Chapter Twenty-Two
Facing a Killer
The door to Mallon’s apartment was closed. Roman wondered whether he had seen the text announcing his arrival? What should he do? Did he knock or go ahead and let himself in? It didn’t feel right to waltz straight in for the first time without an invitation.
He knocked and waited.
No answer. He knocked again.
Maybe Mallon was asleep or taking a shower or a phone call.
When his third attempt went unanswered, Roman swiped the card and opened the door.
The apartment was silent. No music or TV. No sound from the bathroom or kitchen.
“Hello,” he called out. “Mallon, it’s me. Are you here?”
Roman closed the door behind him and walked into the living room. He froze.
Mallon was sprawled half across the sofa, his lower body trailing on the floor. He was naked and motionless. Then Roman saw the blood. It was streaked across his back, down his buttocks and his legs. Mallon’s ankles and wrists were fastened together with black plastic strips that looked like cable ties.
He experienced an awful sense of déjà vu…of finding Phil.
No. Not again.
Roman rushed forward. He put his hand on Mallon’s rib cage and after a moment detected the faint rise and fall of his breath. His face was buried in a cushion.
“Mallon,” he said gently, easing his head up. His eyes were closed and swollen. There was more blood around his nose, and he was gagged with a pair of socks, knotted together. Roman gently eased the gag away from his mouth, making it easier for him to breath.
Mallon let out a low moan.
Thank God, he’s alive .
Roman rushed to the kitchen, hauling open drawers until he found a pair of scissors. He raced back to Mallon’s side and snipped the ties at his wrists and ankles. Mallon moaned again, louder this time and began to rouse. Roman slipped his elbows beneath his armpits and hauled him upwards and over, getting him into a supported sitting position.
Mallon looked like he’d taken a beating to the head and torso. Roman cast his eyes around the room. The place looked the same as always. He could see no sign of any robbery.
Could whoever had done this still be here?
Roman eased Mallon into a comfortable position on the sofa. He hurried back to the kitchen. After all that had happened in the city recently, he couldn’t afford to take any chances. He opened a drawer and took out a lethal-looking steak knife. Roman doubted he would have the metal to use it on anyone, but holding it gave him a sliver of confidence.
He was familiar with the layout of the apartment and moved cautiously around the living room, checking behind the curtains. The balcony area was clear. He moved on to check the bedroom and bathroom. No sign of any disturbance.
If Mallon’s attacker was still here, the only place they could hide was inside the walk-in closet. The doors were shut. Roman’s heart was in his throat. Get out, a voice inside warned. Get the fuck out and call the police . If the culprit was still here, he couldn’t leave Mallon alone in the apartment with them.
The closet doors were mirrored. If there was anyone on the other side, they wouldn’t be able to see out. Roman crept forward, keeping his step light. Surprise was the only advantage he had. Moving close to the door, he inched his free hand to the opening and raised the knife to his shoulder, ready to attack. His heart beat so loudly that whoever was in there must surely hear it.
He took a deep breath and hauled the door wide.
Empty .
There was the dresser, the rails of clothing.
He dipped low, checking the floor for any tell-tail legs and feet that would give away anyone hiding within the rails. There was no one.
Roman released his breath.
Whoever had attacked Mallon was not here now.
He rushed back to the living room. Mallon was sitting up straighter. His eyes fluttered.
“Roman,” he croaked.
“Don’t try to speak. I’ll get something for the blood.”
He raced to the bathroom, returning with a pile of towels.
“Let me check you over,” he said. “I need to stop this bleeding.”
“It’s just my nose,” Mallon said. “I took a beating. Bruises…nothing worse.”
“It looks a hell of a lot worse than that.”
Mallon winced as he gently dabbed a towel around his face.
“Bastard…jumped me from behind.”
Roman cautiously wiped the blood from Mallon’s torso and groin area, searching for any puncture wounds or lacerations. It was a relief to find none. “Who did it?”
“I’ve never seen him before.” Mallon flexed his fingers and wrists, getting the circulation going after the restriction.
