Captives (17 page)

    'What makes you say that?' Finn demanded.

    'I just think it's a hell of a coincidence that two killers should both burn themselves up after committing a crime, especially when both could have escaped.'

    They reached the lift and Gregson jabbed the button to call it.

    Finn lit up a cigarette and puffed on it, glancing up at the numbers that lit up in turn as the lift descended towards them.

    'So what do you make of it?' the DS wanted to know. 'The way you're talking, you make it sound like some kind of fucking conspiracy.'

    'Look, I don't know what the hell is going on, right?' snapped Gregson as the lift bumped to a halt at their floor. He stepped inside. 'All I know is there's something fucking weird happening.'

    'Ten out of ten for observation, Frank,' said Finn, smiling thinly. 'I think I'd have to agree with you there.'

    Gregson glared at his companion.

    'If you've got something on your mind you should tell me,' the DS said irritably.

    'I'll tell you what's on my mind. That you should go home now and leave me to check a few things out. Got it?'

    'Like what?'

    'Go home, Stuart. Leave it to me. If it checks out then I'll tell you. If it doesn't, it's only my time that's been wasted, right?'

    'We're supposed to be working together on this,' Finn reminded him.

    The lift came to a halt and the doors slid open but Finn shot out a hand and closed them once more, his finger pressed on the 'DOOR CLOSE' button.

    'What the fuck are you doing?' snapped Gregson.

    'Level with me, Frank. Tell me what you're thinking,' the DS said, looking his partner in the eye.

    Gregson looked down at Finn's hand, his finger still on the button.

    'I'm thinking that if you don't move your fucking arm I'm going to break it,' he hissed.

    Finn released the button and the doors slid open. Gregson stepped out, looking back at his partner.

    'Leave this to me for the time being,' he said. Then, as the doors slid shut, he turned and walked away.

    

    

    The MO was the same.

    Gregson had known it from the first time he'd seen Paula Wilson's body.

    Now he was sure.

    Multiple stab wounds, no rape, but the vagina of the victim stuffed with rubbish.

    He flipped through the file before him, checking the photos, comparing them to those he had of Paula Wilson. The photos in the file were eighteen months old.

    Three different girls, but each one had been killed the same way. Each one had been mutilated, each one had been defiled.

    Gregson ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair. He reached for his mug of coffee and took a sip, wincing when it was cold on his lips and tongue. He put the mug down, his gaze skipping over the pictures laid out before him.

    Three girls, murdered eighteen months ago. Stabbed and beaten, their vaginas stuffed with rubbish.

    And now, four hours ago, Paula Wilson, stabbed and beaten, her vagina stuffed with rubbish.

    The DI reached for his phone, picked it up and jabbed the extension number for the Records Office. He waited as the phone rang.

    Waited.

    Finally it was picked up and he heard Steve Houghton's voice.

    Gregson didn't bother to announce himself.

    'Steve, have you got a file down there on a bloke called Mathew Bryce?' he said, drumming his fingertips on his desk.

    Houghton said that he had.

    'When you've got a minute, I'd like to see it,' the DI told him.

    

    

    It was there again.

    He'd found it in more or less the same place as before. Removed it from the shattered, burned remains of the second killer's head.

    Barclay looked at the blackened piece of matter in the dish; it was smaller than his thumb nail. Next to it was the portion of the mysterious substance he'd taken from the first body.

    Both were blackened by the fire, both melted.

    He frowned as he prodded first one, then the other with the end of his pen.

    Analysis of the two pieces had shown that they were indeed composed of plastic and a number of other elements. Silicon had been found in both.

    He exhaled deeply, wondering if he should include this piece of knowledge in his report, wondering if he should mention his findings to Gregson. He decided to withhold the information for the time being. Until he knew more. Until he had some idea, however vague, what these strange, melted objects were.

    So far, he was clueless. And that worried him.

    

    

    'I think we've got trouble.'

    The door to Jim Scott's office had been flung open without a knock and Zena Murray was standing before him, her face pale.

    'What sort of trouble?' he asked, getting to his feet and following her out of the office.

    'Two fucking drunks,' she said, her tone a mixture of annoyance and anxiety.

    'Where the fuck is Rick?' Scott demanded. 'He's paid to keep things running smoothly. What kind of bouncer is he?'

    'Rick's watching them but they've got some friends with them, too.'

    Scott nodded and followed Zena out into the main floorshow area of 'Loveshow'.

    He glanced across at the bed and saw Carol lying on it, her basque open to reveal her breasts, her tiny G-string barely concealing the tight curls of her pubic bush. On either side of the bed the seats were full.

    He counted five men, all in their thirties, watching the tableau before them.

    Close by him Rick Calder leant against the wall, hands dug in the pockets of his jeans.

    Scott jerked his head towards the bouncer, a gesture designed to bring him closer. When Scott spoke he had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the loud music accompanying Carol's act.

    
'… I see you walking by,

    
You got that faraway look in your eye…'

    Calder, a couple of years younger than Scott, kept his eyes on the five men as he listened.

    'What's going on?' Scott shouted.

    'Those fuckers over there,' Calder said, nodding in their direction. 'A couple of them are pissed.'

    'Then why the hell did you let them in in the first place?' Scott demanded.

    'I was having a squirt. I didn't see them come in,' Calder said defensively.

    One of the men was on his feet, swaying in time to the music and also to Carol's gyrations on the bed. He took a stumbling step towards her, then seemed to sway and fall backwards into his chair. The other men laughed.

