Читать книгу Creatures of the Chase - Yusuf - L. M. Ollie - Страница 8

‘Yes Inspector, what can I do for you?’ The Manager of the Fenshaw Hotel shook Yakinchuk’s hand warmly.

‘I would like to ask you a few questions regarding your annual New Year’s Eve Ball.’

‘Certainly, certainly; what do you wish to know?’

‘I would like to see the venue if you don’t mind.’

A few minutes later Yakinchuk was standing in the middle of the Grand Ballroom. Rectangular in shape the huge room glittered, from a dozen crystal chandeliers above to the framed mirrors hung at intervals along the inside wall. At the far end of the room was a raised platform; probably used by the orchestra. The most arresting feature of the room though was the highly polished parquet floor.

‘It’s empty now,’ the Manager said, ‘but on the night there would be round tables dressed with the finest linen, bouquets of flowers and party favours all along here, here and here; the bar would be open of course and our guests would dance at the far end in front of the orchestra.’ His arms swept the room, conjuring up the image in his mind and, he hoped in Yakinchuk’s too. ‘Have you never been Inspector?’

Yakinchuk smiled. ‘Can’t afford it, I’m afraid.’ He walked to the far end of the room. To the left, near the corner was a set of double doors. The Manager followed him.

‘These doors lead to the corridor and the facilities. Come, I’ll show you.’ He held one of the doors open for Yakinchuk. ‘Right, now if you turn left you are back at Reception, straight ahead are the washrooms and beyond those, Conference Rooms. If you keep going around you will end up at the elevators and eventually back at Reception. Like a big circle in a square.’ He chuckled, relishing his little joke.

Yakinchuk inspected first the men’s and then the women’s washrooms, noting in passing the ubiquitous logos for each while the Manager remained in the corridor. When Yakinchuk surfaced the Manager checked his watch. ‘Is there anything in particular you are looking for Inspector?’

‘I will know it when I see it, thank you,’ Yakinchuk replied. He walked further along the corridor. Just before it turned to the left Yakinchuk noticed another door but this time there were no logos; nothing beyond the fact that the door was over-sized.

The Manager appeared somewhat embarrassed. ‘That is meant to be the handicap facility but the doors have not been fitted with the proper devices so that they will open automatically with the touch of a button. We are working on it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There is a proper facility off the lobby area of course.’

Yakinchuk frowned as he entered through the first door only to find himself in a dead space, caught between the inner and outer doors. To the right was a shelf and a mirror but no sink. Beyond the second door however he found himself in a large open area more befitting the needs of someone in a wheelchair. Everything was as it should be including the over-sized toilet area with its equally over-sized door. He gave this area a cursory glance and was about to leave when he saw it. His heart skipped a beat.

Moments later the Manager was staring at a large metal plate fitted into the wall. Measuring 1.2 meters square it was easily large enough to allow maintenance staff access to the plumbing and heaven knows what else on the other side. ‘I want this opened,’ Yakinchuk demanded. As the Manager began to move away, he added, ‘I’ll need a flashlight too.’

While Yakinchuk waited, scenario after scenario played out in his mind but there was only one that really worked and for that, he would need proof. Ten minutes later the Manager was back with two members of the hotel’s maintenance staff. Yakinchuk was delighted with the array of tools both of them carried in their leather aprons.

‘Stand back mate,’ one of them said, ‘and we’ll have this off in a jiffy.’ Yakinchuk recognized an English accent reminiscent of John Lennon. As he attacked the first screw with an electric screwdriver he asked, ‘I hear you’re a copper; what kind would that be I’m wondering.’

Yakinchuk smiled. ‘I’m a Detective Inspector.’

‘Aye, are you now and what do you inspect detective?’

Yakinchuk couldn’t resist. He leaned forward and whispered in his ear - ‘Homicides mostly.’

‘So, you think we’ve got a stiff in there?’ He looked at Yakinchuk with eyes charged with excitement or was it enthusiasm for this new mission?

‘Maybe,’ Yakinchuk replied.

He turned to the other man. ‘Crikey! Come on Ted, give us a hand.’

Yakinchuk moved back out of the way, determined to ignore the Hotel Manager who was staring at him, open-mouthed. A minute or two later both screwdrivers ground to a halt.

‘Are you having the same trouble I am?’ Ted asked his mate. Both men stood up.

‘What’s the problem?’ Yakinchuk asked.

‘No problem mate,’ the Englishman said as he pulled the panel free of the wall. ‘She was hanging on by just a few screws at the top and none of them were proper.’ He inspected the panel closely. ‘The rest of them are glued in so as to make them look right but they’ve been cut - see.’

Yakinchuk watched as they moved the panel sideways so he could see the edge. He nodded. ‘Let’s see what’s beyond shall we gentlemen.’

Yakinchuk eased himself through the opening and found himself standing, almost, in the hidden world of conduits – plumbing, electrical, telephone – pipes, wires, cables all rushing by in both directions. The air was stale and musty. Yakinchuk reached out for the flashlight offered, switched it on and began to scan the immediate area.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, and hoping for. He reached out almost reverently and plucked free a sample of fine green netting about the size of a thumbnail from the back corner of the opening. Further along he found half of a pale-green sequin plus several long hairs caught together in the rough cement. In the glare of the light, they appeared golden red. ‘They must have put her here while they closed the panel,’ he thought, allowing his original and best scenario to run its course.

