Time’s Up.: She's Breaking the Ice.

By Craig Steele

Detective Matilda White confronts a violent drug cartel who are using addiction, horrific torture and staged executions to take hold of the city. She faces off with her all women team against an armed militia their vile leaders and the hideous creatures used to control with absolute terror.  Meth is just the tip of their bloody Iceberg. What hides beneath is pure evil. This savage battle is like no other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Craig Steele.
• Release date: Mar 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781980876762

Book preview

76

Prologue

Matilda stares at the incident board. Her eyes are sore from the plane’s aggressive air vent. She rubs them with the back of her hand.

Great, now I’m going blind, just perfect, she whispers. The room is small and brightly lit. Three desks lay out in a neat row facing the board which covers the whole wall. Disciplined. Tidy. Computer screens and pen holders are laid with precision on each one. A moose head stuffed and mounted hangs on the opposite wall.

Just popped in for a quick look did ya? She salutes the moose with huge antlers, then puts her thumbs to her temples and wiggles both her hands, sticking out her tongue.

Wow! It looks so real, she whispers, walking over to it. Stroking the moose under its hairy chin, she stares deep into the eyes then giggles to herself and returns to the board. To her work.

Concentrate Matilda, come on. You are a police officer. This place has probably got CCTV everywhere. You are being watched! This is the headquarters. Time to look your best! Oh no paranoia. I knew that sleeping tablet would mess with my head. Well at least the flight was quick. For me anyway, it was a blur.

It’s a long flight from her home country and the air vent just kept on blowing straight onto her face. She wipes under her eyes with her index finger and searches through her khaki jacket pockets. On the board are the scenes of horrific crimes.

Details are pinned out with names and photographs of dead people next to them. There are many pictures of buildings and vehicles. Maps of a city and a group of large lakes are displayed, covered with red dot corpse markers.

She looks closely at one picture of a twisted body laying face up on the tree edged grassy shoreline of a beautiful lake. A young man’s body. Naked. Her eyes go blurred, she blinks repeatedly trying to focus them both in, on the scene.

Damn it! Where did I put those eye drops? She goes through her pockets again. Her khaki trousers have many of them down each leg. She pulls hard at the zips, checking inside each one.

What in the hell did I do with that stuff? She is annoyed by the awkward mechanical openings. The naked man’s skin is covered in tennis ball sized, circular shaped deep abrasive wounds. He is completely deflated. Hollow.

Another scene shows a man naked in the back of an old pickup truck, with the same type of injuries. He is flat too. Like a nasty costume.

Why no blood at the scene, killed elsewhere? she asks, and ties her long blond hair into a knot on top of her head.

Where the hell is my scrunchy? She goes through her pockets and takes a small clear plastic bottle of eye drops out, tilts back her head and squeezes hard. The little bottle whistles and spits. The soothing fluid floods her eyes and pours down her face. Relief.

Ah bliss, that feels good, my eyes are on fire. She gasps, puts back the drops and gets a stack of big tissues out. Kitchen roll, super strong, super absorbent. The best essential, first aid kit. Her dad always made sure she had plenty of kitchen roll with her, whenever she went out.

A tip for easy living, he would say, and was always right. Even at school when she was five he would somehow manage to fold away a whole roll of it, packed into her many pockets and lunch box. It always came in useful. Runny noses, tears, grubby hands, spilling a drink, the unmentionable stinky stuff and much worse. Her hair comes undone falling around her shoulders and over her face. She quickly checks her wild appearance in her smart phone.

Far the freak out, now I look like a zombie, where is my lip salve? My lips are worse than a petrol sniffing frill necked lizard’s! She chuckles to herself, trying to look at the crime scene pictures. Regaining her focus, she backs away from the board in disgust.

What in the hell. Dear Lord, that looks really bad! She moves in closer for a more detailed view of the strange injuries, puzzled by the weird images.

What in hell would make that mess? So, is that extreme paint balling? Yep I have heard of that over here. Yep. That’s what happens if you lose the game, death by paintball. These guys play hard and I thought footy was a crazy sport. She continues to study the images.

Moving swiftly and silently across the room behind her are two people in civilian clothes. Both are wearing police ID lanyards around their necks. Rich perfumes fill the air. They stop and stare. The young woman and middle-aged man watch. The man wears a dark blue suite, ironed up the legs and arms to a sharp knife edge. His hair is pure white, combed back and immaculate. He is tall and well built, obviously no stranger to the gym. The perfect male, it seems.