“Was he waiting for you when you got home? I can’t see any sign of a break in, and it doesn’t look like anything has been taken, either. I’m going to call the police. You need an ambulance, too. We don’t know what kind of damage he could have done beneath the skin.”
“I’ll do some fucking damage if I see the bastard again.”
“That’s a problem for another time.”
“Clothes. Can you get me something to put on before you call anyone. I had just stepped out of the shower when he jumped me. There are jogging bottoms in the second drawer of the dresser.”
Roman watched him carefully. There didn’t appear to be any sign of confusion or concussion, at least not for now. He knew there could be a delay between injury and symptoms showing. Mallon needed to be checked out by a doctor. Satisfied that he was all right for the moment, he returned to the bedroom to fetch the jogging bottoms and a hoodie.
He eased the bottoms over Mallon’s feet and up to the knees before helping him to stand and pulling them all the way.
Mallon groaned in pain.
“Sit back down,” Roman told him.
“No, it’s easier if I stand.” He shuffled around until he could support himself against the back of the sofa.
Roman gave him a hand to get the hoodie on and fasten it. Mallon grimaced as he flexed his shoulders.
“Did you get a look at who did this?”
“Damn right. The bastard will wish he’d never been born when I see him again.”
“What did he look like?”
“Well-built and strong. He used his weight to his advantage. If he hadn’t taken me by surprise, it would not have made a difference. He hit me over the head and pinned me down while I was still out of it.”
Roman trembled. The adrenaline was wearing off. “He could have killed you. What else.”
“Early thirties, maybe. Blond. Dressed in black.”
Roman froze. Shit . No. It couldn’t be .
And the words he’d heard less than ten minutes earlier came crashing back. “What’s that Frenchy got that I haven’t?”
“Oh, my God, Mallon. I think I know who did this to you.” His mind was already whirling backwards, to when he’d first met Will, trying to remember how many times he had encountered him since. It seemed like Will had always been there, lurking on the outskirts of the village, making himself known only when it suited him. Is Will the Blyham Strangler? Surely not . This attack on Mallon didn’t fit the strangler’s pattern. He would never have left him alive.
“Who is he?”
“To be honest, I’m not even sure. His name is Will. I don’t know his surname. I hooked up him with last year, before I ever met you. It was nothing. Really, less than nothing. But I saw him tonight, before I came in. He was outside the building. He’s beefy, well-built with short, dark-blond hair, exactly as you describe.”
Mallon gripped the back of the sofa. He swayed a little and a woozy, vacant look came over his face. He snapped into focus a second later. “Then it shouldn’t take the cops long to find him. Call them.”
“I’m getting you an ambulance first. The police can wait.”
Roman took out his phone and used his fingerprint to open the screen lock. He saw, a fraction of a second too late, movement over Mallon’s shoulder. A figure, dressed completely in black, slipped from behind the curtains at the French windows, and with three assured steps, came up behind Mallon and placed the jagged blade of a hunting knife at his throat.
“Isn’t this cute,” Will said.
Roman hadn’t realised when he saw him outside that he was dressed in dark commando gear—a black jacket, the woollen hat, black leather gloves. He even had some kind of rucksack fastened on his back. His blue eyes glistening with dark delight. He must have climbed onto the balcony from the street and gained access through the sliding doors. In that moment, Roman had no doubt that Will was the Strangler.
Mallon gritted his teeth. Will had an arm around his chest, the lethal blade pressed to his throat. Roman saw the workings of Mallon’s mind, as he tried to weigh up his options, his chances of disarming Will. Under difference circumstances, he could have done it. Will couldn’t know what a skilled fighter he was. But Mallon had taken a beating and was likely concussed. One wrong twitch of a muscle and Will could draw that knife and slice his neck wide open.
Roman looked Mallon in the eyes and shook his head, praying he wouldn’t attempt any heroics.
“Wise move,” Will jeered. “You should take notice of what your boyfriend tells you. He’s probably thinking he can sweet talk me out of killing the pair of you. What do you say? Think we should give him a chance?” He tightened the arm around Mallon’s chest. “I’d hate for either of you to think I’m unreasonable.”
