Читать книгу Creatures of the Chase - Yusuf - L. M. Ollie - Страница 4

I will find where truth is hid

‘Though it were hid indeed

Within the centre.

Shakespeare - Hamlet

BOSTON, Massachusetts

August 14th, 1981

‘Goddamn it!’ Victor Yakinchuk growled as the unmistakable stench of canned tuna fish wafted upwards from the depths of his lunch bag, assaulting and insulting him simultaneously. He hated tuna fish but his wife Carol kept packing it and he kept throwing it out.

‘You’d think that after twelve years of marriage you’d have learned by now.’

He tossed the sandwich into the waste container beside his desk. It landed at the bottom, producing a dull squishing thud. He frowned. Twelve years - thirteen in November. Nearly thirteen years into a life sentence married to a woman he no longer loved, if indeed he had ever loved her. ‘Marry in haste, regret at leisure,’ he muttered aloud, thankful that he was alone in his office.

He looked hopefully back inside the brown paper bag only this time he didn’t bother pulling the contents out. A dead-ripe banana and store-bought cookies quickly followed the sandwich.

For some inexplicable reason he thought of his wedding day, conjuring up the image like a rabbit out of a hat. Abracadabra, please and thank you.

Carol was halfway up the aisle when near panic set in. Dreamlike he imagined himself plunging out of the vestry door into the cold of a November morning and running like hell, hoping that her father would never find him to remind him, yet again, that Carol was pregnant by him and what was he going to do about it. Instead he had stood there trapped inside one of the oldest and most successful snares known to mankind or to be more precise, womankind.

She had smiled at him as she came ever closer, her condition exaggerated by the twenty-five pounds she had already put on in preparation for forty more before Kenny was born. Victor assumed of course that she would lose the weight, but she didn’t. By their fifth wedding anniversary Carol had nearly doubled her original size and was pregnant again. That was a mistake on Vic’s part since the act had more to do with need than want although he wasn’t cruel enough to tell her that. He had sat and listened politely as her doctor described in detail her compulsive personality, while wondering all the while why she was compulsive towards food while leaving housekeeping, clean kids and a proper meal on the table out of the equation.

Strikingly attractive, slender and athletic with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes, Victor Yakinchuk’s easy-going extroversion cloaked a darker side which was particularly useful in his line of work - homicide. So expert was he at solving murders that he was beginning to formulate one of his own and guess who the victim would be?

At thirty-five he was beginning to think that life was passing him by but at that precise moment it was about to take a very sharp detour into a world beyond imagining.

He looked up to find his partner Neil Perry leaning against the doorframe, smiling that ludicrous smile Yakinchuk hated almost as much as his wife’s sandwiches.

‘Tuna fish again, eh?’

‘Piss off Perry.’

‘I’ve got some news for you Vic.’

‘Yeah, what?’

‘Remember that Irishman you had a run in with awhile back?’

‘Develin?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one. Thought you’d like to know, Maggie O’Shea just told me he’s dead.’

Yakinchuk blinked. ‘What?’

‘Natural causes apparently. She’s got a copy of the obit so why don’t you go and have a chat with her. Be in for a surprise though when you mention the name because according to Maggie, Develin’s old man murdered her brother.’

*****

Yakinchuk watched as Maggie O’Shea pushed the last slice of pie into place behind the glass doors. ‘Neil said you might be popping in Victor.’ She turned and offered him a ghost of a smile set in a face that had known more sadness than anything else in her fifty-eight years. Slowly she pulled the obituary out from inside the pocket of a cheap cotton import of a dress almost lost behind a starched white apron. ‘He’s dead and I’m not one bit sorry for the hearing of it.’

‘Did you know him Maggie?’ Yakinchuk asked, bewildered by the depth of her enmity.

‘Aye, when he was a lad but already showin’ the signs.’

‘Signs; what signs?’

‘Of the curse and the evil that circles it, generation after generation.’ Quickly Yakinchuk scanned the obituary. ‘If you’re looking for heirs,’ she hissed, ‘they’ll not be spoken of though they exist, close to their mother’s breast; protected by the she-wolf what birthed them.’

‘Maggie look, I understand that maybe you…’

‘You understand nothing, not while you are here in this part of the world. But there … there it is different. There where my brother Drover lies in an unmarked grave in unhallowed ground. There where my sister Maureen lived out her days in a world of her own imagining. He is gone but in time two will take his place.’

‘Two?’

‘Sure there’ll be two. Brothers so close in age to be like twins with at least one with pale, pale eyes sharp as death itself.’ She cupped her hand then swept it across his chest. ‘Sharp enough to cut a soul clean of its body.’

Yakinchuk swallowed hard as he remembered Develin’s eyes. ‘Maggie, ah … it says he died quietly at his home. Where is that?’

‘Houses aplenty he has but home, there is only one - Cavendish Hall.’

Yakinchuk reeled back as if hit violently in the face. ‘But that’s where … holy shit!

‘Maggie, the mother of these kids; who might she be?’

‘You will know her if you should see her. Wild she’ll be with raging green eyes and hair the colour of fire. She will bear his name though their union is of the devil. Beware of her for it is very like she has killed once already and will do so again if needs must.’

