Persona - A Disturbing Psychological Thriller (36 page)

He’d not asked her for flight and lodging expenses, as the time had not been right and he had to move fast. They would have to reimburse him afterwards. Jen had requested that she see Zen’s dead body, but Andre had told her that he could only provide a photo.

After that, Andre had attended the library and spent hours researching Colorado. Then he booked the earliest flight to Denver, and was pleased to hear that he could fly out tomorrow, on Friday 23 November.

Andre had no luggage to retrieve at DIA, so after immigration officers had questioned him, he made his way outside and instructed a cabbie to take him to Colorado Springs.

After checking into a hotel, he searched outside for a public phone and found one at a petrol station. He dialled Trevor Edwards’ number, and stared at the snow-swept scenery while he waited for a reply. Edwards picked up the receiver, established that Andre was calling from a payphone, then told him he’d call back from his cell phone. Andre replaced the handset. Seconds later it rang. Edwards ascertained Andre’s location and then told him he’d pick him up in fifteen minutes.

The Ford F150 pulled up beside Andre on time. Andre got into the passenger seat, and found Trevor Edwards to be a hospitable, bubbly character. At first, he did not seem to Andre to be the kind of person who would possess the type of equipment he needed, but he’d be proven wrong. After driving to a discreet location, Edwards turned serious when he introduced Andre to his personal arsenal, neatly stored in a heavy-duty chest on the back seat, and then began to explain the characteristics of weapon required for the task in hand. Andre’s knowledge of guns was immense, so Edwards’ opinions did not interest him. Edwards’ recommendation followed promptly, as he handed Andre the Beretta 92 FS. Andre smiled. The nine-millimetre semi-automatic was a superb piece of kit used by the US military. He checked the barrel, could see that it was threaded. Edwards passed him a silencer.

‘That’s the Raven suppressor, built for that gun. It’s
awesome
.’

Andre screwed on the extension and then shook the pistol. It was secure. He lifted the gun and looked through the sight, checking the silencer was correctly aligned.

‘Do you have rounds?’ he asked.

‘You betcha.’ Edwards grabbed three loaded magazines from the chest. ‘There’s thirty, three mags. Will that do?’

Andre nodded and Edwards handed them to him.

‘So you gonna kick his ass, buddy?’

Andre smiled. ‘That’s my intention. I’ll return this to you before I go back. I must emphasise that this is kept a secret.’

‘No shit. And if the cops stop you, don’t say I gave it to ya. I ain’t allowed to own that thing.’

‘I understand.’ Andre wrapped the equipment in clothing in his bag.

Edwards dropped Andre off outside his hotel and then drove off.

In bed, Dave couldn’t stop shaking. Ryan wasn’t home and Dave could do nothing until he returned. He didn’t know where Ryan was and he had no one else to turn to.

Police had searched Dave’s home, and visited his work place. They’d left a message on his mobile phone, saying that they needed to speak with him urgently, that they had found and seized evidence - dated photos - that proved he and Ben Salks were still friends.

Dave was staying in a hotel. He’d booked into it yesterday under a false name, soon after listening to the message. Police had called him while he was on the tube, travelling back from Ryan’s flat.

He wanted to know the full story. But if he approached Jenny, police would arrest and interrogate him, demanding to know Ryan’s location.

Dave would never give Ryan up. Whatever threats were made, he would not crack.

The risk was that one of Ryan’s fitness clients might see a likeness to the wanted photofit and then give the police Ryan’s details. Dave, however, felt confident the photofit would prove useless.

While Ryan was inaccessible, Dave felt scared. On Thursday, the day after the murder, he’d gone to Ryan’s flat and he hadn’t been there. He’d done the same today and Ryan had still not returned.

