Darke Revenge

By S.D. Gripton and Sally Dillon-Snape

This is the third investigation for the beautiful red-haired Mariska Masekova and the ex-cop Dave Lewis, who is still an alcoholic but who is aware of his weaknesses. They are called in to investigate the disappearance and murders of teenage girls, who are held in captivity, abused and degraded then dumped in unseeemly ways. Dave works himself to a full-stop in his efforts to discover who is responsible for the murders, helped and aided by Mariska, Sophie, and newly employed identical twins Veronica and Analaise. As well as the murders, there are corrupt City Officials to be dealt with; a middle-class man and wife who are fraudsters and possible murderers, there is conflict and pain, there are ghosts at the top of the stairs, and a final conflict full of terror and noise.
Mariska and Dave are back!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.D. Gripton
• Release date: Nov 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301098866

S.D. Gripton

S.D. Gripton novels and real crime books are written by Dennis Snape, who is married to Sally who originate from North Wales and Manchester respectively and who met 18 years ago. I work very hard to make a reading experience a good one, with good plots and earthy language. I enjoy writing and hope readers enjoy what I have written. I thank everyone who has ever looked at at one of my books.

Book preview

Darke Revenge

A Dave Lewis/Mariska Masekova

Crime Novel

Book Three

By

Sally Dillon-Snape & S.D. Gripton

Copyright © Sally Dillon-Snape & Dennis Snape (2023)

The moral right of the authors is hereby asserted in accordance with The Copyright Act 1988

All characters and events in this publication other than those of fact and historical significance available in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living and dead is purely coincidental

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher

The cover is by Snape

Chapter 1

Her name was Chloe Danson.

She was eighteen-years-old, stood five-feet-six-inches tall and weighed only one-hundred-and-twelve pounds. She had blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back, brown eyes, a welcoming smile, perfect skin, slim ankles and a fairly good fashion sense. University beckoned, followed by a career as either a veterinary or an archaeologist, she hadn’t yet made up her mind.

On the night she disappeared she’d spent a wonderful evening with friends, laughing and joking and flirting with Benjamin Coltart, who was her favourite at-the-moment boyfriend; she’d had other boyfriends before him though he was by far the nicest. Chloe wasn’t a virgin, which would have greatly distressed her mother had she known, because she worshipped the ground her only child walked upon, though contact between them had been lost, they’d argued and weren’t speaking, though mother still thought her daughter retained her innocence. But neither was Chloe promiscuous, she liked sex but wasn’t consumed by the desire to be at it all the time. For hobbies she liked shopping, as girls of her age were wont to do; she liked a glass of cider and of red wine but not at the same time; she liked dancing; but not necessarily in nightclubs or at raves; and she liked spicy foods, curries and chillis’ though she weighed next to nothing, being light enough to be picked up and swung around by Benjamin who was, himself, barely ten-pounds heavier.

When she stepped out of the restaurant where she’d eaten with her friends; after she’d kissed Benjamin goodnight and he’d caught the shared taxi at her insistence, leaving her to walk the sixty-yards to her apartment alone, which was in the opposite direction to where her mother lived; whose house she could see from the restaurant; as Chloe waved goodbye and smiled, feeling happy, she had no idea that she had only ten days left to live.

She’d taken only three steps away from the restaurant, just enough distance to take her out of range of the CCTV camera over the restaurant door, when she was grabbed from behind and pulled into the alley that ran alongside the building. Her abductor dragged her into it, holding a gloved hand over her mouth, and lifting her like a child in his arms, holding her tightly even though she struggled, until he reached the car that was parked at the far end of the alley, with its trunk lid already raised. Chloe’s abductor dropped her into it heavily, as if he were dropping in a large bag of potatoes or a sack of cement. All the wind was knocked out of Chloe Danson and before she could react, before she could scream, the lid was down and the car with its stolen plates was moving out into whatever traffic there was. The man who was driving smiled to himself.

It had gone just as Edward had promised…

…just as he’d planned.

