A Killing Place in the Sun Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Also by ROBERT F BARKER

  Free Download

  Dedication

  An Englishman's Home..

  Part One

  Unknown

  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

  Part 2

  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

  Part Three

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  The Woman Across The Street

  Free Download

  About The Author

  Kindle Version first published in 2020

  Copyright@Robert F Barker 2020

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book

  may be reproduced in any form other than that in

  which it was purchased, and without the

  written permission of the author.

  Your support of authors’ rights is appreciated.

  All characters in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead is purely coincidental.

  By Robert F Barker

  The DCI Jamie Carver Series

  Last Gasp (Worshipper Trilogy Book # 1)

  Final Breath (Worshipper Trilogy Book #2 )

  Out Of Air (Worshipper Trilogy Book # 3)

  Family Reunion

  Death In Mind

  Other Books

  Midnight’s Door

  A Killing Place In The Sun

  Get a free copy of, THE CARVER PAPERS, - The inside story of the hunt for a Serial Killer, - as features in LAST GASP

  Click on the link below to find out more and get started

  http://robertfbarker.co.uk/

  For those friends and family who share my love of Cyprus, and who through their knowledge of the island, its customs and traditions, have helped in the development of this story.

  This Englishman’s ‘Place In The Sun’ is his castle.

  And he wants it back.

  Part One

  OFFER/COUNTER OFFER

  CHAPTER 1

  The gleaming, black Mitsubishi pick-up rocked and thrummed on its chassis, like a wounded bull in the ring, pawing the ground before one final, fatal charge. And with each renewed vibration, Nik Klerides’s anxiety crept up a notch. He shot another nervous glance to his right.

  'I think, perhaps we should go now Mr Murray?'

  The man in the driver’s seat didn’t move, but remained draped over the steering wheel, his right foot riding the accelerator. His gaze was still locked on the house at the end of the kilometre long track, as it had been since he’d swung the pick up left off the main road ten minutes before, jerking to a stop in a cloud of dust that drifted away on the light breeze.

  In that ten minutes, the man called Murray hadn’t uttered a word. His attention was focused on the white-walled property that, perched above the locally-famous Sea Caves, looked out over the sparkling Mediterranean. Two storeys high, but with Roman-style turrets that gave an impression of more, its terracotta tiles contrasted sharply with the sky’s clear blue.

  The fact that, though the truck was Nik’s he wasn’t driving, was just one source of Nik’s anxiety. Caught out by his former client’s sudden lunge for his keys and surprise suggestion that it was, 'Time to see how this new truck of yours goes,' Nik had found himself relegated to the passenger seat. There, he was uncomfortably aware he was no longer able to follow the dictum property developers along Cyprus’s southern fringe live by; Whatever the client does, stay in control.

  The other source of Nik’s angst was the knowledge that whilst he could imagine what Murray might be thinking, he had no idea what he was planning. It meant Nik had no choice but to watch and wait while Murray decided his next move. But unsettling though the continuing silence was, Nik didn’t feel like breaking it to ask, 'What are we doing here?' To do so risked prompting another outburst of the sort Nik witnessed when he first described the 'rather unfortunate problem,' that had developed around the project. Given a choice, it was something he would rather avoid.

  Chancing another glance, Nik noted that despite the heat, Murray was barely sweating. Even with the air-con turned right up, stuck out in the glare of the baking sun as they were, the temperature was well above the ‘24’ showing on the control setting. Nik’s shirt was already sticking to his back and chest, rivulets running down his face into his collar, a glistening veneer over his hairy, builder’s arms.

  But as he waited and fumed, Nik knew he had only himself to blame and cursed his own stupidity. He should have seen it coming the moment his former client asked to take, 'One last look at the place.' He had seen enough of Murray the past couple of years to know that the quiet reserve that seemed so typically English was, in fact, a front. Even during the early days, when they’d haggled over the likes of the purchase price, contracts, delivery dates, and the all-important, profit-enhancing extras, Nik had seen signs of the steely resolve that by all accounts came to the fore in the days and weeks following the tragedy involving his family. Even back then it made Nik wonder what, exactly, Murray was leaving out when he spoke of the, 'bit of military work,' that preceded their decision to settle on what Nick always referred to as, 'Our Beautiful Island Of Cyprus,' - force of salesman’s habit. He should have realised that any man who could come through what Murray had suffered without crumbling, wouldn’t be the sort to just chuck things in with a, 'Ah well, never mind,' and walk away. Christos had warned as much.

