Killer Elite

42

Davies felt unusually elated and relieved. A call from the Tadnams woman had confirmed that Mac was without question dead and there were no signs of undue police activity at his home indicating official suspicion of foul play. De Villiers had gently replaced the receiver, raised a hand to Davies’s shoulder and exclaimed, “You did well, very well indeed.” Unprecedented praise and it went with a rare if fleeting smile that quite unsettled Davies. “I will contact you as usual, when I leave Dubai,” had been de Villiers’s parting words.

Davies had determined to celebrate before returning to Cardiff. He had taken a room at the most expensive-looking hotel in the center of Hereford, smartened himself up in gear that he considered decidedly trendy, and driven to a local jeweler’s. Then he had picked up a bored forty-year-old housewife in a singles bar and taken her to the Crystal Rooms disco, where they pretended they were back in the late sixties.

At 6 p.m. Hallett reserved two single rooms at the Green Dragon under false names. He and Wally booked in at 7:30, had supper, then split up. Hallett remained reading magazines within sight of Reception and Wally retired to his room.

The woman looked pretty good by candlelight. Only dedicated aerobics, Davies decided, could keep her in the shape that so provocatively beckoned from her tight teenage jeans and open-necked, frilly white shirt.

“Getting quite randy, aren’t we,” she cooed as a Johnny Mathis ballad ended. They left the disco and, in his car, he gave her the pearl earrings just to make sure. Her left hand confirmed his expectations and he drove her back to the Green Dragon.

Davies and the woman arrived back at the hotel soon after 10 p.m.

“Thank you very much, sir.” The receptionist handed him his key and pocketed the ten-pound note. She made no comment, then or later, about Davies’s companion. Davies had prepaid for his room, as was his custom.

Hallett recognized Davies immediately and noted the number of his room. The woman was a complication but Hallett’s mind was made up.

Davies watched the woman undress with the mirror behind her. The champagne he had ordered that afternoon was ostentatiously expensive. She giggled as the cork eased silently free and he touched her glass against her nipple. They entwined arms as they toasted the night ahead of them. “To your imagination,” Davies grinned, and let her undress him.

“How will we get in?” Wally asked. “Credit card?”

“Not with a modern hotel door, boyo.”

“But the Green Dragon’s nine hundred years old.”

“So it is, so it is. But the door locks have changed with the times. Trusthouse Forte will have seen to that.”

Hallett took a ring of tools from his travel bag and silently opened the locked door of Wally’s room from the outside.

“So long as the Welshman does not apply the chain, there will be no problem, and I think he will have other matters on his mind just now.”

“Where did you learn how to use those things?” Wally asked.

Hallett replied by placing one finger along the side of his boxer’s nose. From his travel bag he now withdrew a coil of thin wire, a simple poacher’s snare, and placed it in the chest pocket of his windcheater. He again phoned Spike and this time made contact.

When he replaced the phone he told Wally, “We are to go ahead but, I quote, ‘do him no harm.’ If we succeed we are to park your van by the Upleadon crossroads, east of Newent, where a Y-registration Volvo will collect our cargo.”

While Hallett held the attention of the receptionist, Wally took their bags out to his Bedford, an old van that had seen better days. Wally returned and asked Hallett, in front of the receptionist, where his colleague was. “Must be upstairs still, the idle devil. Never mind, we’ll go and get him. Pinch a drink on his room bill, then bring him down.”

They took the stairs to the second floor.

The door responded to Hallett’s practiced technique and the security chain was not in place. The bedside light was on but the bed was empty. There were unmistakable sounds from the far side of the room. The thick carpet ensured that their approach was noiseless, and Hallett elongated the rabbit snare’s loop to fit over Davies’s head.

The woman’s eyes were closed and her mouth open. Her legs were clasped around Davies’s back as they rocked back and forth. Hallett changed his mind and, adjusting the size of the wire loop, bent down and pulled it tight around Davies’s scrotum. The effect was immediate. Davies swore and withdrew from the woman. Further movement was strictly limited since Hallett kept the wire taut.

“Try to be clever and my friend will drill your stomach with. 44 caliber lead.” Davies tugged ineffectively at the snare. “But only after I have castrated you.” Wally, taking the hint, bulked out his jacket pocket with his right hand.