***

Dave Lewis was sitting in the back room of a very popular, crowded and noisy Italian restaurant, he was relaxed and sitting with a large cup of black coffee in his right hand (Mariska Masekova had warned him off drinking wine or anything else alcoholic on the grounds that she would kill him if he got drunk), and he was chatting amicably with Councillor Latham Entwhistle and Planning Officer Graham Poole. As dinner was complete and paid for by Dave; a receipt for it soon to follow for expense purposes; Councillor Entwhistle and Graham Poole were studying Dave’s application for turning a Grade II listed building into a dozen expensive apartments. The proposal was against almost all building and planning regulations; it would never have been passed in normal circumstances, it would very nearly be illegal; except Entwhistle and Poole had, years earlier, hit upon a ruse. Find someone who would let them sleep with their wife, especially if she was a bit of a looker, and normal regulations and objections could be overcome, they could be sidestepped, made to disappear. Following nod and wink meetings of the Planning Committee, some arm twisting by its chairperson, Entwhistle; who was a proud, prominent and powerful member of the City Council, who was ably aided and abetted by Poole, the actual Planning Officer, a civil servant, a man of the people, who’d never married because he’d slept with so many other ambitious and corrupt men’s wives that he no longer believed in the sanctity of marriage; dozens upon dozens of planning applications that should never have been allowed were passed without objection; some arguments, perhaps; but no real objections. Entwhistle and Poole had slept with many wives and had debased many happy couples; they’d broken many marriages into tiny pieces, not caring at all, not only demanding to sleep with the applicant’s wife but also requiring ten-per-cent of the planning investment up front as a financial incentive.

Entwhistle and Poole gave the already contaminated and corrupted world of Local and National Government a new kind of bad name…

…a very bad name indeed.

And the new Mayor of the City wanted them stopped.

The new Mayor was a clean brush, a new broom, someone who wanted corruption removed from his Town Hall; who wanted to make an example of powerful people, those like Entwhistle and Poole, who brought his Administration into disrepute. If he had his way, he would have them dragged through the streets naked and pelted with rotten apples by the peasants who’d been robbed and cheated of their democratic right to object and who’d had their landscapes blighted by unsuitable developments that would stand for fifty-years or longer; though he would settle for something less dramatic. He would happily settle for both of them being disgraced and broken, unable to be employed, especially by his city, and possibly jailed. The Mayor would like any of those alternatives.

If only the Mariska Masekova Private Detective Agency could accomplish it.

The Agency had done reasonably well since the Alicia Nelson and other children’s murder inquiry, it had gleaned not a little publicity for helping and aiding the police in the pursuance of their duties (not that the police wanted their help or their aid except they were forced to acknowledge it eventually, otherwise scandal would have descended upon the force, courtesy of the Mariska Masekova Detective Agency), and Mariska was happy to stand in the spotlight wearing very dark sunglasses with her hair pulled back severely and a suit that was two sizes too large for her (all things suggested by Dave, who tried to impress on her the need for some secrecy if she was to continue to privately investigate). For once, she’d agreed with him, she did some early interviews and went back to work, mostly providing information for those desperate for a divorce.

The Memorial Service for the children was televised and she turned up for that occasion similarly dressed and anonymous while Dave was harassed by the media; he held it all together though and was brilliant with the parents, brothers and sisters who approached him without exception for hugs and tears and quiet words of thanks. Mariska was enormously impressed by his manner and his humbleness; she almost realised that he was someone a little bit special.

Since the murder inquiry, Sophie Nelson, the tiny, dirty, scruffy mother who’d brought in the original complaint, had been employed as a full-time Detective by the Agency; she’d moved on from being the housekeeper just as Mariska, herself, had once moved on from the exact same position. Sophie had even taken an Investigator’s course designed by Dave, the ex-cop, the ex-Detective Inspector, and she’d passed with flying colours. She now did most of the divorce work, anything that wasn’t too hazardous; she did fraud too, investigating things like that; Dave not wanting her to be put in harm’s way. Not again.

