looking for?’ Ron asked.

‘Anything,’ Mari said. ‘Anything could be hiding in a house like this.’

The door to the next room was open, and Lia could see Dillon on his chair, tied with cords. The cords didn’t look as tight as Lia had hoped.

Mari pulled Paddy aside for a second, and they whispered so the others couldn’t hear. Lia wiped her brow. The house was hot. In the cellar, Rico was studying camera images of prisoners who had been tortured and might be languishing anywhere. Now they had to concentrate on that, no matter what happened.

Mari returned. Taking Lia by the hand, she squeezed. Without a word, Mari walked into the room where Philip Dillon was sitting, and Lia followed.

That was when she noticed she was still holding the pistol in her other hand.