The Silent Pool (20 page)

‘So what happened with this kid?’

‘He went for a walk on Formby beach and never came back. He was an immigrant, no family. I think people assumed he'd gone back to Bosnia. And then it turns out Burns got hold of him, tortured him and killed him in a horrible fashion just like his other victims. Terrible, just terrible.’

‘Do you remember the boy's name?’

‘No, I'm afraid, something “ski”?’

Pete looked at the photograph again.

‘Almost seems like the people in this photograph are cursed. Ford dead, the Bosnian boy dead and Stephen missing.’

Gordon looked out at the sun, which was beginning to set, purple and orange glows suffusing the allotment between the long shadows.

‘I don't believe in such things and you seem like a sensible man so I assume you don't either. It's getting late and I think we'd best be leaving. It can get rough here late at night and I need to lock up.’

Pete had got back in his car and immediately used his iPhone to Google Giles Petersen. He had come up with an architect partnership in Crosby called Petersen and Gould. Their website had bios of the partners and a helpful pictures. Pete compared it with the photograph. It was indisputably the same man except fatter, a lot fatter. The youth had filled out but the mop of blond hair was still there on the man.

Pete checked his watch and then called the number on the website. A receptionist answered.

‘Hello, Petersen and Gould how can I help you?’

‘Can I speak to Mr Petersen, please?’

‘I'm afraid he's out for the day. I'm Emma, his assistant, can I help?’

‘Hi Emma, yes, it's Dave here from UPS, I've got a delivery here for Mr Petersen, I've got an address for his house, Claremont Street, Crosby?’

‘No, that's his work address. He lives on the Wirral, Caldy. Hang on a second, I'll get you his address.’

Emma gave him an upmarket address in a plush suburb on the Wirral.

‘You're a star, Emma,’ he said.

‘No problem, glad to be of assistance.’

Next he Googled Frank Burns’ victims. The Bosnian kid's name was Tomas Radzinski. The murders were as he remembered but worse, much worse.

Pete called Erasmus but there was no answer. He left a message for Erasmus to call him back.

Thirty-five minutes and a journey under the Mersey tunnel later and Pete was parked on the street some two hundred yards down from Giles’ house. It was a leafy street with large and expensive houses. Giles Petersen had obviously done very well for himself, thought Pete.

But nothing in his bio explained why Pete wasn't the only person keeping a watch on Giles Petersen.

Pete would have parked his car closer to Petersen's house, perhaps another hundred yards down the road, from there he would have a clear line of sight to the front door and windows of the house. He had initially driven down the street and noticed a black Audi A5 parked in the place he would have chosen and there were two men sitting in the car. As he passed the car he checked his rear-view mirror. What was unmistakably a pair of binoculars rested on the Audi's dashboard.

He had parked up behind a large 4X4 further down the street and on the same side, hidden, he hoped from the watchers observing Petersen's house.

He rang Erasmus. This time Erasmus answered. Pete detected a slur.

‘Hey, what's up?’

‘I've found one of your boys. Trouble is someone else has too. You need to get down here right away. And Erasmus?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Stop drinking.’

CHAPTER 25

It took a cup of black coffee and a cold shower before Erasmus felt he could leave his apartment, and even then he was sure if he got pulled over by the police he would be losing his license. He put the pig's head in a bin bag and deposited it in a skip outside his apartment complex and then clambered gingerly into his old VW to go and meet Pete.

He had left Jenna's early that morning, unsure of what had happened but by the taste of stale whisky in his mouth he was sure of why. He had woken up face down on her couch with a mouthful of dog hair. When Jenna has walked into the living room, one eyebrow raised in mock annoyance he cracked a joke about client/attorney privilege and she had told him he had better not bill her for the hour she had spent listening to him talk about Miranda and that bastard Jeff. It hadn't been his finest hour.

He arrived in Caldy half an hour after the call from Pete and, as instructed, parked in an adjoining street to Petersen's road.

Nice neighbourhood
, he thought to himself as he entered Ferguson Lane. Somewhere he imagined he could have ended up living with Miranda and Abby if things hadn't turned out so disastrously between them. He tried not to think of the night before and Jeff, but it wasn't easy. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked.

