Читать книгу Creatures of the Chase - Yusuf - L. M. Ollie - Страница 5

Yakinchuk swallowed hard as the memory of his encounter with Develin dissolved leaving him suddenly and inexplicably saddened by the knowledge that this dangerous yet charismatic man was dead.

‘That’ll be five-fifty,’ the taxi driver intoned as he stopped the meter; his lack of enthusiasm for his chosen profession patently obvious.

Yakinchuk gave him six-fifty just to make his day, exited the taxi and stood blinking in the noonday sun like a devotee who had just exited a movie theatre after a matinée performance. The office building in front of him was just like any other office building except that this one contained a small but vital branch of the FBI. There would be no outward signs that such an office existed but Yakinchuk knew because it was run by a university buddy of his – Stan Munroe.

Munroe greeted Yakinchuk warmly, asked after Carol and the kids and signed Yakinchuk in. He handed him a visitor’s pass. ‘Hey, this is great; are you here to buy me lunch, or what?’

Yakinchuk smiled. ‘Actually I’m here to make use of your particular area of expertise.’

‘Okay so we’ll grab something to eat from the canteen and take it upstairs.’

Yakinchuk couldn’t help but smile as he walked into Munroe’s office and saw the huge glass bowl filled almost to the brim with jelly beans. He searched through, but as usual there were no black ones.

‘Go ahead, help yourself Vic,’ Munroe said as he began to open his pastrami and rye sandwich.

‘Why do you always eat the black ones?’

Munroe shrugged, ‘Because I always do; you know that. So, what’s up Vic?’

‘Births, deaths, marriages – I need you to check some names and dates.’

‘Sure, provided you can give me as much info as possible I can usually get the rest pretty fast.’

Yakinchuk paused to consider the best point of attack. ‘Okay, let’s start with Richard Develin.’

Munroe stared at him. ‘You mean Richard Mayfair Develin?’

‘Yeah so … Do you know him?’

‘I know of him, yes. You’re wasting your time Vic; he’s covert. Word is that he’s one of MI6’s favourite sons.’

‘Then word should also have it that he’s dead.’

Munroe swung around in his chair and began keying in the relevant data before pressing the send button. All he got back in the initial swoop was the obituary; the same one Yakinchuk had seen. ‘Christ Vic, he was only fifty years old.’

‘The obit doesn’t say it but I have reason to believe that he left behind a wife and one or maybe two kids.’

‘Why doesn’t it mention a wife and kids?’

‘Because I don’t think he wanted the whole world to know about them.’

‘Well, births, marriages, even death; they’re all public domain so, if they’re recorded, we should be able to access the information. I’ll give it another go.’

‘Try southern Ireland specifically.’

Munroe nodded as he called up the blank request form and keyed in as much information as he knew; which wasn’t much although it would prove sufficient. ‘Okay, here we go,’ he said, leaning forward. ‘Tipperary county, Ireland; that’s were the marriage is recorded. Groom: Richard Mayfair Develin. Bride: Sarah Winthrope Churchill. They were married, ah … oh Christ, they were married on December twenty-fourth last year.’

‘The same day he died,’ Yakinchuk said sadly. ‘Why does her name sound familiar?’

‘Let’s check it out. Sarah Churchill might be a fairly common name but the Winthrope should cut the field down nicely.’ Munroe pressed the send key then looked up at Yakinchuk. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about, Vic?’

‘Let it all roll first.’

Munroe stared at the computer output, totally dumbfounded as the results of his search came through. ‘This is crazy,’ he exclaimed. ‘There was a local girl - Sarah Winthrope Churchill who died New Year’s Day 1980 in a car accident out on old Highway Five. There’s another who married Develin and … ready for this Vic, a Sarah Winthrope Churchill Develin who married Merhot Mauphet Capritzo in February this year. The ceremony took place at Cavendish Hall, Tipperary County, Ireland.’ He swallowed hard as the full impact of the information hit him. ‘Didn’t Capritzo die in Ireland?’

‘He did; at Cavendish Hall, Tipperary County, in February of this year.’

