Part 9 (1/2)
”Yes, Sir,” Danny replied.
”Make sure that you honour his name and replicate his deeds.” With that, Ramsey stood and left the room to nervous faces.
Randall was pulling his way through the digital images on the laptop. He was fast getting to grips with the technology that Marion Ramsey's money had provided and he was only sorry that he hadn't managed to tap her for more before she'd fallen to the Crucifier.
The photographs on the screen were turning his stomach and he reached for the bottle of whisky on the nightstand by the hotel room bed. He had managed to largely stay away from the booze for the past few days as his story had been all the sustenance that he'd needed. But now he needed the steely shoulder of the bottle to lean on, to hold him up and keep him afloat.
The other bed in the twin room was currently covered in his research. During the day he kept the large box hidden in the wardrobe but at night he pulled all of his work out to review.
According to all of the official records, Arthur Durage had been the Crucifier serial killer. He had been shot and killed by Detective Inspector Karl Meyers in his own bas.e.m.e.nt. Durage had been a loner with no family to mourn his loss and no one to speak in his defence. The bas.e.m.e.nt had been full of indisputable evidence and Durage had been buried by a local charity up north in his home town, a charity that remained nameless so as to not hurt their fundraising.
Randall also knew from the journal that Meyers had kept - and from his old partner, Tom Holland - that Jane Parkes had been unofficially consulting on several cases with Meyers and that she had been with him on that night.
Lana Genovese had been saved as a child from Durage's bas.e.m.e.nt and she had been the first new victim. She had been followed by Donna Moss and now Marion Ramsey. According to a Globe source within the police, another murder of a guy at a picnic area that had been written up as a mugging gone wrong was currently stuck up on DI Danny Meyers' wall.
Randall had been unable to find any reason to link Alan Holmes' death to the Crucifier case, but if Danny Meyers was then he was going to listen.
He was letting his mind wander across the a.s.sembled information when a sound from outside caught his attention. The noise was soft, but as Randall slid from the bed onto his hands and knees he could clearly see a silhouette under the door. Someone was in the hallway outside and they didn't want to be heard.
Randall's mind started to panic as he suddenly found himself potentially within the pages of a story instead of writing it; it was not a place that he wanted to be. He thought back to Marion Ramsey's apartment and whether or not he'd actually been alone, apart from the bodies that was. The killer may well have been lurking and followed him back here.
He glanced down and saw that the time on his watch read 2.15am and knew that most of the hotel's guests would be sleeping and the staff were on a skeleton rota.
He grabbed the memory card from the laptop that held his information and images and slipped it into his pocket. The hotel was a large building but he was only on the first floor.
He crept to the window and eased up the pane, praying that it wouldn't make a sound. There was a metal fire escape outside that led down to the ground and he carefully stuck one leg outside. The door k.n.o.b behind him softly turned and all hope of a reasonable explanation fled from his mind.
He quickly exited through the window and started to clamber down the metallic staircase. His hand slipped on the cold handrail due to his sweaty palm and he fought to maintain his balance as his legs wobbled beneath him. He hurried downwards, no longer caring about the noise that he was making.
He reached the bottom of the staircase and was horrified to find that the steps didn't reach the ground. There was a drop of about 15 feet and a st.u.r.dy padlock had been inserted to stop the remaining staircase from falling into place. Presumably the hotel had installed the measure to stop guests from leaving without paying and had not yet been caught during a health and safety inspection.
Randall hoisted himself over the barrier and gripped onto the railing. There was a collection of bin bags beneath him as he dangled, and he could only hope that they contained something soft. With a deep breath, he dropped into the black night and braced himself for the impact; the bags were not soft.
His ankle buckled as he landed and a roar of pain shot up his leg. Something broke inside one of the refuge bags and speared him in the side. He dragged himself to his feet and started to limp along the alleyway. There was little light, save for the dim glow from a few windows. The back alley was where the surrounding buildings all took deliveries and left their trash for collection. There were tall metal industrial bins which stank of rotting food and Randall used the containers to lean on as he hobbled towards the street and the occasional flash of a car's lights as people pa.s.sed.
His progress was slow but he could see hope up ahead. As long as he could reach a more public setting then he would be safe.
