The Witness, page 1
part #1 of Felipe Santos Series
THE WITNESS
A Felipe Santos Crime Thriller
Book One
Davie J Toothill
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
CHAPTER NINETY
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
Copyright © 2019 Davie J Toothill
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licenses issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the author.
Davie J Toothill
Typeset by Davie J Toothill
Front Cover by Rocking Book Covers
The characters and stories depicted in this book are fictional. Any similarity to real life events or people is purely coincidental.
For my Yashil
CHAPTER ONE
Purple lightning cracked across the dark sky and a few seconds later thunder rumbled over the city, echoing off the mountains that encircled Mexico City. The heavens were torn open and heavy rain splattered down onto the quiet streets, most people at home or inside the clubs and bars as midnight crept closer.
Constanza Reyes glanced back over her shoulder at the raindrops bouncing off the concrete, grateful that she had reached shelter before the downpour. She heaved her suitcase down the steps, descending into the metro station. She wore trainers, soles squeaking on the wet floor, and jeans and a parka-jacket, her long, blonde hair bouncing in tangled ringlets about her face and down to her shoulders.
The strip-lighting flickered as she reached the ticket office and the sound of the storm above faded, replaced by the hum of electricity and rumble of metro trains. The office was closed at this time and she was alone. She went to the machine. Her hands were shaking as she reached into her handbag and found her purse.
She took a deep breath as she selected her destination on the screen. The airport. She was taking a flight from Mexico City International to La Paz International Airport. She would stay with her sister for a short while, but then she would have to move on, find somewhere else, before Godfredo inevitably found her.
It would not be long before her husband tracked her down. He would be able to find her if she stayed in La Paz for too long. He had eyes everywhere and he was used to tracking his prey, closing in and then taking them out. Constanza shuddered. It did not do to dwell on what he would do when he caught up with her, she thought.
The machine printed her ticket and Constanza reached down and snatched it up with manicured nails. She glanced back up the steps, towards street level, as if fearing her husband was already on her tail.
It was not possible, she told herself, not yet.
He was out on business. Or so he said. She knew otherwise. He would not return home tonight, perhaps not even back for a day or two. He would not know that was gone.
She had been planning this for months. Now the time was here, her nerves were far greater than she had feared.
Just keep going, she told herself. You’ve taken the first step, you got out of the house. Now just get to the airport.
She wheeled her suitcase over to the screen. At this time, there were only a few trains left. Platform 1, she read. She followed the signs for her platform, her heart still hammering in her chest.
If Godfredo tired of his mistress, if he returned home…
No, she stopped herself, forcing the thoughts from her mind.
At the platform, she realised she was not alone. She looked at the people nearby. She was shaking inside her jacket, scanning their faces for a sign that they might have known her husband. No, surely, she was just being paranoid.
Godfredo did not suspect anything. She had been so careful. She had deleted the messages and calls from her sister so that her husband would not know they had been in contact again. Her sister had booked the flight using her own credit card, so the purchase would not show up on Constanza’s statement. She had emailed her the flight details and Constanza had printed it out and then deleted the email.
She had not even packed until Godfredo had left the apartment a few hours earlier, on the pretence that he was going to work, though she could always tell when he was going to see her. Not that work was any better, but she had grown used to it over the years. He did not involve her, he stayed out the whole night when he had to carry out a hit on someone. She never asked questions, did not want to know what he had done, whether he had gone to her afterwards.
She focused on her breathing, on calming herself down. At this rate, she would not be allowed on the flight. They would think her hysterical. She dragged her case further along the platform, avoiding making eye contact with a businessman on his phone, but the man just gave her the once over and kept talking.
Constanza glanced at the time on the board overhead. It was almost time. Just a few more minutes and she would be on the train. She would be on her way.
No, she reminded herself. She was already on her way.
A minute passed. Constanza began to relax. Godfredo and the criminals he worked with had not shown up, had not dragged her kicking and screaming into the backseat of a car to take her home. Or worse, to the arid plains outside of the capital, dry and vast, where there would be nobody to hear the gunshot, her screams would go unheard, and nobody would ever find her body.
CHAPTER TWO
Teo Silva’s sneakers pounded the pavement.
Rain lashed at him, his shirt and jeans plastered to his skin. His hair was flattened on top of his head, and the water ran down his face and got into his eyes, dripped from his nose, but he did not wipe it away.
He was sweating as he ran, his heart burning in his chest with the effort, his lungs screaming for more air.
He was running for his life.
The footsteps behind him continued, matching his own pace. He strained to hear them in the breaks between the claps of thunder, but he did not dare turn around.
The street was empty, everyone driven inside by the downpour and by the late hour. He should be at home, he thought. It was a school n ight. His mother would be frantic.
He was breathing hard, his body protesting at what he was putting himself through.
Though he was afraid, he did not have time to let it consume him. He had to get away, he had to escape.
Teo knew that he could not run forever. He had to find somewhere to hide.
He saw the Metro sign.
This was his chance, he thought.
He could hide, he could jump on a train. Perhaps there would be people there. The boys who chased him would not hurt him if there were witnesses, if there were people who he could hide behind. Then he could scurry back home and hide out in his bedroom until it all blew over.
The footsteps behind him quickened.
Teo was tiring, but his attackers were not.
He dove off the pavement and across the road. He heard the boys cry out behind him. They had not been expecting him to do that.
Teo forced his body to move, though every part of him protested.
He slowed as he reached the top of the steps that descended into the depths of the station. The floor was wet. He did not want to slip, could not afford such a mistake.
He ran down the steps, taking two at a time, his hands outstretched in case he should fall. The footsteps followed him. They called after him. Taunted him.
