Best Served Cold

By A. W. Lambert

n anonymous, threatening telephone call demanding information or face the consequence, is not the way Theo Stern likes to start his day. And, worse, the caller refuses to specify the information required, saying only that all would be revealed in time. Stern must decide; is the threat genuine or just a crank getting off on anonymous calls?

The question is answered for him when Annie, the love of his life, is abducted and more calls are received, each taunting, the demands specific. The truth now dawns and Stern is faced with an impossible choice; refuse to hand over the information and Annie dies, succumb to the demands and the fate of his faithful assistant, Cherry Hooker, is sealed

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597054515

Book preview

Prologue

IT IS SAID A SOLID object in freefall will, after three seconds, be travelling at around 95.55 feet per second. If that is to be believed, then the two foot square, two inch thick concrete paving slab hoist over the parapet of the narrow railway bridge spanning the line on the outskirts of the little seaside town of Cromer in north Norfolk would have been travelling at almost that speed when it shattered on the track only a few feet in front of the oncoming train.

The driver of the ten forty five, the last train of the day out of Norwich, the Norfolk capital, was a man of many years experience. Tomorrow would be his fifty first birthday. It was, coincidentally, also his day off. Despite it being his birthday, with just himself and the wife, it would be a quiet day. Nothing special; start the day with a lie in, then a slow morning followed by lunch at the local. A short nap after lunch and a gentle afternoon in the greenhouse, there was always plenty to do there. Yes, a pleasant thought and definitely something to look forward to.

The grey flash suddenly interrupting the pleasant thought appeared in the headlights for approximately a millisecond. Even for a man as experienced as he, there was no time to react.

The slab, impacting the left hand rail only, broke into three parts. The left front wheel of the train hit the largest segment and was wrenched from the track, the shattered block sending concrete splinters scything in all directions. The sudden, violent impact jerked the engine upward and to one side, the extreme torsion warping the body of the train fiercely. On returning to earth, now completely out of line, the wheels missed the rails; one burying itself deep into the soft, sloping earth to one side of the track, the other rattling brutally along the centre of the massive oak sleepers carrying the rails.

The train careered on, toppling to one side, gouging a massive furrow as amid mountains of flying earth and debris it plunged down the embankment, the twisted, tortured metal screeching its protest. The engine finally ground to a halt a hundred yards further on, its battered front buried deep into the earth. The remaining carriages teetered half off and half still balanced precariously on the track. Initially the only sound was that of the creak and groan of the settling carnage, but within a moment another sound broke the air; that of the screams of the injured trapped within the torn and broken wreck.

The two hooded figures stood on the bridge and watched with wide, dilated pupils, spellbound as the devastating result of their mindless act unfolded before them. Then, as the grinding sound of shattered metal died and the cries for help began to fill the air, the two scurried away from the bridge and into the darkness.

Just a single word was uttered between them as they disappeared into the night. Awesome.

One

THEO STERN WAS IN THE second carriage. He was travelling back from a day in Norwich city. Normally he would have taken the car; the drive from Sheringham, where he lived and operated his private detective agency, to Norwich taking little more than forty minutes. However, it had been a considerable time since Stern had used the railways and anyway the car; his treasured Hyundai coupe, was being serviced. He’d therefore decided to make it a real day out: the train from Sheringham to Norwich, a day’s shopping and the evening and a few beers with his friend detective inspector David O’Connor of the Norwich CID.

Stern had first met O’Connor four years before when the young, then recently promoted, detective inspector had asked him to assist the police in the case of the mysterious disappearance of an intelligence officer living in the Sheringham area. The two men had hit it off almost immediately and had soon become firm friends. The weekly Friday evening get together for a drink had become a permanent arrangement; one week at Stern’s local in Sheringham, the other at O’Connor’s in Norwich. As well as enjoying a drink, the two men used the meets to their own benefit; Stern grateful to be able to retain a link to real policing and the younger O’Connor eager to soak up any titbits of knowledge from Stern’s vast experience. Today it had been Norwich; O’Connor’s patch, and Stern had enjoyed it immensely, so much so he’d probably indulged in one or two more than he should have. But, hey, he wasn’t driving, so what the hell.

The train journey back from Norwich to Sheringham would take around an hour and as Stern climbed aboard he felt relaxed and, probably as a result of those extra couple of pints, sleepy. There was plenty of room in the carriage and he chose a seat toward the front and for no particular reason facing rearward. Slumping down, he dropped the various packages he had bought during his shopping spree in a pile on the seat alongside him.

