One Dead Witness Read Online Free PDF

was travelling over one of the
causeways which linked the city with Miami Beach, South Beach or
possibly Key Biscayne.
    So they were travelling east. Not that the knowledge helped
Kruger in any way.
     
     
    The van slowed. There was a series of twists and turns. Kruger
sensed he was near to the end of his journey.
    The van stopped.
    He became very frightened.
    His two captors manhandled him out of the back of the Chevy,
pushed, prodded and almost dragged him across a gravel surface. He
stumbled up a short flight of what he imagined to be concrete
steps. He heard a door open and then he was inside a building,
still being roughly pushed, cajoled, pulled and directed. Finally
they brought him to a halt. He was told to stand still. They held
onto his biceps with firm grips.
    He was completely disorientated.
    He had no idea where he was.
    No idea why he was there. Abducted off the street like some
millionaire tycoon.
    He did as instructed and stood completely motionless, wrists
cuffed in front of his groin. It was hot beneath the black hood,
which was made from some sort of thick polythene, like a garden
refuse sack. He sweated. Standing there in silence, it became even
hotter, unbearable, made even worse as his imagination ran riot. He
ground his teeth and dilated his nostrils whilst the tension began
to build up in him like a geyser.
    Something told him very bluntly, ‘This is it, Buddy Boy. This
is where you buy it. The end of the line - and you don’t even know
why.’
    He fought hard to control his heartbeat and his bowels and
prepared himself for the bullet. The third one he would have taken
in his life.
    The fatal one.
     
     
    A female voice Kruger thought he recognised said softly,
‘Handcuffs.’
    His hands were bent outwards in order to get the key into the
locks. The ratchets swung back, his wrists came free. In the
confusion and fear of his predicament Kruger had not realised how
deeply the steel rims of the cuffs had been biting into his flesh.
As they were opened, the blood rushed back into his hands with a
surge of pins and needles.
    His biceps were still in the grip of his captors.
    He became suddenly aware of someone standing very close in
front of him. Very close indeed. Almost touching. He could smell a
scent, a familiar perfume. Couldn’t quite remember its name. He
shook his head. Must be dreaming. Then he felt a hand on his chest
and jumped as if he’d been electrified. The grips on his arms
tightened.
    The top button of his shirt was already undone. The fingers of
the hand at his chest slid up to the second button and skilfully
tweaked it open. Then the third and fourth. The hand slid under the
shirt and rested on Kruger’s left breast, playfully pinching his
nipple.
    . . . At which point Kruger bellowed and exploded without
warning.
    Almost like Samson escaping from shackles, he lifted his arms
and pushed outwards at the same time, driving the back of his fists
against the men on either side of him, sending them staggering
away.
    He ripped the hood off, ready to fight for his
life.
    And the nightmare continued because standing in front of him
trying to control her giggling was one of the worst mistakes of his
life: his third wife, stage name Felicity Snowball. Real name,
Felicity Bussola. Born, plain Jane Creek.
    ‘ Jesus Christ, you godamned bitch!’ screamed Kruger. ‘What the
hell you playin’ at?’ He lurched towards her and grabbed her
shoulders. His arm drew back and he was about to lay one of his
mightiest slaps across her cheeks when for the second time that
day, a gun was poked in his neck. His hand screeched to a halt in
mid-arc. He allowed it to flutter down uselessly to his
side.
    He stood upright, breathing heavily.
    ‘ Stevie baby,’ cooed Felicity. ‘Baby, baby ... you don’t wanna
hit your honey-pie, now do you, sweetie?’
    ‘ Yes, I do.’
    The muzzle of the gun was ground into his neck.
    Felicity’s face became serious. ‘Cos I ain’t foolin’ around
here, Stevie. You