At the foot of the stairs he stumbled, almost landing on the floor. His legs kept moving, propelling him forwards, and he managed to remain on his feet. He was panting hard now.
The boys crashed down the stairs after him, water splashing beneath their trainers.
Teo glanced around and dove down a corridor, stumbling out onto one of the platforms. There were people here…mercifully, there were people…
He ran down the length of the platform.
People turned to look at him. Strangers with wide eyes tried not to meet his own.
The boys came after him. Teo did not look over his shoulder.
If he had hoped for someone to shout out at the boys, nobody did.
The floor was slippery under his wet shoes, and he felt himself stumble. He kept running, but he had slowed.
He felt a tug on the back of his coat.
It was over, he thought.
The hand yanked him hard and Teo was spun around. He slipped again, turning to face the two boys.
“Please,” he stammered, “Please.”
He tried to throw the boy’s hands off, but his grip was firm.
The taller of the boys reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a handgun. It was small but Teo’s eyes widened and he struggled harder.
The boy did not speak, gave him no reprieve.
He lifted the gun and aimed it at Teo. The barrel pointed between his eyes.
Teo took a ragged breath, blinking away tears. His body pulsed with adrenaline from the chase at the same time as his heart crashed in his chest from fear.
The boy pulled the trigger.
There was a blast of noise.
Teo was thrown backwards by the blast, his head exploding with the force of the gunshot, the bullet tearing through skin and skull. He hit the floor hard, the life already gone from him, blood and bone splattered across the platform.
CHAPTER THREE
Constanza watched as if in slow motion as the taller of the boys lifted the gun and pulled the trigger. Someone let out a startled cry as the blast echoed around the confines of the station. The sound echoed around the curved chambers and she staggered backwards, throwing a hand to her mouth in horror as the back of the boy’s head exploded outwards and his body dropped to the floor. He was dead, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind.
Somebody was crying and a thick, claustrophobic atmosphere descended upon the platform at once. It was stifling and yet nobody moved. Perhaps everyone was still in shock. The taller boy said something to his accomplice, and they backed away from where the boy they had just executed. The lights flickered overheard. The boys turned and ran.
Constanza did not want to look at the boy, but she could not help it. Blood seeped across the tiled floor amongst the splattered brain matter and bone fragments. She gagged, feeling her stomach churn violently, and she quickly looked away.
A security guard ran over, his luminescent jacket gleaming in the dim lighting. He dropped to his knees by the boy, but he did not perform any miracles, did not start chest compressions or CPR. No, Constanza thought, her body trembling.
The boy was certainly dead.
Tension grew on the platform. Nobody knew what to do. The security guard pulled a phone from his belt and dialled, probably for an ambulance, for the police.
Constanza drew back further from the unfolding scene.
She did not want to be a part of this. She could not be a part of it.
Godfredo had spies everywhere. The people he worked for had police on their payroll and she was certain that if she waited here for the police, then word would get back to her husband.
The thought made her shake harder.
If he found out she had been here, he would be suspicious. She had told him she was staying at home. She had lied to him. He would know at once that she had gone behind his back. He would start to question what she had been doing at the metro station at this hour, why she had been going to the airport.
He would find out that she had intended to leave him, abandon their marriage.
Godfredo would never allow her to leave. She knew too much. He would not let her humiliate him that way. No, Constanza thought. He would kill her rather than let her walk away.
Across the platform, Constanza saw a young woman in boots and a mini-skirt slip back down the tunnel, off the platform, heading towards the exit.
The police had not yet arrived. There was still time…
Constanza looked again at the boy. The tiles around him were now slick red with his blood.
The security guard had his back to her.
There was another tunnel just a short distance from her. Constanza hesitated.
Nobody was paying her any attention. Everyone was frozen, everyone in shock from the sudden event that had transpired right before their eyes.
Constanza clasped the handle of her suitcase and rolled it towards the tunnel. The wheels made a sound on the tiles and she imagined people looking at her, but she did not turn around.
She broke into almost a jog down the tunnel. She imagined sirens racing here even now. Perhaps they were just a block away, closing in, sealing her to her fate.
The ticket hall was quiet, deserted.
Constanza heaved her suitcase up the stairs. She heard sirens but they had not arrived at the metro station yet. The rain hammered the ground and the pavement was flooding, water cascading down the steps into the station now.
Her feet were already soaked. Constanza pulled her hood up, took a deep breath, and stepped out from the station and under the downpour.
She dragged the suitcase behind her, the wheels bouncing noisily on the uneven slabs, but the sound almost drowned out by the crashing of thunder, the echoes rolling off the mountains and the skyscrapers around her.
There was only one place she could go, though she shivered at the thought. She would have to go home, to the place she had sworn just a short while ago that she would never come back to. She ducked her head and bent her shoulders against the torrents, and started walking, as blue lights flashed at the end of the road and the police car screeched to a halt at the entrance to the station.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Metro Polanco station was relatively small, and considerably cleaner and better maintained than some of its counterparts in less wealthy or touristic areas. Despite this, the air in the stairwells still smelt of urine and neglect, and the tiled floor was grimy and damp from the puddles being trailed in by hundreds of feet trampling through the puddles above them.
Subinspector Felipe Mendoza Santos stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He wore heavy black boots and dark blue combat fatigues, his three silver triangles freshly sewn onto his sleeve after his promotion. A gun was fastened on his belt beside his radio. His own phone was clipped to it too. He glanced around the ticket hall. Crime scene tape hung across the entrance to one of the platforms, beyond which he could see a forensics team already at work. An ambulance crew, and their assorted equipment, were also there. He had already flashed his badge to the officers at the entrance to the station and the officers already down here barely glanced over at him.
