Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix (11 page)

From up there he could see everything. A crash from the stage made him grasp his AKM with readiness. Had she given up? Creeping forward to the edge of the stall, he witnessed a massive bulk covered in rats heading for the exit and in its grasp was the woman. In his despair the massive hulk threw McCall to the side as he fought to remove the clinging rats from his back. Crashing into some chairs she rolled and made for cover.

Samuel had little time for games. Somehow this woman detective had taken out all of his men, and the other cops would surely be not too far away by now; no, he decided, he would end her here and then he would disappear. As he raised the weapon to take aim, some sixth sense made McCall looked up and see him. As she stared down the barrel she knew that her gun was at the other side of the gantries—when she was thrown it must have been knocked from her grasp. The question was, who would be the quickest to fire?

Her eyes darted from the Russian to where her pistol was. She had to try, for whatever she decided, he was going to shoot her, and if she could take him down as well, it would be some consolation. Samuel took aim, held his breath and began to squeeze the trigger as he saw McCall dive for the gun. He felt joy, he felt exhilaration. And then he felt something hit him on the back of the head. As he turned, he saw someone come from the shadows, race forward and rugby-tackle him over the balcony. As they fell, John Steel ensured that the Russian man was underneath, and would absorb the impact. A cloud of ancient dust rose up as they crashed onto cardboard boxes full of crockery and props. The English detective rolled off him, out of breath from the impact of the fall, even though Samuel had taken the brunt of the damage.

“Cheers, big fella,” Steel said patting the Russian on the head.

“What the hell was that? Did you use me as bait, you sick son-of-a-bitch?” She shouted at him, giving vent to her fear and anger.

“No, no, you don’t have to thank me for saving your life, you’re welcome, it’s fine and I am fine, thanks for asking.”

She stared hard at him, not knowing whether to shoot him or kiss him.

Suddenly the exit door exploded and a mass of armed police stormed in. Tooms and Tony almost tripped over the bulk of Boris, who had run into the locked door and knocked himself out. John Steel looked across at the broken body of Samuel.

“Just in time, aye, fellas,” he said, still winded from the fall, and then collapsed back on to the floor.

SIXTEEN

In the blackest of nights a figure sat in a small room watching a newsflash. The room’s diminutive size made the TV’s volume seem loud, and flashes of reflected color painted the dirty brick walls. The room was empty apart from an old armchair and twelve TV sets stacked on top of one another, as if to make one large one. In the chair, the figure swiveled the remote in his long bony fingers as though it was a baton.

The TV report showed the Russians being led away by police and Samuel on a gurney being taken to hospital, and the reporter told of the killing of the millionaire’s wife. In addition, the further information that the latest killing had been carried out using the same modus operandi as that of the serial killer who remained at large.

The sound of crunching, breaking plastic echoed through the room as the viewer crushed the remote in one hand and tossed it into a pile of other broken zappers that lay in the corner.

“So, Mr Samuel, you wish to blame me for your sins do you? Naughty, naughty,” he cackled, his voice scraping through the air like nails on a chalkboard. “We shall see, we shall see... Oh I think the doctor has a patient to look upon.” His laughter was low at first, then as it echoed through the building, it escalated into an eerie nightmarish howl.

Steel made it back to his apartment. The lights were turned off but he preferred it that way, enjoying just the illumination from the city streetlights breaking up the darkness. He hung up his jacket on to the old-style hat and coat stand that stood at the doorway. Then he walked across the large room to be what appeared to be a large oak wall unit and poured himself a whiskey from drinks cabinet part of the unit. He walked up to the window and, raising his left arm as a support, leant upon the glass. Looking down he spied cars and people going on their merry way, happy and contented. Steel smiled and took a sip from the crystal glass in his hand. Next to the window there was a small table with a group of pictures of family members. He reached down and picked up one particular silver-framed photo, which was of a beautiful looking woman in her late twenties; her hair was long and brown, and her blue eyes caught the light and shone like diamonds.

