Rebwar The Gipsy: A London Murder Mystery Book 2 (A Rebwar Crime Thriller) Read online

  Rebwar

  The Gipsy

  Ols Schaber

  Contents

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  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

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  Also by Ols Schaber

  Acknowledgments

  Notes

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  Prologue

  He was sitting on the floor of a dark panel van, cramped in-between people, all swaying and sweating. Everyone trying to keep as silent as they could. Suppressing his fear and emotions, taking sharp breaths. They had been transferred from a lorry somewhere in a lay-by which had originally set off in Romania. He’d counted twenty men and women. He was the only one that spoke Persian. A few were Syrians, others he guessed were Libyan. Some spoke English, which was the common language. Their faces were dirty, tired and cautious. He’d tried to strike a conversation, but it was limited and no one was saying anything personal. But they were all in the same situation. Looking for a better life.

  The van stopped, car, and engines idled around them. More traffic and stops. Signs that they were getting close. London had been promised to them. He knew they were in England. The van and cars drove on the opposite side of the road. Once they all had realised a series of shy smiles had been exchanged. He’d taken a loan to come over and till he had a job his family were paying the interest. The van broke sharply and honked. He tried to hold on but his body just slid into the man next to him and they all groaned and tried not to shout. Behind the metal divide the driver swore and carried on honking.

  The van accelerated away and carried on its journey. He wished it over and his body was numb from sitting. Every position was a repetition of the pain he had been in. The vehicle stopped, and they heard some muffled voices followed by a chain being undone. Someone banged on the metal panel and it moved slowly till someone opened the back door. Light flooded into the cramped space. His eyes adjusted to the bright lights. He could make out a couple of white men waiving them out. He stretched himself, each limb slowly regaining their strength, groggy and tired as he crawled out.

  ‘Come on, over there quick, quick. Haven’t got all day.’ Said a tall bald man.

  He looked around the warehouse, which was filled with cardboard boxes, window frames, industrial blue plastic barrels. At the far end was a metal stair that led to an office with a man standing on the landing watching them. His left arm was tattooed with a snakeskin pattern. The two other men shouted at them to line up against the wall. They all struggled over some more than others. The older man stumbled over, his leg giving way. Without hesitation, he broke ranks and went over to help him. He felt a hand grab his arm. It was the bald man.

  ‘You’ve been told.’

  The tattooed man nodded.

  ‘You’re coming with me.’ And he pulled him towards a door at the end of warehouse unit.

  He tried to protest and fight back. ‘I only help what you want? I help.’

  But the bald man just carried on dragging him. His strength too powerful to stop. Another man with a hoodie followed them into a dark office. Lights flickered on and he got shoved into an office chair.

  He was too weak to fight back, hadn’t properly eaten for weeks or drunk enough. Around was a mess of papers, boxes, filing cabinets and upended office furniture. The dirty carpet had dark stains and cut up cable ties.

  The man with a hoodie slipped on brass knuckles and threw a punch into his gut.

  He doubled up and felt his lungs empty. Another punch hit his back. Pain exploded whilst he tried to breathe in. His body struggling with a surge of extreme agony. Then another thump, his face jerked to the side with the impact and another. His body fell off the chair and onto the floor. A boot slammed into his back. Pain shot like an electric current and he felt himself spasm.

  All he could see that blood dripping and falling onto a concrete floor. He’d passed out and now was being paraded in front of the others, still standing in line by the wall.

  ‘This is what happens when you fall out of line.’ Said a voice above him. ‘No, silly ideas from any of you. You now belong to us, we own you.’

  One

  Rebwar looked into his cigarette packet. One lonely smoke danced around it. He rested his shaking hand on his leg, took the cigarette and crunched the packet into a ball. He stood up inside the crumbling grey facade of what had been a residential semi-detached. The ground floor was now a car-wash tunnel that led off the street. Next to it was a petrol station and a small café. Rebwar was in red and blue overalls and blue rubber boots. On his breast pocket was an emblem: Matt’s Valet Wash. Opposite was a second-hand car dealer. The sound of water jets and whirring fans drowned out the passing traffic.

  Rebwar noticed a black Range Rover with a private plate mounting the soapy wet curb outside the entrance. Two men stepped out: the driver was a tall, thin, fair-haired man in a white t-shirt, white trainers and with a tattoo of snakeskin pattern on his arm; the other was shorter, with a shaved head and a teardrop tattoo by his left eye. Both of them wore heavy-looking gold jewellery. They walked to the back of the car-wash using the neighbour’s petrol forecourt. A car honked at Rebwar. He turned, picked up a microfiber towel and wiped the car. As he worked his way around the wet panels, he noticed a bunch of kids by the car dealership standing around a cluster of scooters, smoking and laughing. He hadn’t seen them before. He bent down to pick up his polystyrene cup off the floor.

