The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

As Greg quietly exited the stairwell, he could hear voices and he knew who they belonged to.

‘Do you think he's going to leave you here to starve?'

‘Why make me swallow that key, and why bring you here?'

‘I haven't got a fucking clue! But…' Martin paused, he noticed Greg's movements, ‘he's here.' Both men fell silent. Their anticipation made them nervous.

‘Martin, glad you could join us,' Greg said as he approached, using his alter ego's middle class tone. ‘How are you both?'

‘What sort of fucking question is that?' Martin growled, ‘I'm fuck all to do with this so just let me go and I won't tell a dicky-bird.'

‘A polite one,' Greg replied, ‘but if you would rather, we can simply speed things along – unless you have any questions, that is? Because once the ball starts rolling, there's no stopping it!' Greg continued with his approach.

‘Who the fuck are you?' Martin asked. ‘You sound too posh to be doing this.'

‘How stereotypical of you Martin,' Greg laughed. ‘Does one have to belong to a lower class to do what I'm doing?'

As he got closer, and both men were able to draw him into their separate focuses, Martin understood what Hector had been trying to tell him – this guy really did exist. From the descriptions on the various news channels and tabloids, this was their guy.

‘Holy shit!' Martin involuntarily mumbled, ‘it's you.'

‘Do I look that bad?' Greg chuckled.

‘You're that guy… fucking hell,' Martin's slow, astonished voice made him seem illiterate. ‘You're that guy on the news.'

‘What guy?' Greg knew where Martin had identified him from, but enjoyed the game play.

‘From the Swiss Cottage murder – you're all over the news.'

‘I doubt that very much – no one knows I actually exist… until now, that is.'

‘If you kill us both they won't!' Hector added.

‘But if you let me go…' Martin interrupted.

‘I'm not going to kill either of you – but all that will become clear once we wipe away the fog,' Greg said. ‘Only you will be able to let you go Martin…'

Greg had completed his approach, and stood in full splendour in front of Martin.

‘Fuck me, you're not that big, are you?' Martin growled, trying to test Greg.

‘Size is of no significance – it's the size of your arsenal that equips each and every one of us.'

‘Fuck off!' Martin spat, ‘and let me go. I'm nothing to do with this.'

Greg took a large step forward and slammed the sole of his foot into Martin's chest. The impact stole the air from in Martin's lungs.

‘That's where I beg to differ,' Greg growled.

‘Nooo…' Hector pleaded, ‘please, it's me you want. Leave him alone.'

‘I just think that a lesson in control is what is needed here. I'm the one in control; your fate lies in my hands.'

Martin laid on the floor, gasping for air to replenish his empty lungs. His eyes stung as the salty tears streamed and phlegm raced up his windpipe. Martin coughed uncontrollably.

‘You can stand, if you think you can offer me a respectable challenge?' Greg giggled. ‘Your hands are free and you have a free kicking leg – I'll handicap myself, and I promise not to use my legs. What do you think, Martin? Are you up for the challenge?'

Martin sat up, still trying to regain his composure his mind was in overdrive without being in gear.

‘You look bigger than me Martin… but Hector is bigger than both of us. I took him without any effort – what are your thoughts on the matter, Hector?'

‘Martin, stay down. Please stay down, don't make things any worse than they already are.' Martin lifted his head – the fire in his eyes announced his aggression.

‘Lose your temper, and you've already lost the fight!' Greg said. ‘Your brother-in-law is right, stay down. Hector is the target, not you – but all that can be subject to change – your choice.'

‘I've got you sussed,' Martin smiled.

‘No, Martin, you foolishly think you have. I don't have time for this, save it!' Greg walked away, heading for the table.

‘If you don't kill me, I'll find you, you mother fucker!' Martin barked, his anger getting the better of him. ‘I'll tie you in knots and feed you to the fish.'

Greg retrieved an object from the table and returned holding Martin's mobile phone.

‘I'll leave this on here,' Greg laughed, ‘and to show you an act of good faith, I've switched it off in order to preserve the battery life. Your mobile phone, Martin, is your second prize. Once you have freed yourself, you can use it to summon help. Guess where your first prize is?'

Hector's face filled with horror, ‘Martin's first prize is the key?' he stammered.

‘Correct – sorry, no prize though. Martin, do I still have your attention?'

