Stark Contrasts (An Adam Stark novel Book 1) (15 page)

“Yes, sir.”

Katz began by putting Citizen V into the search engine and sat back as a huge list of links were thrown up. Most of them involved newspaper articles. There were forums and message boards galore; full of the usual incoherent nonsense either supporting or damning the vigilante. Most of this stuff got posted by wind-up merchants, imbeciles or drunken students in the early hours of the morning. It would take ages to trawl through that shitpile in pursuit of diamonds.

There was the predicted merchandise for sale. T-shirts with legends proclaiming, “I Am Citizen V” and another recommended for Stag nights which read, “No, I Am Citizen V”. Katz could just picture the group of lads standing in a row and spoofing the famous scene from Spartacus. There were some more confrontational designs including, “Don't Fuck With Me, I'm Citizen V”, guaranteed to bring trouble to the door of any wearer.

The YouTube link caught her eye because it appeared on the first page. That meant it must be getting a lot of hits and re-posting etc. As she watched the video unfold, Katz felt a tension form in her jaw. The video featured Luke Pritchard prior to the removal of his ears. The guy who confiscated his phone, then returned it after chastising him, looked so familiar. It couldn't be...could it? She watched it three times on the trot and by the third viewing she was absolutely convinced of the guy's identity. This was not good. Seriously not good. She closed her laptop and went to find Stark. The repercussions were going to be immense as far as the reputation of the Met was concerned. The fall-out could be of Chernobyl proportions.

Katz never saw Stark's face as pale before.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Oh, fuck indeed, sir. I had a very similar reaction when I realised what I was looking at.”

“Hargreaves is going to look like that girl from the Exorcist!”

“Sorry, sir?” asked a puzzled looking Katz.

“You've never seen...oh, crap, you're too young aren't you? It's a horror film where a wee lassie gets possessed and her head starts spinning round and, oh, never mind. Trust me, he's going to be very annoyed!

“I want you to try and find out - subtly for now - where Steve Welch is. Check when his next shift is and we'll make preparations to do this quietly and with as little fuss as possible. The last thing we need is the media managing to get wind of it before we're ready to deal with them.”

Katz made a small salute and walked off. Stark was sure the thaw was increasing. He had to stop thinking like this. The lass was too young for him, he was her boss and he was up to his proverbials in a very difficult case. He made his mind up to go out and get laid that very evening. Well, as long as he wasn't too busy working of course.

***

Garry Black was up late and looked at the text in disbelief. What the hell was this? Some kind of sick joke on Steve's part?

He texted a reply along those lines and waited.

Ten minutes passed and no reply came.

He phoned but it went straight to voicemail.

Garry began to feel his nerves responding. Mouth drying out, tension gripping at his muscles. He remembered the hilarious story Steve told him about the guy in the restaurant. He realised this guy must have been Leo Corantelli and now Steve, the king of sweet revenge, was about to taste someone else's sugar.

The dilemma almost overwhelmed Garry. If he really had attacked Leo Corantelli, Steve would be in grave danger. It was unprovable-in-a-court-of-law, common knowledge that Leo Corantelli was involved in the disappearance of at least two men; presumed deceased. The text asked Garry not to get anyone else involved but that would put
him
in danger of two things: death or serious injury thanks to Leo, or the end of his career. What a great choice!

He wondered what Steve would do in his position and decided the big man would try to help. There was one major stumbling block to all of this though. Garry had no idea where to look. He couldn't just access the files on Leo Corantelli; he'd need to ask for permission. As soon as he asked, he'd be interrogated as to why and he couldn't think of anything plausible other than he was working on a case. But, the response team didn't really work on cases. By it's very nature it was not proactive and did not investigate. They were there as trained, armed back-up for unarmed colleagues in difficult situations. If he asked the wrong person, they'd be onto him like a sniffer dog in a crack den and, before he knew it, he'd be standing in front of the Chief putting Steve and Abby's lives in jeopardy. Even if he did find a less inquisitive helper, prepared to waive him through computer security, what the hell would he look for? It's not as if Corantelli would be dealing with Steve at his house or a legitimate business premises.    