‘Tell me about the curse,’ he urged, but she shook her head slowly.

‘It can’t be spoken of, but come to me here tomorrow and I will give you the words of Peter the Anchorite, written just before he was burned alive with the church around him.’

*****

Yakinchuk thought about returning to his office after talking with Maggie but instead he wandered outside too amazed by what he had heard to be able to concentrate on anything.

… the curse and the evil that circles it, generation after generation.

… burned alive with the church around him.

… home, there is only one - Cavendish Hall.

‘Where Capritzo died,’ he muttered, appalled by what had to be more than a mere coincidence.

‘Beware of her for it is very like she has killed once already and will do so again if needs must.’

Yakinchuk leapt up from the picnic bench where he had come to rest. Minutes later he was in a taxi heading into the very heart of Boston.

Try as he might he couldn’t stop remembering that day – was it really only three years ago – and the investigation into the death of Susan Kojak. The memory rose, took hold and solidified. The traffic, the buildings, the people beyond the taxi’s window disappeared to be replaced in his mind’s eye with the image of Richard Develin.

He was standing near the booking desk waiting for Carl Emery to be released. In his hand was a brown envelope containing Emery’s personal affects. Yakinchuk stared at him through the glass panel which separated his office from the more general area; an area not normally available to the public.

Develin was immaculately dressed in a three piece suit. His shoes looked right out of the box. Yakinchuk judged him to be six feel tall; mid-forties. His hair was jet black, drawn straight back and lightly oiled. He had about him that aristocratic bearing one would associate with royalty; wealth, privilege, class. As casual as his manner seemed, he was taking in everything around him; of that Yakinchuk was certain. As certain as he was when Develin’s eyes shifted suddenly to focus directly on him. Yakinchuk felt his heart constrict as Develin’s eyes seemed to narrow like a predator’s might when it has selected its prey.

‘Here’s that report you wanted Vic.’

Yakinchuk pulled himself away from the window to concentrate on the report which had been left on his desk. After twelve years with the police force Vic Yakinchuk was quite proficient at translating the codes sent down the line from the various crime control agencies both domestic and international.

‘What the hell is this shit?’ he growled, not understanding any of it.

Perry leaned over and pointed at the bottom row. ‘That translated means, hands off.’

‘Who the hell is this guy?’

‘Lets just say that he’s about as close as you or I will ever get to a Double-O-Seven.’

Yakinchuk threw the sheet across his desk in disgust. ‘Yeah well the James Bond I know doesn’t fuck his women to death.’

‘For Christ sake Vic, give it a rest or you’ll find yourself on the carpet.’

‘Carl Emery didn’t kill that girl; Develin did, goddamn it!’

‘Susan Kojak died of a heart attack; got that? Natural causes and if you don’t let this go right here, right now then I’ll have no recourse but to … Where the hell are you going?’

Yakinchuk was half way out of the office door. ‘Maybe if you had seen the body like I did, you might …’

‘She was a whore and whores get knocked around sometimes. That’s just the way it is. The case is closed; let it go Vic.’

‘Fuck you,’ Yakinchuk barked as he exited the room slamming the door behind him.

*****

Two hours later he was presenting his badge for inspection at the gateway leading to the section of Logan Airport set aside for use by privately owned aircraft.

Carl stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up and into Develin’s private jet. ‘Have a good flight Carl. Tell John that I will bring the part for the Daimler back with me,’ Develin said.

‘Dick, look I …’ Carl swallowed hard. ‘You haven’t told me what happened.’

‘Perhaps that is because there is nothing to tell.’ Develin backed up a pace then turned to signal to the pilot. ‘Jamie is eager to get going. I will see you Sunday.’

‘How could she die like that, Dick? What were you doing that could have …’

Develin stared at Carl with pale blue eyes suddenly grown remarkably cold. ‘Why the hell do you care? She was just a whore.’

‘She died of fright, Dick,’ Carl challenged. ‘That’s what I was told.’

‘She died of a fucking heart attack, Emery. Got that?’ Develin backed away, visibly annoyed. The engine noise from the twin jets increased in volume.

Carl Emery shouted overtop of the high pitched scream. ‘What were you doing to her?’ he demanded. Develin said something, a single word lost in the shrill whine.

Carl hurried up the steps and into the aircraft as an airport attendant prepared to close and lock the door. From his window seat he could clearly see Develin as he walked back towards the terminal building. Just before entering he turned and watched the jet as it eased back from its chocks, turned and began to taxi across the tarmac to join the queue waiting at runway 4R-22L, outbound.

Carl leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Moments later they opened with a start as the single word Develin had uttered came through to him, stripped now of all of its background noise … PRACTICING.

*****

‘Yours I presume?’

Develin spun around. ‘It was my understanding that our business was concluded, Inspector.’

Yakinchuk shrugged then smiled. ‘I merely came down to ensure that you and yours were safely on their way out of my fair city.’ He paused as Develin sidestepped around him. ‘We don’t like your sort here, Develin.’