Martin nodded his head slowly.

‘Good. Now, Hector is not a very nice man and, worst of all, he just so happens to be married to your sister. I think before we continue our talk regarding potential prizes, I should give you a bit of background information on Mr and Mrs Hector Hylie's sex life.'

Greg glared at Hector.

‘There's no need… Martin hates me enough as it is.'

‘How do you know all this?' Martin asked in shock.

‘I know everything, Hector!' Greg snarled. ‘There are certain blanks that need filling…' Greg paused. ‘Your brother-in-law, in times of need, will force himself on your sister, his wife. A common word for this kind of sexual activity is rape! Your sister, his wife, gives in only to save any commotion disturbing the children. Hector would not dare deny any of this. What those on the outside don't know, they have no need to grieve.'

‘Why has she lied to me?' Martin begged to know.

‘Martin, remember this – your sister loves this piece of shit. We will never understand why. Secondly, lies hurt and harm but it's the truth that destroys and kills.'

Hector remained silent. His secret was out; the shame crushed him.

‘OK, moving on,' Greg said, now holding a scalpel, ‘as you may have noticed, Hector is not in a position to defend himself and, on the other hand, you, Martin, are only restrained by one ankle. The chain attached is long enough for you to reach Hector. The key that you need to free yourself is now swimming away in Hector's digestive system. You may need this,' Greg said, sliding the scalpel he was holding across the floor. The surgical implement stopped as it came in contact with Martin's leg.

‘You want me to cut him open?' Martin gasped. ‘Fucking hell! Who do you think I am?'

‘How else are you going to get the key? If you don't, you'll die in here with him. Hector is going to die here. You need to choose whether you are going to die in here with him. Everything begins with choice; your next choice will shape the rest of your life Martin. Save yourself. No one will blame you. Hector's going to die anyway, why should you die with him?'

‘Why don't you kill him?'

‘It's not my place… you have wanted this day to arrive.'

‘You fucking coward!' Martin blurted through hot tears.

‘All these years you've wanted to teach him a lesson – the lesson is to be taught today, or are you not man enough?'

‘Why's Hector got to die? You've taught him his lesson – you said he was going to die here.'

‘Because it's Hector's time.'

‘If I don't kill him… who will?' Martin interrupted.

‘The bulldozers. They are going to demolish this place tomorrow with or without you in it,' Greg bluffed.

‘You mother fucker!'

‘Anyway, it's been a blast but I've got to be off. Things to do, people to see – you know how it is. Time is ticking away Martin. Goodbye Hector.' Greg walked away.

‘Wait!' Martin begged, ‘I've got money, about thirty grand, it's yours. Just let me go!'

Greg did not look back.

‘Martin…'

‘What?' Martin barked.

‘You have to save yourself.'

‘Fuck me, Hector,' Martin gave Hector a disgusted glare. ‘How the fuck could you treat my sister like that? I'm not going to die here. I just don't know how to do it quick, so you don't suffer.'

Hector's eyes welled with tears – tears of horror, not pity.

‘Listen, you dirty bastard, if I had of known about this before, I would have beaten the fuck out of you, and then beat the shit out of you, and then kicked you into a fucking coma!' Martin's aggression grew. ‘You always knew what would happen if I ever found out, that's why Mandy has been so careful to hide it from me. What did you think I would do? You fucking mug!'

‘I never realised… I love Mandy, she's my wife.'

‘She's your wife, but she ain't your life. She's your whore, that's how you treat her. She's my sister.' Martin stood and made his way over to Hector.

‘Hold on a minute… Please Martin,' Hector begged, ‘for pity's sake.'

‘I only pity my sister. If you've touched any of those kids...'

‘Fuck off – not my own flesh and blood!'

‘Other kids?' Martin growled, slashing Hector across the top of his head.

Hector screamed, ‘No! No kids. Stop, you bastard!'

Martin started to kick Hector randomly. Then one of his kicks landed square across Hector's throat, causing Hector's windpipe to collapse. Hector choked; blood from the ruptured internal vessels spilled from his mouth. Martin, blinded by rage, stabbed Hector in the face.

Hector tried to curse, his words wheezed; blood bubbled from his lips.

‘Die! Die! Die!' Martin barked, repeatedly.

Then Hector froze – his eyes fixated, though empty. A sorrowful look donned his blood covered face.