‘God, I think I need a drink,’ Munroe declared, revolving free of his chair. He unlocked a steel filing cabinet then pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside was a veritable treasure-trove of alcohol. ‘What will it be Vic?’

When he turned Yakinchuk was reaching for the phone. Moments later he was through to Records. ‘Hello Betty; Vic Yakinchuk. Do me a favour honey; could you pull everything we have on a fatal automobile accident on New Year’s Day; victim’s name - Sarah Winthrope Churchill. It happened out on old Highway Five so it should be … Yeah, on my desk would be fine; thanks.’

Yakinchuk sat staring straight ahead, his mind in chaos. Over and over again he could hear Maggie’s words – 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.

‘What do you know about how Capritzo died? I know you guys must have kept a close eye on him over the years.’

Munroe shrugged. ‘Yeah sure we did although most of the time Capritzo flew under the radar if you take my meaning. He knows … I mean he knew too many people in high places so we always had to be very, very careful. Cause of death is listed as “misadventure” but I don’t know the details. Hey, look what I found; a bottle of Irish whiskey. Now that’s what I call apropos.’

He poured out two glasses; handing one to Yakinchuk. ‘I think a toast is in order so here goes; to Richard Develin and Merhot Capritzo; two extraordinary men and to this woman, Sarah Churchill who must be even more extraordinary.’

Yakinchuk stood up. ‘To extraordinary people,’ he said sadly as he toasted the memory of a living, breathing Richard Develin. He took a gulp of the whiskey then let the liquid slowly burn its way down his throat.

Munroe was watching him closely. ‘Are you okay Vic?’

‘What I want to know is why would Capritzo go to Cavendish Hall? What connects Develin and Capritzo other than women of course?’

‘Women; you mean other than Sarah Churchill?’

Yakinchuk quickly told Munroe the story of Susan Kojak. ‘Capritzo sent a young girl he knew had a heart condition into the proverbial lion’s den and she got chewed up real bad by Develin despite what the official report says.’

‘You’re working on your gut instinct Vic,’ Munroe replied as he watched Yakinchuk walk towards the windows. ‘You can’t prove it.’

Yakinchuk stared through his reflection to the street below. ‘I followed Develin and Emery out to the airport.’ He paused, trying to find the rights words. ‘You know, I’ve forgotten this until now. How could I forget something so ….’ He swallowed hard.

‘When I arrived, Develin was on the tarmac saying goodbye to Emery. He had his back to me and ah … I heard Emery ask him something about what he was doing to the girl just prior to her death.’ Yakinchuk ran both hands across his face. They were shaking. Slowly he turned to face Munroe. ‘Do you know what Develin said? He said he was practicing.’

‘Jesus,’ Munroe said as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Did he see you?’

‘Oh yeah, we had a lovely chat.’ He smiled almost shyly. ‘Got to tell you Stan; he scared the shit out of me.’

‘Have you ever met Capritzo?’ Munroe asked.

‘No. I don’t even know what he looks like.’

‘Give me a minute,’ Munroe said as he jumped up from his seat and hurried into the room next door. Moments later he was back with a several large photo albums.

‘Develin and Capritzo were both extremely camera shy but I’ve got a few photos here in my rogues gallery.’ Checking the index first, Munroe flipped though the heavy pages before coming to rest on page seven. ‘There he is.’

Yakinchuk leaned in closer to examine the first of several clandestine photos of Capritzo taken by the Bureau over the years. Tall and slender with jet black hair and a widow’s peak; black eyes and pale skin. In one photo he was looking straight at the camera, immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit, just like Develin. ‘He’s an evil looking bastard.’

‘He was fucking evil period.’

‘Have you got any photos of Develin?’

‘Sure,’ Munroe said as he checked the index again. He reached for another album and quickly turned to page seventeen. ‘These were all taken the same day; at Santa Anita. We knew he would be there because one of his horses was running.’

Yakinchuk stared at the photos like a fan would a rock star. There was one of him sitting in the owners’ enclosure beside a strikingly beautiful redhead. His head was slightly bowed as she whispered in his ear. The rest were variations on the same theme but the last one caught Yakinchuk’s attention and his imagination. Develin was standing alone; arms folded across his chest; his head held high.