As the train moved off Stern felt his eyelids droop. He took a deep breath and exhaled contentedly. No more than an hour and ten minutes and he would be under the duvet. It had been a good day he thought as he drifted. He would most definitely let the train take the strain again sometime.

He dozed comfortably, occasionally drifting back into consciousness as the train eased to a halt at the various stations on route, peering through the window to confirm his whereabouts. Salhouse had gone, as had Worstead and North Walsham. The eyelids fluttered again as sub consciously he tried to calculate; was it three stations still to go or four? Before the answer came he had again drifted off.

The world exploded and a roaring, screeching cacophony of horrendous noise wrenched him back to consciousness. Everything moved violently around him and a huge, ever increasing force crushed him back into the seat until it felt that every particle of air had been squeezed from his body. Just when he thought he would never be able to take another breath there was a sudden, wrenching crack and the seat, its anchorage rupturing, was thrown viciously toward the front of the carriage. Instantly the pressure was lifted from his chest, but he hardly had a second to gulp in precious air before he felt his left shoulder collide with something solid. His whole body was twisted and thrown to one side, tumbling over and over, searing pain shooting through his arm and shoulder. With everything crashing around him and terrified screams ripped the air, Stern was sure his end had come.

But as suddenly as it had started it stopped, almost. Totally disorientated, Stern could feel the carriage swaying ominously around him. Terrified human cries filled the air and tortured metal under pressure groaned as if it, too, was in severe pain.

Crunched into what felt like a narrow corner, Stern realised he was jammed tightly beneath something heavy. He frantically tried to push whatever was holding him down away, but the pain in his left side was intense making his left arm useless. Squirming to one side, he brought his right arm and shoulder into play, at last feeling some movement. But it was minimal and he quickly realised any pressure he was able to apply with just the one arm would be ineffectual. Instead he relaxed back, consciously pushing the initial claustrophobic panic from his mind and concentrating on himself, assessing his own condition.

Despite being held fast he was able to breathe almost normally and without pain and though his head ached abominably, it moved freely from side to side. So, as far as he could tell, he hadn’t broken his neck and his ribs appeared to be intact. That was the good news. He lifted his functioning hand and felt his forehead. The large lump was immediately obvious and the area stung fiercely at his touch. Pulling his hand away, he rubbed his fingers together, feeling the stickiness between them. So, as well as his shoulder, he must have also hit his head, probably at the same time. That explained the vicious headache. It seemed, although the wound was painful and obviously bleeding, it was also nothing too serious.

Okay, so he was knocked about a bit, but he seemed to be in one piece; from the shoulders up anyway. The initial fuzziness he had felt immediately after the crash, probably as a result of hitting his head, was also receding, his brain clearing. That was also good news, but what about the rest of him? He moved first one leg then the other and though he felt another fierce, stinging pain in his right thigh, both appeared to function normally. Both arms, too, though any movement of his left created severe pain, moved freely. He breathed a sigh of relief. He seemed to be functioning okay, so all he had to do was get out from under whatever it was pinning him down.

All the time he was assessing his own condition he was conscious of the cries for help that surrounded him. He needed to get free and try to assist those less fortunate. With his right arm he groped around in the darkness, feeling the outline of the object that held him fast. It was, he soon recognized, a carriage seat, or at least part of one. As his hand traced round its shape he also realised just how lucky he had been. It was the padded, forgiving upholstery that was pushing against him, holding him down. The other side of the seat; the twisted metal framework, would have probably caused him a great deal more damage.

Stern tried again, favouring his right arm and shoulder, heaving the seat this way and that until he found by pushing in a particular direction it began to move. It took some time, but by folding his arm around the padded area and gripping the twisted metalwork beyond he was able to ease the carcass to one side just enough to squirm free. Now, his palm flat against the carriage wall, he eased himself upright. Immediately his head began to spin and he staggered, reaching out, searching for any means of support. His right hand slapped against a rail and he grasped it gratefully, holding on tightly until his head again slowly cleared.

The darkness within the carriage was only slightly eased by an emergency light glowing dimly at the far end, its vain effort made even more impossible by the thick dust that filled the carriage. Stern realised, visibility being so bad, any attempt to help the other passengers would have to be done by feel alone. The dizziness now having left him, he started to feel his way forward, listening for the nearest sound of distress. As he did so he heard the distant sound of emergency sirens wailing their way ever closer.