‘Tell Mandy that I'm sorry. Do that for me. Kiss my kids…' Hector wheezed.

‘Fuck off!' Martin replied and sliced Hector across the throat twice. Hector's body convulsed – shaking as if it had been struck by a bolt of lightning. The blood slowed with Hector's heart rate. The synchronisation of his life, soul and spirit divorced and departed from the shell that was now his corpse. Hector flopped, his whole body limp and lifeless.

Martin panted. Sweat poured from his entire body, he felt exhausted, drained.

‘Fucking hell,' Martin gasped, ‘you took some killing you fat fucker.' Adrenalin not allowing reality to set in. ‘Where's that key?' Martin shouted, as he sliced into Hector's abdomen.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The telephone rang continuously, interrupting Terry's sleep.

‘What?' he bellowed, not bothering to open his eyes.

‘There's been another one, mate – another killing.'

‘McFarland? What do you mean?' he said, as he sat bolt upright, opening his eyes.

‘Another murder, same pattern.'

‘Shit, shit, shit! Pick me up now.'

‘I'm outside. Are you going to let me in? I'll make us some coffee to take with us.'

‘Hold on, I'm on my way down.'

‘Who is it?' a sleepy Natalie enquired.

‘There's been another murder – you go back to sleep darling, I've gotta go.'

‘OK – be careful.'

Terry kissed Natalie on her forehead. She had already returned to her deep slumber.

Terry dressed as he descended the stairs and unlocked the front door.

‘You know where the kitchen is,' he told McFarland.

‘Don't bother putting your make-up on, we don't have time,' the Scotsman joked.

‘Nat's asleep upstairs, mate,' Terry said. ‘Keep it down please.'

‘Hurry up, and get the rest of your fucking clothes on, you're making me feel sick.'

Terry did not bother responding. He was dressed and back in the kitchen just as McFarland was pouring the milk into the cups.

‘Tell me what you know,' he demanded.

‘We'll go to the scene – a multi-storey car park, of all places.'

The two men got in McFarland's waiting car.

‘OK this is what I know: a man phoned the three nines and was put through to a police station in Borehamwood. The caller told the duty sergeant that a man in a black rubber suit had kidnapped him, Mr Martin Pringle, and his brother-in-law, Mr Hector Hylie, and had taken them to a disused car park in Arkley. Now this is the sick bit, the guy in the black rubber suit chained Hector Hylie to the wall, hands and feet, and handcuffed Martin Pringle to the wall by his ankle. He then forced Hector Hylie to swallow the key to the handcuffs around Martin Pringle's ankle and gave him some sort of knife, telling him to choose what he was going to do. Save himself or die with his brother-in-law.'

‘Which nick is he in now? Terry asked.

‘He's being moved to The Yard as we speak.'

‘OK, we'll go there later. Is the brother-in-law still at the scene?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good.'

McFarland knew that Terry would want to visit the scene of the crime first – while it was still fresh.

As they arrived at the multi-storey car park, Terry had already removed his seatbelt and was ready to get out the car. Both men took the stairs three at a time, stopping at the floor where they could hear activity. A uniformed police officer stood on the other side of the exit door.

‘Oh sorry sir, please go in,' the police officer said apologetically, feeling a little embarrassed after Terry had accidentally hit him with the door.

‘Keep up the good work,' McFarland said, reassuringly patting the officer's shoulder.

The two men walked in to where the crime had taken place. There was blood everywhere. The chains that imprisoned both men were still there hanging from the safety railings. McFarland and Terry paced slowly around the area, being careful not to disturb anything. The forensic team were already hard at work.

‘What's the story, Dan?' McFarland asked.

‘Two men found at the scene – one dead and the other in custody and no trace of anyone else being here. It's a mystery,' the short stubby man answered.

‘What was the murder weapon?' Terry asked.

‘Early implications suggest a scalpel as that's the only thing that's been recovered. Once we clean him up and get a closer look, I'll be able to give you a more accurate cause of death.'

‘Was the weapon left here, close to the body?' Terry continued.

‘Yes, indeed it was.'

‘Dan, can you give us your gut feeling on the cause of death? A serious answer would be welcome,' McFarland demanded, rejoining the conversation.

‘Severe lacerations to throat and abdomen causing haemorrhaging. Death inevitable, due to massive blood loss,' the short stubby man answered with a hardened sadness.