The woman is tall, slim, dressed in a dark blue trouser suite. Her light brown hair is styled in a neat cut bob which frames a toned face and immaculate eyebrows. Both look tanned and healthy. The woman speaks, her voice is quiet and slow. A pleasant tone.

Hi Matilda. What in hell, indeed. We have never seen wounds like that either. Now paintballing, that’s something we have certainly not considered. I think we should. She giggles and smiles at the man. Matilda turns, startled by the voice. Long snot strings swing from her nose, her cheeks are soaking from the eye drops and mascara. Her hair is hanging wildly across her strangely, zebra patterned face.

Fantastic! You caught me at my very best! The young woman holds out her manicured hand towards Matilda.

Detective Jacqueline Saint. This is my boss, Detective Leon Lewis. He’s in charge of this case. I spoke with you on the phone.

Hi Jacqueline. Sorry about the bad language there. Nice to meet you Leon. Great place you have here. Matilda frowns at the board.

I hope those pictures up there have not upset you Matilda, Jacqueline asks in a caring tone. She outstretches her hand further towards Matilda, as does Leon. They both look down confused as Matilda offers her hand out to shake, stuffed full of kitchen roll.

Crikey! What a great first impression! I look like I need a straight jacket don’t I? Far out, am I doing well, or what? You must think all people from my country are crazy cave dwellers, looking at the state of me. Well let me explain just a bit here. No the pictures are not too upsetting. Shocking, yes. Confusing, yes. I am, however, kind of falling to bits at this very moment, because of the flaming air con in the plane. Add to that jet lag and the sleeping tablet I took and, bingo!

Matilda takes a bow. All three of them smile. Matilda folds the kitchen roll and stuffs it into one of her many pockets. She spins her hair confidently into a bunch and pulls a scrunchy off her wrist, then captures the bun with it.

Found ya! Cool. Now I’m cooking with gas!

Not to worry Matilda. You will have plenty of time to settle in. Leon, Detective Matilda White is from the Federal police Down Under, their Drugs Division. They shake hands. Matilda is here to hopefully help us out. She has had to travel a very long way.

Matilda gets to her feet. She takes a deep breath and seems to settle down. Ice or Meth production here has dramatically increased, she said, so if I can help you, then we may be able to also stop it from getting into our country — hopefully. That is the idea, and not a bad one.

Detective Lewis passes Matilda a photograph of a closeup shot of the unusual wounds. She looks at the print, frowns and shakes her head. He explains the photos: They have triangles of broken skin running into the middle, where there is usually a deep hole entering through the fat layers, rupturing all the blood vessels and going right down into the bone. The skin all around them is always raw, but with no bruising.

Matilda looks at another photograph of a man who has the same wounds on his face, but again, no sign of blood or bruising. Around both of the eyes are large round rings. The man has his eyelids held open wide by forensic tape. Both of his eyes are missing. In the middle of each empty socket is a deep hole revealing his white skull.

Matilda stares in disbelief for a moment, then says, What kind of sicko would pluck out the eyes?

Detective Saint points to the color map on the board of a massive lake system, and a large city. We have four dead, found here, she said, tapping the red dot locations around the lake and in the city. Three are intact, one is in pieces. Some of the parts are still missing. All have the same injuries. All have ice in their bodies. We have no ID on any of them except the man from your home city, which is where your information kicks in.

Matilda opens her pocket book and flicks through the pages. This guy is identified as Simon Crane, from Sydney Street in the city docks area. He was twenty-eight, born here in this country. He has a criminal record for possession of a small amount of ice in our country. That’s all pretty boring stuff! But he worked for a shipping merchant out of the city, so we think that’s the connection, and that’s how the ice is getting into our country so quietly. Hence, that’s why I’m here.

Jacqueline taps her red painted finger nail on the board and speaks. So to sum up, we have no hard evidence or ID on the four. Killed we think in the same way by someone or something very very strange, but all of them tested positive for Meth or Ice, and that’s the connection.