Fuck . He’s mad . It was obvious in the wide roll of his eyes, in the whites that now showed clear all around the iris. Why didn’t I notice this before? Will had seemed a little needy and desperate, but Roman had never taken him for an all-out psycho.
“You killed Phil last weekend?” Roman said, his voice hard with anger.
Will’s lips spread into a joyous grin. “Well done. You’ve figured it out faster than I expected.”
“Why?”
“If I knew the answer to that, I could stop myself. But I have no idea. These men present themselves to me and something clicks in my head, sealing their fate.” He pressed the blade closer to Mallon’s neck. A thin trail of blood trickled onto his collarbone. “Only you two are different. You might have noticed that.”
It was only three days since he had killed Phil. The Strangler usually worked on a two-to-three-month cycle. “Why us?”
Will snorted. “That’s another question I wish I had the answer to. But the truth is I’m as bewildered as you are.” He put his mouth closer to Mallon’s ear. “Don’t go thinking you’re anything special, Frenchy? Quite the opposite. If you weren’t hooking up with fuckboy here, you wouldn’t have come to my attention. You’re not my type.” He gave a cold laugh.
Round the fucking bend . As Will babbled, Roman hurriedly ran through their options. If Mallon’s apartment was wired into any security system or panic button, he hadn’t let Roman in on it. And he’d already put down the steak knife and scissors, which were both far out of reach, not that he would feel equipped to use them. There was something in Will’s stance, in the way he restrained Mallon and held his knife, that suggested military training. He could cut Mallon’s throat and bury the blade in Roman before he ever reached those discarded weapons.
He thought about the attack spray they had issued to customers at Julie’s. Where was it? He’d been carrying it around for weeks. Damn . It was in another jacket.
It was hopeless. Roman didn’t have a clue how to fight back. His only chance was to keep the madman talking.
“I didn’t realise you were so into me,” he said, attempting to hide his fear and keep his tone soft. He looked Will straight in the eyes. “I thought you didn’t like me that much.”
“Bullshit. You knew. You thought you were too good for me…just a hot little fucker who could have any man he wanted. I wasn’t offended. The truth is I planned to kill you last October.” He snorted again. “Not sure what changed my mind about that. I liked keeping tabs on you, watching what you were up to, saving you for a later date.”
Mallon sneered something in French.
“What’s that, arsehole?” Will snarled in his ear. “ Speak English, for fuck’s sake .”
“I said you’re a madman,” Mallon growled.
Will’s features softened. “Mad? No, I’m not mad. A madman would have been caught by now. After all this time, the police still don’t have a clue who I am. Could a madman do that? Be so cunning and so patient? I don’t think so.”
Roman saw a thread of hope in Will’s vanity and grabbed it. “You have been clever. Really clever, to get away with it for so long.”
“And I’ll keep getting away with it. Tonight, you two? This is the biggest risk I’ve taken. I can’t hang around a shitty city like this and hope to avoid attention. After tonight, I’ll be gone, a shadow that fades with the morning. Then, when I’m ready, when the time is right, I’ll begin again in a new place…Manchester or Liverpool. Let’s face it. There’s no shortage of horny queers wandering aimlessly into danger for the sake of a dick.” He gave a short, self-satisfied laugh.
Mallon must have sensed a change in Will. His eyes flashed at Roman, full of determination. Whether Will had relaxed his hold as he revelled in his deadly achievements or became distracted, Mallon seemingly seized the opportunity and delivered a sharp, backwards jab with his fist. From the pitch of Will’s shriek, Roman knew he’d delivered the blow straight to his balls. As the knife moved clear of this throat, Mallon ducked and spun. He came at Will full on, his hands raised for a martial arts strike, but Will was too fast. He lashed at Mallon with the knife, slashing him across the chest, tearing the hoodie. Roman saw a streak of blood as Mallon tumbled across the sofa.
Will raised the knife, ready to plunge it into Mallon’s back.
“No,” Roman yelled, racing forward.
Will turned on him, the knife raised. His face was contorted into an ugly mask of rage. “It’s about time I stuck it to you.” He lunged towards him.