Hallett gave the naked woman a friendly smile and nodded toward the bed. She eased away from under Davies and, following Hallett’s instructions, slit the rear seam of Davies’s trousers from crotch to waistband with Wally’s penknife.

“Get up and get dressed,” Hallett bade the Welshman, “No, not the pants. My friend will take them.”

With difficulty, and wincing from the pain in his testicles, Davies put on his trousers, holding them in place with one hand. Then his shirt, jacket and raincoat. Finally his socks and shoes, an especially painful process.

“You are a lucky girl,” Hallett told the woman. “This man has already cut the throats of two ladies. You will stay here and speak to nobody. Tomorrow morning you will leave as though nothing has happened. No further harm will come to you if you do exactly as I say. Understand?”

The woman cowered on the bed, clutching her breasts. She nodded vehemently. “Thank you, thank you. I promise.” Hallett believed her but he tore the phone cable from its wall plug before they left.

Wally moved down the stairs beside Davies. Hallett stayed a step behind them, keeping taut the thin wire that disappeared into the rear vent of Davies’s raincoat. As the three men passed the receptionist, Wally handed in his and Hallett’s keys. “Back in a couple of hours,” he promised.

From the Bedford van, Wally produced a ball of orange twine with which he lashed the Welshman’s thumbs and wrists together behind his back. The free end of the snare was then fastened to the wrist knot. Both men hauled Davies into the rear of the van and laid him facedown among the garden tools and other odds and ends that Wally kept there.

They drove down Victoria Street and crossed the Wye by Greyfriars Bridge, heading south for the A49. Hallett turned to look back through the mesh of the dog grille between the driver’s compartment and the rear of the van.

“You killed Mac, didn’t you? And the others. You bastard! Who are you? Who pays you? My God, I hope you live to regret everything you’ve done.”

Davies squirmed some inches to the left and positioned his wrists against the blade of Wally’s trenching shovel. Quietly he applied pressure in a seesaw motion until the twine was cut and his arms were free.

He waited for a steeply descending stretch of the road. Up ahead he saw approaching car lights and lurched for the rear doors of the van. Finding no inner handle, he kicked out with all his might at the central catch and, as Wally brought the van to a skidding halt, the right-hand rear door burst open and Davies rolled out into the road. His concentration was focused on the oncoming cars, to flag them down and, probably, plead abduction by thugs. He did not see the juggernaut that sped downhill behind them until it was too late.

The driver, tired and caught unawares by Wally’s sudden halt, had decided his best answer was speed, to overtake the van and return to his side of the road before the arrival of the oncoming cars. From his point of view a sensible decision, but by the time he saw Davies, his momentum was unstoppable. The nearside corner of the lorry’s bumper struck Davies and catapulted his body to the side of the road. The driver narrowly avoided colliding with the approaching traffic and thundered on his way without pausing.

The lorry’s lights must have blinded the approaching car drivers so that none witnessed Davies’s death. At any rate no one stopped.

“Quick.” Hallett did not hesitate. “Get him.” They picked up the limp and shattered body. As they bundled it into the back of the van, the driver of a car coming up fast behind them from the north with dipped headlights flicked on full beam and illuminated Hallett, Wally and the body. As he flashed by, the driver applied his horn in an angry peal.

“Did he see us?” Wally asked.

“Maybe,” said Hallett. “We will have to assume that he did. He may have a car phone. We must get off this road as soon as we can.”

By a circuitous route they reached the agreed rendezvous. The Volvo driver, to whom Hallett handed his report, hastily updated, agreed to take Wally straight back to his home.

“If the police visit you,” Hallett instructed Wally, “simply say your van has been stolen. If nothing happens, I will tell you in a week or so where I have left it. Thanks for your help.”

They placed Davies’s body in the back of the Volvo. Hallett assumed Spike would know what to do with it. He drove Wally’s van to a free car park in Ross and then hitched a lift back to his car.

Hallett telephoned Spike from home and was thanked in a noncommittal tone. He had no way of imagining the uproar that would be caused by Davies’s death, since he, like all the Locals, knew nothing of the workings of the committee, nor the identities of the members.