Slowly, almost reluctantly Develin turned to confront Yakinchuk, taking in the substance of him in one swift glance. Despite himself, Yakinchuk felt his heart skip a beat as Develin’s eyes met his own. ‘And what precisely do you mean by that?’

‘I had a wee chat with Nigel Rogers; the Chief Coroner. Apparently Miss Kojak had enough semen in her to float a good-size barge. Active it was too - very.’

Develin’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have no time for this. The investigation is concluded Inspector in case you missed the directive from your boss, and the Mayor.’

Yakinchuk continued, despite the warning tone of Develin’s voice. ‘You know, it’s strange. As rich as you are you would think that you could afford two girls; one for you and one for Emery.’ He smiled maliciously. ‘Off night was it for you?’

Develin turned on his heel and stormed across the terminal corridor and through a set of doors to his waiting car - a chauffeur-driven limousine. Yakinchuk followed in his wake. Fifteen feet from the car Develin halted then turned to confront Yakinchuk.

‘The death of Miss Kojak is indeed unfortunate, but as I understand it, she had no family and was in fact a ward of Merhot Capritzo. Is that correct?’ Yakinchuk nodded. ‘I also understand that Capritzo knew of her delicate condition so, perhaps you might wish to talk with him.’ Develin smiled, although there was precious little warmth to it. ‘Capritzo is, I believe, a resident of your fair city so I am sure there will be a natural amity. For my part, I have seen to a proper funeral for the girl. Under the circumstances, I think I have been more than generous. Now Inspector, if you will excuse me.’

‘You murdered her, you bastard.’

‘Be very careful Yakinchuk in your choice of words, particularly when dealing with me.’ Develin reached inside his jacket, pulled out a silver cigarette case and selected a handmade, unfiltered cigarette from the row. He regarded Yakinchuk evenly as he tapped the cigarette on the side of the case before lighting it. ‘I would offer you one but you don’t indulge, do you, in this particular vice?’

‘You know nothing about me.’

‘Please, don’t ever make the mistake of underestimating me.’ Develin blew cigarette smoke out through tightened lips. ‘I could see you coming leagues away.’

‘I could have you arrested now. A sample of semen would prove that it was you who was with Susan Kojak and not Emery.’

Develin took a deep drag from his cigarette. ‘Too late Yakinchuk, the case is closed.’

‘It’s fucking closed when I say it is,’ Yakinchuk snapped.

Develin sighed as he reached once more inside his jacket pocket, this time extracting a small notebook. He opened it. ‘Victor Nicholas Yakinchuk, born Warsaw, Poland, November first, 1940 to Stanis and Marie Yavinchuk - your father changed the family name just prior to arrival in the new world.’ He regarded his adversary evenly as he continued. ‘Despite your father’s considerable intellect and level of education, he took up employment with an obscure shoe manufacturing firm in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Curious, until one realizes that obscurity was just what he wanted, particularly if his activities during the war should come under close scrutiny.’

Yakinchuk started. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘You don’t know?’ Develin smiled. ‘Then I shall tell you, in brief, since the details should, under the circumstances, be addressed by your father. Briefly told, your father collaborated with the Germans. In fact, Stanis Yavinchuk was extremely instrumental in assisting the SS in rounding up more than a representative sample of the Jewish population and seeing them into the ghetto. Anyone who has studied their history knows what happened to the inhabitants of the Warsaw ghetto in 1942.’

Develin drew one final drag from his cigarette before dropping it, crushing its life out with the toe of his shoe. Yakinchuk stared open-mouthed. ‘Of course, if you don’t believe me Inspector then by all means talk with your father but, I would do so soon since, as I understand it, he is not in good health.’

‘You fucking bastard,’ Yakinchuk growled. ‘I’ll have you, you murdering son of a bitch!’

‘Ah,’ Develin erupted, in mild surprise, ‘you continue to skate on the moral high ground, totally oblivious of the danger. Pity. Then you will excuse me if I tighten the screws, but remember no one invited you here.

‘Betty Winston - name sound familiar? She was quite forthcoming yesterday evening perhaps because I entertained her in a style to which she could quite happily become accustomed, given the opportunity. I learned everything I need to know about you, your family and your adulterous activities. If even a portion of that information were to filter back to your wife, you would be in considerable difficulty. On the other hand, if your employer where to find out, you would be unemployed. There is, I believe, a rather crude but accurate American expression regarding the inappropriateness of getting one’s meat where one gets one’s bread.’

Develin and Yakinchuk were interrupted at that moment by Develin’s chauffeur. ‘Sir, is there anything I can do, sir?’

‘Thank you, Paddy,’ Develin said, not taking his eyes from Yakinchuk for a moment. ‘I believe I gave you the telephone number of the Mayor’s office yesterday. You might retrieve it for me in the unlikely event that I may wish to call him on the mobile phone.’

‘Yes sir,’ Paddy replied, backing away.

‘Don’t you try to threaten me,’ Yakinchuk growled.

Develin smiled an almost angelic smile. ‘But I already have tried; and succeeded. I believe you have been told in no uncertain terms to back off. Whether you wish to take that as a suggestion, a warning or an order is immaterial to me; just do it.’