He was no more than 10 feet from the street when strong hands suddenly reached out and grasped his shoulders in a painful clamp. The light at the end of the alleyway started to grow further away again as he was dragged backwards into the dark. He tried to kick out but his shattered ankle refused to function and he could feel blood seeping from his side.
He was waiting for the sharp cut of the blade to fall when the shadow fell upon him. Powerful hands reached down, but they were not holding a knife. Instead, they reached roughly into his pockets until they found the memory card secured within.
”Mr Zerneck, so nice to meet you,” a man said, stepping out of the shadows. ”I believe that you knew my daughter.”
Randall looked up to see Alfonso Ramsey standing before him. There was a large, brutish-looking man that still held onto his collar. The hands let go and the thug walked over to his boss and handed him the memory stick.
”I'm afraid that we will no longer be requiring your services at The Globe,” Ramsey said officially.
”I don't need your paper to write a story, Mr Ramsey,” Randall grunted from the floor.
”No, no ... you don't; but you do need your hands,” Ramsey smiled and nodded to his accomplice.
The man stepped forward and, without warning, stamped down on Randall's left hand, breaking a couple of fingers instantly. He let out a stifled scream, keen not to show his pain but falling some way short. He rolled onto his side, clutching his wounded hand to his chest.
”This is going to be handled strictly in-house, Mr Zerneck,” Ramsey mused aloud as he strutted over with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. ”I won't bore you with the details, son, as quite frankly they're none of your d.a.m.n business. Suffice to say that if I catch you working on this investigation then your hand won't be the only thing that gets broken.”
Randall could only sit and watch as the media mogul wandered away with his bodyguard in tow. As the filthy water soaked through his trousers, his hand throbbed monstrously, competing with his ankle for his full attention.
CHAPTER NINE.
STRONGER.
Jane waited patiently at the rear door of the building. She wore a comically large overcoat and wide-brimmed hat. Both were boiling her alive in the summer heat, but they did afford her a disguise of sorts. Her features were obscured because the front of the building was swarming with reporters. Danny had told her that Alfonso Ramsey had promised to shut down his own media's attention on his daughter's murder, but word had soon spread about her death. Details were sketchy amongst the other news outlets and they had no idea as yet that Marion Ramsey had been butchered by the Crucifier, but the fact that she was dead was still news.
The fire door opened and Danny ushered her quickly inside.
”We alone?” she asked in a whisper.
”Yes; don't worry, it's just you and me here.”
She followed as he led her up the back stairs towards the penthouse apartment.
”How much does one of these places cost?” she couldn't help but ask.
”A lot more than I'll ever see in my lifetime, I can tell you that,” he shrugged.
”What's the official police stance on all this?”
”You mean as far as her old man is concerned?”
Jane nodded as they climbed the steep stairs.
”Officially, the police service stands no interference of any kind in any investigation. In reality, Alfonso Ramsey had more juice and power than I ever thought possible. Chalmers is a snake who only ever cares about his own career prospects. But Barrett is a commander; he's the guy usually pulling the strings and Ramsey has even got him running for cover. Ramsey gave us a week to find a suspect before he goes to work.”
”Do you believe him? That he'll keep out of it for now?”
Danny considered the question. ”No. I don't think so. The impression that I got is firstly, that he's one scary dude, and secondly, that he doesn't care much about Marion Ramsey; he only cares that one of his possessions got damaged and he has to be seen making someone pay.”
”He sounds like some kind of James Bond villain.”
”To be honest that sounds about right,” Danny said, stopping outside of Marion's door. ”Look ... if you want to back off, I wouldn't blame you. If this guy can make senior police officers c.r.a.p in their pants then I'd hate to think what he could to you.”
Jane thought about the drive over here and she thought about her crowded backseat with four spirits crammed in. ”I'm in it now, Danny, for better or worse; there's no turning back until this is done.”
He stepped aside and allowed her into the plush apartment. There was a strong chemical smell in the air that must have come from the cleaning, but it still couldn't quite mask the aroma of death. The main reason that she'd wanted to see the crime scene first-hand was to try and understand why she hadn't witnessed Marion Ramsey's murder. She would have wondered if the killing had been a copycat crime of some nature, but Marion was currently following her around with the other three victims.