The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Greg had already managed to obtain the details of where Brent and Valerie lived and he had also managed to follow Brent to his office a few times, timing the journey. He had been on Valerie's tail and had unearthed the secret that she was having an affair with one of the fitness coaches at her gym. Though he was unsure how long this torrid affair had elapsed, Greg wanted Valerie's husband to be confronted with her filthy betrayal.

Brent, on the other hand, was a hardworking, loyal husband who had only ever put his wife's needs before his own. The lifestyle that he provided for her was that of dreams. Greg decided that it was time for the dream to become a reality… no, no, no… a nightmare.

Greg noticed that, as part of Brent's daily routine, he always lunched in a wine bar called Jollies just outside Old Street Station. Greg was going to accidentally bump into Brent during one of his routine lunches. Today was that day. The timeline was now dragging on, though he wanted to be sure that he had everything in place. Five weeks had passed in a flash. He didn't want to rush and get sloppy. He knew that if he did, gaps may appear and the police would knit those gaps together and be onto him.

As Greg walked in to the wine bar, he noticed Brent sitting at a table on his own, eating his tuna salad, the same tuna salad that he had every day for who knows how long, quietly reading his copy of
The Financial Times
, oblivious to Greg's presence.

‘Hello, fancy meeting you here,' Greg said, hijacking the businessman's precious tranquillity.

‘Sorry, old chap, but I can't place where we know each other from.'

‘A couple of weeks ago, you and your misses were eating in the Punch & Judy at Covent Garden. You were having a barney when my bird told you to keep it down.'

‘Oh yes… ha, ha, ha… how embarrassing, please except my apology. My memory is like a colander these days. May I buy you a drink? I'm sorry, please allow me to introduce myself, I'm Brent.'

‘Greg, Yeah, I'd love a cold beer please.'

Brent walked over to the bar and ordered Greg's beer – Greg had prepared himself for this.

‘Cheers,' Brent said as he handed Greg the beer.

‘Cheers,' Greg replied, ‘just the job.'

‘What brings you to these parts? I don't think I've seen you in here before. Do you work around here?'

‘Nah, I've never been in here before. I was in the neighbourhood visiting someone in the hope of drumming up some business.'

‘Any luck?'

‘Dunno, but he said he'd call me and let me know.'

‘I wish you good luck. What is it you do Greg?'

‘I'm in IT, I'm an IT analyst. It's tough out there at the moment.'

‘Yes, I know what you mean, I'm in the software business myself.'

‘Are you?' Greg said, disguising the fact that he already knew exactly what Brent did for a living. ‘What are you, a designer?'

‘How did you know that?' Brent asked excitedly.

‘A lucky guess. Well, that suit you're wearing is a big give away. You can tell that you're successful Brent by the way you dress.' Greg deliberately wanted to boost Brent's ego. He knew how these guys worked.

‘I run a web design software business. Have you ever done any kind of design?'

‘Nah, wouldn't know where to begin. There's a lot more to that than people realise.' Greg was trying to sound as though he knew what Brent was on about.

‘Listen, Greg, if anything comes up I'll give you a shot if you'd like?'

‘Yeah, thanks that'd be great. Tell you what, have you got a card or something with your number on that I could have? It'd be easier for me to contact you.'

‘Of course,' Brent said handing Greg his business card, not giving proper thought to what Greg had just said. ‘My email address is on there too, so please feel free to drop me an email and we can touch base that way,' Brent smiled politely.

‘So what were you and your wife arguing about then?' Greg needed to change the subject. IT was not his subject.

‘Valerie… she's a difficult woman at the best of times. I am so very sorry for upsetting you and your wife.'

‘Me and Karen aren't married. But that don't matter, we enjoyed that champers that you gave us and the manager gave us everything on the house,' Greg said sounding as they'd had a fair result all round.

‘Oh good, I am pleased. Right, I have to dash back to the office. You have my card, please give me a call or drop me an email and I'll see if there's anything I can throw your way.'

Greg felt awkward shaking Brent's hand, though he offered a smile as camouflage.

Greg stayed in the wine bar and had two more beers whilst he went over the plans for the next stage. There were a few potential obstacles to be considered. Greg worried that the guy Valerie was having an affair with would be too strong for him, so how could he up his own ante? Greg sat back and looked at the painting on the wall. A man sitting in a field surrounded by countryside. He studied the painting and then, all of a sudden, he thought about all the open space the man had in the painting – room to move, all that freedom of movement.

He had already decided that he was going to wait for Valerie to go to the fitness instructor's flat. Greg was then going to give them a little time to settle down to business, then he was going to let himself in using another of his internet purchases, a pick gun. Pop it in the lock, squeeze the trigger, and bingo, you're in. It was that simple. Then Greg thought about it for a few more moments. Maybe he could get himself some kind of gun that fired electricity. He knew that he would be able to get hold of one of those taser guns fairly easily, as he had seen them before on one of the private websites he had visited.

