The Angels of Destiny (7 page)

"The call was logged at 19:04 last night. After your call, we went straight to his place but Black was already out. We waited there for him to return, unaware he was picking up some hooker at the Paradise Club."

"What happened?"

"He took her to a hotel room off Westheimer and Richmond, strangled her and then cut his throat in the bath."

"Who found them?"

"Room service. One of our boys has checked the police report; there was no suicide note and no suspicious circumstances. The room was clean, apart from the blood I mean."

"Save it, you asshole. What about the Coroner
’
s report?"

"It
’
ll read suicide for Black, murder one for the whore."

"Can
’
t we keep the girl out of this?"

"No way. The press were there in minutes and both bodies were removed in full view of the cameras."

"Fuck! This is the last thing we want. A suicide, maybe but, not a murder as well. Okay, I
’
ll prepare the press statement for the morning," said Hunter, replacing the receiver. In a strange way, Hunter felt some relief. He wasn't responsible for Samuel
’
s death and there was no reason for Samuel to blab, but the unexpected events of last night disturbed him.

The following hours before dawn seemed to last forever. Hunter had downed numerous cups of strong black coffee trying to keep his mind focused on the events of the day ahead. He had decided to make a conference connect call with the team members at precisely six-thirty. This would mean that he could break the news to all of the team at the same time and remind them of the necessity to say nothing. The press statement about Samuel Black would be low key and a complete fabrication of the truth.

It was now eight-thirty and Hunter looked very tired, but still managed to greet each member of the team as they entered the conference room. The normal conversations and chit-chat that preceded a meeting were missing and the room was in silence. When everyone was seated he stood up.

For a moment Hunter said nothing, his head was down and his hands supported his upper body weight on the table. Slowly raising his head he began. "This is a sad day ladies and gentlemen... We have lost a very fine man in what seems like unbelievable circumstances. I do not intend to go through the events of last night again, our conference talk this morning should have explained all of that, as best we can, with the information currently available to us. I know that Samuel will be sadly missed by all of us. It....It seems such a waste of lives. I for one didn
’
t suspect that he had a problem, especially one that would eventually drive him to suicide. Did any of you suspect anything?" Looking at each other for reassurance, the team all answered
‘
no
’
to the question.

"Obviously, under the circumstances, there will be a post-mortem but as soon as we have a date for the burial I will let you all know. I presume each of you will want to pay your last respects? The M13 project, however, must go on and I
’
m sure that would have been Samuel
’
s wish, too." Everyone nodded in agreement. "I have decided that Rob will take over as Project Manager." The first smiles of the day convinced Hunter that the choice was correct. McPherson had been approached by Hunter before the meeting and was expecting the announcement. The team
’
s approval and the congratulations that followed delighted him. Vicki managed to catch his glance and winked her approval. She knew he was the right choice. He had the experience and respect of everyone, especially her.

By eleven o
’
clock a list of the twenty-six girls, working at the Paradise Club the night before, had been given to government investigating offices. Most of the girls were sleeping when they were knocked-up to answer questions, something guaranteed to upset any women of the night. Most of them had little to tell about what they saw, not because they were holding back information, after all it was one of them that had been killed, but simply because they hadn
’
t seen anything out of the norm.

The majority of the statements mentioned that Samuel Black looked agitated and nervous and six girls had noticed that Mandy had left with Samuel. Four girls had still to be interviewed and were not contactable that day. One was the girl who had brought Samuel his cigarettes.

During the afternoon, Hunter had studied the available statements in great detail. "Call Inspecting Officer Wayne to my office," demanded Hunter abruptly into the phone.

"Of course, sir," replied Linda, speaking into the videophone from her office near by. Within minutes Wayne was sitting in front of Hunter listening to his instructions intently.

"I want you to find the girls that haven't been interviewed yet."

"We
’
ve tried to sir."

"That
’
s not good enough, someone knows where they are. I want twenty-six statements in front of me by tomorrow morning at the latest. Do you understand?"

“
Yes, sir," replied Wayne. He was a senior officer who had worked for Hunter on many occasions. Although Hunter was often abrupt and forceful, Wayne respected him for it. He trusted the man and knew that the pressure he was under was enough to kill off most men half his age.

"I
’
ll do my best sir."

“
Good. I want to know everything Samuel said and did that night at the club. Find out who served him drinks. Who pushed their tits into his face. Everything... It
’
s important. Interview them all again if you have to."

“
Yes, sir," responded Wayne, in military fashion.

Back at the Ellington Building McPherson had entered the main control room some minutes after midday and was busy running data through the system that had been gathered on the third day of listening. During one of the runs the software flagged a pattern repetition alarm.

McPherson called to Yuri who was sitting at a terminal on the other side of the room. "Yuri, I have something that might be interesting." Yuri immediately walked over to McPherson
’
s terminal.

"What are they saying?" asked Yuri, jokingly.

McPherson smiled at his comment. "I have a pattern match to level 5, on day three data."

"Is that significant?" enquired Yuri.

"It may be, but I need to run it through a second filter before I can answer that. The problem is that the signals are extremely weak." Within seconds the terminal had flashed a message saying:
‘
Pattern indeterminate at level two.
’

"There
’
s your answer, Yuri," said McPherson, smiling.

