Stone Cold Read online

  Stone Cold

  A Stone Cold Thriller

  J. D. Weston

  Contents

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  1. Waking the Beast

  2. Memories

  3. The Hunt

  4. Best Made Plans

  5. The Monster is Broken

  6. Found You

  7. Three Choices

  8. Dinner with the Devil

  9. The Shadow of the Beast

  10. The Hunt is On

  11. Dead Dogs Lie

  12. Falling Apart

  13. Tailing the Beast

  14. Keep the Good Man Down

  15. The Drop

  16. The Devil Shows his Face

  17. A Light in the Tunnel

  18. Carver’s Reward

  19. Livestock

  20. The End of an Era

  21. Truth or Dare

  22. Retribution

  23. Two Sided Coin

  End of Book Stuff

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  Appreciation

  A Note from the Author

  Also By J.D.Weston.

  Stone Cold

  Stone Fury

  Acknowledgments

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  1

  Waking the Beast

  Two men slipped silently through the door of unit twenty-four. It was a generic looking warehouse building, typically found in business parks all over the world; this particular unit was in Beckton, East London, and the park was aptly named ‘The East London Business Park.’ The second man, Harvey Stone, closed the front door softly behind them, turned to his companion, Julios, and nodded; the movement was barely discernible in the pitch darkness, but Julios understood the signal and moved forward, listening for any change in noise.

  They entered through the narrow door meant for customers which led them into a small hallway with stairs leading up the mezzanine offices to the right, and a door directly in front of them that led out to the large warehouse space, where several men could be heard loading a truck. The sound of a heavy, battery-powered forklift manoeuvring around whirred, and the hiss of the hydraulic rams lowering its cargo onto the truck was clear in the otherwise silent warehouse.

  Julios chanced a glance through the gap in the semi-open door. He watched intently for a while before holding three fingers up to Harvey who stood behind him calmly in the darkness.

  The three men worked in silence, except for the whirrs, hisses and metallic rattles of the forklift.

  Julios and Harvey had a plan, and would carry it out precisely; it was the only way to ensure a one hundred percent chance of success. Any deviation from any plan causes variants in possibilities, and Julios did not like variants. They led to mistakes, and mistakes often ended in failure or death.

  Harvey and Julios heard the sliding tail-gate of the truck being pulled down followed by the light click of a padlock. Then, as the diesel engine fired up and the twin thumps of the truck’s two doors boomed around the empty warehouse, the screeching of the sliding concertina shutter began its banshee-like cry as it was pulled open to allow the truck to pull out slowly. The sliding shutter was replaced with a crash and chains being dragged through a series of steel rings, marking the end of the performance.

  Julios and Harvey remained in the darkness, blocking the only remaining exit. Two truck doors had been slammed shut, which meant that only one man remained in the unit. The forklift was shifted to a spot under the mezzanine where its batteries were connected to the mains to recharge, presumably to be used the following day.

  Julios sunk back into the shadows ready for the door to open. Harvey moved across to the stairs where he would be out of sight of anyone that came through the door from the warehouse. Julios and Harvey waited in practiced silence, listening to the sounds and imagining their meanings. A few digital clicks told them the man had unlocked his iPhone. A stutter of further clicks indicated a message being sent, probably to his boss, maybe his wife.

  Then the long-awaited sounds of the lights in the warehouse being turned off; six switches in two rows of three, according to Harvey’s interpretation of the timing of each click.

  Total darkness ensued, but Julios didn’t need light to carry out the job. Keys jangled lightly like they were swinging on a chain or lanyard as opposed to being held in a bunch. The noise grew closer until the little door opened fully and the man stepped through, not bothering to close it behind him. He hadn’t taken two steps into the hallway when Julios’ shape emerged from the darkness behind him and silently slipped the steel wire around his neck.

  Harvey remained where he was, as Julios had instructed. He saw the struggle in the darkness, but the only sounds he heard were a few feeble squeals of the man’s trainers on the painted floor and the sickly, choking sound of his death. Julios was a pro; Harvey admired his control and composure during these moments and looked on with awe. Emotion was not a part of the transaction; no anger, spite, or bitterness tainted his methods. He was, in Harvey’s eyes, a master of his trade.

  Their instructions had been quite simple, “Make a statement, but don’t make a mess.”

  Julios waited his standard one minute, from when he believed his work to be done, to confirm that his work was indeed complete. Julios’ gloved fingers tugged lightly at the wire trace and he pocketed it, believing firmly that leaving any evidence behind would create a trail. The wire trace had to be bought somewhere, by someone from someone else. That meant three possible areas of investigation that were, in Julios’ mind, unnecessary.

  He looked up at Harvey who stood waiting in the shadows on the second step, and nodded at him in the darkness, signifying that it was Harvey’s turn to perform. Stepping back into the shadows, Julios watched with pride as his protege stepped past him and began to carry out the efficient means of making a statement without making a mess.