Two

Stern let himself into the flat and kicked off the trainers. He stood for some moments, bent, hands on his knees, breathing hard, his blood thudding in his veins. Despite the conditions being perfect; the early September morning, warm with just the hint of an onshore breeze, the run had been hard, the normally easy forty minutes a struggle. He hadn’t expected anything less, of course; it had been almost five weeks since he last ran and at his age, without continuous effort, fitness deteriorated quickly. He found the pulse on his wrist and looked down at his watch, following the second hand as he counted the heartbeats. He’d done his homework long since and knew what he was looking for; a fifty five year old should not exceed a maximum of 165 immediately after exercise. Better still, sixty to seventy percent of that maximum - say 100 - was safe. He finished the count; 135. He tried a quick, mental calculation arriving at a figure probably over eighty percent. Not good, but not that bad considering the layoff and his current condition.

His heart slowing, he straightened and made his way along the hall, through the sitting room area and into the bedroom. He stripped off, dropped the sweat soaked running gear in a heap on the floor and padded through to the bathroom. He ran the shower as hot as he could bear for five minutes before soaping himself from head to toe then turning it to cool, lifting his face into the spray and letting the powerful jet rinse him clean. Back in the bedroom he vigorously rubbed himself dry, carefully avoiding areas still tender, even after more than a month.

He studied himself in the full length wardrobe mirror. The gash in his thigh, though still an angry scarlet, was healing well. The butterflies applied at the hospital had long since been removed and the thick scabbing was, in places, now dropping off. His shoulder, having taken the main force of whatever he had hit - he would never know what – had lost the initial multicolour bruising and now showed a dark grey black shadow through his shoulder and upper arm. Movement of the arm, particularly first thing in the morning, was still stiff and uncomfortable, but the gentle daily exercises advised by the physio’ were improving that. Still the most unsightly was what remained of the deep gash on his forehead. The huge lump had disappeared, but the remaining three inch, angry red weal, was taking its time. Scarring, the doctor had told him, was inevitable.

He shook his head, his eyes drifting from these more recent injuries to the ancient, jagged scar in the left side of his chest and to what appeared to be a second navel in his stomach. The first, a reminder of the knife wound that almost six years before had ended his police career, also coming within an inch of ending his life. The second, the bullet wound received only three years ago when attempting to apprehend a recalcitrant MI5 agent.

He moved away from the mirror and pulled on his clothes, his mind drifting to the sad telephone call he had received from O’Connor only the previous morning; the train driver, the most seriously injured of all those aboard the train, had finally succumbed to his injuries.

Having dressed, he splashed milk over a bowl of flakes, grabbed the last banana from the fruit bowl and strolled through to the living area. He pushed open the double glass doors that led onto the balcony overlooking the Sheringham sea front and the North Sea. Weather permitting, the small round, plastic table and two chairs — just about all there was room for on the restricted balcony space — was his very favourite breakfast venue. It had been the one deciding aspect that had persuaded him to buy the flat five years before.

It had been the lowest point in his life; the collapse of his marriage followed quickly by the near fatal stabbing that had ended his career. His world had caved in. The move from London and the buying of the flat had been a blurred, knee jerk reaction. Annie was in Norfolk and despite their separation he needed to be close to her. That was all that mattered. Where he lived was unimportant.

Now all that was in the past and much had happened since. Stern Investigations had been born and a whole new world had opened up for him. Annie was still here and though they were now officially divorced they were still good friends. After the crash, Annie had fussed over him, visiting daily until she was sure he could cope. But regardless of her concerned attention Stern feared friendship was the best he could hope for. Annie was still a very attractive lady and one day she would meet someone; it was inevitable. But until that day, however hopeless, Stern still dreamed of reconciliation. Annie had been his first and only love. It would always be that way.

He lowered himself down onto one of the plastic chairs and breathed in the fresh sea air. As it had turned out, the flat, though he hadn’t realised it at the time, had been a good deal. Sitting on the second floor with just the one bedroom, a small sitting room, bathroom and kitchen it was just perfect for his needs. Right now Stern couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Fifteen minutes later, the empty breakfast dish and spoon dropped together with the banana skin into the sink, Stern left the flat and made his way down the steep flight of concrete steps to the sea front. Though he could feel the effects of the earlier run, his calves, particularly, stinging their protest, he felt good as he walked briskly along the promenade and up through the tiny alleyway between the shops into the little seaside town’s high street.