Garry felt a feeling of impotence and frustration that almost overpowered him.

There was really no other way, he needed to get some help. He'd likely get into trouble for not reporting Steve for the assault on Corantelli but so be it. He couldn't just go off to bed and wait for the inevitable phone call in the morning informing him of the death of his friend. Slipping on his jacket he left his wife asleep upstairs and got into his car. It wasn't a murder case...yet...but he decided he needed MIT's help anyway.

***

I was in the car now; my hands tied and a bag over my head. One of them put a gun to my temple, making sure I laid down low on the back seat. This was not good.

It's amazing how many different types of thought go careening through your brain in such situations. Work, home, family, all manner of crazy schemes to make your escape, death. Yet, so few of them are helpful; in a practical or emotional sense.

I couldn't tell where we were going thanks to the combination of sensory deprivation and stress. It proved too difficult to judge how much time had elapsed before the car came to a halt. I thought perhaps an hour and a half but it could have been a lot more or a lot less.

There was a sudden, intense pain in my skull and everything went black.

25. Come On And Rescue Me

The bar thrummed to the soundtrack of a DJ in one corner. A young guy learning his trade, one hand holding a headphone earpiece in place, the other fiddling with his decks. The music was not really to Stark's taste but stomaching it was a means to an end.

Stark sat at the bar, sipping on his diet coke. Giving up alcohol had been difficult. Not many people took his abstinence seriously at first - a Scottish teetotaller? Aye right! His pals ripped the piss out of him more relentlessly than usual for a time but, eventually, Sheena became their slagging of choice.

Being sober helped him do a better job but it allowed him to overwork. He could never cry off a job on the basis that he was incapable of driving or making lucid decisions. But, the real reason he abstained was Carrie. His beautiful twin sister. His best friend. His crushing guilt.

Carrie's boyfriend, Frank Massey, ran his own insurance brokerage. Separated, father of three teenage kids and ten years older than her. No-one approved of their relationship, with his mother being particularly vehement in her objection. Stark always felt uneasy in the guy's company; boastful, overbearing and one of those people who'd always try and outdo you if you relayed an amusing anecdote or slightly tall tale. He liked a drink.

No-one realised what was going on until it was too late. It started as psychological abuse. Controlling, jealous, unreasonable outbursts and restrictions placed on her social life. Friends were gradually excluded and discarded. The family were next. Stark found it harder and harder to make contact with Carrie or engage her in a conversation if she did happen to answer her phone. Slowly, they became estranged. Then, it turned out, the physical abuse began in earnest. He should never have let it happen. He should have known.

He was working when her call came through, an incoherent, rambling, outpouring of regret and apologies. Stark's alarm bells rang and he flew to her. Smashing down the door of the flat, he crashed into the bedroom, where she lay motionless on top of the covers. Blue lips, translucent pallor, chest stilled. Frantic resuscitation attempts by him, then an ambulance crew, failed to rouse her. Things were never the same again.

The woman came into the bar with two friends. Small, blonde and buxom, definitely his type. The smile shone from her face like a flashlight whenever she broke it out. Stark engaged eye contact, returned the favour smile-wise and they got chatting. He still had it.

She was fun, ditzy and enthusiastic. All the signs were pointing to an end to his drought and a chance to release some of that pent-up frustration causing his lusting after Katz. Then the phone rang.  

***

Garry Black stood in the station locker room donning his gear. The call to DI Stark had been a bit difficult. The poor bastard was out on the pull when Garry called and, according to him, about to go home with the best looking girl in the bar. However, as Stark didn't drink, he was able to come straight over to the station. It was not for Garry to know that on that very afternoon, Steve had become a wanted man by his own side. When he explained what Steve did to Leo, it only confirmed to Stark that Welch was their Citizen V. At least, it would once they'd rescued him from an immensely pissed-off gangster.