‘Was the deceased tortured?' Terry asked.

‘I don't know, I'll be able to tell you more when I get him on the slab. All I can tell you is this – he meant to kill him.'

‘Thanks Dan. We'll talk later.'

‘Nice to see you Terry.' The forensic scientist smiled – pleased that Terry was back – though he was puzzled as to what the capacity of Terry's return was.

‘What is your gut telling you now?' McFarland enquired.

‘No fucking idea, though, at the moment, I think there is a link. We need to go and talk to him… now!' Terry told McFarland, already making his way out towards the car.

‘Hold on, hold on. I've got to make a phone call first. You can't just go walking in there,' McFarland told Terry.

‘Phone away. Let's go! Thanks again Dan,' Terry replied, waving his gratitude in gesture. ‘And while you're on the phone, talk to whoever it is you need to talk to and tell them to arrange for this leash to be removed.'

‘Leash?' McFarland replied blankly.

‘I don't need to be walked. I'm going to need more independence and freedom – freedom to roam.'

‘I'll see what I can do.'

‘Just do it. Please, mate.'

Both men remained silent for the whole journey, their minds in overdrive.

McFarland parked around the rear of the building – the press had camped outside the front and Terry needed to remain off their radar. Both men entered the building using an entrance only the well-informed knew about.

‘How are you, Ted?' McFarland said to the sixty-something-year-old desk sergeant.

‘I'm OK, and you?' Was the half-hearted response from the grey-haired man, clock-watching until his retirement alarm bell rang.

‘Over-worked, under-loved.' Both men chuckled. ‘Well, you know why we're here, don't you?'

‘Yes, you'll have to wait whilst I get someone to take you to an interview room.'

Both men nodded. Whoever it was that McFarland had phoned was extremely powerful within The Met. Terry had not needed to introduce himself. He thought that his past may have helped, or maybe the desk sergeant thought that he was there on behalf of Thames Television.

A young WPC escorted them down to the long narrow corridor; then she directed them into an interview room.

‘Good luck!' was all she said.

As both men walked into the interview room, they noticed that Martin was sitting at the table, his head resting in his hands. He did not bother to look up to see who had entered the room.

‘Hello Martin. Are you waiting for legal representation?' McFarland said, opening the conversation.

‘No!' Was all he got in return, Martin was not in the mood for talking. He looked exhausted.

‘Would you like someone to represent you?' McFarland tried again.

‘No thanks.'

‘Would you like something to eat or drink? How about a cigarette?'

‘I don't need anything,' he said with his head still placed in his hands, his emotions the same.

‘You know why we're here, don't you?'

‘Yeah I've got a good idea. But I haven't been charged yet… why?'

‘We need to clarify a few things first,' Terry said, joining the conversation.

‘You're that reporter off the telly aren't you?'

‘That's right, but I'm also here trying to help the police piece this jigsaw together.'

‘Terry Bane, from the news?' Martin said.

‘We're here to talk to you about your dead brother-in-law, Martin.'

‘Yeah, I did it, though only to save myself,' Martin replied.

‘I need you to tell me what happened,' Terry said. ‘Tell me what you know.' Both men sat down, Terry chose to sit directly in front of Martin.

‘I woke up chained to a railing in a fucking car park. Hector…Hector… my dead brother-in-law, who was still alive at the time, was chained to another railing.'

‘Take your time,' Terry said, reassuringly.

‘Hector was already there, like I said. We waited and this guy appeared dressed in a black suit, the suit was stuck to his skin. He wore a mask, but the kind I've never seen before. It was like his face, but it wasn't his face. Anyway, he had made Hector swallow a key, the key to the chain around my ankle.'

‘Do you know how you got there? Were you snatched in your sleep?'

‘Yeah, I must've been. I'd been out on the lash, so I don't even remember going to bed.'

‘Do you live alone, Martin?'

‘No, I live with my bird,' Martin paused, ‘but I'd been out with my mate, Greg, and I'd planned on crashing at his place, but I honestly don't remember leaving the pub.' Martin sobbed gently.

‘Did you see Hector swallow the key?' Terry asked.

‘No.'

‘OK, please continue,' Terry smiled.

‘He then started telling me all kinds of fucked up shit… about Hector and my sister.'

