The Handshaker (42 page)

There was a small hole in the floor, where bricks were missing from the wall and the floorboards were cracked. Humphries jammed the pipe into it, then dragged Croft by the wrists to the pipe, hooked the bindings over it and pressed Croft into a sitting position.

“That should keep you quiet,” he said.

Croft continued to work at the twine. At all costs he had to keep Humphries busy. “You’ll be caught in the explosion too, or doesn’t that bother you?”

“The security people were moved back from the site an hour ago.” Humphries was smugly confident. “In a few minutes, the helicopter will make a final pass to make sure there’s no one around, then it will get clear and I’ll be away. I’ll be half way up the hill when the building goes up. I’ll be caught in the cloud of dust and while that’s hiding me, I’ll make my way up to the White Horse, where I’ll call a taxi and be long gone before the police find my car. They’ll assume that I went up in the building along with you and your whore. It’ll be months before they sort through the rubble and by then, I’ll be the other side of the world.” He sneered. “I’ll bet you called them to my house, didn’t you?”

Croft nodded and continued to strain at his bonds. They were definitely coming loose.

“I knew you would,’ Humphries boasted. “I rang your home after seven and when I didn’t get an answer, I knew you’d finally worked it all out. The rest happened exactly like I’d planned it.”

Croft made a pretence of pleading. “You have me. Let Trish go.”

“Not a chance. Your father took from me so I’m taking from you, but I’m going a step further. I’m taking from you and taking you, too.” He gloated. “Zepelli was a great man, Croft. The finest hypnotist the world had ever seen. He could do things with hypnosis that amateurs like you would never dream of. And yet they imprisoned him for a bit of fraud, leaving me and my mother to live in poverty, all thanks to your father.”

“My father was appointed as prosecution counsel,” Croft pointed out, still working the ropes. “He had no choice.”

“And a bloody good job he did of it, too,” snapped Humphries. “A thoroughly professional destruction of The Great Zepelli.”

Again Croft ignored Humphries. His right wrist was freeing up but he needed to put in greater effort and to avoid Humphries noticing, he had to create a diversion. Make him laugh? Cry? Lose his temper?

Croft made up his mind and calculated the correct inflection. “Your father was a cheap crook who got what he deserved.”

It worked. The insults consumed Humphries in a fit of rage. He leapt at the defenceless Croft, hard fists pummelling him about the head. Croft rode the storm, ignoring and burying the pain of those blows, pulling and tugging on the ropes at his wrists. Just a little more and he would be free.

Humphries’ wrath burned itself out and he stood back, breathing heavily, fists clenching and unclenching, voice brimming with manic arrogance.

“My father was a brilliant performer,” he raged, “and thanks to your father he died too young, leaving my mother a life of penury.”

“He was a trickster who used hypnosis to cheat people out of their savings.” The red mist was rising again, but Croft headed it off. “Humphries, use your head. You’re a sick man, but you’re looking at life in prison. Let me plead for you, let Trish plead for you. At least we can get you treatment.”

He was nearly there. Another few tugs and his hand would be free. He glowered up at his captor, and worked at his bonds. One of those ropes was now so loose that with a little more play he could...

“Anyone with your attitude to women needs help, not punishment, and we can get you that help.”

Humphries laughed as he checked his watch once more. “My attitude to women? You’re a fine one to talk. You’re the one who abuses women, Croft. You think every woman you meet deserves to be laid under you. At least I give them release from the trials of life and before I release them I give them the ultimate in pleasure. And, at least I don’t parade myself as a hypnotist.”

“No you just abuse it,” Croft snapped.

“Abuse?” Humphries snarled. “It’s not abuse. It’s genius. My father knew. He knew about the Deep Secret, but he never mastered it. I did. I hypnotise women at will.”

Croft’s hand was almost free. Just a few more seconds. “You drugged them. We know you did. The Deep Secret is like everything else about you, Humphries. So much bullshit. For God’s sake, man, stop this insanity now. Let Trish and me plead for you.”