    Scott looked on, his eyes blazing.

    Carol continued with her act, trying to ignore the men close by.

    'Show us everything,' shouted one of the men, his voice audible even above the thunderous music.

    'Show us your cunt,' another called.

    Carol ignored his remarks, her eyes closed momentarily as if she were concentrating on some complex choreographed movement. She slipped the silk from her shoulders and pulled the flimsy garment off, rubbing it against her breasts.

    'Do it, you fucking whore,' shouted one of the men, laughing. His companions laughed too.

    The music roared on.

    
'… I don't need your dirty love.

    
I don't want you touching me…'

    Scott stood still, his breath coming in gasps.

    Carol ran her index finger over the slinky material of her G-string.

    One of the men got to his feet again and lurched towards the bed.

    
Keep away from her.

    Scott also took a step forward but halted as the first man's companion pulled him back.

    'Get on with it,' another shouted, holding up his glass in salute.

    Carol stood up on the bed, hooking her fingers into the top of the G-string. The five men began clapping in unison as she started to ease it over her hips, gradually revealing her pubic hair.

    
'… There's a name for girls like you.

    
You belong in the gutter I know you do…'

    She finally pulled it free, allowing it to drop to her feet. Naked she stood before them, caressing her body with both hands as the music roared on around her and the shouts of the men grew louder. She tried not to look into their eyes, tried to concentrate on the dark outline of Scott, who stood close to the bottom of the steps to her left.

    'Suck this,' shouted another of the men, fumbling with the zip of his trousers. Another moment and he had pulled his penis free. He staggered drunkenly towards Carol, his throbbing organ protruding from his zip.

    'That's it,' snapped Scott and both he and Calder moved forward.

    The man actually had his foot on the edge of the bed when Scott grabbed him by the shoulder.

    'Sit down,' he rasped, and threw the man backwards. He landed squarely in his seat, his penis still sticking through his flies.

    'What the fuck is this?' another of the men shouted, glaring at Scott.

    'I think it's time you gentlemen left,' said Scott.

    The first man was busy doing up his flies, yelping in pain as he caught a pubic hair in his zip.

    'We paid our fucking money, we want to see the show,' another protested.

    'Go and find another show,' Scott told them. He turned towards Carol. 'Get dressed.'

    She nodded and moved away from the bed.

    As she did, the youngest of the five men grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into the air, laughing as he did.

    'We only came in for some fun,' he said, chuckling.

    Scott turned furiously on the man, his body shaking as he saw the other man holding Carol.

    
Get your hands off her.

    'At least let us have our money's worth,' said the man holding Carol.

    'Let go of her,' snarled Scott through clenched teeth.

    'You charge enough in here,' the man protested.

    
Let go of her.

    Scott grabbed the man's hand and prized open his grip, squeezing his wrist in a vice-like hold that threatened to break the bones.

    
Don't you dare put your hands on her.

    Scott pulled the man close to him, his eyes blazing.

    'What the fuck is wrong with you?' the man said, trying to shake free.

    Scott glared at him a second longer then drove his head forward sharply, slamming his forehead into the bridge of the man's nose, hearing the sharp crack of bone with satisfaction. The man fell backwards, blood spurting from the shattered cartilage.

    Immediately the other four men were on their feet. Two turned and ran for the stairs, but the others flung themselves at Scott.

    He parried a clumsy blow and struck out with his left foot, driving it hard into the man's groin. As he crumpled up, Scott grabbed his hair to pull his head upright then he sent a powerful punch into his face, splitting the top lip.

    Carol, still naked, stood close by, her arms around Zena, watching the fight.

    The music roared on as an accompaniment.

    
'… You've been outta my life so long,

    
There's no way I'll stay…'

    Calder struck another of the men in the stomach, hurling him over one of the sofas, aiming a kick at him as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the stairs.

    The first man, blood streaming from his broken nose, struggled to his feet, his hand closing around a glass. He hurled it at Scott but missed. Scott turned to face him, dragging him upright by his lapels. He looked into the man's eyes, then across at Carol.

    Scott brought his knee up into the man's groin so hard he felt it connect with his pelvis.

    The man uttered a strangled cry and tried to clutch at his injured testicles.

    Scott looked across at Carol again, still not releasing his grip on the man.

    He drove his head forward again.

    And again.

    His own forehead was red now as he slammed it against the man's face. He opened a gash above his eye, another on his cheek. Blood from the injured man had spilled onto Scott's face and speckled his shirt. Scott hardly noticed that his adversary's eyes were closed. Instead he smiled across crookedly at Carol, holding him as if he were some kind of limp, blood-spattered rag doll. He grabbed a handful of the man's hair and yanked his head back hard, finally throwing him against the wall, watching with satisfaction as he slid down to the floor, his shirt a mass of blood, his face cut and bruised by the onslaught. The man's companion stumbled across and helped him to his feet.

    'Get out,' hissed Scott. 'Next time I'll kill you.'

    The men made their way up the stairs, one of them slipping half-way, almost falling.

    Scott felt something warm and wet on his face and realised it was blood. He wiped it away with the back of his hand then looked at Calder.

    'Make sure they don't come back in here,' he snarled.

    The bouncer nodded and followed the men upstairs.

    The music roared on.

    
'… I don't need your dirty love…'

    Scott looked at Carol, who met his gaze impassively.

    'You all right?' he asked.

    She nodded.

    'Go and get dressed,' he told her, smiling thinly. He looked down and noticed that there was blood on his hands too. He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and slowly wiped the crimson stains away.