The Agency also now employed both a domestic for the house and a secretary for the business; twin sisters Analaise and Victoria Harcourt, dark-haired, brown-eyed slim pretty girls who switched duties without anyone realizing, because no one could tell them apart. They were living in the attic apartment of his house, places he’d barely visited since buying the property which had been renovated by Mariska. Dave thought he could recognise Victoria because she touched her right ear more often than Analaise. Mariska had belittled and laughed at him for even suggesting such a ridiculous thing.

He actually had no idea where the Twins had come from; one day he went to work, driving the fetid roads of his city, hunting down very bad men and drinking coffee, only to return home to discover two further live-in employees.

As with Sophie; who Mariska offered a job and a home within seconds of meeting her; Dave could find no decent argument to annul the arrangements Mariska had made with the Twins.

What the hell, he thought? Mariska ran his life, his business, why not his home?

Today, at the restaurant, he was dressed in a business-grey suit, a white shirt, grey tie, with black shiny shoes and hair cut in a manner one would expect of a man of property, someone who could easily convert a Grade II listed building into a dozen million-pound apartments. Mariska laughed again when he presented himself to her, informing him that he would never be able to pull it off even if he was wearing a fancy suit; he would be found out instantly, she’d said, because he looked like an overdressed dog and had neither the manner of a rich developer nor the confidence to pull it off. It was going to be a disaster, Mariska confidently predicted.

Except Entwhistle and Poole’s mouths drooled at the thought of a percentage of the amounts Dave was talking about. He watched their greedy, piggy-eyed faces leering over the proposed development and knew they had been sucked in. Entwhistle looked up from the sheets of figures, sweat shining on the brow of his corpulent face.

And you can complete this development in one year? he asked.

In a mere twelve months, Dave replied smoothly, ever the Mr. Cool, and you and Mrs. Entwhistle could be residents of your own Caribbean Island with serving girls all around.

Entwhistle laughed.

I’m not sure Mrs. Entwhistle would be enamoured by the serving wenches, he said, slapping Poole on the shoulder. But the Caribbean, what say you, young Poole?

Poole was, in fact, the older of the two.

Indeed, Poole said, still studying the plans before he, too, looked up. This is an extremely large development for only one year’s work, he said.

I have access to a very large work-force, Dave said, oozing confidence. And I carry a large whip.

Entwhistle and Poole looked at each other and laughed loudly.

The room at the back of the restaurant held only a single table for four persons and was used mainly by the chef; who was also the owner of the restaurant; to entertain his own friends, but an extension to the building had been approved by Entwhistle and Poole years earlier when permission to build should not have been given; the chef’s wife, who had been part of the deal, returned to Italy on a permanent basis shortly after planning permission had been given and she had been a delight to the two men who were still collecting on the deal.

And do you use said whip on what we hear is your lovely wife? Entwhistle asked.

There had been arguments about that topic.

Mariska felt that if she gave Dave any rope at all, any opportunity to call her his wife, he would never go back on it; he would always think of her as a wife, he would call her his wife. He would assume things; he would think he had the right to sleep with her, to hold her hand in public, to introduce her as his wife on any, or all, occasions.

There had been arguments.

Mariska suggested Sophie could be Mrs. Lewis, but she said on no account would she do it, she was just the employed labour after all, not a partner like her and Dave, and she didn’t want him fantasizing over her like he fantasized over Mariska. Dave said he would be a good boy, that he would not presume, or assume, a longer or deeper relationship. It was a job, he pointed out, a job the Town Hall was going to pay well for. All she had to do was pretend to be his wife and strip down to her underwear in front of two grossly overweight, greedy middle-aged men.

Oh, yes, there had been many arguments.

Amazingly, Dave Lewis had won almost all of them.

It was his finest hour.

He could have killed for a glass of wine as he sat at the table watching the councillor and the public servant drool over his false plans; maybe a small whisky, he thought, a half-pint of beer, anything except the coffee he was drinking, his fourth cup of the evening, but he knew that Mariska would shortly be entering, with or without Sophie, he was a bit vague about that part of the plan, and if she smelled any alcohol on him the sting would be over.