  ‘Hey, Rebwar!’

  Rebwar sipped his black coffee and looked up. In front of him, stood Matt, the owner of the car wash - medium build, scruffy grey hair, pot belly and faded tattoos.

  ‘Meet Greg, the new guy. Show him the ropes. OK?’

  Greg was fresh-faced and had the look of a scared boy who’d come straight from his remote Eastern European village. From his keen smile, he hadn't seen much of this world. Rebwar guessed he was in his early twenties, he appeared skinny but was sinewy and strong in overalls that were a little too short for him. Rebwar could see a glimpse of what looked like a Chelsea football shirt underneath them. Rebwar nodded to Matt, wh
o pushed back his hair and left for his caravan/office, where he liked to hide and play video games.

  ‘Wh-where do I start?’ Greg asked above the noise of the car wash.

  Rebwar lit a cigarette. ‘I’m Rebwar.’ He offered his hand. Greg shook it hard, as if he was trying to make an impression.

  ‘N-nice to meet you.’

  ‘My son supports the blues. Done this before?’

  Greg smiled. ‘Never.’

  ‘Smoke?’

  Greg shook his head.

  ‘We’ll start with drying. Ever washed a car?’

  Greg shook his head again.

  ‘Dishes?’

  Greg smiled and squinted as if it was a trick question.

  Rebwar handed him a microfiber towel. ‘You dry the back of the car, and I’ll do the front.’ He laid the little towel over the back window, picked up another one, laid that next to it and slowly covered the back window with the towels to soak up the water.

  The driver’s side window buzzed down and a large round red face appeared. ‘Hey mate!’ Greg looked up, terrified. ‘Yeah you!’ Greg went over to the man. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  ‘Cl-cleaning, I mean d-drying the c-’

  ‘Well get on with it, you idiot! And get those filthy towels off my back window.’ As the window slid back up, the man added, ‘Chelsea cunt.’

  Rebwar raised his eyebrows and took Greg to one side. ‘Just, watch me, OK? And do the same on the next car.’ The boy nodded as Rebwar removed the towels from the car.

  The window slid down again and smoke drifted into the air along with the man’s irritated voice. ‘Can’t get the staff, can you? Country’s going to pot.’ Realising he wasn’t being listened to by anyone, least of all the two men valeting his car, he shouted louder. ‘Hey! That’s what you get from a Chelsea supporting muppet!’ Rebwar carried on polishing the car. A phone ringtone sang out loudly from the car’s sound system and the man picked up. Before Rebwar could finish drying the boot he drove off, leaving drips in his wake.

  ‘I need cigarettes.’

  Greg nodded his head.

  ‘I’m going to get some. You’re doing OK. Just keep doing what I was doing. Got it?’

  Greg smiled and carried on. On his way out, Rebwar spotted the two men from the Range Rover again, they were inside Matt’s Portakabin now, and angry muffled voices seeped through the closed door and blinds. It was just off the forecourt so Rebwar passed the petrol station and went into the toilets just behind the Portakabin and chose a cubicle. The conversation from Matt’s office was just within earshot.

  ‘Mate, you’re going to take two more this week.’

  ‘Wayne, I can’t. I don’t have space for more. And I can’t afford them.’

  ‘What don’t you understand is what I’m saying.’

  ‘I’ll call the police, I will. Look…’

  Rebwar heard laughter. ‘You’re such a dickhead - you’ve got a fucking record as long as my cock. Go on, do it and see what happens. Twat. Two more and then next week another two… got it?’

  ‘Wayne you can’t, people will start to get suspicious and—’

  ‘Matt!’ One of the men slammed his fist hard onto the desk or something else solid. ‘OK?’

  A moment passed and the door slammed shut. Another silence, and then. ‘Shit, shit, fuck, fuck.’ Rebwar heard Matt let out a huge sigh, open the caravan door and shout out the names Jaz and Will. Rebwar stayed in the cubicle to listen. Two men’s footsteps echoed in Matt’s caravan.

  ‘Yeah, boss.’

  ‘Right lads. No easy way to say this… so I’m going to make it quick. I’m going to have to let you two go. Not enough work, OK?’

  ‘What?’ One of the voices said. ‘Seems really busy out there. I’d say you need more men, not less!’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for discussing it, right?’ Matt snapped back.

  ‘Boss you can’t be serious.’ The other man sounded foreign, and very upset. ‘Just been here two weeks. Hey, you just give the job…’

  ‘It’s fucking final. I’m not talking about it. Here’s your money, now go!’

  ‘What did I do? No, scratch car or nothing.’ Rebwar could hear the man’s desperation.

  ‘Just take the f’ing cash and piss off, understand?’

  ‘OK, OK…’

  Rebwar heard them shuffling to collect their money and leave. Matt sat down in his chair which rolled and hit the partitioning wall. He banged on the table and let out a groan. Rebwar’s phone rang and he tried to silence it, but it slipped out of his hands onto the floor. He grabbed it and answered.

