Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (40 page)

Making his way across, the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out to him from a pretty little bakery, but the pavement was crowded and a woman and girl were blocking the way.

‘Excuse please.’

The woman swung round, and glowering to him, snatched her handbag away.

Dmitri frowned, and pushing on through, knocked the bag from the girl’s fingers and jam doughnuts and eclairs spilled down around their feet.

‘Oh, I sorry. Accident of me. We buy more. Yes?’

Staring at him, the girl seemed confused, but the beautiful Spanish-looking lady flashed anger at him, and easing the girl away, left the cakes on the pavement.

Dmitri spread his hands in apology, but the pretty little girl was soon lost in the crowd as the Spanish looking woman guided her away to a line of parked cars.

With a sigh, he turned back, and seeing a postman, asked, ‘Where is garage, please?’

The postman pointed to a side road leading off from the square, and said it wasn’t far.

Dmitri walked away with lingering thoughts of the sad girl and her lost cakes, but then, down the curving road, the old garage came into view and his mind suddenly cleared.

For some strange reason it was jogging memories, memories of a Spetsnatz operation.

That garage had been like that, just so quiet and ordinary it made the perfect safe house.

He became wary.

Christiana was CIA, Royal Edict Force, so her circle of friends would be small and she’d told him to go to old friend, Ted.

So this man might have his roots in Christiana’s world, international espionage, and if so, this garage could take him back through the Crystal Curtain where nothing was ever as it appeared to be.

So was this man, true friend, or friend of convenience?

It would only take one phone call to sell him, and he would fetch a good price on the intelligence circuit, because Dmitri Kosakov, the ex-Colonel of Spetsnatz, Alpha Group, KGB Intelligence was the Colonel who’d brought out to the west, the complete file of the Russian Mafia, and the more he thought about it, the less happy he felt.

Something was wrong, he could smell it, and thanks to Licity, he had no documents.

Walking up, he asked the old man serving petrol if he was Mr Ted, but he shook his head and pointed to a pair of legs sticking out from under a car, so he called down.

‘Hello? Mr Ted?’

Grunting, he slid out and looked up, ‘That’s right. So how can I help?’

Dmitri looked down to the big man, ‘A friend of me, say this garage, very good.’

Ted smiled, ‘Well you know what they say, recommendation is the best advertising,’ and getting up, wiped his hands on a rag, ‘So what can I do for you?’

‘I buy car, maybe … It need work, brakes not good. I buy, you fix?’

Ted picked his teeth, ‘I might, so what is it?’

Dmitri thought back to the car he’d wanted so badly in London, but Licity said no.

‘It Jaguar, Mk 11, 1964, 3.8 litre, manual, overdrive, go like shit.’

Ted smiled, ‘Yeah, nice car, but it might cost a fortune to sort out.’

‘Money okay, friend say you honest man.’

He grinned, ‘Sounds like I owe your friend a drink. So who is he?’

‘No he. She. Christiana Levett. She meet me here to see car. She here now?’

Ted stood back in surprise, ‘Chrissy is your friend ..? Well why didn’t you say so, but I haven’t seen her since we got rid of a bottle of Scotch, and that’s a while ago.’

Dmitri fell silent.

Christiana not here, and no message.

Was she still at Sheverill madhouse farm?

She say get out soon, she send Valkerie.

So where is Christiana?

3
9

As Lucinda drove quickly out of Malmesbury, Tara began to come out of the shock.

‘I should have told Ted I was leaving with you. Could we go back please?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry, he’ll guess you’re driving down with me, but if it makes you feel better, you could call him on my mobile.’

‘Yes please, I’d like that.’

‘Alright, there’s a lay-by just up the road, we’ll phone from there.’

Driving on, Lucinda smiled when the lay-by came into view.

The only vehicle there was a large truck and it was pulling out onto the main road.

‘The mobile’s in the glove box, so do you know the number?’

‘Oh. No, I don’t.’

‘Never mind. Call directory enquires and give his name and address.’

Tara tapped in the number, and as she waited, Lucinda cruised to the end of the lay-by, and winding the window down, opened her handbag.

The operator was still saying,
Directory Enquiries, can I help you
when the handkerchief was placed firmly over Tara’s nose and mouth, and as she struggled, thought her lungs would explode while her mind suffocated in a crescendo of fear, and dropping the phone, collapsed back unconscious in the seat.

Smiling, Lucinda switched off the phone, and taking Tara’s face in her hands, thought if it wasn’t for the Mace, how nice it would be to kiss her, lusciously and full on the mouth.

‘My, my, you are a lovely little thing, and it’s such a shame you have to go sailing because I could do things with you, that your mother would never, ever approve of.’

She laughed.

‘But never mind, when they’ve finished with you on the yacht, you might come back to me, and if you’re good, I might even let you sleep in the same box with Chrissy.’