Jacqueline gives Matilda a group of photographs of a young man with round wounds on his face, neck and upper body. "We arrested Jake Jones three days ago. He was found naked by the wharf screaming like a banshee. It took five officers to bring him in. He was cursing, swearing and ranting in a foreign language. His home address is right here. He has the same type of round injuries on his body. His blood test showed extremely high levels of Ice, or Meth. Actually a lethal amount. He was flagged by us after a violent incident two years ago over his overdue fuel account with the High Street Gas Station. He got a 12 month suspended sentence with a few bells and whistles attached. Not a thing heard from him since. All quiet.

"Now that on its own is of some interest. But here’s the thing, if he is connected to what is going on here — and the wounds say that he is — he will be the first one that we have found alive, with a story. The first one to give us a start on this case and the first one that we have found that has any blood left. All the other bodies were bled dry! Not a drop. Nothing in them at all. Not just blood, but all the fluids have been well, sucked out.

Yesterday he was interviewed in a secure ward at the local hospital by one of our detectives, Sarah Townsend from the Drug Squad here in the city — a highly experienced officer. It ended, I’m sorry to say, very badly.

Jacqueline becomes upset. Detective Lewis offers Matilda a coffee from a steaming glass pot. He pours it into her mug, then pours one for Jacqueline. He offers them a whiskey top-up from a small silver hip flask but they both refuse. He speaks quietly in a serious and low tone, putting his arms around both of their shoulders, moving in very close to them. We need to find something from this tape, we need a clue. There may be details in this interview, if we can unravel the crazy stuff that he is saying on it. He could be just a whack job. However it’s obvious from the tape that this is one messed-up case. He may be involved in it somehow, somewhere. It’s a mystery so far.

Detective Lewis looks up, and the two women’s eyes follow his gaze. They stare at a large sign in bold black print, that reads: TASK FORCE. BREAKING THE ICE.

Detective Lewis has their attention. He continues: "Now, as this is your first day Matilda, I thought you could see the interview tape, to give you a better understanding into what you are in for, to help you get up to speed as quickly as possible. This case from looking at the bodies, and if what he is saying is for real, will be one hell of an awful ride.

"This will test, I have no doubt, the very stuff that we all hold dear — and our faith. We either have a mad sicko serial killer, or several killers. Or it’s just drug, and I mean Ice, related. Any path we take on this will lead us to the Devil. I hope you ladies are ready for this.

Welcome to our country, and to our city, Matilda White. This video is my way of, BREAKING THE ICE. Enjoy your stay.

He smiles then places a police ID lanyard around Matilda’s neck and pats her firmly on the shoulder, leaving his hand there, gently stroking. Switching off the lights, he presses play on the flat screen TV. It flickers and shows a title, JAKE JONES, POLICE INTERVIEW, General Hospital, Security Ward.

Matilda stares at Detective Lewis’ familiar, roaming hand, then forces herself to ignore it and concentrates on the screen, where Jake Jones sits across a small table from Detective Sarah Townsend in a small, windowless interview room.

Jake is very thin, and his skin is covered in scabs. Circular wounds are on his face and neck, and he is rocking back and forth, very agitated. A door slams in the background with the sound of it locking closed. Townsend speaks quietly to him.

Jake you know me. I’m Detective Sarah Townsend. We talked when you were brought into the police Station, before you came to this hospital. Everything is alright now. You are not under arrest; I’m just asking about what happened to you, that is all. To find out who did this to you and why? That’s all, Jake.

Townsend points at the circular wounds on Jake Jones’ neck and face. He immediately stops rocking and stares at her. When she points to the wounds on his lower arms, he explodes with a high pitched scream, jerking backwards on his chair away from the desk. He shakes his head violently! Hissing, he spits at Townsend. His eyes are wide with fear.

Townsend is startled by the action and moves off her chair, backing away from the table. She puts her hand tightly on her gun holster. Jake grabs in a panic at his own face and neck with his wild scabby fingers, scratching great welts down his skin. His twisted face bleeds. He continues to hiss loudly and sticks out his chewed up tongue. It has a round wound etched into it, a large hole in the middle passes straight through. He puts his hand up over his mouth. He stops hissing, stops moving, then speaks!

I took nothing! Nothing! He said that I should die! That I had failed them, stolen their Ice. That is what happened. Jake wraps his arms tightly around himself and sobs loudly, rocking back and forth, shaking violently. He tilts his head back, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. He just laughed at me. He laughed! I could hear them. They were whispering. Watching me! Down in that hideous tank! I knew he would put me in there. They were all hissing. Oh God! They wanted me real bad. Climbing up to get me, to kill me. No! No! Not like that. Oh God. No! What he does to us, what they do, it’s —!