Chapter Thirty-Two

McFarland had not expected the reception that he and Terry had received from Martin, and had grown suspicious about his reaction. All they were trying to do was to help the man. Though once he had done a bit of digging in to Martin's past, he then began to understand.

Martin was no stranger to the police. He had even served a little time behind bars – three months for non-payment of a fine for criminal damage. Nevertheless, he had brushed the wrong side of the law, and now the shoe was on the other foot. Martin could not bring himself to admit he was at the mercy of the people he hated so much. McFarland knew that there was nothing anybody could do to change the past and it was only Martin that needed to find some clarity, move on, and put his past experience behind him. It was his future he needed to focus on.

Martin had given up on himself, he had accepted whatever punishment was going to be dealt. Sharon, on the other hand, was begging for help and it seemed as though Martin was her key to the help she craved.

‘Terry,' McFarland said, ‘what are we going to do?'

‘I haven't got a clue at the moment, mate. We're completely snookered.'

‘He's going to kill again isn't he?'

‘He hasn't killed anyone.'

‘Terry, you know what I mean.'

‘Yeah I do. I would bet my mortgage that he's already chosen who's going to be next, he's just choosing the right time. He's a thorough bastard.'

‘He made contact, identifying his stance, Terry.'

‘His contact was more about stating his authority. But he's methodical and enjoys leaving nothing of himself behind.'

‘But he wanted you to know of his existence, Terry.'

‘Yeah, and he wanted to give us something to call him.' Terry paused. ‘I don't think he's going to rush things though.'

‘A keen eye for detail; making sure not to leave any loose ends.'

‘He only let Julian go because of two reasons: firstly, he knew that Julian could not tell us anything that we don't already know, and secondly, Julian was never part of his plan. Julian was a victim. He will only do what he feels is necessary to make sure his warped form of justice is served.' Terry began rubbing his head. ‘My head is pounding.'

‘It's as though he disappears into thin air,' McFarland said, placing his empty beer glass on the table. ‘I wonder what he does for a living because, now tell me if you think I'm wrong, but he seems the kind of guy that would have a professional job, a normal working class man, the guy next door. Sharon and Martin both told us that his accent stood out as being posh.'

‘That's what scares the shit out of me. Are you going to get those glasses filled up or do I have to die of thirst here?' Terry slid his glass across the wet table.

‘OK, OK. We should go and talk to some of the people we have already questioned.'

‘That's an idea, but a shit one, and I'll tell you why when you come back from the bar.'

McFarland enjoyed the buzz, he loved it when they bounced off each other like this and they were able to look at all possibilities, all the things that one person may miss. ‘Here you go,' McFarland said, teasing Terry.

‘Just give it to me.' The cold lager cleared his head.

McFarland obliged and sat down. ‘Right then, the reason I said that was a shit idea is that we can't waste time going over old ground. We're under the cosh here, with all eyes looking and the clock keeps ticking. We need something new to go on but I'll be fucked if I can think what it is.'

‘OK if that's a shit idea, why don't you think of something? At the moment, pal, we have fuck all to go on. That means we are no closer to catching this arsehole than we are to winning the lotto,' McFarland was feeling frustrated, and wanted Terry to feel the same.

‘I know,' Terry looked at the Scotsman and smiled, ‘a public appeal! You and the adorable Jasper call another press conference and ask for the public's help. Someone has got to know something. It's seen as a bit of a last resort, we risk looking desperate, but we're up against it here.'

‘Hey, that's not a bad idea!'

‘Not bad… it has worked in the past, why shouldn't it work now? He contacted us, The Ultimate, he'll contact us again.'

‘I'll run it by Jasper in the morning.'

‘Tell Jasper about the contact he made, and tell him the real reason for this press conference…'

‘I will, mate, and I'm sure that Jasper will be happy to oblige.'

The conversation continued. Both men only focused on the case, they did their best lateral thinking whilst under the influence of alcohol. It was in drunken moments like this, when any thoughts or ideas could be shared and it did not matter how stupid or diverse, all were welcomed as part of a productive process. The only thing was that the more they drunk, the less they would remember in the morning.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Karen had decided that she would invite herself round to Greg's. She got her mobile out of her handbag and used the speed dial and waited for him to answer.

‘Hello, I wasn't expecting to hear from you,' Greg answered.

‘I know, I went to see my mate and she's not in, so I thought that I would see if you were.'

‘Well I am. Are you coming round?' Greg did not like this, but tried to keep his irritation out of his voice.

‘I am, if that's alright, just a flying visit. I wouldn't like to intrude,' Karen said jokingly.

‘Yeah, of course you can. The flat's a bit of a tip though.'

‘I'll be there in two minutes.'

‘Fuck me, that's quick,' Greg panicked.

‘Not tonight, and yeah, I think that sometimes, ha ha!'

Greg did not find any of this funny, he was in a panic. There was packaging lying around from the mail order stuff that he had ordered off the internet. Greg had not cleared all the mess away. He had not planned on seeing Karen until next weekend and she was here on the door step. He quickly shoved all the paper under the cushions on the settee. All the stuff that he had printed off from the internet was shoved in the magazine rack under the coffee table and anything else went in to the draws under the television cabinet along with the purchases.

