Book of JUDAS

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

London, England

Conchos sipped a glass of water as he listened intently into the receiver. He was staying at a small, innocuous hotel close to Kings Cross station in Central London. This small, run-down establishment would not be found in any of the usual tourist guides – the area around Caledonian Road was renowned as the habitat of some of London’s most notorious lowlife and the grubby hotel survived on the back of the prolific prostitution business. It was a tall three-storey terraced building with peeling white plasterwork on the façade. Just outside the front porch was a skewed sign advertising a massage parlour inside and the red light in the hallway along with the middle-aged woman on Reception with the cigarette clenched between her teeth added to the illicit, seedy atmosphere.

Without uttering a word, Conchos replaced the handset and smiled wryly to himself. He had the news he was looking for.

Earlier that morning he had sent the telephone data to Amsterdam to help him identify the source of the mystery American caller that was trying so hard to contact Philip Trenchard. The Satanica’s omnipresent tentacles had reached out and the information had flown back urgently from its underground network. Checking his watch, he noted it was now approaching ten-thirty at night. He lay on the well-used bed and stared out into the darkness outside as he contemplated the news once again.

So the American caller was identified as none other than Heather Adams, the long-term girlfriend of the elder Trenchard brother, he pondered, flicking through the pencilled notes he had made during the long telephone call. That’s not quite right, he thought correcting himself. She’s not his girlfriend – she’s his fiancée! And the glimmer of an idea began to form in his mind.

Conchos continued pensively leafing through the pages of scribbled facts. He had a critical decision to make and he wanted to make sure he had considered all the options available. A seemingly high profile person, he thought, reading on about the well-respected career woman in a renowned Wall Street legal firm working mainly in the field of legal due diligence for corporate mergers and acquisitions. Despite being Philip’s fiancée, she had not moved into his penthouse apartment but kept her own in a tower block overlooking Central Park. Useful, very useful indeed, he thought, looking at the address of that apartment block.

Suddenly, he heard a clanking noise outside and he jumped up to peer through the net curtain of his second floor room. He smiled ruefully; it was only a drunken tramp tottering along the pavement, scraping his empty bottle against the metal railings. When it came to observing the terms of engagement for such an important mission Conchos was not about to take any chances. No matter what the situation, he took nothing for granted and never stayed in the same location for two nights running. Reassured, he returned to lie down on the bed.

It was getting late and he knew he had to make a decision. Should he travel to Thailand and pick up the Trenchards’ trail or should he obtain some leverage to bring them to him? The private investigator he had employed to recover the data on their phone bills had informed him earlier that day that the phones were no longer being used. This wouldn’t make it impossible to locate them but it would mean a lot more local fieldwork and could take time that he could ill afford. I’d prefer it if they found me, he thought candidly.

As he mulled over the idea, the bathroom door suddenly burst open and out stepped a partially clad hooker. She was past her prime. She must have been about forty years old – overweight and with far too much glossy make-up on, she attempted to look alluring by standing provocatively with only a see-through negligée covering her ample frame. Conchos paid little attention to her entrance. Earlier that evening he had enticed her back to his room from under one of the many railway arches with the lure of money and a place to stay.

She nearly lost her footing as she stepped towards the bed; he was not surprised, he had seen her swigging from a bottle hidden in a brown paper bag and imagined that she was feeding a regular habit. Undeterred, she pressed on, attempting to arouse his interest by mustering what feminine grace she had left. She knew this was potentially a good earner, which was in itself an event that was rare for her these days. Fumbling forward she collapsed on one side of the double bed and leered up at him through her long false eyelashes and heavy mascara. Conchos smiled at her and reached in his pocket, drawing out a roll of twenty-pound notes, which he teasingly waved in front of her eyes. The excitement at the sight of the money was etched all over her face.

“There must be over five hundred pounds here,” he goaded. “This will be yours if you perform for me.”

“Kinky are you,” she smirked. He could smell the alcohol fumes when she spoke.

“This will be yours,” he repeated waving the money before putting it on the table top next to his chair.

Her eyes followed the money to its resting point as she lay next to him, her head resting in her hand propped up by one elbow.

“Go on then − what is it?” she said with a drawl, lurching for a second before regaining her composure. She propped herself up on one elbow again as her breasts sagged down to her waist.

“This,” he said rolling over and producing four leather straps that had been lying under the bed.

“You want to tie me to the bed do you,” she laughed grinning inanely. She really is disgusting, thought Conchos to himself. She obviously had an advanced drug problem as well.

Speedily, with murmurings of encouragement from the prostitute, he strapped her wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed. She put up no resistance; five hundred pounds would see her right for a few days.

“Now I’m yours, what are you going to do me?” she japed, her eyes were glazing over.

“This is what I’m going to do,” he replied coldly, and undid his trouser belt. She stared up but struggled to focus as he straddled her.

“Come on then,” she said, trying to hiss enticingly as she imagined going through the motions again although nothing could ever have prepared her for what was about to come.

As Conchos entered her body, he pulled out a long switch knife and scored the blade down her torso from the base of her neck to her navel. It took her a few seconds to realise what he had done, as suddenly the bright red blood began to flow and the excruciating pain began to shake through her body. The look of disbelief in her eyes changed to sheer terror in an instant as the realisation set in. She stared up at the knife, opening her mouth to scream but it was too late. He stuffed in a sheet, pressing it harder and harder so that she choked. Her body writhed with every last ounce of effort she could muster but it was hopeless. Pausing with despair, she looked up into his face, realising the final truth: she was going to die. Her eyes welled as she stared at his vicious, twisted smile. He was enjoying every second as he penetrated her harder and harder. Blood was seeping faster from the wound in her chest as he took the knife in one hand again and thrust it deeper into the incision he had already created. She made one last effort to lash out with her arms and legs but it was useless with the straps holding her taut across the bed. The pain was unbearable, and her eyes bulged as if they were about to burst out of her head, but she couldn’t make any noise, just muffled sobs. Smiling down into her eyes he rested the point of the knife above her heart and started putting more and more weight on his two hands gripping the handle. The blade sunk deep into her heart as he reached his orgasm. Her petrified face was set like a death mask as the blood spewed out from her chest, splattering Conchos in the process. She was dead. He pulled himself away, dripping with blood and calmly began to complete the rest of his macabre handiwork as he surgically plunged the knife into another part of her lifeless anatomy.

Ten minutes later, he had finished. He had removed any tangible bodily evidence that could be linked to his evil presence, including severing the section of her lower torso with which he’d had direct physical contact. He placed these body parts in the bathroom sink, which he had filled with concentrated sulphuric acid and watched the liquid turn red as they dissolved. Finished with his masterpiece, he destroyed or bagged the evidence before entering the bathroom cubicle himself for a shower.

An hour later, totally relaxed, he picked up the telephone and called the sales office at Heathrow Airport. As he had suspected the flights were frequent and regular – plus there was a ticket office open twenty-four hours a day. He quickly got his belongings together and went down the stairs to the chain-smoking lady sitting behind the small counter that served as the hotel Reception. He had paid for the room up front and so checking out close to midnight wasn’t a problem. The lady looked unsurprised as he informed her that he would be back later and he had remembered to put out a Do-Not-Disturb sign on his door handle. For good measure he also gave the woman on Reception a note that requested his room was not to be cleaned until at least eleven o’clock.

Walking into the midnight air, he stopped a black cab, which he directed towards Piccadilly. From there he walked a couple of streets towards St. James’s Place and caught another local mini cab direct to Heathrow. Four hours later he sat back comfortably in his seat on flight path that took him over Ireland and down the east coast of Canada towards JFK airport and Manhattan Island.