Chapter Eighteen

Five men sat in the small room above the Juniper Casino in Derby, all of whom fidgeted nervously when Janine entered and stalked across the room. She wore a designer cocktail dress made of pure silk that revealed every contour of her body. Her thighs pulled at the fabric, sensually emphasising their shape as she walked, but none of the men were looking at her legs. They were looking at the cold fury of her eyes.

“What the fuck happened, David? How did the bastard get to murder my brother?” Janine snapped. She needed to act as though she had no idea that Russell had eliminated her blackmailing bastard of a brother. The girl had escaped, but they would soon track her down. The target of her question flinched as she glared at him and he swallowed noisily. He knew what she meant all right, so why had he personally allowed it to happen? He was head of security for the entire chain of the Schroeder family’s Casinos, eight of them now and still expanding. It was he who’d picked the bodyguards, two of his best men to protect Spencer Schroeder and they’d died without even drawing their weapons.

“He got to the bodyguards using the girl to distract them. They were supposed to be professionals and they knew who they were up against. You’ve seen the video?”

“Oh yes, I’ve seen the video and so have you. Now you men listen to me. I want that girl, Jay Williams. She helped set my brother up and I’m going to deal with her personally. She’ll tell us everything she knows about the bastard who shot Spencer before I let you kill her, and put her out of the pain and misery I’m going to give her—”

David interrupted. “She was arrested this morning and, according to my contact in the police, she had no idea what was going on. He snatched her from a car park at gunpoint. They’ve released her and she’s flying to America on Wednesday, to attend a funeral.”

“Who’s your contact?”

He hesitated only a second. “DI Carlyle, she’s into us for fifteen grand.”

“Knock five thousand off her account and tell her I’ll pay ten thousand in cash to find out where the funeral’s being held. Arrange two tickets on the same flight for me. I’ll be travelling as Missus Denker on the passport you arranged for me and I may decide to take you with me.” She turned on her heel and as she left the room she wondered how Russell would react when she told him that they were flying back to the States.

* * * *

Detective Superintendent Roberts played back the cassette and listened to the conversation between Williams and Carlyle and smiled. They’d had no reason to suspect that last night he’d planted a listening device in the hotel room where Williams would be staying. He’d left Carlyle with the girl. Neither of them had noticed him place the pen, containing the bug, behind a picture that was hanging on the wall as he made the pretence of straightening it. Now he had all the information he needed to earn himself a cool £10,000 tax free. Picking up the phone, he rang David Thompson at the casino.

“That’s great, Vincent,” David said as he repeated the information out loud. “This is really great, but there could be a problem with the money.”

“What do you mean a problem with the money?” If this pratt was trying to rip him off…

“Well, we’ve told Janine that your DI Carlyle is my contact and as far as she’s concerned that’s who’ll get the money.”

“No way, David. Listen…perhaps it’s time to tell Janine Schroeder the truth.”

“You want me to say that I lied to her? Do you know what she’d do to me?”

“Look, I’ll tell her that I told you to keep my name out of it as I was setting up Carlyle because she raided Spencer’s club. I’ll say I threatened to hassle you if you told anyone who I was.”

“Alright, I’ll arrange a meeting. This information should put her in a better frame of mind. She’s been like a cat with two heads since he was killed.”

“Fine, just do what you have to. Now I want to talk to you about Carlyle.”

* * * *

Rebecca was examining the file she’d obtained on The Death Dancer and it made interesting reading. His first victim was Raymond Hassley, a 56-year-old journalist who worked for the Nottingham Evening Herald. His body had been found in the bathroom of his house in Shrewsbury on the 18th December, 1986. He’d been shot once in the throat and once through the forehead and a white business card had been dropped on top of the body. Embossed on the card was the figure of a skeleton dancing on a grave and in red letters the message, I’ll dance on your grave! Hassley’s own name had been written on the grave’s tombstone.

Since Hassley, The Death dancer had claimed twenty-three victims, men and women, and as far as Rebecca could see there was no obvious connection between his victims, who seemed to live in various locations within the UK. There was a married couple in 1986, the husband was a solicitor and his wife an accountant. They’d been killed in the lounge of their house in Milton Keynes. In 1988

he’d killed three people, a market trader and his wife and a vicar. All of them lived in Birmingham. There was a note on the file stating that Andrea, the market trader’s 14-year-old daughter, had disappeared on the night of the killing. She was, it was believed, to have been either abducted, or so traumatised that she’d run away from home. Rebecca made a note to check and see whether the girl had ever been found.

Of the other eighteen victims, there were five married couples, an assortment of men, and one 56-year-old woman from Derby who had been killed last year. She was the anomaly. Who would pay a hit-man to kill a supermarket stock person? All of the other women who had been murdered with their husbands were in their late thirties—around her own age—and like her, childless. Except for the market trader and his wife! She scanned the list again. The vicar from Birmingham? Was he the Hassley’s priest? Someone they’d turned to or confided in? Had they told him that they were hoping to adopt a baby or had Mrs. Hassley been enquiring about a Christening?

She was still working on compiling a chart of all the killings and she looked at her monitor screen in triumph. There it was. Five of the other men all lived in the same area and were killed about the same time as one of the married couples. The door of her office opened and the Assistant Chief Constable walked in, accompanied by Superintendent Roberts. Rebecca sensed that something was wrong.

