The Grotto's Secret: A Historical Conspiracy Mystery Thriller (17 page)

62

Gorden coughed politely. Jurgen had remained silent for so long he’ thought the German had hung up.

As chairman of one of the most respected European pharma associations, Jurgen got off on pressing people’s buttons. Fair play to the man; he’d found huge success in a complicated industry.

Jurgen had set up his company with funding from the European Union and the pharmaceutical industry, as well as indirect subsidies from member states, to work with new European medicines coming onto the market. The IM’s main responsibility was the protection and promotion of public health, through the evaluation and supervision of medicines.

Although the German had publicly stated his directive to secure the free movement of herbal medicinal products within the European Union, the bastard had no time for natural medicine.

Jurgen’s voice broke into Gorden’s thoughts, ‘Where does MG stand on this? You’ve had scientists on this for years.’

‘Trying to replicate it in secret hasn’t been easy. The sample was too small. We used it up quickly.’

‘There’s cockroaches crawling all over this.’

‘Good God, don’t I know it. Some heretic die-hards think they’ve solved the mystery.’

‘But you’ll get there first,’ Jurgen’s tone turned menacing, ‘won’t you, Gordie?’

‘Of course!’

‘You still want it hitting the market?’ Jurgen asked.

Gorden imagined himself wringing the German’s neck. It was the only way he could deal with him. ‘I’ve said this for a number of years now. I wanted to replicate it to analyse it. But I believe it should not reach the market.’

‘Good! We have to stop them believing rizado will advance other treatments. If the public gets wind of this, there’ll be uproar. They’ll expect miracles. We have to cull this
schwein kraut
now before it takes down the industry.’

‘What’s the plan?’

‘Get Olaf on Barker’s tail. If he moves, we move.’

‘Right away.’

‘Olaf will sort it out. The bastard won’t leave a footprint. Keep me updated.’ Jurgen barked one last time and cut the call.

Slumping into his leather seat, Gorden dropped his phone into the cradle. He kicked the bottom drawer shut and spun his seat around to face the window.

The responsibility for rizado had fallen into his lap. His company wanted it found. Jurgen did too.

But for entirely different reasons.

63

After disabling the alarm by punching in the code, Barker entered Kelby’s house. He stopped, listening to the sound of voices.

Strange. Kelby wasn’t home. Annie was still in hospital, and Kelby had no other close family. And Hawk had finally left the house after searching it all morning and was now on his way to watch Kelby at her office. She didn’t employ a housekeeper so he couldn’t imagine who was talking.

He peered along the hallway. A blue haze emanated from a room at the end. He stalked towards it, treading lighter than a cat.

Fat people with heavy footsteps, he hated. Slim people who walked with grace, he loved.

At the door where the blue haze spilled onto the hallway rug, he stopped to listen. He slipped his nose through a crack in the door. One eye peered around the room, taking in everything.

Kelby must have forgotten to switch the damn thing off when she left home that morning.

Barker prodded the door open with his toe.

Meow!

He jumped back, expecting a cat at his heels. Peering into the darkened room, he could just make out the stupid fur-ball slumped on the top of the TV. He sidled towards the cat and stroked it. ‘Here, pussy. Here, pussy.’

Being friends with the cat helped his next move.

First, he had to find the rizado. Though she’d been promised a bonus big enough to pay for nips and tucks across every part of her, Zelda hadn’t managed to find contact details for the mysterious couple.

For the next hour Barker went through Kelby’s home. Starting on the top floor, he searched through her bathroom cabinets and wardrobes. He slipped open her drawer of bras and smiled to himself. She had found his magazine message.

Next, he combed her office, rummaging through her desk drawers and filing systems.

Nothing.

Not finding what he was hunting for, he hated.

The cat. An idea struck him. One that would cause lots of pain and anguish.

To both Kelby and her sick niece.

64

For the tenth time since Barker had left him, Gorden stood at his office window. His hands, behind his back, played the snaking game, squirming around each other, releasing and coiling again.

He usually didn’t let such things bother him. There’d been enough practice over the years. So many stinkers had stuck their sharp noses into Mata’s business and he had to have them exterminated. If only he could do the same to Herman Schmidt. He had to find a way to blot him out, but right now he had other fish to fry.

Gorden spun around and dug in his top drawer. His hands shied away from the mobile phone as though a viper was about to strike him. He hated the thing. So intrusive. So demanding. So impersonal. Yet the stupid device created privacy for certain phone calls.

Finding Olaf’s number made his lips curl. He wanted nothing to do with that man, but he didn’t trust Barker any more than he trusted Jurgen.

Olaf answered on first dial. ‘
Ja
, Gordie.’

Gorden winced. Olaf had picked up the dratted nickname from the Jurgen bastard. Trying to ignore the rush of blood prickling the surface of his skin, he said in a calm voice. ‘Tag three.’