“Good night, my love.” He kissed the photo then put it back in its special place; he turned his gaze back to the city through the window and sighed. Moving to a large couch, he lay himself down and fell into a restless sleep. As John Steel slept, his nightmares visited him once more: screaming voices that seemed familiar to him but that he could not place; laughter, deep laughter possibly from a big man, then the sound of six gunshots. The laughter, the screams, and the gunshots all blurred into one cacophonous hell. There was a crash, and he woke with a start. A crash? That was a new addition to his nightmares. And then he looked down and found the glass shattered on the wooden floor.

“Oh great, don’t tell me I will need to sleep with plastic glasses from now on,” he muttered to himself. He stepped over the glass and headed towards the window, and, looking down, he caught a glimpse of the photo of the woman and smiled gently.

SEVENTEEN

The morning brought rain. Not a heavy downpour, but the slight drizzle that soaked you in seconds. However, the sky was blue with a few patches of the rain-bearing clouds. The English detective walked into the police precinct, and he was greeted with the sort of stares that burnt straight through you.

“Morning,” he greeted the desk sergeant but did not expect a response. “Friendly bunch,” he said under his breath.

As he left the elevator, the mood was chilling. Everyone stared at Steel as though he had just murdered a cop, not saved one. He made his way to the coffee room, where two female officers stood talking.

“Morning,” he said, raising his hand as a greeting wave. But the officers just gave him a dirty look and left by the other door. “OK, I can see is going to be a fun-packed day,” he thought to himself. Making McCall and himself a coffee, he brought the cups to her desk, but she was in the Captain’s office, obviously giving a de-briefing on last night.

The door opened to the Captain’s office and McCall, Tooms and Tony came out looking flustered and red-faced. But when they saw Steel, they gave a collective scowl.

“Has Mr Steel decided to grace us with his presence yet?” The Captain looked over to see Steel standing there holding two coffee mugs in his hands and with a surprised look on his face.

“Steel, get your ass in my office now.” Steel put down the cups and headed for the Captain’s room and its angry looking occupant. On the way Tooms made a point of bumping shoulders with the English guy and staring him in the eye.

John entered the office and shut the door, taking a place in front of the large desk. He stood with his hands behind his back and his feet shoulder-width apart, preparing himself for the ripping of his life.

“Steel, I have no idea what the powers that be see in you,” the Captain began.

“I was told that you were this hot-shot detective but so far I haven’t seen diddly squat. And now I hear you let one of my detectives enter a building alone without backup with God knows how many dangerous Russian criminals in there.”

The Captain leant forward, his knuckles resting on the desktop, his face bursting with rage.

“Son, I don’t know who you are and I don’t trust you. And believe me, I don’t like things I don’t know or trust, they make me nervous. So far you have given me no reason to trust you. Now if you so much as fuck up one more time I don’t care who you know, you are gone. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” Steel stood motionless.

“Now get the hell out of my office and aim to do some police work without trying to get my people killed.”

Steel left the office and made straight for the elevator. On seeing this the Captain shot out of his office.

“And where the hell do you think you are going?” the senior officer demanded.

“To find something that will make you trust me.” And with that John Steel departed, leaving the Captain seething with rage, and the rest of the people in the room shaking their heads.

Later that night Captain Alan Brant sat down to a fabulous meal with his wife and kids, and they all laughed and joked. This was a good-hearted family, and the Captain was a good man and a fine cop. With the meal finished and the dishes done, Alan retired to his study to catch up on things. The room was dark but he knew it like the back of his hand. Sitting down at his desk he reached over and pulled the chain switch on his old-style desk lamp. After a click the desk was illuminated. And so was the figure sitting in the chair opposite.

He gasped to find Steel sitting there as though nothing was amiss with the situation; the Captain reached for the revolver in his desk drawer and pointed it at the other man.