  Christos was Nik’s brother. Between them they owned and ran Klerides Development and Construction, Nik building, Christos designing and planning. Over the past ten years, they had seen the small building company they’d set up following their National Service grow into the burgeoning property development business it was today. And while it was still far from being a threat to the ‘Big Three’, it was, nonetheless, attracting an increasingly large slice of the market in overseas property investment centred around, Pafos, the popular resort on the island’s south-west corner.

  As he glanced at his watch, Nik wished that right now, Christos was here. Three years older than Nik, and the lead decision maker when it came to the Big Issues, Nik was sure Christos would know what to do, especially given the way time was ticking. But the
Englishman seemed in no rush to be going anywhere. Rather, he was just sitting there, immobile.

  Apart from his right foot.

  Nik was just thankful that, so far at least, there was no sign of movement up ahead, either around the wrought-iron gates that had caused his blacksmith cousins, George and Evsan, so much trouble, or behind the two-metre wall surrounding the property. But despite the apparent lack of activity, there was no question that whoever was at home was aware of their presence. Nik had seen the camera atop the nearest telegraph-pole swivel in their direction seconds after they pulled off the main road. Even if whoever was on watch hadn’t actually seen them swing in, they couldn’t have failed to see the dust cloud that spilled down the track after they stopped. Nik knew the Englishman had spotted the cameras as well, though Nik hadn’t mentioned the security measures he saw going in the week before the new occupant arrived. The knowledge they were being watched only added to Nik’s discomfort. With the temperature rising, and not just due to the heat, he knew there was nothing else for it. He cleared his throat.

  'Have you seen enough now Mr Murray?' He turned in his seat, as if it might add weight to his suggestion. 'I think perhaps we should not stay here much longer?'

  But if Nik’s words registered, Murray showed no sign. His gaze didn’t shift from the property Nik and Christos had once hoped to use, with permission of course, in their next marketing campaign. So much for that idea.

  He tried again.

  'Mr Murray?' Murray half-turned towards him, but it was obvious his thoughts still dwelt elsewhere. A dream turned nightmare perhaps?

  As Nik took in the stony features, he thought he caught a fleeting glimpse of something he hadn’t seen before. Something other than just the cold stare. The idea came there was something dark in it, but he dismissed it. Apart from the connection with the British Sovereign Base Garrison at Episkopi and the sad fate of his wife and son, Nik didn’t know much about Murray. Nonetheless, he was pretty certain that despite all Murray had gone through - crowned as it was with the house problem - the man wasn’t suicidal. Not yet at any rate.

  But even as the thought settled, reassuringly, in Nik’s brain, Murray did something that sent the builder’s stomach sliding towards the hand-stitched Gucci shoes he’d picked up in Nicosia the week before. Murray straightened in his seat and, quite casually, slipped the shift into ‘drive.’ The truck gave a slight lurch as the transmission engaged.

  'Wh- what are you doing?'

  At first Murray said nothing. Then, to Nik’s growing horror, he turned to him, smiled, winked, and floored the accelerator.

  The truck’s back-end slewed side-to-side as the engine roared and the Pirellis with the legend 'Rough Terrain' gouged into the walls fought for purchase in the loose gravel. Stones, dust and burning rubber spewed behind. Then the tyres bit and, before Nik could voice any protest, they took off.

  CHAPTER 2

  Nik hung onto the grab-handle as the pick-up hurtled down the track. Missing a brake pedal, he pressed his feet against the bulkhead, forcing himself even further back. He tried to shout, 'STOP’, but his parched voice was drowned out by the engine roar and the clatter of stones, hitting the undercarriage.

  The track was pocked with potholes. Some were deep and more than capable of bouncing them into the ditches lining the fields either side. But as Nik glanced right, he was horrified to see that Murray barely had a grip of the steering wheel, which was sliding easily between hands that seemed far too low for Nik’s reckoning. It made him think of the complimentary Off-Road Course that had come with the Mitsubishi but which he’d never taken up. Had he done, he might at least have some idea whether the technique signalled someone adept at off-roading - or a man made reckless by anger and despair. Either way, Nik doubted it mattered. The track was raised several feet above the fields. Images of what would happen if they left it at this speed – they were already nudging sixty - flooded Nik’s brain. But as they bore down on the villa – they must have already covered a hundred metres - other images swept aside those of them leaving the track and somersaulting through the fields. And these were worse.

  When they’d set off, Nik had no clue as to Murray’s intention, his face showing only grim determination. But as Nik took in the set features, the thoughts of suicide he had dismissed so casually came flooding back. His natural instincts for survival fought against the reflex to panic, and his mind raced as he calculated consequences, possibilities.