He spotted Pete's battered old Saab convertible parked behind a large Mercedes. He knocked at the passenger window and then opened the unlocked door.

‘What took you so long?’ said Pete without looking at Erasmus. Pete's eyes were fixed on the gate to Giles’ house.

‘Traffic. So, where are these watchers?’

‘A hundred yards ahead in the black Audi. Two men, look like professionals. No one's nipped out for McDonalds yet. And since when does traffic make you smell like you do? Jesus, you reek of booze, it's coming out of your pores.’

Erasmus shook his head in disbelief at the staggering, the vaulting hypocrisy and then decided his brain was still far too fuzzy to provide a riposte worthy of such chutzpah.

‘Who do you think they are?’

‘I have no idea. All I know is that someone else is interested in Giles.’

‘Somebody broke into my flat last night and put a pig's head in there.’

Pete looked at Erasmus and then looked away quickly. ‘Say again. Did you say a pig's head?’

‘Yeah. Someone's trying to frighten me.’

‘Any idea who?’

Erasmus nodded. ‘Some. Maybe these guys?’

‘Does a pig's head hold any significance for you?’

‘None,’ lied Erasmus. ‘I think someone is trying to nudge me, stop me looking under rocks.’

‘Are you going to stop?’

‘I've been threatened. What do you think?’

Pete blew out his cheeks. He had seen this look on Eramsus’ face before and he knew it didn't bode well for someone down the line.

‘Look!’ said Erasmus.

A blue Toyota Prius had passed them, and it was indicating right. It pulled into Giles’ driveway. From their angle they couldn't see who got out of the car. What they did see, a minute later, was the two men from the Audi get out of the car and walk briskly up the drive to Giles’ house.

Erasmus watched as one of the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun.

‘Oh shit!’ said Pete.

‘I'm calling the police,’ said Pete. He took out his mobile phone and began to dial.

Erasmus reached over and placed his hand on Pete's. ‘Don't.’

‘But they are armed.’

Erasmus looked at Pete and didn't let go of the phone. ‘I think these guys are connected to the people who attacked Jenna. I'm going to find out.’

Erasmus was out of the car and jogging towards the house before Pete could stop him.

Pete swore again and followed him.

Erasmus reached the driveway and poked his head quickly around the gatepost. He saw that the front door was shut. The men must be inside. He waited for Pete to arrive.

‘OK, here's the plan. I'm going in the front. Whatever they're doing they aren't going to do it with someone ringing the front doorbell constantly. You take the backdoor.’

There was no debate. Pete nodded and then shot up the driveway in a running crouch and jumped over a wall to the back garden.

Erasmus took a deep breath and then stood up and walked calmly to the front door. He rang the bell. From beyond the door he heard a muffled cry. He rang the bell again. There was no response. Then he pressed the bell continuously.

Twenty seconds later he heard footsteps approaching the door and then it opened. The man who answered was about the same height as Erasmus, six foot or so, but seemed twice as wide. The man had a bandage around his head and Erasmus recognised him as the man he had knocked unconscious in Jenna's house. He had the nose of a boxer and his hands were behind his back, clearly he was holding something. That was a big mistake.

‘Yeah, what do you…?’

The man never finished the sentence. Erasmus jumped forward and head butted him hard on the nose. He heard bone cracking, and as the man fell backwards Erasmus swept a foot around his collapsing legs and caught him as he went down. Once he was down he hit him hard on the side of the temple and the man blacked out. Gently, Erasmus lowered him to the floor.

As he did so the gun that the man had been holding fell on the carpet. Erasmus recognised a small-bore Sig Sauer .22.

There was a shout from a room off the main hallway. ‘Barry, is everything all right?’

Erasmus picked up the Sig Sauer and quietly made his way to the doorway. When he reached the door he halted for a second before quickly sticking his head around the door and then withdrawing it a millisecond before a bullet permanently ended his curiosity.

The gunshot sounded like thunder in the enclosed space and Erasmus realised that the shooter had a larger, more powerful firearm than the .22 he held.

