Tapperman was talking at the same time as inserting a greasy onion-laden cheeseburger into his mouth.
‘ Fuckin’ incredible.’ He shook his head and wiped the dribble of fat from his chin. ‘To do that to somebody. I mean, hell, Texas Chainsaw Massacre eat yer goddam heart out.’ The last of the burger disappeared.
‘ Okay, Mark, we get the picture,’ Kruger cut him short. He breathed out long and hard and tried to manage the memory of what he’d experienced in the last hour.
On recovering from his vomiting fit in the corridor, Kruger had gone on to witness the rest of the carnage in the apartment which had belonged to the Armstrong brothers. After edging past their heads on the coffee table, he was treated to a tour so he could see where the remaining parts of their two bodies had been scattered.
Their limbless torsos had been dumped in the bath; their arms and legs were distributed around the living room, kitchen and two bedrooms. The final, nice touch, was that their private parts had been sliced off and placed side by side on a plate in the icebox.
Kruger didn’t linger. His experienced eyes saw everything they needed to see. He urgently required fresh air. But the atmosphere of the late afternoon in Miami was clammy, making pleasant breathing a difficulty, even on the sidewalk. The air from the apartment stuck in his lungs; he seemed unable to expel it.
‘ They were good boys,’ croaked Myrna, the first words she had spoken for some time. ‘Good boys and good workers. They didn’t deserve to die, not like this.’
Kruger looked at her. Some of the colour was flowing back into her face now that anger was beginning to replace shock.
‘ Yeah, they were,’ Kruger agreed. The Armstrongs had been two of his first employees and had stuck with him through the early days. Both had been tough professionals and superb investigators. Both were good friends to Steve Kruger. He had spent many nights in their company, particularly during the dark days of divorce, and had crashed out several times at their apartment when he’d been too drunk to get home. The apartment, therefore, held fond memories for Kruger. The three of them had hit it a few times with willing ladies.
Kruger’s eyes returned to Tapperman. ‘Any leads?’
The big cop shrugged. ‘I guess you an’ me are thinking pretty much along the same lines.’
‘ Yeah — Bussola. He’s supposed to be a whizz with a chainsaw.’
‘ Only rumours,’ Tapperman cautioned.
‘ No smoke without fire.’ Kruger frowned. ‘Anything from the other tenants? To do that with a chainsaw must have made a hell of a racket.’
‘ So far, no one’s heard a mouse’s fart and no one saw nuthin.’
‘ But a chainsaw in that place! Must’ve been like a lion roaring in a cookie jar.’
‘ Nuthin’ — yet. But these state-of-the-art chainsaws can run almost silent.’
‘ Forensics?’
‘ Again — nuthin’ yet. Crime-scene guys reckon whoever did it was wearing plastic gloves and overalls… which’ll all be destroyed by now.’
‘ It was Bussola,’ Myrna blurted out. ‘He warned us we’d regret it — and now we do.’
‘ Myrna, honey… I know it was Bussola, you know it, and so does Steve here… but provin’ it’s gonna be one helluva godamned difficult thing to do.’
‘ In that case, Mark — “honey” — you’d better get your ass into gear,’ Myrna retorted.
In the dream Danny had been transported back in time. Fifteen years to be exact. She was on-duty and attending the Liltons’ address in Osbaldeston. It was all very clear, as though she was actually there again. She drew up in the car, stopped outside the front of the house and got out. She could hear the argument in progress. Joe Lilton versus his then wife. Danny walked towards the house. She could hear the words being shouted, but she wasn’t really listening. They were going into her brain, but not registering… then the dream changed and went black and she was being pinned down. A face appeared above her, grotesque features, but it was definitely Jack Sands. His breath smelled of spermicidal cream. He held her down and tried to force her legs apart.
There was an interruption. A metallic sound, followed by a sort of shuffling noise.
Danny woke with a start.
The noises were not in the dream, they were reality.
She sat bolt upright, sweat pouring off her, heart pounding, her senses switched on, acute.
There it was again. The click of metal followed by the shuffling noise.
Danny cursed.
Jack was back.
Once more she recognised just how vulnerable she was. The phone was downstairs — off the hook — and there was no alarm on the house with a panic button right where she needed it — next to the bed.
She rolled off the bed, wrapped her dressing-gown tightly around her.
Time check: 1.30 a.m.
Out onto the landing to the top of the stairs. No lights. Don’t switch the lights on. Be brave. Catch the bastard.
That metallic sound again. This time she recognised what it was. Her imagination ran riot. It was the sound of the metal flap on the letter box. Christ! He was pouring petrol into the house! He was going to torch it, burn it down and kill her at the same time.
Danny emitted a mad scream of anguish and threw herself at the double light-switch on the landing. Both hall and landing lights came on. Scaring him away was now her priority, before that lighted match came through the letter box. She raced downstairs, bellowing words which were incomprehensible.
She leapt down the last five steps, twisted into the hallway and faced the front door.
It was not petrol which had been pushed through.
A dozen red roses, several with broken stems, lay there forlornly on the mat.
Danny sank to her knees and picked one up. She crushed the flower in the palm of her hand and allowed the creased petals to drift onto the carpet.
Steve Kruger sat silently in the passenger seat of the Lexus whilst a trance-like Myrna drove him home. There was nothing of value to say. Kruger had been warned about the dangers of dealing with the mafia and the warnings had proved to be accurate. Two of his employees had been butchered and no doubt he, Myrna and Kelly (who he had phoned, found to be safe and well, and warned to get out of town) were probably still in grave danger. All because he had been frightened by his ex-wife’s big mouth, threatening to reveal things which might destroy him.
‘ I’m sorry,’ he said meekly.
‘ I’m sorry too — for everything,’ Myrna replied, stressing the last word. The meaning was bluntly clear to Kruger. ‘Everything’ included their sexual encounter.
He sighed and screwed up his face, sick to the stomach, disgusted with himself for having been so weak- kneed as to accede to Felicity’s demands. He should have called her bluff. After all, she was the one who would have had to prove he sold restricted weapons to an unfriendly country.
He rubbed the base of his thumbs into his eyes.
The Lexus drew up outside his house.
Kruger wrapped his fingers around the door-handle, paused before alighting and glanced sideways at Myrna. ‘Drink? Coffee? Anything?’
She did not look at him. ‘Not a good idea,’ she said, addressing the steering-wheel. Her voice was like stone and her body language gave Kruger the impression she hated him. She tapped the wheel and after a moment she relaxed. She looked sadly at Kruger. Her voice became soft. ‘Not a good idea,’ she repeated. ‘I need to get home.’
‘ I…’ Kruger began to speak with a stutter.
Myrna reached across and placed a forefinger on his lips. ‘Don’t say something you’ll regret. We need to get back to square one — and get our revenge for Jimmy and Dale.’
Kruger was startled. It was apparent the old Myrna had returned.
‘ Yeah, you heard right. I said revenge. I want revenge on Bussola, and one way or another I’m gonna get it. And if I can’t do it by fair means, I’ll sure as hell do it by foul.’
