The Mammoth Book Of Best British Crime, Volume 8

Hungry Eyes Sheila Quigley

The archaeologist, a tall, very thin man with a heavy grey moustache, smiled at his audience.

The hall was full of people eager to learn about the recent dig at St Michael and All Angels church in Houghton le Spring. A new floor was being laid, so the archaeologists had moved in.

His lecture was finished, and he summed up, “So what have we learned? That this was once a prehistoric ritual site? Perhaps... A Roman temple? Possibly; it was after all standard practice for Romans to take over earlier religious sites. There is definite evidence of Normans and Saxons, and during the last excavation in the churchyard in the late nineties an erratic line of whinstone boulders, probably from the Hadrian’s Wall area, do suggest a prehistoric use of the site. Several other such boulders have now been found inside the church, so there is a suggestion — not proof, mind you — that perhaps there was a stone circle on the site.”

PC Steven Carter gasped in awe. He couldn’t wait to get back to the station and tell his boss, DI Lorraine Hunt. She was always so interested in the history of Houghton le Spring, he thought, applauding along with everyone else.

As Carter made his way outside, he was followed by three men. They were locals from the Seahills estate in Houghton le Spring; Carter hadn’t noticed them because they had been sitting at the back.

“So what do yer reckon?” Danny Jorden asked his two friends. Danny was a chancer, had been all his life, skirting the boundary between legal and illegal, nothing big, nothing bad, just enough to keep his kids in shoe leather and food on the table.

“Hmm, don’t really know.” His cousin Len Jorden scratched his chin, looking sideways at the other member of the trio. Like Danny, Len was dark-haired with green eyes. The resemblance ended there though; Danny was tall and thickset, and frequently wore a smile, while Len was as tall as the archaeologist but even thinner, and had the look of a professional pall-bearer.

“You’re a bloody old woman, Len.” Adam Glazier, at twenty-six the youngest by nine years, grinned at Len.

“And your jokes stink,” Len retorted.

“Knock knock,” Adam laughed.

“Piss off.”

“Shut up, the pair of you. What we gonna do? I reckon there’s a fortune in coins lying in this old church. We need to get to them before those archaeologist blokes do, and it has to be tonight. Tomorrow they start filling the floor in.”

“It’s a damn shame they couldn’t go deeper — God knows what they might have found. I mean, all those old bones.” Len shivered.

Danny shook his head. “That’s the point, Len, they can’t dig any further. But we can.”

“I don’t know, the church in the middle of the night... Kinda spooky if yer ask me.”

“Old woman,” Adam hissed.

“All right, for God’s sake,” Danny snapped, the pressure of new shoes for his oldest making him edgy. “Are youse in or not?”

Adam shrugged. “Yeah, fine by me.”

“Len?” Danny looked at his cousin.

Len thought about it for a moment, sighed then answered, “I suppose so. But the first sign of a ghost...”

Adam burst out laughing. “Bloody ghosts, no such thing, yer soft shite... We gonna cut Jacko in?”

“Jacko.” Danny thought for a minute. Jacko was a good mate and probably would have been here if he wasn’t ill. “Depends what we find, I suppose.”

They continued arguing all the way to Danny’s van. When they got there Danny kissed his fingers and patted the wing mirror. Len tutted but Danny ignored him. The van, which he called Elizabeth after his dream woman Elizabeth Taylor, was his pride and joy. At the moment his girlfriend wasn’t speaking to him because three nights ago he’d called out, “Oh more, Elizabeth, more,” at totally the wrong moment, and not for the first time either.

As they drove away, another man came out of the church, tall and dark-skinned with a heavy beard. He was talking on his mobile phone in an East European accent, and he was angry. “You get to him and you get to him now. You have two hours, or it’s your skin I’ll be stretching over my lampshade.” He snapped his phone shut and strode over to the waiting Mercedes.

DI Lorraine Hunt glared at her partner Detective Luke Daniels. “I swear I will kill him,” she mouthed. “Any minute now.”

Luke, tall, handsome and black, with a presence about him that turned heads, tried not to laugh out loud. Unaware that his boss was reaching meltdown, Carter was droning on and on about the history of St Michael and All Angels church.