‘Stan, let me see Capritzo’s photos again.’ Munroe handed Yakinchuk the open album. Yakinchuk carefully placed the two albums together so that both pages were side by side. ‘Is it my imagination or is there a resemblance?’

Yakinchuk moved to one side to allow Munroe a closer look. ‘Yeah, I suppose there is. I know Capritzo was born in Cairo; travelled on an Italian passport and that he took the name Capritzo from the family that raised him. All the records were lost sometime during the war but we do know that his birth mother died young. Whoever the father was he was a no-show in his life. The Capritzo family has connections to the Benghazi family or should I say tribe in Libya and Morocco so there’s an Arab slash Sunni Muslim slash Italian slash Berber connection there. Omar Mauphet Benghazi, now he was a nasty piece of work.

‘Vic, are you suggesting that Develin and Capritzo are somehow related?’

Yakinchuk frowned as he stared down at the two albums. ‘I don’t know what I’m suggesting.’ He sighed. ‘Right, let’s check and see if Develin left an heir.’

*****

‘I’ve got two darling little boys for you Vic; William Churchill Develin - born September twenty-fourth last year and Richard Winthrope Develin born the twenty-second of July last. It’s not hard from this to figure out who the mother is.’

Yakinchuk nodded. ‘Develin didn’t live long enough to see his second son born.’

‘Yeah,’ Munroe replied sadly.

‘Neil Perry said that he was a Double-O-Seven. Is that true?’

‘Yeah, it’s true although it’s also true that he freelanced.’

Yakinchuk laughed. ‘And what does that mean?’

Munroe smiled. ‘Do you remember my kid sister Liz?’ Yakinchuk nodded. ‘Well, about six years ago I guess Liz and her girlfriend Bonny took a two week trip to the UK. They came back broke, exhausted and overflowing with stories. I was in New York so I picked them up at JFK. They flew British Airways.’

Munroe reached for his glass of whiskey and took a couple of sips before continuing. ‘I remember asking about the flights. Liz said that the trip back was boring because the airline showed the same movie going over and coming back; typical teen eh?’ He smiled. ‘Bonny on the other hand thought the flight was the best thanks to the Chief Purser. Tall, dark and handsome was how she described him; beautiful cold blue eyes and the most wonderful English accent; and when he smiled …’ He laughed this time, remembering.

‘She admitted that she fell in love instantly. I gather she was planning to seduce him given half a chance. She also admitted that the pilot kept the seatbelt sign on for most of the flight; cautioning the passengers and crew to remain seated because of impending turbulence which, she added, never happened.

‘They arrived back on a Saturday. On Monday information began to flow in regarding a couple of known terrorists found dead in one of the toilets on a British Airlines flight out of Heathrow. I remembered the girls’ flight number so you can imagine how horrified I was when I realized that these terrorists were on their flight. The bodies were found stacked; the explosives they were carrying defused and resting on top of the bodies along with a couple of knives. I remember seeing the photos; it was bizarre. I called Liz and she confirmed that yes one of the toilets on her flight was out of order; in fact, the door was locked.’

‘Do you think Develin did it?’

‘I know he did. It was a “signature kill” you see.’

‘No, I don’t see.’

Munroe sighed. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this but, hell the man’s dead so … Develin kills by first rendering the victim unconscious or at least stunned; I don’t know how. He’d finish them off with something like a knitting needle right through the brain. One look at the victim’s ears and you’d know plus they’re almost always bleeding from the nose. Sometimes there are traces of curare too.

‘That’s a signature kill which usually means he either didn’t have time to square it with the powers that be or he just thought it was a good idea.’ Munroe shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

‘I knew he was dead; all of us did. Vic, if it wasn’t for him, my kid sister and her friend and everyone on that flight might have died. With him gone there’s one less good guy out there quietly going about the job of ridding this world of evil.’

‘Maybe that’s true Stan but I also think that Richard Develin enjoyed killing.’