As he continued to search he called out. ‘Gentlemen, I will need some envelopes or a couple of paper towels will do.’

The Englishman stuck his head through the opening. ‘Did you find something?’ he asked, breathless with excitement

Yakinchuk smiled. ‘What’s you name?’

‘George.’

‘Well George, this time I think we’ve proven that someone is alive, not dead.’

‘Oh, so there’re no stiffs in here then?’ He seemed disappointed.

There was sufficient light coming through the opening for Yakinchuk to carefully fold the paper towels containing the evidence into smaller then smaller packets until he was able to slip both into the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘Tell me George, where does this tunnel go?’

George nodded to the left first. ‘That way ends just past the men’s washroom I guess. To the right though, that will take you to some metal stairs down to the basement. Do you want me to show you?’ He was already half-way through the opening, eager once again to help.

Yakinchuk took the lead, slowly moving forward while scanning the floor and the walls on either side as they progress. Just behind, George did the same.

‘What should I be looking for Inspector?’

‘That would be anything that shouldn’t be here, George.’

‘Right,’ George replied, concentrating his beam of light just like Yakinchuk.

The basement, a full two storeys below street level, was a vast cavernous area containing huge heating and air conditioning units that vied with each other for space, although from the looks of it, the furnaces were winning. As Yakinchuk explored, the basement opened up to him, revealing rooms of various sizes containing extra furniture, boxes of light bulbs, toilet paper, Christmas decorations; in short, an infinite array of items all consigned to storage.

In the far corner he found another set of stairs; not metal this time but solid concrete. At the top was a steel door fitted with a metal bar which, when pressed down hard would unlock the door from the inside only. Yakinchuk opened the door and found himself in an alley at the side of the hotel.

‘And from here, straight into a waiting car,’ he thought.

George stood holding the door open. ‘I guess that ends our tour Detective unless there’s anything else I can do for you.’

‘Yes George, there is one more thing. Get that panel in the washroom mounted properly.’ George nodded and prepared to retreat back inside when Yakinchuk stopped him. ‘I wanted to ask, where are you from George?’

George smiled, ‘Liverpool of course. Came over with the Beatles I did and never went back. The American girls, they like an English accent you see, so there was a time when I was quite the lad.’

Yakinchuk returned George’s smile which, if anything had broadened as memories were stirred. ‘Thanks for all your help George.’

‘Pleasure mate,’ George replied as he retreated back inside.

Yakinchuk stood in the alley for a few minutes, thinking. So, somehow Sarah had been isolated at the Ball then either taken into that washroom by force or perhaps lured there by someone she trusted. Once inside she was drugged, carried through the open panel, down through the basement and up the other side to the waiting car. Judging from the panel, the whole process was well-practiced. How frequently it was employed even Yakinchuk couldn’t guess but one thing he was now certain of and that was who orchestrated the whole thing – Merhot Capritzo on behalf of Richard Develin.

Yakinchuk worked the scenario further. No doubt the tickets for the Ball were purchased by Capritzo. Once the real Sarah was out of the way, a Sarah look-alike took her place; probably one of Capritzo’s girls from his private collection. Yakinchuk knew that all of his girls were not only beautiful but intelligent, elegant and, of course seductive. David Kendall wouldn’t have stood a chance. No doubt she promised him an all expenses paid trip to the moon. For a young university student, it would be irresistible. Getting him to follow her out of the Fenshaw would have been a piece of cake. She probably led him out with his prick in her hand.

The accident, now that would have taken some planning, and skill. Fill the car with petrol, rig an explosive device and maybe even interfere with the brakes or cause a blow out by using a strip of steel spikes set across the road. The rest would be straight forward timing. Wait for Davie’s car to roll by in just the right place, cause the car to skid then press a button. Boom! The resultant fire would eat up all the evidence, and the bodies.

Murdering, fucking bastards; the pair of you!

The girl that died with Davie, who was she?

And what became of Sarah? If she was abducted on New Year‘s Eve and, allowing for prompt delivered, she would probably be in Ireland the first week in January. Develin’s son William was born in late September.

‘You didn’t give her much time did you, you bastard!’

*****

Yakinchuk arrived home about ten to a dark and empty house. Carol and the kids were away visiting her family which pleased Yakinchuk not only because he enjoyed the peace and quiet but also because right now it worked in with his plans perfectly. He rummaged through the fridge but finally ended up with his standard staple: a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich.

Accompanied by a large glass of scotch, neat, he retreated to the back porch and the fragrant warmth of a late summer evening. It didn’t take long for the porch light to attract an array of flying insects all intent on committing suicide in one form or another. Yakinchuk leaned back against the railing, ate his sandwich, sipped his scotch and watched the carnage.

Like an addict trying desperately to kick the habit, he resisted the impulse; refusing to allow himself the luxury of self-indulgence; the bitter sweet pleasure/pain of it all but, as the last of the scotch slipped away, he conceded.

Already she has ensnared you. If you go to her you will never come back - never.

The photograph of Sarah lay in the palm of his hand like a Communion wafer. As he stared at the image of this beautiful young woman he felt supremely alive again for the first time in years. ‘Have you ensnared me Sarah? Will I really go to you?’

You are Victor; and you will.

He took the stairs two at a time, found his suitcase in the spare bedroom and began to pack.