Two minutes later Lorraine had had enough. She stood up. “Yeah, OK, Carter, that’s all very interesting, but old bones and stones that may or may not be four thousand years old can’t very well help us with today’s problems, can they?”

Luke smiled. Carter actually got away with more than anyone in the station. Luke knew that Lorraine genuinely liked the young, naive officer, who had somehow got it into his head that Lorraine shared his love of the area’s history. But at the moment Luke was as concerned as Lorraine about the news that had come over the wires less than an hour ago.

“So what’s up?” Carter asked.

“Fill him in, Luke. I’m in need of some liquid refreshment; back in a mo.” She left them, her long blonde ponytail swishing from side to side as she strode out of the office.

Five minutes later she was back, a can of Diet Coke in her hand. From the look of horror on Carter’s face she guessed Luke had told him most of what there was to know about Kirill Tarasov.

“So.” She sat down at her desk, eyebrows raised.

Carter swallowed hard, then felt sick. “A... a cannibal?”

“Yes. A cannibal who collects antiques.”

“There’s no accounting for tastes, is there?” Luke said, shaking his head.

Carter and Lorraine groaned in unison, and Lorraine went on, “He’s been wanted all over the world for years, nearly caught twice. Believe me this guy makes Dracula look like a pussy cat. He skins his victims, eats them, then decorates his house with their skin.”

“Oh, gross,” Carter shivered. “But why haven’t I heard about him before now?”

“Classified information. There’s enough fear in the world today without adding to it. Besides, why give him glory? There’s plenty of weirdos out there that would worship him... Actually Kirill, if that’s even his real name, if he’s even really Russian, is a variant of an old Greek word which means lord.”

“Yeah, in his case lord of darkness,” Luke put in. “No one’s safe when this guy’s around.”

“Please don’t tell me he’s in Houghton, please.” Carter was thinking of his mother, all alone until he got in from work, and it was getting dark out there already. The hairs stood out on the back of his neck when he thought of the gruesome things Luke had told him.

“Get a grip, Carter,” Lorraine said. “He was followed from Germany to France, where they lost him for the second time this year. But then luck struck and he was recognized getting off a plane in Newcastle. He was followed, but the agent’s car died on him. Tarasov was last seen heading for Durham.”

As Carter opened his mouth to ask more questions the phone rang. Lorraine quickly snatched it up.

The two officers watched her face go from dismay to outright disbelief. She muttered a few words, put the phone down and stared at Luke and Carter.

“Well?” Luke urged.

Lorraine slowly shook her head, blew air out of her cheeks before saying, “There’s been a prison break at Durham, one man dead, two escaped... Both escapees were doing life for murder... Vicious murder.” She stood up. “Come on, guys, we’re all out on patrol.”

It was a dark night, no stars and hardly any moon. Danny, Len and Adam met up outside the church. They had each taken a different route up from the Seahills; some of the gossips on the estate hardly slept, and if the three of them were seen together after midnight, they’d have put two and two together and come out with an odd number.

“So where we gonna dig first?” Len whispered.

“I reckon up the front, near the altar,” Danny replied.

Adam nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

They made their way quietly to the door. Danny pulled out a crowbar and set to work on the heavy locks. “Once upon a time churches used to be open all the time,” he grunted as he struggled with the lock.

“Aye, but that was before thieving bastards started to rob them,” Adam said with conviction.

Len looked at him, “So what the hell are we, then?”

Adam shrugged. “That’s different. We’re not robbing the church. I reckon coins and ancient stuff belong to the people, it’s our... our birthright.” He nodded at Len then at Danny.

“Will the pair of yers shut the fuck up and give me a hand, for Christ’s sake?”

“OK, OK, keep yer hair on.” Adam lent his weight to Danny’s and the lock snapped with a sudden crack like a gunshot.

“Shit.” Len ducked and quickly looked around.

They all held their breath as Danny slowly pushed the door, expecting it to start creaking at any moment. But the hinges were well oiled and it opened silently. “Remember,” he hissed, “keep the torches pointed at the ground; we don’t want any lights showing through the windows.”