Roman flew to the side. A rush of air passed his face as the blade missed him by centimetres. Will grabbed his jacket with his free hand, pulling him in.
“Come here, you little cunt.”
His grip wasn’t strong enough, and Roman elbowed him aside, scrambling around the coffee table. He heard the rasping rage in Will’s breath. The killer was right behind him.
Roman’s shin struck the corner of the coffee table. Pain lanced through his leg. He ignored it and rushed on. The steak knife. Where the fuck did I leave the steak knife?
His mind flashed through his options in milliseconds. If he could make it to the bathroom, he could lock the door. His phone was in his pocket, and he could hold Will back in time to call the police. But that would leave Mallon at his mercy. Will could fulfil his twisted wish and claim at least another victim before making a run. There were more knives in the kitchen drawer, but Will would be on top of him before he even got one open.
Will snatched the neck of his coat, hauling Roman towards him.
Shit, this is it . The blade would be in his back in a second.
Reacting instinctively, Roman let his body go limp. A dead weight, he dropped to the floor and Will lost his grip on him again.
Then he saw the steak knife. It had fallen to the left of the sofa. Roman scrabbled towards it. It was hopeless. Will’s heavy step was right behind him. A powerful kick delivered to the ribs sent Roman sprawling. It unbalanced him more than it hurt. Undeterred, he clambered towards the knife. This was the bastard who had murdered his friend, who had taken all those innocent lives. Roman would not become his victim without a fight.
Will was above him, his feet planted on either side of his body.
Roman snatched at the knife handle. He twisted and rolled. He had a split-second sight of Will bending towards him with the jagged blade. With a scream of rage, Roman thrust the steak knife into Will’s upper thigh. All squeamishness was gone. He thumped his free hand on top of the other, forcing the blade deep. It tore through flesh and scraped bone.
Will roared and staggered backwards, dropping his own weapon. His teeth were bared as he gazed in shock at the handle that stuck out of his thigh. He eyes flickered towards Roman, burning with anger and hate.
“I’m gonna gut you like a fish.”
Roman didn’t waste his advantage and booted Will in the shin with all the force he had. Will fell backwards. He caught the coffee table with the back of his knees and tumbled over it. As he flailed on the floor like an animal, Roman spotted Will’s hunting knife and snatched it. He staggered to his feet.
Will was already recovering and rising. As he realised Roman had his weapon, he gripped the handle of the steak knife and hauled it out of his leg. He snarled at the pain but seemed impervious to it.
They glared at each other, the coffee table separating them.
On the sofa, Mallon rose to a sitting position.
Will spotted the easier target and moved towards him, but Roman was quicker. He got between them, thrust the hunting knife at their attacker. Any misgivings he had about using a knife were forgotten. If this was to be a battle to the death, he would fight.
“Is this what you want, you bastard?” he lunged at Will, who backed away. Despite the dark colour of his clothes, Roman saw that the entire right leg of his trousers was wet with blood.
Will stared at him with pure hatred. Then his eyes darted between Roman and Mallon.
A loud knock at the door startled all of them.
“Mr Garnier,” a male voice yelled. “We’ve had a report of a disturbance. Please open the door.”
Thank Christ . Their fight had been heard.
“You’re finished,” Roman said to Will, then louder so the man on the other side of the door could hear. “Call the police.”
“It’s over for now,” Will snarled. “But I’ll be back to finish you another time.”
Despite his injured leg, he ran for the sliding doors and out onto the balcony. With incredible agility, he went over the side. Roman rushed after him and watched as he clambered as far down as he could from the first-floor apartment, then let go, dropping and rolling when he reached the ground. He staggered to his feet and gave one last murderous look at Roman before limping along the waterfront.
“The bastard isn’t getting away.”
Roman turned, shocked to hear Mallon’s voice behind him. Before he could stop him, Mallon swung his legs over the balcony and scrambled down exactly like Will had done. He dropped to the ground and rolled in the same expert way.
Roman yelled at him to stop, but it was no good.
Mallon chased their attacker along the riverside.