And with a dark chuckle, threw a travel rug over her.

Dmitri had turned down Ted’s offer of a brew.

Something was obviously wrong and he knew instinctively that his Christiana would never have sent that Valkerie note if she hadn’t intended to be waiting for him at the garage in Malmesbury.

Striding back up to the market square, he remembered she’d only spoken of that farm because she wanted to leave, she said it was crazy, like Licity.

And she’d sent the note, so she would know he would travel to Malmesbury.

It made no sense. Unless she hadn’t been able to leave the farm.

Pushing through the crowded market square, he saw just what he’d been hoping for.

The shop was old and had just about everything a countryman could wish for, the shelves and counters overflowing with spades, wrecking bars, forks, galvanised pots, pans, kettles, wheel-barrows, buckets, hurricane lamps, tins - and good strong knives.

Choosing carefully, he selected a hardened steel blade, just perfectly balanced with a leather handle, and though it wasn’t as good as his old Spetsnatz knife, it would do.

Back on the market square he found a phone box, and calling a taxi, said to pick him up outside the little bakery and take him to Sherston.

The colourful squashed mess of trampled cakes was still on the pavement when he walked into the bakery shop and bought four, fresh meat and vegetable pies, and he’d just finished the second when the taxi arrived, and settling himself, gave the address Christiana had mentioned in Glastonbury.

‘Sherston, please. Sheverill farm.’

As the taxi sped along, he knew he was leaving a trail a child could follow, let alone Licity’s people, but what choice was there, if he couldn’t find Christiana, it was all over.

As the taxi swung into a lane of high trees, he saw the sign in the hedge.

Sheverill’s Farm. Organic Produce.

Telling the driver to stop, he got out, paid the fare, and the taxi drove away.

The air was warm and heavy in the lane, and as he walked on, the road noise faded away and he realised he was heading into a dead-end.

Walking round a curving bend, the sight of a Dacha suddenly brought him to a halt.

He’d expected to find a working farm, but this was more like a grand old house with everything shouting money and power.

The grounds spread out in all directions, with stables and a horsebox, and in the courtyard stood a bright red Ferrari, but the tyres looked nearly flat, so why should that be?

As he scanned over the scene, an uneasy, creeping sense of awareness came over him.

This house looked sombre, mournful and brooding, and when his intuition kicked in, he stepped quickly across the lane, jumped over the ditch and walked deep into the cover of the woodland, and drawing closer, saw a path running all the way around the old house.

Everything was as silent as the grave as Dmitri made his way along the sheltered path, and coming to an area of seats, gazed at the erotic ornamental fountain, and thought only the British aristocracy could combine the beauty of sculpture with the decadence of undisguised pornography. So what kind of people lived here?

A path to the right led to a cottage, but there was no sign of life, and ahead stood only glass buildings glinting in the sun, but beyond a herb garden he saw the door and windows of a large room set at the back of the house.

Approaching silently, he peered through the window and saw an enormous kitchen, but trying the door, found it firmly locked.

Moving on, he came to a curving line of bushes, and pushing through, stepped onto a terrace and saw a hammock swinging gently in the breeze, but the cushions had been thrown and scattered all over the terrace. Looking across, he saw a pair of French doors and one of them was standing slightly open.

So was someone inside?

Peering into the room, he saw it was large, comfortable and empty, and stepping inside, no sound came to him as he moved on from room to room, and seeing the disappearing steps of a wide carpeted staircase, began to climb, but the heavy wood of the banister was splintered and shattered as if hit by a heavy calibre weapon.

So had there been a battle here?

Holding the heavy knife, lightly in his hand, he went carefully.

There had been trouble here, but not instantaneous, it takes a while to let down four tyres. So had something been planned and it went wrong, if so, what else might he find in this sinister old house.

Reaching the landing he saw corridors disappearing away into the gloom, and as he stood there listening, heard a soft moan of pain drifting out through the shadows.

Ted had fitted the new prop-shaft and almost finished tightening the bolts when he stopped with the spanner in mid-air.

Tara had been gone too long.

At first he’d tried to ignore it, wanting to give her space to be herself, but he couldn’t pretend any longer.

She’d been gone for far too long.

Sliding out from under the old truck, he wiped his hands as he walked up through the workshop, and saw Len, his face worried as he walked in from the forecourt.

‘Alright, Len, don’t say it, I’m going to look for her now.’

An hour of searching and asking questions all over, had only proved three things.

Tara had been happy when she’d bought cakes from the bakery, and then was seen talking with a beautiful Spanish looking lady, but had just disappeared leaving the cakes squashed in a mess on the pavement.

He walked back to the garage in a daze. How could he have been so stupid?

Jesus Christ, hadn’t he learnt anything, and hadn’t Lewis made it clear she was in danger.