They crept quietly along to the altar. They were three feet away from their target when Len squealed.

“What the...?” Danny glared at him.

“Yer nearly frightened the life outta me, yer great prat.” Adam gave Len a push.

“Something ran over me foot,” Len muttered.

“I’ll run over yer fucking foot in a minute.” Danny thrust a spade at Len. “Here, this is as good a place as any.”

“It was probably a rat,” Adam whispered. “Or maybes a ghost.” He grinned.

Len glared at him, and started digging. Danny pulled a lantern and another spade out of the holdall. He handed the spade to Adam and lit the lantern. The light spread over a six-foot radius, enough for them to see what they were doing. All three of them started digging in a yard-wide square.

Twenty minutes later Len’s spade hit something solid.

“Oh my God.” He dropped to his knees, quickly followed by the others. Adam held the torches as Len and Danny began to scrape away at the soil. In moments they uncovered a large metal box.

“That doesn’t look really old,” Len observed, though he had to keep his feet solid on the ground to stop himself dancing with excitement. He gave a deep sigh; the others knew how he felt. Rich at last, was the one thought running through their heads.

“It’s bloody heavy though.” Danny lifted the box and carried it to the altar.

Practically slavering, Adam rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Bet it’s full of gold coins. We should have had Jacko here.”

“He’s got the flu. He could hardly get out of bed this morning.” Len stared at the box as Danny stepped back. “But we’ll see he’s all right, won’t we, Danny?”

Kirill Tarasov watched as the two he’d been waiting for ran from behind the trees to the car. One of them was limping badly. He frowned; a weakling. When they had climbed into the back of the Mercedes he turned to face them.

“Everything went to plan, then?” He eyed them up and instantly dismissed the smaller man who had limped and was less than skin and bone. To register on Tarasov’s radar you needed some meat on your bones.

“Yeah,” Simon Dupri, alias the Slasher, a nickname he’d been given by the press, answered quickly. “He definitely buried the box in the church, in front of the altar. He swore to it as he begged for his life.”

The smaller man sniggered. He was Vinnie Grey, doing life for murdering his whole family then starting on his neighbours one dark winter night. He was cut short by a look from Tarasov.

“OK.” Tarasov pulled into the road, “We go to the church now, and you tell me all about how he died on the way.”

And you, skinny man, he thought, will not be coming out of the church. Fatso, though, I will keep close, in case rations are hard to come by someday soon.

“Open it, open it,” Adam practically shouted.

“Shh,” Danny and Len hissed.

For a moment there was silence. Adam took a deep breath and controlled himself, then nodded at the other two. Danny slowly pried the lid off the box. A sound behind him made him gasp, and the three of them spun round.

There was nothing but the pitch darkness with a lighter patch right at the back where the stained-glass window reigned supreme. Len wiped the sweat off his brow, and Adam placed a shaking hand over his heart.

“Just the fucking rats again,” Danny snapped.

The lid was off the box now, and all three peered inside, holding their breath in anticipation.

Tarasov, followed by Dupri and Grey, quietly made his way past the old gravestones to the church. When they reached the door, Tarasov held his hand up and stared in dismay at the broken lock.

He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He had searched for years for the box, and wasn’t going to be outdone now. He put his finger to his lips to quell any outbursts from the others, and cocked his head like an inquisitive dog listening, stretching his senses.

At first he heard nothing. He stepped through the door and paused, listening again, concentrating hard, then looked towards the altar. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw the light beneath the altar, beckoning like a beacon.

Bastards!

“Hurry up, hurry up.” Adam was unable to control himself any longer. “What is it... Is it gold coins? Fucking tell us, man.”

Len squashed up to his cousin on the other side, every bit as excited. “Are we rich? I can’t stand this any more — how much?”

Danny pulled a large piece of carefully folded canvas out of the box and held it up. The other two shone their torches on it. “For God’s sake, it’s just a bloody painting.” Unable to hide his disappointment, he shook his head. “It’s a painting of a woman, who believe me is no Elizabeth Taylor.”

“Yer can say that again.” Adam stared at the painting. “I’ve seen that ugly mug somewhere before though.”