  Though the heavy iron gates wouldn’t stop the Mitsubishi outright if they hit at this speed, there was no way it, or its inhabitants, would be good for anything afterwards. And though the truck was equipped with the latest life-saving technology – safety cage, all-round air bags, collapsing steering column – he seriously doubted they would survive such an impact. For an instant he thought about leaning across and wresting control of the wheel from the madman next to him. Murray was tall and had a good physique, but Nik was bulkier. And though he had given up hod-carrying long ago, he was, probably, the Englishman’s match if it came to a tussle of strength. But even as the thought settled, he realised that the consequences of such an act would be no better than the alternative.

  We’re still going to die, he thought.

  But then, shocked that he could accept his impending fate so clinically, Nik gave it one last try.

  'YOU’RE GOING TO KILL US,' he yelled.

  The Englishman kept the pick-up pointed straight, accelerator hard down. The engine rose, then fell in pitch as the auto-change shifted up. Their speed increased.

  Whatever else he might be, Nik was a pragmatist, and no coward. He knew that whatever course the Englishman was set on, there was nothing he could do to stop him. He turned to face the inevitable. As he did so, he saw movement within the villa’s compound as those within finally responded to what would, to them, look like a direct attack. From his raised position, Nik could just see the tops of figures behind the wall, rushing to and fro. Men appeared at the gates, pointing, spinning, yelling to each other. They were still a good two hundred metres away. Even so, Nik read panic in faces and bodies as the truck bore down.

  Transfixed as Nik was by the sight of the gates rushing closer, he was dimly aware of figures emerging round both corners of the perimeter wall, running forward as if bent on intercepting their charge. And he sensed rather than saw that the implements some carried, and which another time he may have taken as gardening tools, had a more serious purpose. As if to confirm it, a figure off to the left hefted something long and heavy to his shoulder, bringing it up to bear on them. Nik screamed. 'LOOK OUT.'

  Even as the words leapt from Nik’s throat, Murray stood on the brakes. Still wearing his seat belt – some instinct had made him keep it fastened - Nik was thrown forward. He grunted in pain as the webbing dug deep into his shoulder and chest. But he knew it was too late. Though he could feel the vehicle’s ABS working at maximum as it responded to the maniac’s belated change of heart, they were still bearing down on the villa at breakneck speed. Clouds of dust and gravel flew everywhere as their charge slowed, rapidly.

  Not enough…

  Now Nik could see fear as well as panic on the faces of those manning the gates. He glimpsed weapons. We’re still going to die, he thought.

  As the gates loomed, filling Nik’s vision, the Englishman pressed down even harder. At the same time he spun the wheel anti-clockwise then, as the truck began to slew broadside, quickly back in the opposite direction.

  Nik’s first thought was he was trying to roll it, so it would career, tumbling over and over into the gates, the guards and the pink-painted walls - the last act of a demented soul. But to his astonishment, the truck didn’t roll. Instead it began to slide over the loose surface at the same time dipping, sickeningly, to its offside but remaining upright until with a final rock it came to a bone-jarring halt, less than three metres from the gates.

  Choking dust-clouds enveloped everything and everyone. And as Nik waited for it to clear, too shocked to
be grateful he was still alive, he looked to his right at the man in the driver’s seat.

  Murray’s hands were now resting at six-thirty, like some commuter stuck in slow-moving traffic. His expression, which before had been set like concrete, was relaxed, his head angled towards the villa as if waiting for it to emerge from the dust so he could gaze on it, admiringly. He wasn’t even breathing heavily.

  Nik knew that his response right then should be to vent his fury for having put him through such a terrifying ordeal. For coming so close to killing them both. For whatever damage he would later discover had been caused to his mechanical pride and joy. But he didn’t. Right now, Nik was just grateful to be alive, and still too shaken to do little more than wonder over the man’s cool demeanour. It was then Nik realised.

  Whoever Murray was, whatever his background, suicide had never been in his mind. And as far as losing control was concerned, Nik now suspected that given the way he had brought the pick-up to such a precisely-gauged stop, there had never been the slightest danger of such a thing happening.

  But even as comprehension dawned and the dust began to clear, other matters grabbed Nik’s attention, making him realise that while he might still be breathing, his ordeal was far from over. A face appeared at his window.

  Shaven headed, with high cheek-bones and a livid scar running vertically from his left eye to his jaw, Nik recognised the giant Siberian he had met twice before. On each occasion his looming presence had made Nik feel uneasy. Now Nik saw he was brandishing some sort of automatic rifle.

  Before Nik could move, the man – Lantzeff, Nik suddenly remembered his name - yanked the door open so it swung back on its hinges in a way that made Nik want to shout, 'HEY. Be careful.' But he said nothing and simply stared, for the first time since his National Service, down the barrel of a gun.

  'OUT,' Lantzeff barked.