Unknown Point of View
Two years ago, Cairngorm Mountain, UK...
What I've done? What did I do?, Tay was washing his face with cold water in the sink, letting the water freeze his skin as it fell, but clean it from deep within.
They'll never catch him anyway, he knew.
How could they catch him if he could just take away their memories of him? No one could beat him at his game.
Pulling a smock of his own hair in the mirror, he smirked at himself.
There was no forgiveness for someone like him, he knew.
No one could ever erase away what he's done. Maybe he doesn't deserve it, but he'll go free. An d if he ever were to get caught, it'd be only because he wanted it to end like that.
He washed his face with cold water leaving it spotless, and dressed up quickly in layered clothes. He had to go away now, far away. They'll soon discover Derek's body down the slope and he couldn't be here then. He was the one who killed him, after all.
Having him on his mind, he went on and pulled out Derek's travel journal. He then scribbled his goodbye note while carefully copying Derek's handwriting as faithfully as possible:
"Hi, it's me Derek,
If you found this it means I really took my own life...Well, you probably want to know why and why I didn't return home. I am a coward and I just couldn't go to jail and ruin Dominique's life.... I committed an atrocity, a mistake while I was here... One night while I was here someone, I think they were from a mafia organization, put a gun to my temple to kill this detective. I think they followed me up here on purpose since I am a famous mountain climber, hoping this could cover up their steps. I believe there's something strange going on somewhere in this mountain... But my crime is unforgivable, I had to die. I killed detective Archie Carolan.
I had to die, I'm sorry Dom, forgive me."
Tay made sure the letter stayed vague overall and tried to make the writing look as if it was scribbled breathlessly, in a rush, by a desperate guilt-ridden person.
Then Tay paid a visit to Derek's cabin, where he was lodged. He made sure he hadn't been followed or seen as he entered the misty atmosphere, as if someone died there.
The floor creaked underneath his feet as though it was rusty. Tay entered the thick, asphyxiation inducing atmosphere and left the note underneath Derek's travel journal which he had previously stolen, gingerly.
No fingerprints, no evidence. He made sure to wear Derek's shoes while he wasn't there, so no footprints either.
As he left the room, Tay murmured under his breath in a spicy tone: "How dare you kill my brother, you little shit?"
*
Later that evening, Ariana drove almost aimlessly through the Northern Yorkshire county, almost angry with her life. She hadn't solved anything that day, her friend's husband was dead and it was ruled out a suicide already.
Dominique was broken and she wasn't even there by her side. She wasn't even home to spend Christmas Eve night, one of the most magical moments of the year, with Joseph and Simon. She was out there in her car, not knowing what she was doing.
When it came to Derek's goodbye letter even she didn't know half of it. She was driving through an almost forsaken area as she turned on the radio to hear the news.
Her teammates were in holiday for Christmas, as well as most of BB police. She was driving up to London.
Virgo Styles was missing; Dominique was broken. The entire country was caked in snow making them all sleepy.
"-Derek Brown was allegedly targeted by a mafia organization two nights before he died. He was forced into shooting London head detective Archie Carolan who was investigating the Missing Immigrants cases up in the Scotland mountains-"
"Wait what?" Ariana was frowning at herself in the rearview mirror. "Archie Carolan?!"
"-he couldn't live with his crime so he committed suicide. The body of Archie Carolan found under Derek's bed in his cabin confirms this. Head Detective Archie Carolan dies at 28. The Scotland Cairngorm Mountains are being combed right now by the police and forensics for suspicious activity."
Ariana was so captivated and amazed by the news that she missed watching the road as she drove and, in the quiet night where only boots could creak through the snow and snow flakes flew down gingerly, a white tow track came at her from the dark.
Ariana gasped as she swerved to the left abruptly and tried to brake, but the wheels were almost imprisoned by the snow.
It was the white truck, she was certain, the same one. Damn she had been so careless she wanted to smash her radio bare-handed. Within a few seconds her car was smashed front wise in a barn, her front window smashed.
Her white range rover was severely damaged but in her melting consciousness she knew, she was lucky to be alive. Her head hurt terribly and she was sure her right wrist was broken as she tried to touch her head with it. She knew she had to stay awake and conscious, as the cold protruded through the car's broken defenses.
She had to stay awake, she opened the right door with her left hand ungainly and tried to get out but then a strong arm grabbed her rapidly and started dragging her.
She looked dizzily at a man with a hat with flaps and tried to remember as much about him as possible. If she lived. He was taller than her by 20 cm at least, had a lean build and a visible hump. His voice...She'd heard it before somewhere.
As he turned around he wore a mask up to his eyes, which were brown and warm. She'd seen them before. He grabbed Ariana by the throat slightly lifting her off the ground as he said: "I know what you did. I know everything," he muttered, his eyes furious and furrowing.