I don’t need a whip to get my wife to do what I desire, he said, living every word, images flooding his mind; if-onlys piling up one behind one another like traffic in a jam. In his mind, he made a sound. It was like; Eeek! She always does what she’s told, he added.

Eeek!

Domesticated, is she? Poole asked.

Dave looked at him and smiled. You could ask her yourself, he thought. Then we wouldn’t need the sting, she would simply rip your round head off and toss it into the trash. His smile widened. He thought he might mention it to her, later.

We do hear she is a beauty, Entwhistle said, licking his lips, wiping sweat from his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

She’s moderately pretty, Dave said, as he almost gagged on the words. If she’d known he’d said them it would have been his head in the trash. And her sister, if she accompanies her, is a beauty, too.

He imagined Sophie puking at that and slapping him shortly thereafter.

We hear you wife is a beauty, not her sister, Poole added.

Dave laid his mobile phone on the table.

Would you like to meet her, gentlemen, maybe meet them both?

We would, very much, Poole answered.

What about the future of the development? Dave asked.

Very close to being approved, Entwhistle said, smiling.

Are there any parts of the plan you can initial, as a mark of good faith?

Poole initialled several pages of the documents that lay on the table in front of him. Entwhistle signed nothing. Dave didn’t care, you got one; you got them both.

He pressed speed-dial on his phone. It rang.

I can’t believe he’s pulled it off, Mariska said, as she sat in a lounge chair in a room of a hotel opposite the Italian restaurant. He’s calling for us.

He’s calling for you, Sophie said. I haven’t said I want a part in it yet.

You’re my sister, sister, get used to it. One in; all in. If you think…

Answer the fucking phone.

Mariska switched on the speaker-phone, knowing Dave would be doing the same thing at the other end.

Hello, my darling, Mariska said.

She gnashed her teeth as she said it and grimaced at Sophie who covered her mouth to laugh.

I’m here in the restaurant with Councillor Entwhistle and Planning Officer Poole, Dave said, Mariska knowing that everything said was being recorded, and I wondered if you could grace us with your presence.

Sophie has just called on me, Mariska said mischievously, dragging Sophie into the sting, the two women sticking tongues out at each other as Sophie dropped her head and stuck a finger in the air.

Well, bring her, too, my darling. Let them see what a moderately pretty family you are part of.

Sophie’s head jerked up, she snarled a silent snarl, and Mariska held the phone away from her and made axe-wielding motions at it. Dave Lewis had cooked his goose.

Baszd meg te, Mariska whispered, so that only Sophie could hear.

Fuck you.

You will have to give her a moment to change, darling; she’s just travelled in from the country. We’ll be about fifteen minutes.

As quick as you can, my darling, and please make the effort for our guests, best you can.

The phone line went dead immediately.

Sophie began to laugh.

Over the past two years, she’d learned to laugh again following the death of her daughter, the solving of her murder, and living in the safety of Dave Lewis’s home and office; they really were his, no matter what Mariska said, claimed or believed. She felt relaxed, happy and protected, though she was sometimes nervous when she stepped out into the real world. Whatever the new Mayor said in his eloquent speeches The Ellesmere Street gangs were still operating and she knew this from the numerous times they appeared on local television news, normally concerning drugs or sudden violent deaths. Every time members of the gangs appeared she knew them by name and by reputation, she even knew the crippled gang leader who was often shown pushing himself around in his wheelchair protesting his innocence for whatever crime he’d been accused of; he’d been kneecapped by Dave Lewis but hadn’t gone away. Sophie knew who was climbing up in the gangs and who was on the way down. She even knew who was on the way out. And if one was a member of an Ellesmere Street gang there was only one single, non-returnable, way out. And she knew all these things because she was an Ellesmere Street woman, someone who had been lucky enough to escape the street from Hell, someone who had been given a chance. Nothing had changed there even though Dave Lewis had caused some chaos a year or so ago. Sophie still felt nervous about her former life.

But she had learned how to laugh again.

Did you hear him? Mariska asked, as she tossed the phone onto the bed, off which it bounced, landing with a bump on the floor. Did you hear the insufferable bastard?