  Harvey stepped over the body and, using a two cell Maglite, found the light switches; two rows of three as he had guessed. He used the point of his knife to turn on just one switch and pocketed the Maglite. The knife point wouldn’t rub off any existing fingerprints, and certainly wouldn’t leave his own on there, even if he hadn’t been wearing gloves.

  He glanced at the front end of the warehouse and saw an electric hoist connected to a running beam that was fixed to a series of overhead gantries roughly ten metres high. The running beam led from the large shutters at the front, all the way up to the rear of the warehouse, where the mezzanine floor stored some large machinery and crates. Presumably the hoist was used for loading flat-bed lorries.

  Harvey had no problem in finding the yellow console that hung from the hoist by a thick electric cable and hit the ‘down’ button. Nothing happened right away, but Harvey gave the large red emergency stop button a twist; it popped out, and the down button was operational straight away. The large hook came down quite slowly, and the sound of the joist was loud in the large space, but Harvey was a patient man. He waited for it to reach knee level then the hoist’s automatic switch prevented any further wire rope being spooled out; a safety measure, thought Harvey. He then moved back to the doorway, grabbed the dead man by his armpits, and dragged him across the smooth painted concrete floor until the man was positioned below the hook. Finding a nearby chain sling, Harvey hung it on the hook by the large ring and wrapped one of the two-met
re chain legs around the man’s torso beneath his arms. He connected the little hook back on its chain in a choke position that would tighten on itself as the hoist took up the slack. He casually hit the up button and watched the hook slowly hoist the limp, dead body into the air. The man’s head rolled forward lazily, but his eyes were wide open in a combination of fear and surprise. Harvey held the button down until the hook reached its maximum height and the automatic switch cut the power, another safety feature.

  The warehouse was silent once more. Harvey looked up at his work briefly before turning the light out with the point of his knife and stepping out of the building with Julios behind him. They turned right and stayed within the safety of the shadows created by the long row of identical units before they slipped into the trees at the end of the row, and through a gap in the fence that they’d made the previous week using a car jack. Harvey’s motorbike was there hidden amongst the bushes. Julios’ Subaru was parked further along; its shiny windscreen was the only giveaway as the paintwork had faded and rusted, exactly how he liked it.

  They didn’t say goodbye, they never did. It was Julios’ best practice to split up straight after a job, and anyway, what would they say to each other? Well done, or nice work? Finishing a job was hardly cause for celebration or a pat on the back.

  Harvey didn’t wait for the sound of Julios’ engine starting, he’d already turned the ignition on his BMW and was clicking his helmet strap on before the older man had even managed to unlock the beaten up old car. He wheeled forward out of the trees and rolled onto the road, popping the clutch, and then smoothly joined the Royal Docks Road, with no sign of any other car around. At that time of the morning, the only cars on the road would be cabbies, police and piss-heads, and on his bike with its two large panniers either side of the rear wheel, he just looked like a courier coming back from a long day in the city.

  He took the A406 North Circular Road, round to the Wanstead exit, and cut through Chigwell to Abridge on into the village of Theydon Bois, where he lived in a little cottage in the grounds of his foster dad’s three-hundred-acre estate. The little house was dark when he rolled the bike into the immaculate garage space and clicked the remote for the door to close behind him. He unclipped the helmet, stuffed it in its protective stuff sack, and returned it to a hook by the front door. He then removed his gloves, clipped them together and hung them alongside the helmet. His father was a rich man, but Harvey wasn’t. He could have anything he wanted, his foster dad would pay for it, but he chose to lead a simple life, and liked to look after the few possessions he had. Julios had given his knife, in its leather case, to him when he was just twelve years old. It was still as sharp and clean as the day his mentor had presented it to him and was fixed to the inside of his bike jacket every time he rode.

  The two doors that led from the garage to the house were unlocked successively, and he stepped into his lounge. There was no TV, no radio. In fact, the only sign that it was the twenty-first century was the Apple MacBook that sat dormant on the kitchen counter, beside the one wooden stool, where Harvey sat and hit the power button. He unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off while the laptop’s operating system booted, then hung it on the single hook beside the door to the garage.

  He entered his password and stretched his neck out with a satisfying click to the left and then the right while the laptop woke up and sat ready for his command. He opened an internet search and typed the words, ‘Shaun Tyson’ before hitting enter, letting the engine retrieve information and present them as search results.

  2

  Memories

  Harvey woke in a sweat from a long night of running dreams. He dreamed of his sister, Hannah. It was a reoccurring dream.

  He’d chase her through long grass that lined the edge of a wild and untamed beach. She was older and his little legs tired easily. He would draw near to her and reach out; the sun would shine brightly on them as they ran and laughed. Then as soon as he tried to grab her, she would appear further down the beach, and the bright light would fade away.