Where was he? What had he done since the murder? Dave rubbed his scalp. Ryan’s father had passed on to him the aggression and insanity, his mother had nurtured it, and Jenny had blown the lid off it. How could it be contained now? If Ryan had told him the truth, then Zen would disappear after completing his objective, after Jenny had been driven insane. Why hadn’t he just killed her? Causing all this suffering had created leads - eventually he’d fuck up and get caught.
Had
he been caught? Was he in detention right now, waiting to be transferred to court? Surely he would’ve called Dave. He was entitled to a phone call and Dave was the closest person to him…No! It wouldn’t
be
Ryan, would it? It would be Zen who had been arrested and he had no contacts…

Dave pulled the covers tight against his skinny body. How could this have happened? As if a broken heart had not been enough, Ryan had then voluntarily subjected himself to a life of hate and misery. How could it satisfy him to waste his life in such a way? Dave understood that Zen would blunt the pain, but he couldn’t last forever…Or could he? Maybe Zen would torment her for the rest of his life, just to distract Ryan and quell his pain. That couldn’t work - there wouldn’t be enough victims to use against her, and he couldn’t generate terror while old and weak. Dave popped his head out of the sheets. He felt mad too, his mind concocting absurd, illogical thoughts.

The thought of Ginger raised his spirits. Ginger heavily influenced Ryan. Jesus, Ryan - who despised druggies - let him smoke pot in his room! If Dave and Ginger worked together it would be easier to undo the damage. Dave managed to smile. It was a positive, refreshing thought that eased the burden of responsibility. Ultimately, it was up to him to save Ryan, but Ginger might help. But where would Dave find him? Ryan had never mentioned where Ginger lived, and had been arranging a get-together for Ginger and Dave for a long time. And every time Dave had visited Ryan, Ginger had just…
left
.

Dave shuddered as if Satan himself had appeared before him.

Not again…

Oh my God, not again!

44

A fresh bed of snow, over a foot thick, lay on the ground.

Andre had destroyed the footprints marking his entrance to the Black Forest woodland.

Newspapers had been a useful source of information, detailing the police report made ten years ago. They had helped Andre piece together what actually happened…

Zen had abducted Geoff Stringer near the closest public phone to twenty-five Pinewood. To conceal himself, Andre reasoned, Zen must have hurried to a deep, winding valley one hundred metres ahead and to the left. The valley bent back on itself two hundred metres further along, so Zen would probably have climbed out of it, and then tackled a steep incline. After that, bar keeping clear of occasional houses, there were several routes he could have taken.

One mile inside the woods, facing away from his entrance, Andre was sitting against a fir tree. The evergreens formed their pyramid shape after ten feet of bare, robust trunk, so Andre was unable to entirely conceal himself. He took out his binos and used them to scan his surroundings.

Somewhere around here, Zen had completed his first act of vengeance. Dragging a man and his luggage over this terrain would have required considerable strength. Zen’s rage would have helped him.

Zen would return there now.

Zen had known John-Paul would visit Knoll Wood, the scene of his survival, because that’s where he’d found a new respect for life. Similarly, twenty-five Pinewood was Zen’s ‘womb’. There, Ben Salks had died and Zen had been born. In these dense woods, he had established himself as an unstoppable force, destined to avenge himself.

Andre continued checking the trees through his binos. This shrine offered a good point of attack - reasonably isolated with cover from trees. When Andre had researched Colorado, he had at first considered the snow to be a liability, but soon after, he’d realised it could benefit him – Zen would stick out like bollocks on a fish.

Andre wore full Gore-Tex, tough enough to withstand spiky branches poking out of the snow, and which kept him dry while he waited. The woods were silent. Andre’s sunglasses were invaluable on such a bright day, eliminating the glare from the fallen snow. His track cut left towards this point, one hundred metres to the right. Even if Zen noticed it, he would not suspect they were the markings of his nemesis, since he’d be certain that no one could know he was here. Andre had the element of surprise on his side.