The exterminator didn’t need it spelt out. He knew the priorities.

Tag three. Observe.

Tag two. Threaten.

Tag one. Exterminate.

Gorden gave him details of where Barker would be and cut the call. He tossed the mobile back into the drawer, slammed it shut and ambled to the window.

Soon he’d know who Barker’s informant was. And he intended going directly to the source.

65

Back in Kelby’s kitchen, Ba
rker glanced around. The pungent smell of burnt milk competed with the aromatic tang of coffee beans. He shook his head at the sink overflowing with coffee mugs and stained with sticky lumps of coffee granules.

He’d filled his own kitchen with mod-cons with easy-clean surfaces and microwave meals for the odd days he ate at home. None of this airy-fairy warmth and homely malarkey. His step-mother had been childless until he came along, so she’d never cottoned on to baking fresh bread or pies.

Barker scribbled something on the Post-It note lying on the counter and stepped back, smiling at his handiwork.

What a lovely soft pussy you have.

Maybe the cat’s disappearance would get her to reveal her secrets. She might even spill the beans on rizado. And where he could get more.

But now he had other urgent tasks on the boil.

Kelby’s car would pack up soon like Teresina’s had done. He’d better hurry into the studio for his producers meeting so his alibi was solid.

Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy, these games he played with Kelby were intoxicating. Even Johnson stirred.

An idea struck Barker. Perhaps a quick workout for Johnson. He glanced around. Where could he leave his mark? Spurt on her office desk? How about on her kitchen counter where she’d prepare her next meal? Or in her bed and pull back the covers without her knowing? Maybe even leave them open.

Barker opened his fly and released Johnson.

So many enticing options.

66

Kelby glanced at her rear-view mirror. The mist had thickened so she couldn’t see what she’d hit. Her hands trembled as the car shuddered through the steering wheel. It wobbled for a moment and suddenly the steering became heavy and difficult to control.

A perforation sound, similar to that of Annie’s bicycle tyre puncturing, reverberated through her head.

Thankfully, the road was empty. Any earlier or later and she’d have been caught up in the school run or mummy-coffee-morning traffic.

Kelby hung onto the steering wheel as the car slewed to the left. Gripping tightly with both hands, she used all her strength and energy to keep the vehicle facing forward. It refused, pulling to one side, and drifting into the opposite lane. Kelby yanked the wheel to correct the steering. Her handbag flew off the passenger seat, spilling its contents, and her gym bag dropped into the foot-well. Kelby ignored them as she battled with the steering.

A loud bang startled her.

The noise was unlike anything she had ever heard. Kelby thought the car was exploding beneath her.

Then came a whoosh. Flap. Flap. Flap. Flap.

Black hailstones of rubber flew in every direction. Kelby’s scream rose above the metal rim grinding and scraping along the slippery tarmac. Without thinking, Kelby lifted her foot off the accelerator. Instead of slowing down, the car plummeted forward.

She slammed on the brakes.

For a split second, the car swung in imbalance. Kelby watched in horror as it swerved and fishtailed out of control. She screamed again as the car dived into a 360-degree spin.

The BMW shot up the muddy left bank.

Kelby held her breath in terror. The car nose-dived back onto the road. It shot across both carriageways and plummeted down the embankment. Its bonnet crashed through a farmer’s fence and its wing mirror shattered.

The car slammed into a tree. Its impact shunted Kelby forward. The air bag hissed as it exploded out of the dashboard with a loud crunch of breaking plastic and snap of buckling dashboard.

The huge stiff balloon struck Kelby’s head, slamming her mouth against her teeth. The sting felt as though someone had slapped her face with a large rubber band.

With the putrid smell of fuel in her nostrils, Kelby blacked out.

67

As the full moon lit her path through the woods, María glided through the night. In her mind she created stories of a young girl being a goddess to wild animals.

Like her new
femella
, her own ears were ripe for the sound of someone in need.

Before the Inquisition had taken full force, Tío and his
mishpacha
had slipped away in the dead of night. She missed him and his wise acceptance of a woman’s importance to the village. One day he would get word to her. Of that she was sure; he kept his promises.

When Tío had left and panic spread to their village, María had insisted on gathering the rizado at night to prevent strangers seeing her carrying bunches of smelly herbs. She wasn’t afraid of the dark; she was more afraid of what would happen if the Inquisition found out about Madre.

Or her.

María lived with a secret fear. The story about a woman healer who had created a secret potion that cured any ailment worried her. Every day María rose early to pray the journal had never made it to Barcelona. To compensate for her stupid
errare
she did her chores far quicker than she had ever done. Madre often gave her a suspicious frown and laughed it off as her daughter being overly protective.

