Tidal Rage by David Evans (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

“I think Mr Rothhelm has been flustered by the initial investigation a couple of years ago by Cheryl’s investigator. It’s also possible he knows what his boy has done. He has two minders clearing up any DNA evidence after him, and you don’t do that if you have nothing to hide,” Tuck reported.

“Yes, I would concur with that, Tuck. What about the other kid, Hilton?” Cutler probed.

“That is a whole different situation. No minders, and unaware he’s under any sort of investigation. He and his mother ate at Wendy’s in the city last night; I was in the next booth and retrieved a cup he had been drinking Coke from. Have sent it down to Basmati’s lab by courier,” Tuck announced.

“Good work, Tuck. You know, we’ll have to get a sample by hook or by crook from the Rothhelm kid,” Cutler retorted.

“Working on it, boss,” Tuck said, as he disconnected the call.

The following afternoon, Bernard Rothhelm exited the school with two other young men. Tuck followed them from a distance and watched them enter Costa Coffee. The two minders waited across the street, with a clear view.

Tuck entered Costa Coffee and pushed in front of the three guys in line, receiving a torrent of abuse from all three. In an instant, he slapped Rothhelm lightly, ensuring he pulled out several of his hair strands as he withdrew his hand. Then he quietly walked out as the three astonished boys looked on in shock.

From across the street, the two minders had seen the altercation. Tuck knew that they would not both leave the Rothhelm boy to follow him, but he anticipated one of them would.

To the right there was an underpass, and Tuck turned and entered it.

“Hey, you! Stop there or I’ll break your fucking neck!” shouted the minder.

The minder towered over the five-foot-eight Tuck by nearly a foot. He also had a good four inches more around his chest than Tuck. Slowly and deliberately, Tuck turned towards the advancing minder, who had murder in his eyes.

“What do you think you’re playing at, Geronimo?” the minder spat out.

“If you weren’t so stupid, you’d know the difference between a Maori and an Indian,” Tuck said as a matter of fact, as the minder closed to within reach.

With all the subtlety of an elephant, the minder charged at Tuck. He recognized the mode of attack; the guy was an ex-football player without any military training, pure brawn, and no brains.

Tuck sidestepped the charging bull and flicked his right leg out straight, connecting with the minder’s right knee. The pop was audible as the knee dislocated from the socket and the minder went down screaming. The minder scrabbled in his pocket for what Tuck thought was a weapon. Tuck circled the injured minder and warned him in no uncertain terms of the consequences if he tried to continue the attack. He bent down to the wounded man and caught the hand as he extracted a pistol; with his right hand he punched his flat hand into the outstretching arm, snapping it immediately. The pistol fell from the man’s grip and Tuck kicked it over to the other side of the underpass.

“Now, no more problems, I think. You tell old man Rothhelm his son killed one of our friends, and we’re going to get him, no matter what. Tell him we also know about the other kid, Hilton. Things are not going to go well for either of them,” he said, before turning on his heels and heading back out of the underpass.

Going on what Tuck knew from his research, Rothhelm Senior would not let anyone get in his way. He would not tolerate a slur on his name, and he would not accept the thought of his son going to prison. Tuck had just hung a big come and get me sign around Hilton’s head, and he was certain Rothhelm Senior was not above killing the kid.

He would get what he needed by whatever means possible, and he would go back to Cheryl with information. They had been working closely together for the last four months, and Tuck was not sure when he had fallen for her, only that he had. He would have done his job regardless, but this may just help him with his plan for Cheryl.

Tuck had shaken the tree, he’d set the Hilton kid up, Now let’s see what falls from the branches, he thought.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sebastian was oscillating on the tightrope of sanity. The overwhelming desire to fulfil his needs, and the pressing need to ensure he was not linked with any of the murders, was all-consuming. With hindsight, he realized that sabotaging lifeboat four and the subsequent killing of the seven people on board was a mistake. He had reacted to the Grim Reaper tag without foresight and control.

The seven killings had given him as much pleasure as eating a hot dog, food he never consumed. Sebastian needed another victim and he needed one fast, just to maintain his fragile sanity. He was still on the Classical Canta Libra and had another month of the tour to do; to take a victim from this ship would be foolish, as it had only been three weeks since the lifeboat disaster.

Jules Verne Cruise Line, the owners of the Classical Canta Libra, had launched its own investigation into the tragedy on the ship’s return to its home port of Genoa. The accident investigator was used to dealing with outbreaks of norovirus or food poisoning, or the odd physical fracas between staff. But he had no previous experience of anything of this scale.

On board the ship, the atmosphere was tense; everybody from the staff and crew knew someone on lifeboat four. Gossip as to why the lifeboat caught fire abounded. The pilot of the lifeboat smoked, so the staff surmised the cause through accusation, while the