"Well, at least the softwares working."

"I always knew it would," responded McPherson, in a confident manner. "If we can get to level three filter and still have a pattern then we can categorize the sample into its respective bin."

"Lets hope it
’
s bin 10, Rob."

"Yeah, now that would be something to get excited about...When the Gods answer.
”

Wayne had driven to the Paradise Club and parked up in a place reserved for Gold Card members. He watched through the drivers window as the day staff left the building and the evening staff arrived. The indicators on his automobile flashed as he pressed the key fob as he walked to the club entrance.

As he entered the main door he was approached by a tall heavily set man in a dinner suite.

"Get me the manager," said Wayne abruptly.

"You
’
re out of luck mister, he
’
s not here, so clear off." Removing his identity card he flashed it under his nose. "Just get him, asshole."

Within minutes he was ushered into an office accessed from a lift near the main entrance. The door to the office opened as Wayne approached and he was greeted by the manager who smiled and held out his hand as Wayne walked in.

"Good evening, I
’
m Richie, manager here at the Paradise Club. Please come in and sit down officer," he said, pointing to a seat in front of his highly polished leather clad desk in the corner of the room.

Wayne obliged. Looking around the room he noticed the framed photos of naked girls hanging on the walls.

"My bread and butter. Hope you don
’
t find it too distracting?"

Wayne responded with just a smile.

"May I please see your ID, officer?" Wayne again flashed his ID card for him to inspect.

“
Thanks, Officer Wayne, only you get some real nut-cases in this business and it
’
s uh
…
always good to know who you
’
re talking to." The deep scar that crossed his right eye and continued on down his cheek was testimony to that. "What a bloody tragedy, that murder last night. She was one of my best girls you know. I only wish I
’
d got to him before he cut his own throat. My girls are upset. Could have been any one of them. The bastard!
”

"I need to talk to some of them," said Wayne, with no sign of emotion in his voice.

“
What, now?"

"Yeah, now.
”

"But, they
’
re working."

"I want to talk to Linda McCall, Cathy Stranks, Jane Montanna and Kate Hudson…Now!"

"Okay, okay. I
’
ll do what I can."

Vicki was sitting in her office and thought about the events of the last few weeks. How Samuel had pushed her to the limit at times. How, at other times he had been so sweet to her. She had not noticed any obvious signs that would have indicated that the man had had a problem. He had often looked tired and stressful, often shouted at her, but that was normal for someone running a project of such importance, especially when things were not going to plan. There was no doubt though, she would miss him. Samuel had never expressed his feelings towards her and Vicki would never know just how much he had lusted after her and masturbated watching her making love to McPherson. She would never know that Samuel had decided to kill himself before the call from his wife in London.

Hunter
’
s videophone buzzed and Linda
’
s face appeared on the screen. "Yes, what is it Linda?"

"Officer Wayne is in the building sir. He needs to see you urgently."

"Send him up immediately and arrange for some coffee, please Linda."

“
Yes, sir."

Soon, both Wayne and the coffee had arrived at Hunter
’
s office.

"Well, do you have anything for me?" Hunter asked, inquiringly.

"I believe I do sir. Last night Samuel was served by a girl called Cathy Stranks. She said that he ordered cigarettes and made a call on his cellphone."

"Have you checked out the call?"

"The call was made to a number in San Francisco," answered Wayne.

"Who was it to?"

"To a Tom Hudson
—
Editor of the San Francisco Herald.
”

"Fuck! That probably means he
’
s told him everything."

"Get your ass down there as fast as you can and don
’
t let him out of your sight. Find out exactly what he knows, and if you have to wipe him out, don
’
t hesitate. We can
’
t afford any leaks; do you understand?"

"Of course sir," replied Wayne, totally pissed with the idea. His promise of
‘
a session
’
from his girl friend would just have to wait another few days.

"Take some medicine with you, just in case you need it." said Hunter, in a cold uncaring tone.

“
Yes, sir." Wayne had never used
‘
medicine
’
in the past, always relying on the more conventional methods of killing. This stuff was a new designer drug, straight out of the establishment
’
s laboratories. The drug left no detectable trace in the blood and its effect was to induce a brain haemorrhage. The victim suffered severe permanent brain damage and became a
‘
vegetable.
’
Death was never instant, but guaranteed within a matter of hours.

Officer Wayne had wasted no time in traveling to San Francisco. As an expert investigator and ex-soldier, he was comfortable with this kind of mission. Having picked up a hire car at the airport he made the short drive to the city. Approaching on the 101, he
’
d decided to stay at the Hyatt Regency near the Ferry Building at Pier 1. The weather was looking good and a round of golf at the Prestidio Course near the Golden Gate Bridge was a definite if he was to relax after killing Hudson.

Because of its elevated position, Tom Hudson
’
s apartment on Laguna had panoramic views of the Bay. To the right was the Bay Bridge and to the left was the famous Golden Gate Bridge, directly ahead in the bay was Alcatraz. Below on the shoreline was the San Francisco Yacht Club where Hudson
’
s thirty-foot cabin cruiser was moored. Today the view across the bay to Alameda and San Leandro was clear and the blue sea looked calm and still, not always the case in this temperamental coastal city climate, so very different to sultry Houston.