  ‘Husband? Husband it’s Musa, my little scared baby. The school, he’s… he’s… had detention. Is like prison for him. And make sure they pay you today. Rent is due…’

  Rebwar walked out of the toilet. ‘Detention for what? Hourieh take a breath… again?’ He heard some slow shuffling heavy footsteps and lowered his voice. ‘Burned his homework? The little shi— …OK well, a detention will toughen him up.’

  Matt walked into the toilets as Rebwar stood in front of the wash basins and looked at his boss in the mirror.

  ‘Get back to work - and by the way, this is your last day.’

  Rebwar covered the phone. ‘Matt, wait I…’ Matt slammed the toilet door and left. Rebwar returned to the call. ‘Hourieh, listen… I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He hung up without waiting for the inevitable abuse from his wife, and chased after Matt. ‘Matt, wait!’ Rebwar grabbed his arm.

  ‘What?’ He looked down at Rebwar’s hand.

  ‘Matt, your new boy needs a few more days of training. He’s annoying clients.’ Matt's eyes fixed on him. ‘You’ll lose money and clients. Let me show him the job. Then I’ll go.’

  Matt looked at him, nodded and grumbled off.

  ‘And I’ve got a family emergency. I’ll be back as soon as.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever. Fucking shits, all of you! Shits. You’re all fucking foreign cunting shits.’ He shouted at his workforce before returning to his caravan and slamming the door. Rebwar heard him start up a video game as he walked away.

  Two

  Geraldine woke to an annoying and very persistent alarm, which was weird as she didn’t remember setting one. On further inspection she realised it was her phone and scrabbled to scoop it off the floor before she missed the call.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Sorry? Oh, hi.’ Geraldine looked at her phone. It was 10:12 am. Shit. ‘I must have slept through my alarm. I’ll be there in half an hour.’ The call had already been dropped.

  Geraldine swung her bare legs onto the floor and knocked over an empty wine bottle which rolled into two crushed beer cans. She was wearing a white tank top and black knickers and scratched at her loose flesh as she yawned and felt her pulsing headache creep towards her eyeballs. Snapshots of a dream suddenly flashed into her vision and she held her chest, looking at her left hand. She remembered holding a bleeding pumping heart. O’Neil taking it away from her and stubbing his cigarette out on it. Geraldine felt a cold shiver run down her spine and trembled. It was over a year since Detective Chief Inspector Richard O’Neil had forced his way into her flat, tied her up and tortured her. She had been working for him as a jobbing DC, when she found out he was involved in an organ smuggling ring they had both been investigating. It had been a strange case, body parts showing up, people disappearing without a trace. Her unofficial partner, Rebwar, brought in for his expertise in the less official side of policing, skills he’d picked up during his time in the police force in Iran, caught the man responsible for doing the dirty work of harvesting the organs. But by then, the actual number of people who had gone missing was hushed up and the murderer, an ex-military medic was handed over to ‘Plan B’. This was the secret organisation Geraldine had inadvertently got herself entangled with after a slight error of judgement put her career and freedom in jeopardy. Now they owned her. The problem was, she had no idea whose side they were really on, or even who they were.
One thing she did know was that when she was tied up and being punched in the face by O’Neil, she’d never been so pleased to see them. The evidence she needed to prove O’Neil was guilty had finally shown up, thanks to her unusually helpful ex-husband who had got hold of the vital CCTV film, putting O’Neil in the frame. Plan B saw the footage, rescued her and set fire to her flat, with, as far as she could tell, O’Neil still in it. And he’d been tormenting her nightmares ever since. Along with the one image Geraldine would never be able to get out of her mind. In her dreams she saw over and over again the huge gaping hole in her girlfriend Zara, ‘Zee’s chest, where her heart had once been. Every night she felt herself falling into that deep black void. She shivered again and despite her natural instinct to slump on the sofa and pour herself a large drink whenever she thought of Zee, she resisted the temptation. Her thoughts went to Rebwar and what Plan B had last said to her. ‘You make a good team’, the big boss had said. They had agreed to get him and his family a permanent Visa, but still hadn’t made good on that promise. So they were both beholden to the mysterious organisation, and now they were calling on her again. Where this left her police job she wasn’t entirely sure, although being a jobbing DC clearing up all the shit in the office wasn’t exactly her idea of police work. But she had no doubt that the meeting she was now over an hour late for would reveal all. Or rather, as much as they were prepared to reveal, which was usually the bare minimum. The sun shone through the blinds and she squinted. The bedroom in her relatively new modern flat was sparse: a black and white framed picture of London’s skyline; another two of the Gherkin and the Shard; two large open cardboard boxes in a corner; a smaller one being used as a side table with a lamp on it.