He becomes more upset and starts coughing up bile as he begins to rock again. As he looks quickly around the room, yellow and green froth from his shivering mouth and chin fly off across the desk and floor.

Who laughed Jake who? Was it all about drugs? Was it about Ice? If you can tell me who did this, please just say who hurt you, then we can arrest them! We need your help!

Jake suddenly drops to the floor and tries to get under the table. He claws at the floor like a rabid dog, pushing himself hard into the small dark space, whimpering as he curls into a tight ball.

Townsend slowly approaches and gets down closer to him. She speaks quietly, trying to calm him. Who was whispering, who was hissing Jake? What do you mean, putting you in? In what? Where were you? You have to remember.

Jake shivers and trembles violently. His eyes are filled with fear. He fixes his gaze hard on Townsend. Whispering, he puts his index finger up to his torn, bile covered, cracked and bleeding lips and looks all around.

"Shush! They can find where I am. They can always find us, eyes everywhere, eyes watching! He gives us to them, as punishment. If he thinks we do things wrong, as a warning. We have to watch, to watch the other punishments. Maybe I lost a little Ice here, lost a little Ice there.

They were going to punish me, for letting the Ice just melt away. He pulled me up though, changed his mind. Then I ran, I ran away. He laughs for a moment before his face goes dead. I was naked but I ran, I got out, they didn’t see me. He will not stand for that. Oh no! He controls them, controls us. Nowhere to hide, I can’t hide from them!

"Who is it? Who is after you? Who was hissing Jake? Who was chasing you by the wharf. Everything will be okay if you just tell me who. We will protect you! We will protect you; we can do that. C’mon now, get up please." She offers her helping hand.

Jake abruptly jumps up from under the table and smacks her hand away, then punches her hard and fast in the face, twice. Her head snaps back, blood spurting from her nose. She falls silently, her head hitting the floor with a hollow thud. Trying to focus, she raises her head and follows Jake as he circles her. He snarls like a dog, froth and saliva pouring from his mouth. He smiles, sneers, then smiles again. His eyes are fixed on her, his posture changing with every second.

Townsend fights to regain composure, pulling herself up on her elbows. Her right arm shakes then gives way, she collapses back down as the blood bubbles and spurts out from her broken nose. She chokes on the flow running down her throat and spits it out across the tiled floor.

Jake’s snarling gets louder, his movements quicker. Then he cries out and leaps on top of her, crouching over her like a vulture. Baring his teeth, he moves up and down sniffing her clothes, licking and biting at her skin, pulling hard with his rotten mouth. Saliva and brown bile spews from his mouth and over her body. He pauses over her neck and smiles. His holed tongue rasps slowly up under her chin and around her throat, deep into her ears. He licks her lips, prizing open her mouth, putting his putrid tongue deep inside. She gags. He removes it slowly. She coughs up blood and vomit over his face. He smiles at her and smears it around eagerly.

His tongue moves up inside her nose, licking and sucking her blood. Then he slides it across to her eyes. His tongue works on her eyelids, sucking at her left eye. He whines loudly, rocking on her body. She weakly pushes him away and turns her face toward the door. He snarls, whispers something in her ear, then growls out loud.

"Listen to me woman, before I end you. It’s not who that is after me It’s not who that hisses, you know nothing! It’s not who that will suck out the brain from your stupid head! It’s what. And let me tell you this. It’s not pretty, and when it’s done, you will be ugly too."

Jake slides her service pistol from her holster. Townsend tries to stop him, but her arms fall to her side. He places the barrel hard up under her chin and grinds his teeth. The hissing begins again. Tears stream down her face as she coughs up blood. She strains to speak.

Please I have a baby, a little girl. Please, I’m a mother.

At the door stands Detective Leon Lewis, who is looking calmly through the glass at Jake, who sits on top of Detective Townsend, rocking wildly. Detective Saint suddenly appears too, and looks in. She is shocked! The two charge into the room.

Jake, still sitting astride Townsend, aims the revolver at Townsend’s right eye, then screams out loud as he sees Leon and Jacqueline enter. He fumbles with the gun.

They are everywhere. Many eyes, everywhere!