Ariana opened her lips gingerly and tried to breathe although his hand was putting a lot of pressure against her throat. "Wha-"
"No, don't say anything bitch," the man emphasized the last word with so much hatred that Ariana wondered what did she do to deserve it. "Stop meddling or I will drive you up to such circumstances you won't survive next time."
He threw Ariana in a heap of snow and before she knew it, she was being continuously kicked until she became unconscious.
*
The next day was Christmas day. It stroke UK heavily, announcing the murder of ten people up in a soccer club in the Cairngorm Mountains.
"Allegedly, the soccer club building hadn't been used in two years and it was used by the shady lowkey organization that goes by the name of VELLA." the lady on the news was announcing as Bernard Johnson was sitting in his armchair, wide eyed, eating Christmas pudding made by his lover.
VELLA? His VELLA? He was astounded.
"The ten men murdered were allegedly interrogating persons who were declared missing in Norway and Sweden. The unknown killer had left all these victims alive, herding them together in a room and leaving them tied up. A tip was placed at the same time of night three days ago anonymously, on the local police station, which makes us wonder and question the killer's intentions and morals."
Intentions and morals my ass, Bernard was thinking as he turned off the huge plasma with a snap.
"Everything's alright?" his lover, Leslie Hopkins, a woman in her early 30's, twenty years younger than him entered the room, bringing some wine.
"I've heard enough," Bernard muttered looking at Leslie. A few years after his wife Alstromeria Johnson was killed, he got together with Leslie. He wasn't certain whether he'd tie the knot with her too, after what happened to his first marriage and all the complications that resulted.
"Is this about the VELLA?" Leslie asked as she came around and hugged Bernard from behind.
Bernard looked in front of him at the grand, perfect salon fit for the milionaire he was. He had everything he wanted. He was one of the richest men in UK. His company was ever growing.
He had everything he wanted.
But someone, oh, someone out there had the power to bring him down. Did he have a spy within his workers? He wondered.
They couldn't have possibly known about his 'research' resort up in his Cairngorm Mountains.
How did they? Who?
Bernard was gripping the arms of his chair forcefully, taking lumpy breaths.
Someone knew his secrets. First, the first ten Big. B. cases, now this. Someone was using their innocence to bring him down. Someone...
Was it too late now? Because of the ten murders and a police tip and the entire Derek Brown incident and Archie Carolan's murder, the whole VELLA organization wasn't top secret anymore. It could be traced back to him.
Was this the killer's intention all along? Maybe it was time he paid in kind.
As he was thinking that, his daughter lay unconscious and freezing somewhere in Lincolnshire, close to her death.
*
Present time, London...
Virgo Styles... What was his story? What had happened to him?
"May I speak to Virgo Styles later?" Ariana inquired as she was munching on a fountain pen. Jacob smiled awkwardly. It was strange to see her so nervous.
"Uh, I'm not sure suspects may speak to witnesses like that Ari-"
"I'm not a criminal Jacob. What, you believe that too now?"
"Ariana, time's ticking away and we need to wrap this up... Can you please go on telling me about your relationship with suspect runaway Simon Tatman Taylor? Like, you guys named him Tatman because of his tattoos, right?"
Ariana smiled, her lips looking fuller. She wasn't broken yet.
"Obviously. But when I met him he didn't have any tattoos. He got his first tattoo when he won the third place in the Great Britain Swimming Olympics, when he was 19. He wanted to remember it forever so he tattooed it on his belly. Then somehow tattoos became an obsession of his."
Ariana trailed off to drink some water.
Jacob then flipped through some papers and bit his lip.
"What else do you know about his tattoos? Is it true he has a flowery skull on his left hand?" Jacob gazed at Ariana intensely, his eyes narrowed, as though he wanted to absorb her.
Ariana blinked at him. Yeah, Simon has a flowery skull on his left hand and she knew the story of that tattoo, too.
"If I give Simon away will I get to see Joseph, my fiance?" She looked at Jacob with glimmering, hopeful blue eyes as her lower lip trembled.
She was breaking, Jacob thought.
"You have my word." He nodded curtly. He'd get Joseph to her although he knew first hand that Joseph was broken.
Deep inside Jacob knew. He'd do anything to help Ariana, he will. Even if this investigation turns out ugly.
"Simon has a flowery skull on his left hand indeed." She bit her lip. Was she selling away Simon? What did they want with Simon? What did he do?
For the great investigator she used to be she was surely the most clueless, oblivious, amnesiac person now.
She was a fool. Will Simon be alright? Does Joseph still love her?
Meanwhile, Jacob was noting what she had said down. So that confirms it, he thought. That confirms the witness testimony of Zac, a musician, who used to live in the same building as Simon.
Jacob bit his lip and skittered through the next questions.
...