  He dressed in cargo pants and tan boots and pulled on a plain white shirt. His standard attire. He washed his face in the freezing cold water from the ancient taps in his small bathroom and left the house by the front door. The only time he used the front door instead of the garage door was when he walked to his foster father’s house across the lawn, went to train in the gym at the rear of the house or took a walk in the grounds.

  This time he was going for a walk. The recent dreams of his sister had ignited a thirst inside him. His desire to catch the man who’d raped his sister had always been unrelenting, but when the dreams came frequently, his push for the answers increased, to the point where it was almost debilitating, and distracted his focus on anything else. In Harvey’s line of work, distractions were dangerous.

  He often walked in the grounds to clear his head. He had fond memories of playing in the orchard, and in the stream with his sister when they had been young. Hannah had been older by a few years, but she had still taken the time to entertain her younger brother.

  Hannah had enjoyed picking the flowers and would take to their foster mum bunches of colourful roses and daffodils. Hannah and Harvey would often play hide and seek, or climb the tall trees. Harvey remembered chasing her once with a frog he had pulled from the stream. They’d laughed as they ran, as children do, and had rolled in the long grass, panting and giggling.

  Hannah was older and bigger but had always let Harvey catch her. Then they’d lay in the grass and look at the sky, and she’d tell Harvey stories of the few memories she had of their parents. By then he’d heard the stories many times but never grew tired of hearing Hannah tell them. She had a sweet, kind voice. An innocent girl’s voice.

  Harvey walked through the orchard alone. He stepped around the apples on the ground and remembered how he’d stamp on them as a child. Bits of apple would fly out from under his foot. Hannah would always say, “Harvey, no,” but then laugh when he smiled his cheeky smile.

  He walked along the stream that ran from behind the gym, down the hill toward the orchard. He didn't see any frogs but did see the large rock that sat in the middle of the stream. It was more than two feet across. The water ran around it and had smoothed the underside but left the top surface rough. It had made the ideal stepping stone for young Hannah and Harvey to cross the stream during their games.

  A large willow hung lazily over the water beside the rock. Its finger-like branches hung all around it, creating a space inside that the two children had called their own. The boughs hung low enough for a child to climb. Harvey parted the long branches and stepped inside. He hadn't been under the tree’s canopy since he was twelve years old. Since the day Hannah had killed herself. It seemed smaller inside, but familiar. He reached for the knot that protruded from the trunk. He remembered it being the key to climbing the tree. If you didn't grip the knot, there was no way to pull yourself up.

  He stared up at the thick tangle of branches above. The trunk split into two parts, creating a large Y-shape. Harvey used to sit on one side, and Hannah on the opposite side. They had pretended the tree was a pirate ship. Hannah was always the captain and Harvey first mate. Man-eating sharks infested the grass below, and Harvey had cried once when Hannah made him walk the plank; a thick branch that grew horizontally and bent with the weight of a pretend pirate, threatening to drop the child into the shark-infested waters below. Hannah had let him live on the condition that he ran to the house to get lunch from the cook.

  Harvey saw their names scratched into the trunk. The bark had tried to recover over time, but the names Hannah and Harvey were still clearly legible.

  From up there, the young children could see through the branches to the long driveway that led from the main gates to the front of the house. So whenever John arrived home from work, or a guest arrived, Harvey and Hannah would run across to the car and be waiting ready to see who it was.

  Harvey had been in the tree alone that morning when he
had seen the ambulance drive into the grounds. He hadn’t run to greet the ambulance men. The ambulance had sped to the front of the house and stopped sharply on the loose gravel. Harvey had watched, scared to climb down until the paramedics had returned from the house carrying a stretcher. He knew immediately that it was Hannah. The men carried the stretcher with ease, and a child’s body lay under a thin sheet. The blood hadn't seeped through and soaked the material; it had already dried. Her heart had already stopped. Hannah had killed herself in the dead of the night.

  Harvey stepped out from the tree’s canopy and continued to follow the stream to the rear of the house. The gardener maintained the immaculate lawns and kept seasonal flowers planted in the raised flower beds. It was a beautiful garden.

  Behind the house was the pool. Harvey had enjoyed the pool as a child but wasn’t allowed in without adult supervision. When he began his training with Julios, shortly after Hannah’s death, Harvey had started to use the pool for fitness. He swam across the width until he was strong enough to swim further. Then Julios had told him to swim a full length without stopping.

  One length became two, then three, then ten, twenty, forty, then sixty-five. Julios had clapped him on and cheered during the last few lengths, when Harvey’s arms had felt too heavy to move, and his legs had no more kick left in them. Julios’ voice had boomed across the water, and Harvey had pushed one more stroke, then one more; each stroke had been a huge effort until he saw the end of the pool metres away, a few more strokes and he’d completed his first sixty-five lengths. Julois had lifted him from the pool and wrapped the boy in a towel, and Harvey half laughed and half cried when he staggered back and fell on to the grass with exhaustion. He lay with his eyes shut in the summer sun, his arms and legs stretched out. He hadn't the energy to move a finger.