Though feeling restless, Andre made no sound. Even when he found the tree, he made no noise. He kept his binos still, acknowledging the name ‘Zen’ scraped into the bark sixty metres away. Then he adjusted position.

After waiting two hours, he heard the squeaky crunch of human footsteps behind him.

He kept still. The figure moved closer, probably one hundred and fifty metres back and on his left side…

The pace was slow, the steps coming in short bursts. Andre knew it was Zen, knew that right now the sick fuck traversed the route he’d taken ten years ago and many times since, praising himself for his supremacy. Here, he had been released and the environment nurtured the memories.

Andre slipped his hand into his pocket, felt for the trigger. Soundlessly, he withdrew the pistol, held it to his chest. The steps continued…

Ten years ago he had dragged the cunt along this ground, pulling him to a spot one hundred metres ahead. Zen increased his pace.

He was so close. Soon he’d be parallel, but Andre would wait till he walked past before firing. Zen would instantly react to any shuffling of position, so it had to be minimal.

He estimated Zen to be fifteen metres to his left, well within range. All that could identify Andre was his breath, but it was too quiet to be heard. Forefinger resting on the trigger, he craned his neck slightly left so he’d see Zen draw level. Many trees obstructed his line of fire, but the spaces between them offered enough clearance to lodge a bullet in the bastard when he appeared.

The heavy crunching echoed through the woods. Andre watched Zen casually pass by twelve metres left, dressed in black - snow boots, waterproof bottoms, coat and sunglasses. Andre slowly raised his pistol, bringing his other hand up to help support the weapon. He aimed at a clearing two metres in front of Zen’s path, waited for him to enter the killing zone…

Zen walked behind the tree immediately before the zone. Andre focused intently with his right eye, waiting, just waiting for him to step into range.

He didn’t.

Why had he stopped?

Zen spun round the other side of the tree with a pistol. Instinctively Andre fired two shots and Zen dropped to the ground. Andre took cover behind the tree, rolled onto his side.

Had he hit him?

Was he dead?

Zen’s sudden backtracking had surprised Andre and he had shot in defence, without taking aim. But there was still a good chance he’d taken him out.

‘You missed, cunt,’ Zen said coolly.

Andre gritted his teeth.
Fuck
. Wasted opportunity. But at least now it would be fair, he thought – best man wins.

‘The next one won’t,’ he replied. Their voices echoed in the trees.

Zen laughed. ‘It’s a vicious circle with you bounty
-
hunters – you can’t teach the danger of over-confidence to your kind, because you only learn of it the second before you die. The cycle continues and no one adapts.’

Andre threw his bag behind him and shuffled right, aiming his pistol at the centre of the tree concealing Zen.

‘You stand out like an amateur,’ he shouted.

‘I didn’t expect an offensive here, but I welcome it. How did you find me?’

Inch by inch Andre crept forward, his Beretta kept clear of the snow. ‘The same way I found the rest - you’re just as predictable.’

‘And your tactic to provoke me into leaping from this tree in anger isn’t predictable? Come on, open up. What’s your name?’

‘Will. I’m your father.’

Silence.

‘Come on Ben, show daddy your face.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Zen said. ‘You might offer a challenge… I can hear your movements. I know exactly where you are – you’re in my terrain.’

‘No, you’re in
my
terrain - I served in the army. Your father taught you what you know. You don’t have first-hand experience.’

Using trees to shield him from Andre’s vision, Zen dashed to a tree further back, then moved to another and then another.

‘You can’t run from me, you little cunt,’ Andre hissed.

‘I never run. I gain the advantage.’ Zen curled his arm around the tree and aimed his pistol ahead. A flash of white appeared and a bullet ricocheted off bark inches from Zen, forcing him behind cover.

‘White camouflage,’ he acknowledged. ‘I like that. It gives you the edge. You fucking need it.’ He retreated again.

Andre got up, crouched down by a tree, and pressed the side of his body against it. He wouldn’t catch Zen by seal crawling.