He’s playing a part, Sophie managed to say through her laughter. He’s acting.

He’s acting too damned well for my liking.

It’s what he does. He’s bloody good at it.

I’ll show him bloody good, Mariska said, as she peeled off the skirt she was wearing and pulled another from the closet, a skirt that barely covered her area of indulgence.

Mariska, you can’t wear that, you just can’t.

Watch me, and she stood and smoothed it down and spun in front of the mirror. And get something on other than that suit you’re wearing; we are supposed to be alluring to corrupt officials tonight. So, let’s allure.

Dave will choke on his beer, Sophie said as she changed into a shorter skirt.

If he’s drunk any beer. I’ll choke him.

The two women laughed and departed the hotel room, somewhere to where they would be returning within the hour, somewhere to where they would be removing most of their clothing to stand and pour drinks dressed only in their underwear.

Oh, yes, there had been many arguments about this assignment.

***

Chloe Danson had cried during the time she’d been locked in the trunk of the car, she’d screamed, thumped metal, kicked out with her tiny feet; she’d done everything she could to draw attention to herself or to escape but she remained a captive. Eventually, when the car halted and its engine was switched off, she lay still, not knowing what to expect.

I am only doing what I have been asked to do, a reasonably cultured male voice said from the outside of the car. If you struggle, I will have to hurt you when I do not want to. In fact, I have been ordered not to hurt you, and I will do my best to comply. You need not fear me; we will just be doing what others want us to do. Tell me you understand.

Chloe didn’t understand at all.

Someone she knew had arranged for her to be abducted? Who could that be? The man on the outside of the car must be lying; it must be a kind of trick.

No one would ask for me to be abducted! she shouted. No one would do that! Nobody asked you to abduct Chloe Danson.

The man smiled.

Chloe Danson; that was her name. He’d forgotten it.

The world is a very strange place, Chloe, he said. Odd things happen all the time, people have the weirdest requests and there are always people like me around to help them with those requests. Your boyfriend asked for this."

Benjamin? she shouted.

Benjamin asked for it, yes.

The man smiled. He was a good boy, Benjamin; he always did as he was told, just as the man was doing. Everyone had to obey orders; everyone.

He would never ask for this, he would never want me to be frightened, he would never want me to be hurt!

What did I just say? the man asked. Didn’t I just say that I was under orders not to hurt you? Benjamin gave me those orders. If I do have to hurt you, I will need a very good reason, something Benjamin will see as reasonable, and violence will only happen if you scream and shout and fight when I let you out of the car.

Benjamin would never have asked for such a thing, Chloe reasoned. He never would. He was such a gentle soul, a girly-boy really, someone who amused himself by applying her nail varnish while he waited for her to dress. He could not have set this up. Never in a hundred years. When the lid was lifted, she was going to scream, shout, and fight. Benjamin would never ask anyone to do something like this.

By the delay, I can tell that you are considering screaming and shouting and fighting, the man said. But you must not do that. I am far larger and stronger, tougher than you, which is just what Benjamin wants you to be. He wants you toughened up for the life that awaits you; he thinks you are too soft to survive; you will be too greatly hurt if you are not tough enough. That’s not my thinking, it’s his. All this is being done because he wants it, both him and Edward. If you want to hate someone, hate Benjamin, not me.

Edward? Chloe thought. Who the hell is Edward?

She tried to remember if she knew an Edward, any Edward, but she couldn’t recall one. She’d known one in primary school but none since. She was sure she didn’t know anyone named Edward. And why was Benjamin working with him, if what the man was saying was true? What was going on?

You are going to be trained by me, The Sergeant Major, and you will do what many soldiers have done before you. You will obey me. I am going to open the lid now, and slide in a mask for your eyes and handcuffs for your hands. You are to put on the mask and cuff your hands behind your back. When I look again, if you haven’t complied, you shall remain in the car until you are more compliant. You cannot fight me; you must remove all thoughts of that from your mind. If you do obey my orders and do as you are told, life will be bearable before you are released to show Benjamin that you are most definitely changed, tougher than he could possibly have hoped. You will be well fed while you are with me, you shall have enough rest, you will not be raped, if that is your fear, though should you request love-making you shall receive it. I am going to open the lid now.