“Detective Inspector Carlyle, I have received information that you have been gambling at the Saracen casino, and are in debt to them for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds,” the Assistant Chief Constable said gravely. “Because of the suspected criminal activities of the club, of which you are well aware, I have no choice but to suspend you from duty, pending a full enquiry. I would advise you to contact your Federation representative at the earliest opportunity. I require your warrant card and the keys to your locker and desk!”

Numb with shock, she fumbled in her bag and handed over her warrant card and keys and didn’t resist when the Superintendent took her bag and started to look through it. He withdrew something from it and she saw that he was passing some kind of laminated card to the senior officer. After examining it, the assistant Chief Constable frowned. “This is a membership card for the Saracen Club – it has your photograph and your signature on it.”

Rebecca didn’t say that she didn’t understand because she did. Vincent Roberts had planted the card in her bag because, for some reason, he’d framed her and, knowing Vincent, there was probably worse to come. She had no idea how her photograph and signature had been obtained for the membership card, or how her account at a club, that she’d only visited during a raid, came to be fifteen thousand pounds in the red. But she intended to find out. Standing, she plucked the card out of the senior police officer’s hand. “That belongs to me I think,” she said. She took her handbag out of Vincent’s hand and met his eye. “I intend to find out why you’ve framed me, Vincent, and I’m going to prove that you’re bent. Believe me, you’re not going to get away with this!”

He smiled sadly and shook his head. “You’re suspended, Rebecca. Don’t make things worse for yourself than they already are. Go home. You’ll be informed when the rubber heel squad want to interview you.”

“Fuck you and Internal Affairs. All you’ve got on me is the allegation that I’m in debt to the club for fifteen thousand pounds, which is rather surprising as I have almost five hundred and eighty

thousand pounds in my bank account. I’m sure that my bank will confirm that it was paid into my account two years ago with a cheque from the National Lottery.” She laughed at the shocked expression on the two men’s faces. “That’s right, sirs. It was, as the advert says, It could be you, and it was!”

She was still laughing as she left the police station. Roberts would now have a hard time persuading the Assistant Chief Constable that she was being blackmailed over fifteen thousand pounds. Vincent had tried to ruin her, well now it was her turn because, if there was one thing that she couldn’t stand, it was a bent copper.

She proffered her membership card at the door of the casino and was let through the glass doors. Plush red carpet covered the floors and in the games room the lighting was skilfully arranged to give an atmosphere of comfort and warmth. There wasn’t a clock in sight she noticed. Walking over to the cashier’s window, she proffered the woman her card. “I’d like to settle my account,” she said. Taking the card, the woman tapped the membership number printed on it, into her computer. She studied the monitor for a moment and smiled at Rebecca. “There is ten thousand pounds outstanding, Madam. How would you care to pay?”

“I understood that I owed fifteen thousand,” Rebecca said, puzzled.

“Five thousand pounds was deducted yesterday by Missus Schoefield. Your balance is ten thousand pounds now.”

“Here’s fifteen thousand pounds in cash,” Rebecca said, handing her the envelope that she’d collected from the bank. “I’d like a receipt and you can tell Missus Schoefield from me that if ever she interferes with my account again, I’ll personally arrest her for false accounting and close this place down!”

Pocketing her receipt, Rebecca left the casino and drove back to her flat. She needed to get on her computer. She had a killer to find and perhaps a closer look at Janine Schroeder might be useful. The Schroeder’s property was near the village of Catherstone. She’d drive down there tomorrow and have a sniff around for a couple of days, and anyway she could do with a break.

* * * *

Janine took an instant dislike to the policeman. She’d met his type before. They were unbending martinets of the law until pension day was on the horizon, and then all their scruples were abandoned as they frantically built themselves a nice little nest egg. She’d pay him the money because he’d earned it but from now on he’d be her creature and it would be fun bringing him to heel.

“I’m extremely grateful, Vincent,” she said, giving him her best smile. “Now it will take about half an hour to make up your cash. Perhaps you’d care to have a drink and relax while you wait?” She pressed a button on her desk and a few moments later an extremely attractive girl entered. She saw the policeman sneak a look at the pale smooth flesh of the girl’s thigh, highlighted by the split in her skirt.

“Ah, Celeste, will you take Mister Smith up to guest room number four and make sure he gets anything he wants—anything at all.”

For a moment Janine thought he was going to refuse the offer but he took the girl’s hand and allowed her to lead him out of the office. As soon as the door closed, she checked the monitor to make sure the hidden cameras in room four were operational and pressed the button to start them recording. She watched as the door opened and Celeste led Vincent over to the bed. Smiling, Janine switched off the monitor. She would watch the tape later. She wondered what Vincent would do when he learned that Celeste’s real name was Charlotte Davies, a fourteen-year-old runaway.

“I’m getting worried about you, David,” she said, and was gratified to see the colour leave his face. “First there’s the cock up over my brother’s security and now I find out that you not only lied to me, but have involved me in setting up a straight DI. A DI who, incidentally, called at the cashier’s office and paid fifteen thousand pounds, that she hadn’t lost, off her fucking non-existent account!”

“I told you why—”

“That was bullshit and you know it. Get out of here, David, and I want Carlyle taken out of the picture permanently. I want her to simply disappear and to never be seen again. She’s a threat.”

He’d have to go, she thought after he’d left the office. He wasn’t reliable anymore and that DI, Carlyle, was trouble. Perhaps after she’d been taken care of it would be time to bury David as well.

Taking out her mobile, she punched in the number she’d memorised and could hear it ringing on the other end of her and Russell’s very private line.