It was just 9.30am when he pushed his way through the front door of the bakery. He edged past the hot ovens, the usual rich, tempting aroma of baking bread and cakes caressing his nostrils, and called a good morning to Dave, the baker, owner of the premises and, most importantly, Stern’s landlord. At the rear of the shop he climbed the single stairway leading up to the frosted half glassed door displaying the sign ‘Stern Investigations’. His domain.

Cherry sat at her desk, her fingers creeping expertly across the PC keyboard. Morning, boss. Her eyes only momentarily flicked in his direction. Coffee? She asked the same question every morning, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Stern closed the door behind him and strolled across the office, squatting on the corner of her desk. Sounds good, he said. Anything new?

Cherry spun the chair around and climbed out. She crossed the room to the small table that held the tea and coffee makings and threw the switch on the kettle. A couple of things. She turned to face him. David O’Connor called to say they might have a lead on the train thing. Said someone has come forward at last.

About time.

Yeah, that’s what he said. Apparently a guy was walking his dog when he heard the crash. Says he saw a car heading away from the scene at pace. He only got a quick look, but was fairly sure there were two in the car. David said it might be nothing, but he thought you’d like to know.

Did the guy clock the make of the car?

Yes, David said to tell you it was an old Ford Fiesta. The guy was sure of that. Bit of a Ford geek apparently. Was even sure it was the mark five, round about 1999. Said he had owned a couple in his time.

Stern raised his eyebrows. Lucky spot eh? Did he get the colour?

Cherry shook her head. Couldn’t be that lucky. Guy said it was too dark. Anyway David said to tell you his guys were on it and he’d keep you informed. Her brow wrinkled into a worried frown. What they told us yesterday; the driver I mean. That makes it murder, right?

Stern nodded. Sure does. Truth is we were lucky it was only one. The state of that train it could have been a lot worse. He slid his rear off the desk edge, his calves twingeing as they took his weight. You said a couple of things.

The kettle boiled and Cherry turned back to make the coffee. Oh yeah, strange that. Some guy wanted to talk to you. I asked what it was about, but he wouldn’t say. Said it had to be you. Creepy sounding critter, he was. Told him you would be in soon. Said he’d call back. She crossed the office carrying two steaming mugs of coffee, handing one to Stern.

Thanks. He took a tentative sip at the hot liquid then crossed the office to the other door that led to his own inner sanctum. Creepy critter. he smiled as he pulled open the door. Sounds like my scene.

Grinning, Cherry slid back into her seat.

Three

The call came through half an hour later. I’ll get it, he yelled, pulling the receiver from its cradle. Stern.

Mr Stern?

That’s what I said.

Mr Theodore Stern, late of the Metropolitan Police?

It was an innocent question, but the words, spoken very softly, little more than a whisper, created an instant tension in Stern. He paused, involuntarily for just a beat before answering. Yes, I’m Theo Stern.

Nice to talk to you again after all this time, Mr Stern. Did you have a pleasant run this morning? Looked to be struggling a bit out there. The voice sounded male but he couldn’t be sure. There was something about it; the words fudged, maybe something held over the mouthpiece of the phone.

Who is this?

The question was ignored. Still it is your first run since the crash, isn’t it? How are you, by the way? Recovering?

Stern was listening intently, trying to recognise the voice. He couldn’t. I’m getting there.

Good I’m glad to hear it. I was quite concerned. Mindless individuals. It should never have happened. That wasn’t what I...

I appreciate your concern, Stern broke in, cutting him short. I’d appreciate it a lot more if I knew who you are.

There was a chuckle then silence, but Stern could hear the soft breathing. He was still there. So are you going to speak to me or do I hang up?

The response was instant. Oh I’m going to speak to you, Mr Stern. Before I’m through I’m going to speak to you a lot. There was obvious amusement in the soft taunting words. How are your wounds, by the way? Do they still hurt? I would be pleased to think they do. Especially if they hurt real bad. That would be good. He paused, letting the words hang, time for their meaning to penetrate, waiting for the reaction.

Now listen...

No, you listen to me. The voice was raised now, the words sharper, snapped out. It is true I was concerned, but not because you were hurt. I think you deserved that and believe me there is more hurt to come.

Stern sighed. A crank. You’ve got thirty seconds. Say what you’ve got to say before I dump you.