He thought he’d won the game when he’d brought her safely away from the tavern.

But he should have known better, at this level, the bastards don’t give up, and now they’d obviously taken her.

Len could only stare when he saw Ted walking back alone, his eyes dull and shiny wet, and knew in his heart that something bad had happened to that beautiful little girl.

Walking straight past him, Ted crossed over the forecourt and down to his office.

She’d said he was a good man, but he wasn’t, not good, kind, smart or any other damned thing, he was just a stupid old man who’d lived for far too long in his dreams.

Looking around at his now tidy office, he saw the bare patch on the wall where the calendar had once hung, and her passionate message to that woman.

‘I hope one day you’ll be free, like me.’

But she wasn’t free now … Was she …?

Not anymore, Ted Willis … And all because of you …

Following the sounds of moaning, Dmitri pushed the bedroom door open, and standing in the doorway of the shadowy room, could only stare in disbelief.

Laying there, trussed-up like a wild animal was his wonderful Christiana.

Walking to the bed, he lowered his eyes, hardly able to look, the savagery inflicted on her, almost beyond belief.

Holding back the tears, he found a sheet to cover her, and wondered how long she’d been held in this grotesque position, the handcuffs chafing into her slim wrists, the heavy chains biting deep into her tender flesh, her beautiful face cut, scared and bleeding, her lips split, scalded flesh around her eyes, and not only had she been raped, but some of her toenails had been ripped away and left discarded on the bed.

And then he saw the bloodied pliers.

A surging wave of hate and anger came to fill his chest, but knew his vengeance would have to wait.

Looking at the massive timbers of the huge old bed, he knew the handcuffs and locks on the chains could not be forced without strong tools, so he began to search for the keys.

He searched everywhere, the dressing table, drawers, bureau, wardrobe and shelves but there were no keys anywhere, and glaring at the erotic clothes, wanted to tear it all down.

There were nurse’s costumes, girl guide clothes and police uniforms, and a cowgirl outfit with its wide brimmed hat, high boots and a soft leather gun belt complete with its Colt .45, spare ammunition, and keys …

With the locks undone he was able to take the chains from around the bedposts and gently release them from her bloodied flesh, but when he eased her legs down, she began to scream as a scalding river of blood ran back through her starved veins, and when he looked into her eyes, saw she was wildly staring through her torture.

Wincing as Dmitri poured Whisky over her blood soaked toes, she was only partly aware when he gently washed the blood from her face, but she was coming more awake now, and when he carefully eased a glass of water to her mouth, she tried to drink, but her split lips made her jump.

He said not a word, there was no point in confusing an already tortured mind, and leaving her to wake up in her own time, collected everything that seemed to belong to her, but as he eased her into a dressing gown, she seemed to come awake, but looking at him, only brought staring confusion and bewilderment.

‘Dimi? Is it you? But how? Oh god, are you caught as well?’

‘No, my Valkerie, Dmitri come for you, take you away. We go now, quick.’

‘But where’s Lucinda and the twins? How did you find me?’

‘No time for talk, people not here. We go now, speak later, come quick.’

Helping her up, he steadied her, and as she wobbled, she smiled for the first time, but as she leant against him, her quiet smile became disfigured with the pain.

‘Christiana, this walk, bad for you. I carry.’

‘No, let me try.’

‘But it hurt you.’

‘I must. They might come back.’

‘Da, is true.’ Turning, he spoke softly, ‘Wait one minute.’

Taking the Colt .45 from the holster, he saw it was in perfect working order, and rotating the chambers, saw each held a round of ammunition. Slipping the revolver into the waistband of his trousers, he took spare ammunition from the belt, and shouldering the pack, took Christiana by the arm.

‘Dimi. I don’t know how you found me, but I love you so much.’

He smiled, ‘You know it, my Valkerie, everything for you.’

The old house was silent as they made their way out and along to the landing, and by the time they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, she’d thought things through, and couldn’t help wondering where Lucinda was now, because the Goodwin target had been arranged for yesterday, so why wasn’t she here, and where were the twins.

‘Dimi. Is my car still there? A red Ferrari?’

‘Da,’ but he shrugged his shoulders, ‘tyres not good, no air.’

She thought for a moment, ‘There’s a workshop by the stables, there might be a pump, so go and see because we need that car, and did you bring my purse with the keys?’

‘Da.’ He patted the backpack, but frowned, ‘You not come?’

‘I’ll only be a minute, there’s something I must check, and it’s very important.’

He looked unsure, ‘Do it quick.’

She smiled, and hobbling away, climbed the flight of stairs to the priest hole.

Finding the workshop behind the stables, he saw the wooden doors were standing open, and it was full of everything, machinery and hundreds of tools, and between a drill and a jack was a foot pump. So there was a chance, but time was slipping away fast.