The brief look into kitchen had revealed an unusual domestic scene. A man Erasmus assumed must be Giles had been trussed up like a chicken with bungee cords and tied to a chair. Another man, mid-twenties and scared looking, was standing next to him holding the gun he had just tried to kill Erasmus with. It seemed that the man he had knocked unconscious again had a new sidekick.

‘Who are you?’ shouted the man.

Good question
, thought Erasmus. The guy was clearly excitable and unnerved by the turn of events. It was obvious to Erasmus that the older, more experienced man had taken charge and when Erasmus kept ringing the doorbell had decided to answer the door and get rid of the nuisance. He probably didn't trust the younger guy not to shoot anyone or his own foot. This could be dangerous.

‘There has been a change of plan. I'm replacing Barry. He's had to leave. Listen, I'm going to throw my gun down and step out. Don't blow things by shooting me in the face.’

Erasmus threw the gun into clear view and then counted to three.

‘I'm stepping out now.’

Slowly he stepped into the kitchen doorway.

The guy was standing no more than fifteen feet away and despite the fact that he was sweating and shaking Erasmus knew that if he pulled the trigger he couldn't miss from that range.

Giles was also shaking and his eyes were bulging and full of tears. Erasmus recognised him from the photograph, twenty years and one hundred pounds difference, but undoubtedly the boy in the photograph standing next to Stephen.

‘Where's Barry?’ said the man with the gun. There was a tremor in his voice.

‘I've sent him back. Change of plans.’

‘And who the fuck are you?’ shouted the man.

‘My name is Mike. I am Barry's boss.’

The young man pointed his gun at Giles. ‘What about him? Are we still taking him?’

‘The Boss wants us to bring him along, unharmed.’

He jerked his head towards Giles. ‘You say the Boss wants him unharmed, eh?’ The gunman brought the gun down with a sharp smack against Giles head. Giles made a grunting noise and then his head slumped to one side.

‘Don't!’.

The gunman eyed Erasmus suspiciously. ‘We were told we could rough him up a little. You said that.’ He looked up at Eramsus and his eyes narrowed. ‘So, tell me, just who is the Boss?’ asked the gunman.

Erasmus didn't hesitate. ‘Father Michael, of course,’ said Erasmus.

The man immediately brought up his gun and pointed it at Erasmus’ face. ‘What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?’

‘Steady, that thing goes off it's going to be mighty messy in here and it looks like these walls have just been painted.’

Erasmus saw the handle on the back door slowly turn. The gunman had his back to the door and was oblivious as the door opened and Pete stepped into the kitchen.

‘Tell me now or you're a dead man.’

‘My name is Erasmus Jones and I can tell you that you've only committed an assault and a firearms offence. You are golden at the moment, you can walk away from this. What's your name?’

Erasmus saw with dismay that the man's hands were shaking. All a trigger needed was a slight increase in pressure and a large calibre bullet would be on its way into his forehead.

‘Like I'm going to tell you my name. What are you doing here?’

‘I'm a friend of Giles’. We were going to dinner?’

‘I heard he was a gaybo. People like you make me sick, you freaks.’

Erasmus watched Pete start to reach for a large copper-bottomed saucepan.

‘You know what they say, homophobics are just latent homosexuals. Your friend out in the hall, do you and him team up after a hard day's kidnapping and share a bath and a bottle of Chablis?’

‘What! You motherfucker! Say that again, I dare you, I fucking double dare you!’

Erasmus saw Pete grab the pan. The gunman must have seen Erasmus’ eyes flicker to one side. He began to turn around just as Pete swung the pan towards his head. The gun went off, the bullet hitting and knocking the pan from Pete's hands. Erasmus darted forward and punched the man hard in the spot at the back of the neck where a bundle of nerves came together. The punch immediately disabled the gunman, his legs folding underneath him and his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He slumped to the floor.

‘Nice work,’ said Pete. He had picked up the saucepan and was examining it. There was a jagged hole where the bullet had passed through. ‘So what now?’

‘Well, we untie Giles first and see what he has to say for himself.’

‘OK.’

Erasmus picked up a kitchen knife from the worktop and then began to cut through the gaffer tape that bound Giles.

In the meantime Pete was busy unspooling tape from the roll that had been on the table next to Giles and tying up the unconscious gunman.

‘There is another one of them in the hallway.’