He was out of time. There was a knock on the door. He shouted in frustration before gaining control and calmly greeting Karen.

‘OK, I'm on my way,' he responded, ‘for fuck's sake!' he added as he dashed to open the door.

‘Hi.'

‘Hey, you're sweating. Are you OK?'

Karen felt the moisture on her skin as Greg leant forward and kissed her.

‘I'm fine, I've been dashing around trying to tidy up before you got here.' Well it was the truth, he thought.

‘I'm not royalty, you know.'

‘I know, but I wasn't expecting anyone round. I don't bother so much when I'm here on my own.' He took in some much needed air. ‘Drink?' he asked.

‘I'll tell you what, as I have interrupted whatever you were doing, I'll make the drinks. What'll it be?'

‘Right then, I'll have a beer, there should be some in the fridge,' Greg replied, thinking that with Karen out of the way in the kitchen, it would give him a few extra minutes to give the living room the once over.

‘OK,' Karen replied as she entered the kitchen. ‘Think I'll join you, do you want yours in a glass babe?'

‘I don't want a glass, I'll drink mine straight from the bottle.'

‘You may be a commoner, but I'm not drinking from the bottle – last time it left a funny aftertaste in my mouth.'

‘They are in the cupboard next to the cooker hood.'

‘I know where they are,' Karen replied. Greg darted across the room to remove the offending paperwork. ‘Shit! Where do you keep your cleaning cloths? I spilt some,' Karen said, as the first bottle she opened slipped on the work surface. The lager inside frothed and bubbled out of the open top of the bottle.

‘In the cupboard under the sink,' he replied, only thinking of where to hide the papers. As Karen opened the door she noticed a funny-looking bottle that was directly in front of the J-cloths and decided to see what it was. ‘Embalming Fluid' the label read. ‘Why would Greg want embalming fluid?' she thought. Then she remembered the sleeping tablets that she had stumbled across in the medicine cabinet and felt a little uneasy.

‘Are you OK in there?' Greg asked. ‘You've been ages.'

‘Yeah, just cleaning up the beer I spilt.'

‘That's sacrilege that is, spilling beer. The beer police should lock you up for that,' Greg said, laughing.

‘What have you been up to then?' Karen called from the kitchen whilst she closed the cupboard door.

‘Not a lot really. This and that, you know?' Greg gulped a mouthful of his beer.

Karen came back in to the room and tried to act normal but she could not help but notice a leaflet that had fallen under the coffee table, she only spotted it because of the bright yellow lightning-like twin lines that went across the paper. She decided that she would have to wait to see what it was.

‘That beer has gone right through me, back in a second,' Greg said leaving the room, eager to remove some of the packaging he had hidden in the bathroom.

Karen shot forward and picked up the leaflet and slid it in her handbag in a brief single movement. She'd read it later.

‘Fancy another?' Greg asked, returning from the toilet.

‘OK then,' she replied, not wanting Greg to feel her anxiousness, ‘but it'll have to be a quick one, I'm going to see if Mum wants to go to the bingo… I'll just text her while you go and get them,' she smiled.

Greg slipped into the kitchen.

‘You don't have to rush off babe,' Greg smiled, giving a suggestive wink.

‘Too late,' she smiled, ‘I've told Mum I'll meet her at the bingo.'

‘I hope it's not summit I said?'

‘Nah, I said it was just a flying visit didn't I?'

‘Yeah, you did, but…'

‘But nothing, I've interrupted you enough. See you next weekend, hey?'

‘Yeah,' Greg was stunned by the way Karen was leaving so suddenly. ‘We'll go out for a drink somewhere if you'd like?'

‘Cool, see you later. Give me a bell,' she said, planting a kiss on his lips.

Greg had no time to respond, he was still stunned by her sudden departure. Leaving like that was not normal for Karen. In the past, she had always taken her time to say Goodbye…

***

Karen waited until she was sitting on the train before she looked at the leaflet. She unfolded it and saw a picture of a taser gun. In the bottom right hand corner of the page it said ‘Thank you for your purchase.' Did this mean that Greg had purchased this item, and if so why?

Karen thought about going to the police. Was her boyfriend involved in something untoward? She could not think of Greg ever being like that, though the people you least expect are the ones to watch. Karen went home thinking about nothing else. These things: the embalming fluid, the taser gun, potent sleeping tablets – why? All kinds of questions where racing through her head and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her heart ached with sadness, pulling her insides, like a tug-o-war. ‘Greg.' She unknowingly murmured his name…she would wait.

***

Greg had not noticed that the leaflet was missing as he finished tidying away anything that should not be left lying around. The evening was spent planning his next strike. Valerie was due to go for her weekly sleazy session with her fitness coach on Thursday evening, as she did every week. During his surveillance of the Hopes, Greg had timed Valerie's movements, she was like clockwork and had never let her punctuality fluctuate. ‘We are all creatures of habit,' he reminded himself. ‘Timing is key… timing is everything.'