Len tutted. “Oh you bloody pair of idiots, for God’s sake, it’s the Mona Lisa.”

Danny and Adam stared at Len. After a moment Danny said, “Do yer think it’s the real I am?”

Len looked in awe at the signature. Slowly he nodded.

“Is it worth anything?” Adam beat Danny to the question.

The answer came from behind them. “Yes, gentlemen... millions.”

For a moment they froze, then slowly, as if trained by a choreographer, they turned together. Danny swallowed hard, feeling Adam and Len tremble beside him — and who could blame them, faced with a huge man holding a large knife in each hand?

Tarasov moved closer. “For years I have followed this painting, then seven years ago the trail went cold. The fools in the museum think they have the real one. Ha.”

“What, er, what yer gonna do, like?” Danny didn’t quite succeed in keeping the tremble out of his voice. Judging by the man’s face, he could guess exactly what he was going to do.

He smiled at them, and Len trembled even more. Adam though found his voice. “Who are you like? Standing there like some crazy fuck out of a horror movie. Think we’re frightened, like?”

“You should be, cocky twat.” Grey stepped out from behind Tarasov.

“Oh God,” Len moaned. “We’re well and truly up shit creek without a paddle this time, guys.” A second later he screamed as he was grabbed from behind.

The scream forced Adam into action. Without thinking he threw himself at Grey, leaving Danny to deal with Tarasov and his knives. Len bent over then quickly threw his head back, snapping his assailant’s nose. More by luck than anything else, Adam kicked Grey in exactly the right spot on his injured leg; when he yelled in pain and reached down, Adam launched a left hook and knocked him out flat.

As Len peeled himself away from the dead weight still clinging to him, Adam quickly moved to Danny’s side.

Tarasov laughed. “You think you can take me? Ha, I don’t think so. Not even two or three of you.” He jumped forward and the knife in his right hand slashed down, taking a piece of Adam’s ear off and slicing the side of his neck. Blood spurted, and Adam collapsed to his knees in shock.

Advancing on Danny, Tarasov laughed again.

“Fuck off,” Danny yelled, wondering if this would be a good time to run, but knowing he couldn’t leave Adam at the mercy of this grinning freak.

Then he had a brainwave. He snatched the painting up and shook the canvas. Tarasov stopped, a look of pure horror on his face.

“No, no... Do not damage it.” His eyes burned into Danny’s. “I will give you anything.”

“Do yer honestly think for one minute that I’d trust you, yer creepy bastard?” Danny shook the painting again, as Len, finally untangled from Dupri, bent down to help Adam.

Tarasov curled his lip, “Enough of this,” he shouted, his arms held high. Each long blade caught the light as he prepared to leap forward again.

“Oh yes, well said, definitely enough of this.” DI Lorraine Hunt hurried into the church with Luke Daniels and Carter close behind.

They had been cruising round the Seahills estate, visiting a couple of known criminals recently released from Durham prison when Lorraine had suddenly remembered something Carter had said about the church. On a hunch they had quickly sped up to Houghton.

“Kirill Tarasov, I am arresting you on... Well, just about any crime known to man.”

“Fucking hell.” Danny wiped sweat from his brow. “Talk about saved by the bell.” He bent down to see to Adam, but Len stared at him and shook his head.

“NO!” Danny yelled.

Using the sudden distraction Tarasov ran at Lorraine, but she was ready for him. Using a karate sidestep, she swiftly moved to one side, and as Tarasov ran past her she kicked his leg from under him. He fell to the floor, and Carter and Luke were on top of him in seconds.

Luke cuffed him. Tarasov looked at Lorraine; mixed with the contempt was a smattering of admiration. “Brought down by a woman.”

“Save it, creep.” Lorraine moved to check on Adam. It took her a few moments to find a pulse, but find it she did: erratic, but still a pulse. She took Len’s hand and pressed it over the wound in Adam’s neck. “Keep it there...” She looked over her shoulder. “Carter? Ambulance.”

“On its way, boss.”

Danny and Len breathed twin sighs of relief. Lorraine looked at them, shook her head and said, “Please tell me why I am not at all surprised to find you bloody lot here.”