Before going to collect more rizado she had stewed another chicken. She learnt as a child to rub sage and rosemary into the meat to bring out its flavour.

Ambling along the meadow towards her
finca
, María gazed around the moonlit farm with pride. Outbuildings sprawled around the cottage. Long shadows from the animal sheds reached out and moulded their distorted fingers onto the farm’s most revered outhouse — Padre’s workshop.

After Padre had been trapped in a building collapse, Madre had refused to clear out his tools. She often sat amongst his things and talked to his spirit. Her mother even said that when she spoke to Padre, a turtle dove appeared nearby. Madre told her these birds only had one mate. Sometimes Madre said strange things.

Candlelight inside the cottage twinkled at María through the shutters, welcoming her to a broad thatched home with smoke wafting through the louvre. Yet the overhanging thatch suddenly seemed to lean to one side and frown at her.

The front door stood ajar.

María’s pulse quickened. Madre always insisted on the door being shut to keep the fire’s heat inside. Then raucous laughter spilled from the cottage. María stopped dead in her tracks.

Men.

Only horrible men laughed that way. Loud and vulgar. The harsh tones disturbed the peace.

These were not the sounds of
amigos
.

Panic gripped her.

Where was Mama?

68

Kelby came round to the sounds of voices. Disoriented for a few seconds, with a loud ringing in her ears, she struggled to breathe.

An acrid smell hung in the air, suspended amidst dust that had blasted out of the air-bag. Kelby coughed and spluttered. The air-bag had deflated almost as fast as it had inflated and it now hung limp between her legs.

Through slitted eyes, she glanced at the destruction. Her beamer’s bonnet was embedded in a tree, hissing and fizzing in the afternoon drizzle.

A man and woman peered in at her. The woman asked, ‘Can you hear me?’

Kelby nodded.

‘Do you remember what happened?’

She nodded again, still groggy and trying to recall the details.

‘I’m Janet. I’m a first aider. Me and Brian are going to get you out of the car.’

Kelby whispered, ‘Thank you.’

‘Can you feel any pain?’

‘My head hurts.’

Janet said, ‘Yes, hun, you’ve got a nasty bump on your forehead. Anything else?’

Kelby shook her head, smelling fuel. ‘Petrol …’

Brian opened her door and released her seat belt. ‘‘The crash may have jammed some metal into the fuel tank so we’ve got to get away from the car, just in case.’

Janet said to Brian, ‘The smell does seem to be getting stronger.’

He glanced at the bonnet. ‘The fuel line may be sheared.’

‘Will it explode?’

‘Not sure, but if a cut fuel line sprays fuel around on hot metal, it could be enough to start a fire.’ He lifted Kelby out of her seat. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Kelby started trembling; even her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

Janet clutched Kelby’s hands. ‘It’s okay, dear, you’re in shock. The ambulance will be here any minute.’

‘Here,’ Brian steadied her, ‘let me put my arm under yours.’

Kelby’s legs buckled under her so Brian sat her back into her car seat.

‘Let me check your legs.’ Janet prodded her legs and lifted her arms. ‘No bleeding.’ She peered at her front and back clothing, asking, ‘Can I take a quick look?’

Kelby nodded, closing her eyes as Janet lifted her shirt to examine her stomach and back. ‘A few bruises, but thankfully, no bleeding. When the paramedics get here, they’ll do a full check of those bruises to be sure there’s no internal bleeding.’

Brian exhaled hard, ‘Phew. Let’s get you away from the car.’

While Brian guided her, Kelby stepped gingerly away from the carcass of her car. Around her lay shattered glass. A shredded tyre. The bonnet concertinaed into the tree. The fence had scraped the doors and battered her wing mirrors into a pulp.

Instinctively, Janet grabbed Kelby’s bags out of the passenger foot-well.

Brian held his arm around her shoulders as she struggled to walk. ‘You sure there’s no pain?’

‘No. I just feel wobbly.’ Kelby stumbled away from her crashed car in a daze.

Suddenly the air was sucked into a deep, hollow voomp. They spun around.

Clouds of black smoke hovered over the car. A cacophony of sounds came from under the bonnet. Clanging and popping where nuts and bolts in the engine burst. Whistles of hot air searing pipes. Bangs and booms from hot metal expanding as a few rogue flames licked at the bonnet. Glass shattered and clattered to the ground.

Brian shoved them forward, ‘Come on! Quick!’

As they scrambled away, flames shot out, engulfing the vehicle in a mist of thick black smoke and bright orange flames.

Kelby glanced over her shoulder. The text threats flashed through her mind. The magazine graffiti. The news of Teresina’s accident. At first, the stalker seemed to be toying with her, as Fat Cat would slap around a wounded rat in her garden. Yet, like a slow burn, he had ramped up
the heat.

Now he intended to kill her.