Humphries gloated again. “Not while there are so many out there ready to enjoy the pleasure I can bring.”

Croft guessed that one more diversion should do it. He allowed full rein to his anger. “Pleasure? You dumb bastard. You rape and murder them. They don’t want you, Humphries, they never did. That’s why you have to drug them. No woman in her right mind would fuck you, and you know it, so you pay for it or take it and when you’ve taken it, you have to silence them. You’re a pervert who should be castrated.”

It was not working. Humphries was concentrated on his watch.

Croft continued to struggle with the ropes. “What was the point of having me arrested?”

“Pain,” said Humphries. “I had to let you suffer, the way my father suffered. Naturally, I had it all arranged so that you would have been released in time to get here.”

“By murdering poor Rehana?”

“She was a wog. They’re ten a penny.”

“A racist, too?” Struggling surreptitiously with his bonds, Croft made another effort to goad Humphries. “Well, there’s one woman out there who’ll have you. Millie Matthews. She knows it all. I called her before I left your place. You won’t get further than the airport. She’ll have you locked up just like your crooked father.” He laughed harshly. “Beaten by a woman and a black to boot.”

The jibes bit home. Humphries features twisted to a blaze of fury. He came again, Croft gave a final heave at his right wrist, and the binding came free. He blocked Humphries’ incoming fist.

Humphries was stunned by the action. For a fraction of a second, he could do nothing but stare in surprise and disbelief at Croft’s freed forearm, and in that brief instant, Croft struck. Launching himself forward, he head butted the other in the abdomen. Humphries doubled up, Croft lashed his foot under Humphries’ legs, took them away and he fell.

Croft half stood, Humphries rolled to his feet and kicked. Croft took the full force of the blow in his chest and Humphries came at him. A glancing right caught Croft on the temple. He cleared his head with a shake, blocked Humphries’ incoming left hook and pushed his opponent away. Humphries snatched at the pipe he had used to secure Croft and lashed out. It struck Croft in the ribs. He suppressed the pain and as Humphries swung again, he caught the pipe, again ignoring the sting to his hand. Snatching it from Humphries’ hand, Croft jabbed, catching Humphries on the upper thigh. Humphries cried out and fell back, reaching for a half brick in a pile of rubble. As Croft came, he threw it, and it clipped the hypnotist on the shoulder.

They stood and squared up, Croft blocking the exit.

“To get out, Humphries, you have to go through me, and I’m not some defenceless woman. You either back down or we both go up.”

Head down, Humphries lunged, his arms wrapping round Croft’s waist. Croft clenched both fists and brought them down hard on the back of Humphries’ neck. There was a yelp, like a dog suddenly, badly hurt, and The Handshaker fell to the ground. Now Croft was upon him, yanking his wrists behind and up his back. Humphries cried out and struggled, but he found himself pinned from behind by a man 20 years his junior, with greater strength, greater stamina, and a vastly superior level of fitness.

“Tell me where she is, you bastard,” Croft gasped.

“Fuck off.” The cultured, educated, middle class tones of the former local government officer were gone, replaced by the coarse Winridge Estate tenant. “She goes to hell in a few minutes.” Humphries gave a painful laugh and looked up. “And if you don’t move, so do we.”

Croft now checked his watch. 7:57. Outside, the chatter of the helicopter turned to a more consistent and fading note. It was getting away from the danger area.

He dragged the hapless Humphries to his feet, turned, and slammed him into the wall. Snatching at the dangling twine that had bound his wrists, he transferred it to Humphries’ and making certain his quarry was well tied, took his feet from under him, retrieved and jammed the pipe back into the floor level recess, and secured his prey the way he had been immobilised.

Bruised, battered, beaten, Humphries managed a wry smile. “You lose Croft. Get us out of here or we’re dead. Either way, Sinclair is a goner.”