‘What kind of things, Martin?'

‘I don't wanna go into that now.'

‘Are you OK to continue, or would you like a break?' McFarland interrupted.

‘I'm OK. Can I have a cup of tea, two sugars, and a fag? I'll go outside and smoke it if you like?' Martin asked, smiling, raising his hand to his face and wiping a tear that was trickling down his cheek. His hand trembled.

‘You can smoke in here. Nice try though, can't let you go outside just yet.' McFarland used the phone on the wall to order the prisoners request, which arrived within moments.

‘You can keep the packet, but I'll need the lighter,' McFarland said, trying to wear a pleasant smile. He found it difficult to smile whilst he was at work, the seriousness of his job did not allow him that luxury.

‘Thanks,' Martin quietly replied as the prisoner lit up a cigarette, savouring the nicotine that entered his body. The comfort of the hot sweet tea lifted him although the reality of the situation quickly returned.

‘Do you know why you were taken there?' Terry wanted to keep the questioning going.

‘Yeah, to kill Hector.'

‘What did this man say to you?'

‘He made Hector swallow the key to the handcuffs around my ankle and said if I wanted to live I had to cut him open to get the key.' Martin blatantly ignored the question.

‘What were you supposed to cut Hector open with?'

‘He gave me a blade.'

‘Hector is in a right old state. Who did that to him?'

‘I did.'

‘A bit erratic, the guy looks like he's been mutilated, when the key would have obviously been in his stomach, Martin.'

‘I lost it… my temper I mean – I kicked the fuck out of him before I cut him, OK?'

‘Was he abusing your sister?'

‘Yeah, you could say that.'

‘So this guy told you that Hector was abusing your sister and you believed him. Why?'

‘Cos Hector didn't deny it. That bastard had it coming.'

‘But you would have had to kill him to get the key – so why mutilate him?'

‘I told you, I lost it… I freaked out!' Martin snapped.

Terry looked at Martin, allowing for silence to cool the air. He wanted to test Martin.

‘Tell me more about this man. What he looked like, what he was wearing, how he spoke, anything you think might help us with our enquiries.'

‘OK, he wore a black rubber suit, black boots, like boxing boots, and a mask. The mask looked like it was his real face, but it wasn't. He was fucking strong and fit. He spoke sort of posh at times. He seemed polite, well-spoken, with a funny twang, and then at other times he was a right bastard. He didn't fuck about, he meant business.'

‘What makes you say he was fit?' That comment had intrigued Terry.

‘His build was very muscular, shaped… you know, defined, cut, well-cut, not an ounce of fat. The sort that lifted a lot of weights.'

‘I hope you don't mind me saying this Martin, but you look like the sort of fella that can handle yourself.'

‘I'm no mug, if that's what you mean.'

‘I've seen Hector, listen I don't think you're a mug.'

‘He was slick and skilful.'

‘So you woke up there. How did he get you there? Did he abduct you from your bed while you slept?' Terry asked, wanting to test Martin's previous answer.

‘I think I stayed at a mate's place. We'd been out on the lash, I've already told you this.'

‘What's your mate called?'

‘Greg O'Hara. We used to work together on the bins, before he went on the sweep.'

‘Where does this Greg O'Hara live?'

‘On Empire Way, Wembley.'

‘Get me an address please,' Terry asked McFarland.

McFarland used his mobile phone, and whispered into the mouth piece.

‘Got it,' he replied seconds later.

‘So you went out with Greg O'Hara and had a skinfull. At the end of the night, you went back to his and crashed out – woke up in the multi-storey and you can't remember anything in-between?'

‘I've told you all I know…'

‘I don't believe you have, Martin. Did he say anything else to you?' Terry asked, leaning forward in his chair.

‘He fucking didn't shut up! I can't remember everything, he went on about choices and how fucking choices change everything.' Martin was starting to feel pressured.

‘Who killed Hector?' Terry decided to throw the question back at Martin once more.

‘I did,' Martin answered swiftly, shaking his head in disbelief on hearing his answer.

‘Did this man make you kill Hector?'

‘No!'

‘What made you kill Hector?'

‘If I hadn't, I'd still be there with him and I would've died with him. No one would have found us there, would they? That car park was gonna be demolished, with us in it!' Martin was trying to justify his actions as he fought back the tears.