Two gun shots ring out! The video camera is knocked from the stand to the floor. Blurred, violent, chaotic images can be seen. A flash of light! Another shot is fired. A hideous wet rasping sound can be heard, amidst the chaos of a violent struggle. The TV screen goes black. Silence.

Chapter One

Rasping in the blackness, a match is struck against the box, held between two shaking fingers. A flash of light ignites a small stainless steel gas lamp which is placed on a tiny, metal square table. The warm yellow glow grows brighter as the roughened fingers twist a knurled knob on the side of the old-fashioned lamp.

The light illuminates the faces of two elderly men. It glows brighter still to reveal that they are dressed well in thick blue overcoats, black snow boots and red woolen hats. They sit opposite each other inside a cozy, green, metal and wood shack. The walls are lined with sheets of thick corrugated steel. In the corner sits a small black, pot-bellied stove.

A stainless steel kettle lies cold and dormant on its top. The two men look like gnomes, in their little fantasy home. The shack has a small square window, which reveals snow flakes fluttering down in the night sky, bouncing off the glass like a mass of albino moths, attracted to the light.

On a wall hangs a large mounted fish. It looks like an unusual Eel with tiny black eyes and seven vent holes along its brown and green side. It is as long as the shack and as thick as a man’s thigh.

Together the men fix large double-headed silver hooks onto a sturdy line, attached to two fishing rods. The Eel stares down at their work. One of the men finishes and cuts his line with a bone-handled knife with a black skull on it. He stands, bowing his head to avoid the low ceiling.

Turning around, he opens the door to a metal cupboard on the wall behind him. It is full of ammunition, jars and a large shotgun. Removing a glass bottle of green fluid, he places it on the table next to a black silenced pistol and a large clear jar, full of gray tongues.

I guess it’s time we hooked up, hey Jim? Before we head out. Forecasting a heavy snow fall tonight. He opens the jar carefully. The man has an unusual accent, with many layered foreign hints. Jim finishes his hook tying and slices up a tongue, pouring on the fluid.

His face is covered in a close cropped white beard. Protruding from the whiskers are his purple nose and matching purple ears. Jim speaks in the same accent, blowing clouds of steam from his mouth, out across the cold shack.

Bob my brother. You are correct. Much better to bait up in here, I think we have a good chance of hooking us another King. The tide is in our favor, pushing the lake our way, which is very good for us.

Bob runs his open palms across his forehead smoothing his white bushy eyebrows back towards his ears. White hairs bristle from his lobes.

Jim smiles and rubs his hands together rapidly, blowing onto them and flexing the fingers, cracking the knuckles loudly.

He pulls a silver stud piercing from a tongue and puts it into a small jar filled with gold and silver studs, pours on the green fluid and weaves the sharp double hook through the fleshy, flapping morsel. Staring into the green bottle, he is briefly captured by its magical promise, then carefully he pours out more onto each prepared tongue. Both men lift and rotate their rods. Their gnarled hands caress the shape. They inspect their bait, admire its color and smell.

How are things at the factory, Jim? I heard there was a little tension down there while I was away, a possible spy, so to speak.

Jim smiles, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and replies. Things are running very smoothly now, my dear brother. We had a few difficult moments, no doubt about it, with an annoying woman cop. Caused us a delay in delivery, but that was soon taken care of.

Bob raises his eyebrows at Jim and strokes his chin, knowingly. Did our many bloodhounds take care of her, the cop?

Oh yes! A fabulous display. Such a shame you missed it. She has gone for sure, that one will not be coming back. Oh no! And all the bases were covered very well, with the naked fish that got away, so to speak. A slippy little one that was, but not now. The boss was onto that. He was there. He is very happy with the way our plans are taking shape now. As the snow comes in, we’ll get going. It’s our time for sure!

They pull on thick red mittens, which are tied to their coat sleeves, then hug each other happily and turn around to face the shack’s small, steel-plated door, and the large equipment next to it. Groaning with the collective effort needed to lift it, they pick up the tee-shaped ice hole cutter leaning against the wall.

Each man takes hold of the opposite handle. The shiny metal, wide-bladed drill, faces downwards between them both. The cutting edge is sharp, easily slicing through the wooden floor.

Sideways, the duo shuffles with little steps through the open shack door to the winter night outside. It closes on a heavy spring behind them with a squeal and a loud bang. They set off very slowly, walking in tiny awkward dance-like steps across the snow covered ground, leaving the shack behind