“Now, Detective, if you would like to explain what the hell you are doing here before I paint my walls with you, I would grateful.” The Captain seemed both furious and somewhat nervous.

“Well, I’m sorry to come here like this, but I didn’t want anyone to see me enter and as for shooting, I fear it wouldn’t do much good,” he said, leaning forwards and putting the bullets from Alan’s gun on to the table.

“What do you want, Steel?” Alan put the revolver back into the drawer. Steel produced a bottle of Scottish whisky that had been brewed in 1800s.

“I think you may need this,” said Steel as Alan accepted the bottle. His eyes opened wide when he saw the date on the label.

 “What’s the occasion? Are you finally leaving?”

“No, but what you are about to see can’t be disclosed to anyone, no matter what. Do I have your word?” Steel was insistent.

“I must have your word on this, Captain.”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” Alan just wanted him out of his house and out of his precinct.

Steel passed him a folder that was at least two inches thick.

“Goddamn, that’s heavy,” said the Captain.

“So is my past.” The Captain looked up at Steel and for the first time, met his eyes without their usual covering of sunglass lenses.  He trembled.

The next morning the entire homicide department were sitting awaiting a briefing from the Captain.

“As you know, for the past week someone has been chopping people up and leaving us with a host of nameless corpses,” Alan began.

“Now we have to find this guy before he strikes again.”  McCall stood up and addressed the audience of cops:

“We know he has a fondness for blondes and he knows their blood group, so we are looking for someone who has studied these women. We know that even though they are found naked there is no sexual abuse; he has a comprehensive knowledge of surgical techniques, so we may be looking for a surgeon. He doesn’t choose them at random, he researches them. Unfortunately we have no clue to these women’s identities, so we can’t make a connection. We need to go through every database and find past crimes that have a similar MO.” McCall concluded, sitting down.

“Now we have brought in an expert in psychological profiling, Dr Davidson.” The Captain introduced the doctor, asking him to stand. “He is the best in his field, so with his help we are going to catch this guy.”

Davidson stood up and gave a slight wave, then quickly sat down.

“OK, people, we got a job to do,” the Captain said finally.

“So let’s get to it.” The crowd dispersed and detectives started phoning and keying into their computers. McCall spotted the doctor and moved over to him, noticing that he looked lost and out of place.

“Doctor, hi, I’m Detective McCall,” she introduced herself, noticing how he looked up with a start, as if she’d broken into his thoughts. “Would you like a coffee or anything?”

He shook his head and just looked round him, as if he was a child lost in the school playground.

“Sir, if you would follow me we have set aside a room for you to work in,” she explained.

He followed and once inside the room his jaw dropped.

“I hope this is OK, it’s all we have at the moment,” she apologized, but it seemed as if this was unnecessary. He was in awe of the facilities.

“On the contrary, this is perfect,” he said looking round, his face resembling that of a child in a candy store.

There was a large work desk that was packed with files on the case, crime scene photos neatly stacked up next to them, and along a far wall stood a large whiteboard that he could use to construct his own personal murder-board. He walked round the room, eyes wide with excitement.

“So, Doctor, I will leave you to it then. If you need anything Officer Thompson has been assigned to you.”

“What? Oh thank you, Detective,” Davidson replied, still overwhelmed by everything.

“You know this is a very interesting case,” he said, looking at the notes and photos in front of him.

Sam was already on her way out, but she stopped and turned.

“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“Well, most of those we call ‘collectors’ take a finger or locks of hair. I remember one man kept eyes in a pickle jar” He smiled softly to himself as he remembered the grisly details. The expression on his face made her skin crawl.

“But this man,” he continued, standing up and placing pictures of the victims on his board in the order they were found, “He picks certain parts of the body. I find that odd, intriguing, but nevertheless odd.”

As McCall left the room, watching him staring at the photos on the board, she shivered.

She made her way towards Tooms, whom she found at his desk; McCall sat on the edge of it and looked around to make sure nobody was watching.