Cold Case - 7. Chapter 7

Steve’s informant reported that Reginald Osborne was well known in S&M circles. He was a regular visitor to the clubs and he often required special services that were illegal and were only offered in secrecy. Since Osborne paid big amounts of money for these services, he usually got what he wanted and usually found women willing to participate in his perverted games.

"It is said that he likes to play a mock murder game with the women," Steve said with a stern look. "Much like Janet Walker experienced it. He ties the women, cuts their skin, and then licks their blood from their bodies. They cannot ask him to stop. This is part of the deal. They must endure it until he’s done with it. He pays the women and the agents who arrange the meeting usually in advance."

"Any rumors that one of the women did not survive the game?" Adam asked.

Steve shook his head. "My informant won’t tell me more. He took a risk. I cannot press him."

An hour later, Commissario Sassetti replied to an email that Adam had sent him. Sassetti had looked for a connection between Angelo Falcone and Rory O’Neill and had in fact found one. Adam informed Steve. They met in Adam’s room.

"Rory O’Neill lived in Italy for a couple of years. He left the country soon after Falcone’s death. Now, listen. O’Neill had bought his house in the outskirts of Rome from Angelo Falcone. Sassetti called Falcone’s then-girlfriend. She remembered O’Neill. Falcone was a party-goer as was O’Neill. The woman remembered the flamboyant man. Angelo Falcone was enthusiastic about him, but she did not like the man. O’Neill disappeared from the scene. The woman has not met him again," Adam recounted.

Steve gave a whistle. "Rory O’Neill. He’s the key figure," he said. "What about Joseph Peterson. Any connections?"

The bank Joseph Peterson had worked with as a client advertiser answered their query in the afternoon. Rory O’Neill had held a bank account for nine months. Joseph Peterson had been his adviser. O’Neill had transferred a big amount, approximately 450,000 pounds to the Cayman Islands.

Adam and Steve looked at each other.

"Bingo!" Steve said.

"Now we just need to find the man and extract a confession from him," Adam said drily.

"Shouldn’t be too difficult," Steve said in a convinced voice. "He’s the suspect of two murders. I’ll write a detailed report. This should suffice."

"Better leave out our speculations on the secret rituals," Adam said. "Think of Timothy Baker and his visions, one of the reasons they closed the case."

"Sure," Steve said with a slight frown. "I’m not an idiot, Adam."

"No, you’re a professional," Adam replied.

Steve cast him a sharp look, but then smiled broadly.

"We have a lot in common, Adam. More than you think or allow you to think," he said with an ambiguous look.

He walked to the door, turned around, and smiled at Adam. And then he left. Adam gazed at the door.

At a quarter to five, Adam printed out a paper and looked at it. His heart was beating widely. He called Steve who came to his room promptly. Adam handed him the paper.

"A mansion near Witham, Essex, District of Braintree. Bingo!" Steve said.

"Rory O’Neill bought it fifteen years ago, when he visited the university and studied with Osborne," Adam said.

"And looked for followers and playfellows," Steve replied, studying the paper. He looked up. "Okay, let’s sum up what we have found out about Rory O’Neill. He’s stinking rich. He inherited his money from his father. A man of independent means, so to speak. Work is a word that O’Neill has never heard of. He’s forty-three," Steve said. "Now what I think is: The man needs to fill his days. He’s rich, he can afford expensive hobbies. He built an Aztec temple and decorated it with original Aztec artifacts. A temple without activities is boring. So why not perform a ritual? O’Neill looks for followers and he finds them. Now he’s their guru, their priest. He picks the victims, or perhaps they volunteer. Playing Aztec is a lot of fun," Steve said drily yet with a grave look.

"Yes," Adam said in a sober voice. "But we need more evidence. So far, we have not even seen the man."

"This will change very soon," Steve replied. "I suggest we drive over to Witham and visit the temple."

Adam looked at his watch. "What? Now?" he asked.

Steve pondered. "Too risky, okay. They might assemble there tonight. Who knows? Let’s drive there tomorrow. How about I’ll pick you up at four o’clock in the morning and then we’ll be sneaking about a bit?" he asked.

Adam nodded slowly. "All right. I can’t imagine they’re around so early."

They left the building and walked to the parking area.

"We’re getting closer," Steve said. "O’Neill will not escape."

Adam glanced at him. He was feeling nervous, strangely excited.

Steve gave a laugh. "That’s the rush of adrenalin. The feeling will get even stronger, Adam," he said.

Steve smiled at Adam. His eyes rested on Adam’s face, but then he turned away abruptly and walked to his car. Adam looked after him. His heart was pounding faster. Adam opened the door of his car forcefully.

***

O’Neill’s mansion was located three kilometers from the small town Witham, north-east of London. Steve parked his car at some distance from the mansion on a dirt road. Adam and Steve walked down the road and approached the mansion. Morning had broken, but the light was still dim. The road was empty and everything was silent. A barb wire fence and an iron gate were supposed to keep unwanted visitors from entering the property. The house looked empty and deserted. There was no light in the windows.

"Do you think the house has a video surveillance system?" Adam asked.

"So far, I have not seen a sign that indicates it," Steve said.

After watching the place for a couple of minutes, Adam and Steve climbed over the gate. The path to the house was dusty. They didn’t see footprints or car tracks.

"It was raining two days ago," Steve said. "The rain has washed away the traces. We need to look more closely."