“Wrong, Humphries. We’re all dead.” Taking out his mobile, Croft brought up the call records and searched it until he found an entry from Shannon’s mobile. He did not press the green, ‘connect’ button, but instead showed the menu window to Humphries. “Shannon is out there with the Mayor. I can be through to him in seconds, but they’re gonna blow this place in a little over two minutes. By my estimate, you have sixty seconds to tell me where she is or we all go to hell in a blast of dynamite and a shower of rubble.”

Now Humphries knew the fear he had generated in so many. He resorted to bluster. “You won’t do it.”

Croft dismissed the bravado. “Right now I’m suicidal but I believe in reincarnation. If I’m afraid of dying, it’s only the fear of physical death. I love her and right now I’m prepared to die rather than go on without her. But if I’m to die, I’ll take you with me, and make sure no other innocent woman suffers at your hands.” He checked the clock on his mobile. “Ninety seconds.”

Sweat broke out on the killer’s forehead. “Croft. Please.” He was weeping. “Let’s just get out of here. There isn’t time. Let’s go and I’ll tell the police everything.”

“Seventy five seconds.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“One minute ten seconds.”

Tears formed in Humphries’ eyes. “You can’t do this.”

“One minute and since you’ve decided not to say it, we go together, but first, I’m gonna beat the living shit out of you. Let you know the terror you put the others through.” He moved menacingly forward.

Humphries cried out in absolute terror. “She’s in the cellars. Stop the demolition. She’s down there.”

Croft’s fury evaporated. He punched the ‘call’ button and pressed the mobile to his ears.
Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring
. Come on Shannon. Answer the bloody thing.
Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring.
Where the hell are you, man? Don’t let us come all this way and fall at the final hurdle.
Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

Croft prepared to run out and try to attract the attention of anyone who may be looking on and suddenly, to his relief, the connection was made.

“Shannon…”

“The person you are calling is not available right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

57

Millie battled her way through the crowds making urgently for Shannon’s balding head at the front.

Several times she received reproachful glares and one or two unkind comments. She blanked her mind to them and forced her way through the throng. Shouldering a young woman out of the way, she found her wrist grabbed by a man.

“Take your hands off me or I’ll break your arm,” she growled and snatched her wrist free, to press on her way.

Up on the podium, Councillor Ahmed, the Mayor of Scarbeck, surrounded by VIPs from the council and industry, was extolling the virtues of the old cotton mills and his regret at the demolition of the last mill. “It gives me no pleasure to see this magnificent edifice, a testament to our textile heritage, destroyed, but we must look forward to the future and more modern industries revitalising our town.”

Millie calculated she had less than 30 seconds before he pushed the button.

She made the railing behind Shannon and whispered to him. “Stop the demolition.”

Shannon did not turn. From the side of his mouth, he murmured, “You’re suspended, remember.”

“Stop it,” she urged. “Croft is in there.”

“Good.”

“Ernie, for Christ’s sake –”

“Croft,” he muttered, “is out at Humphries’ place. I had a call half an hour ago and sent Fletcher. Now scram.”

“Croft is in that building, Ernie,” she insisted. “So is Trish Sinclair and maybe Humphries, too. You have to stop the mayor pushing the button.”

In Shannon’s pocket, his mobile chirruped for attention. Shannon ignored it.

“That’s Croft,” Millie whispered with absolute certainty. “Please, Ernie.”

Shannon half turned. “Just get the hell out of it, Millie.”

On the podium, Ahmed was reaching for the button.

“And so…’

Millie vacillated for a second. Her career was already on the line, did she have anything more to lose? She raised her voice to a shout. “Stop the demolition. There are people in the mill.”

Consternation ran through the crowd. The Mayor, his face a shock of alarm, promptly backed off from the button, his arms raised to prevent the fingers getting too close to the button. He looked to Shannon for guidance and the superintendent gave him a bleak smile.