Chloe lay still, thinking about what had just been said. It was madness, she thought. The man was a lunatic; Benjamin could not have asked for such a thing to be done to her, never. He couldn’t have asked for it. It wasn’t in him. It wasn’t. She didn’t know an Edward. The man was lying, he wanted her to believe, he wanted to break her down by making her mistrust the people she knew, especially Benjamin. She would not be conned in such a cheap way, she would not be treated in such a manner, she would scream, shout, and fight. She waited for the lid to be opened.

The lid cracked open.

Chloe opened her mouth to scream until the barrel of a shotgun was pushed through the gap.

The choice is yours, the male voice said. I can apologise to Benjamin and he will accept my apology because there were no guarantees. I made him no promises and if you die, the experiment will have failed, toughening you up will not have succeeded. You will be missed by your parents… the man hesitated and when no response came to his statement, he knew that Chloe Danson had parents because girls without them always said so, and that was a piece of information he could use later, …and Benjamin will probably apologize to them, too. I don’t know whether they are in on your abduction or not but should you be a good girl I will endeavour to discover it.

Chloe lay very still staring at the working end of the shotgun. It wasn’t pointed directly at her but she knew that didn’t matter; the blast would do enormous damage to her. She made no noise at all.

A grey mask and a pair of handcuffs were dropped into the space where Chloe was curled. She hadn’t screamed and she hadn’t fought. The shotgun was removed, the lid was closed again and almost total darkness descended. The man really was mad, insane, if he thought her parents were in any way involved in this abduction, if they were even bothered about her at all. No one she knew was involved in abducting her. It was just him. The bloody madman. And Edward. Who the hell was he? The madman was trying to make her believe. He was trying to warp her mind, to take total control of it and of her. She didn’t believe a word he said. She would not put on the mask on or the handcuffs. She would ignore him, she wouldn’t fight; she would simply ignore him.

But he ignored her instead.

He didn’t speak to her again; he left her all alone in the dark and cramped space to contemplate her future. She didn’t hear him move away or return and the echoing silence inside the car began to adversely affect Chloe.

Hello, she shouted. Hello.

There was no reply, no answer, no movement, only silence.

Chloe began to panic.

What if the man had abandoned her? What if he’d simply left her to die in the back of the car? With no water, no food, no hope.

Hello, she shouted, louder. Hello!

She called louder still.

No response.

She couldn’t stretch to her full length; her legs were curled and they were beginning to cramp up. She stretched them as best as she could, lifting her arms, wriggling around, trying to keep her circulation flowing, she breathed deeply to keep herself calm, but all the time panic was growing within her. She felt an overwhelming need to kick and scream and shout but worried that if she did that the barrel of the shotgun would reappear and the madman would pull the trigger.

Benjamin could not be involved. He could not.

Could he?

He did like playing practical jokes on her and on his friends. But this wasn’t a practical joke. Was it? Maybe it was. Maybe it was just a stupid joke. It was convoluted, but could it be a joke? It might be; it just might be. But why threaten her with a shotgun? Why that? Chloe licked her lips and found that her mouth had become dry. Her whole throat was dry, she noticed. She cried again, silently, tears rolling down her face.

Time passed.

She had no idea how much time, she had nothing to compare the darkness with; the small watch from her right wrist had disappeared when she’d been grabbed. She could see it in her mind flying through the air when she was snatched, smashing to the ground. She could see it in her mind. Her spirits perked up. Someone would find that watch and know she had been abducted, if it wasn’t a joke by Benjamin. Except the watch had already been found by a homeless unemployed illegal immigrant who spoke no English and he didn’t care whether it worked or not. He’d found it, it was his possession, and he was giving it up to no one.

Hello!

Hello!

Please. Please.

There was still no response, no answer, no sound, and no movement. Her mouth was now so dry that her top lip began to stick to her front teeth and it was difficult to swallow. How long had she been in the car? How long