 Stark also made a difficult call - to the DCI. Hargreaves' permission to go after Welch was vital and, despite the lateness of the hour, it would have annoyed him a whole lot more if Stark ploughed on without it. Thankfully, the Chief's reaction was softened because he already witnessed the wayward cop's exploits on YouTube. There would be no way for Hargreaves to outdo the levels of vexation he demonstrated once he reached the end of that little horror show.

Garry expected to be sent home and be put on report for failing to inform anyone of Steve's exploits. In a time of surplus manpower and unlimited budgets, that may well have happened but, as the clock ticked past 1am, DI Stark needed every available, trained officer he could get his hands on. The reprieve was only temporary mind you, Garry knew that, but the priority now lay with finding Steve and Abby before Leo Corantelli got carried away. He didn't care much for Abby Hester but he didn't wish her any real harm.

Stark, Katz and a couple of other cops gathered in the briefing room. Stark laid out the basic situation regarding the alleged kidnap of a fellow officer. Right now, he was waiting on a call from the Serious Organised Crime Unit or SCD7 as it was shortened to internally. They were currently working on a long-running case against the Corantelli family and their associates. The chief of the unit spoke to Hargreaves and agreed his team would cooperate in the rescue of Steve.

Stark addressed the slowly increasing bevvy of cops.

“Ok, here's where we're at. We have a police officer and his alleged mistress, kidnapped by a very grumpy gangster. This is not a good combination of factors.

“Unluckily for him, and luckily for us, the SCD7 have been tailing Leo Corantelli recently and have a fix on his vehicle. The car has been located in Essex at a farmhouse on the outskirts of Chelmsford. We need to get organised and get out there as quickly as we can. We think from the text message, sent to Sergeant Black, that our target already has about an hour's head start on us and that's only going to grow. Every second lost might be critical.”

Stark paused, little noise coming from the audience; a picture of intense concentration.

“Right, you all know the drill. The Armed Response Team will lead the way. Good luck and stay safe.”

There was a rousing chorus of 'yes, sir!' and various other exclamations of agreement before the room cleared and everyone made for their vehicles.

In the car, Katz and Stark hardly exchanged a word. The darkness was riven by the snake of red and blue lights. Sirens blared intermittently as dozy, early morning drivers failed to look in their mirror, or failed to notice the approaching column and made to pull out of junctions or enter roundabouts.

In the lead vehicle, Garry checked his weapon for the umpteenth time as the metropolis of London faded behind them and the open country of rural Essex opened out either side of the road. The tension was building enormously. Garry began biting his fingernails, which drew a disapproving look from his driver for the evening. It reminded him of that guff people spouted about there being more bacteria under your fingernails than there was in a toilet. For want of a better word - shit! He'd run the risk of biting his nails any day over licking the bowl.

The radio operator guided them in via the satellite tracking system and, as they got within a half mile, they switched off the lights and sirens. Then, as they rounded a corner, the ground dropped away below them and Garry saw the farmhouse.

Lights were on in at least two downstairs rooms and one upstairs. The building looked substantial; brick-construction, two storeys high and set back from the road in at least an acre of ground. There were three vehicles in the driveway - a black BMW, a black Range Rover and a small, light-coloured coupé which he wasn't sure about and couldn't decide between a Hyundai or a Kia.

They stopped a few hundred yards short of the house. Stark ran up to the two lead vehicles containing the armed officers.

“Right, has anyone had a look with night vision?”

The team leader, Don Pierce, got out of his car to talk to Stark.

“Yes, DI Stark, we've had a look. There are three vehicles but we haven't seen any people yet. There's been no movement across any of the windows and, as far as we can tell, the vehicles are unoccupied.”

Stark looked at his watch; it was two-thirty. The kidnappers would have had more than enough time to kill Steve if they were so minded. If they'd been torturing him, then who knew what sort of state he might be in. The paramedics were on stand-by, with an ambulance parked about a quarter of a mile away in case they needed it. He was pretty sure they would.

“OK, we don't have a lot of time; an officer's life is in danger here, a civilian as well as far as we can tell. What do you think, Don?”