"This means that nobody came to the house in the previous two days," Adam said.

They walked on slowly, looking around carefully, and finally stopped in front of the entrance door. Steve examined it.

"Locked," he said.

They surrounded the house. The windows were shut and the curtains were drawn.

"No way we can get into the house without breaking the door or a window," Steve said.

"What about the backdoor?" Adam asked, pointing at the wooden entrance.

They approached it, but it was likewise locked. Adam looked at the ground.

"Look," he said, crouching down and picking up a red wool thread. He turned it in his hand and looked it at it closely. "Clean. It has not been here for a long time. A thread from a scarf perhaps," he said.

They moved across the place slowly.

"There," Adam said, crouching down again. "Car tracks, clear and distinct. Someone came here in the previous two days." He stood and looked into the distance. "There must be another entrance to the estate."

Steve joined him and examined the ground. "Yes," he affirmed. Someone drove up here not long ago with a compact van or a pick-up truck."

The place behind the house was dry and dusty. No lawn, no bushes and trees, only a few weeds grew in it. They moved away from the house, following the tracks of the car, and finally saw another iron gate. It was locked and secured with a bar.

"They came in here," Adam said. "We must find out where this dirt track leads to."

Steve nodded. "Later," he said. "Let’s go back to the house and have a closer look."

They walked back. The house had three floors and looked well-preserved.

"Someone has been attending to the building," Steve said. "We must find the craftsmen. They must have entered the house."

"We need to ask around in Witham," Adam said. "I can’t imagine nobody watched a thing in fifteen years. If this house is O’Neill’s temple, then there ought to be rumors of some kind. Or do you think he was able to guard the secret for fifteen years?"

"No," Steve replied. "There’s always someone who has heard or watched a thing."

He looked up the house and moved on. Adam followed him. Steve stopped and pulled on a drainpipe.

"A window’s open on the second floor," he said.

Adam looked up to the window. Steve pulled again on the drainpipe, and then started to climb it. Adam watched him, his heart pounding faster.

Steve reached the second floor, reached out his left hand and seized the window sill. He pushed his body closer to the window, raised his hand briefly from the sill and pushed the window open. He placed his left foot on a wall projection, withdrew his other hand from the drainpipe and placed it on the sill, and then quickly pulled his body up and through the open window.

A few seconds later, Steve looked out of the window. He smiled broadly, made a triumphant sign with his hand, and then disappeared into the room. Adam looked around warily.

Steve returned about twenty minutes later in the window and climbed down the wall.

"Interesting," he said, rubbing his hands. "The rooms on the second and third floor aren’t locked, but they are all empty. The door to the attic is locked. The rooms on the first floor and the ground floor are also locked. Even the bathrooms and the kitchen. The door to the basement is not only locked with a key, it is secured with three additional padlocks. Someone’s overcautious or afraid of others entering the basement," Steve said with a meaningful look.

Adam nodded. "The temple’s down there," he said.

"It’s clear as day to me," Steve replied. "I smell the blood." He looked up the house again and then turned back to Adam. "Let’s go, Adam. There’s dreadful energy," he said.

"You sound like Timothy Baker," Adam replied drily.

"I’m dead serious, Adam," Steve said.

Adam gave a curt nod. They walked back to the main gate, climbed over it, moved back to Steve’s car and got into it. Steve started the car, and then they drove back to London.

"How about we have breakfast?" Steve asked when they entered the outskirts.

"I’m fine with it," Adam replied.

Steve drove on and finally parked the car in front of his apartment house. Adam was stunned, but didn’t protest. He followed Steve to his apartment. Steve unlocked the door and turned to Adam in the doorway.

"Coffee?" he asked with a slightly insecure undertone. It was barely perceivable, but Adam caught it anyway.

"Okay," Adam replied with a smile.

Steve showed Adam to his living room and then went into the kitchen. Adam sat down on the couch and looked around in the room. It was clean, neat, and orderly, totally unlike he had imagined Steve’s room. The room looked as if somebody regularly looked after it. Who? His girlfriend? Adam felt a twitch in his stomach. He looked around again but saw nothing that indicated another person’s permanent presence in the room. Then again, Adam thought, Steve was probably not the type who scattered his girlfriend’s things all over his rooms. Steve returned with sandwiches and two cups of coffee. He placed them on the coffee table and sat down in a chair. He leaned back and looked at Adam.

"Unfortunately, we cannot have O’Neill’s house searched. So far, we have no reason for it," he said.

"We must find out about his whereabouts," Adam replied. "The man is like a phantom."

Steve nodded. He seized his cup of coffee and took a sip. "I’ll contact my informant again. Reginald Osborne will lead us to Rory O’Neill," he said.

There was a brief silence.

"You like to read?" Adam asked with a look at Steve’s bookshelf that was filled with paperbacks.

"Yes," Steve replied. "But I don’t read classical literature. I prefer crime thrillers, mysteries, and such."

"Stephen King?" Adam asked, seizing his cup of coffee.

"For instance," Steve replied with a smile.

They had found something they had in common.

An hour later, they left Steve’s apartment and drove to work.

Adam seized a sheet of paper, but then placed it back on the desk, and looked out of the window for a couple of minutes. He caught himself thinking of Steve Mills and the crime thrillers he read. Adam forced himself to focus back on his work.

Steve entered Adam’s room a couple of hours later excitedly.

***