Again it was as if he hadn’t spoken. Hurt is good. I was only concerned you might have been killed. Another pause, the breathing on the other end quicker now; a break needed to regain control. A deep sigh and the soft whispery taunt was back. You see if you had been killed my coming all this way would have been for nothing. That would have been a tragedy because we have lots to talk about. Well, you will do most of the talking because you will have so much to tell me. Of course once it is over, when you have told me what I need to know, then whether you live or die is of no consequence. But don’t let’s talk about that yet. I have much to do before we reach that point.

Stern’s mind was racing now. It was a crank, he was sure, but no ordinary crank; no pick a random number and get off on abusing some unknown person crank. This guy knew him, probably from some time in the past. He scrolled back in time, still searching vainly for the voice. During a long career he had made many enemies, some hardened, violent individuals who had made threats. Most, the realisation of a harsh sentence hitting home, were spontaneous outbursts, nothing more than a final, desperate act of bravado. Others, though, given the chance, would have had his head in a trice. Still would. He had been out of the force for six years, away from London five, but that meant little. People had long memories, bore eternal grudges. For a lifelong street copper who had dealt with the lowest of life, the threat would always be there. So, he said, I have information you want, is that it?

You are very bright, Mr Stern. You have it in one. But if I remember, back then you were hailed as one of the best.

Back when? It was important, to stand any chance of recognition, that Stern kept him talking.

When you and I first met. Oh I don’t expect you to remember, of course. I was just a minor blip on your radar; a mere minnow among the much bigger fish you had to fry. Indeed I was fobbed off to one of your minions; a total incompetent, by the way. That was a great shame because had the great Detective Inspector Theodore Stern taken a direct interest in my case, history could have taken a very different turn.

Well if you tell me...

But you didn’t and as a result our destinies were set. There’s no going back now. My journey has been a long one, but now we’re approaching its end. When you have told me what I need to know the final stage will begin.

Stern was listening hard. Did he know the voice? Was there something about it he recognised? He shook his head. There had been so many over the years. And if I’m unable to tell you what you need to know?

The pause was long this time. So long Stern thought he’d gone. Then, In that case, Mr Stern, I will kill you. Indeed that may be the final outcome anyway.

I will kill you: four simple words, but Stern had never heard them spoken with such threatening conviction before. He decided there and then; this was no crank, this was one very dangerous individual who meant every single word he said. He could feel the conversation drawing to a close, but decided one last try. So why would you want to take my life?

Suddenly, in an instant, the previous threat was gone; the words again light, conversational. Oh it’s all too soon for such revelations, Mr Stern. You and I will have a few more cosy chats before I reveal my reasons and maybe even my identity. That will be fun, don’t you think? By the way you can keep me talking for as long as you like and you’ll never identify my voice. Very clever devices these little boxes.

So that was it, a voice disguiser. Stern had seen one used before; held over the mouthpiece of the telephone it could completely change your voice, even male to female. So was he talking to a man or a woman? How could he tell? He thought about that. If this was a revenge threat then it was more likely to be a man. He had arrested women during his career, but none he thought would want to kill him as a result. None he could think of anyway. No, the odds were it was a man. But who? And why?

So you’re happy enough to threaten my life, but you don’t have the courage to identify yourself. The challenge. It sometimes worked.

Not this time. Nice try, Mr Stern, but courage doesn’t come into it. You must see I have nothing to fear from you. You will know what I want you to know when I want you to know it. It’s a simple case of control. I know who you are and where you are every minute of every day. You, on the other hand, know nothing. Therefore I hold the aces.

Stern felt the anger surge. Well Mr whoever you are, you’d better bring it on then. But if you intend to come for me you’d better be well prepared.

Oh I will be, Mr Stern, rest assured I will be. You see; I have been very patient. I’ve had to be because priorities are so important. First has to come first, even if there is a long wait. But that long wait is now over and that priority has been dealt with. Now there are just two targets left, just two final scores to settle. Of those two, you are first in line, of course. Indeed it will be you who eventually leads me to the final target. I am in no hurry, though. There is plenty of time. I’ve already waited for you to recover from your unfortunate accident, haven’t I? Indeed I waited twelve long years even before that. Sometimes I think it will be a shame to see it all come to an end. There was an exaggerated sigh. Never mind, there is still plenty to do yet and time is something I have plenty of. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts, shall we? There was a click and the line was dead.

Stern, seething, his hands shaking, immediately hit 1471.

‘You were called today at 10.15. We do not have the caller’s number.’

Stern was not at all surprised.

Four

He had bought the old desk and chair when