‘I’m not gay! Okay?’ says the man.
I blink, shake my head in surprise, and then move on. When you begin to feel paranoid you can imagine things, I think.
As I walk away, I chuckle. The man has issues and I can’t help being amused at my own insecurity. I think I’ve been around Neva too much.
Chapter Forty-Three
NEVA
Neva walks away from Michael and heads towards the ladies’ room, but before she gets there she slips sideways and into the restaurant kitchen.
None of the chefs look at her. She’s paid them already for their discretion in anticipation of having to use this as a contingency.
In the kitchen she takes the phone she’s been using to contact Michael out of her pocket. She removes the sim and drops the phone into the nearest bin. At the back door she pauses, looking out down the dark alley. Then she slips outside, skulking along the wall where she feels she is best sheltered. Before she exits the back street, she removes the mousy wig, takes off the jacket and drops them and the sim card in the nearest dumpster. Behind the dumpster is another bag containing a long black coat. She pulls it on, fastens it up and slips the hood up to hide her hair. Then she leaves the shelter of the alley and walks away as fast as she can.
Just in case Michael has led them to her, Neva decides not to take a train back to Manchester that night. Over the next few days, they will be watching all exit points.
She walks the streets, carefully checking behind and around her until she finds a car that will be easy to steal. It’s an ancient Morris Minor, in racing green. She’s always disliked green, but old cars are so easy to take. She could walk around for hours and not find such a gift.
A few minutes later she’s inside and hot-wiring the car.
Neva drives the stolen car to Birmingham and leaves it at the train station. There she buys another cheap phone and sim and catches a train to Manchester.
Back at Marie and Daz’s house she packs a small travel bag. She takes one of her fake passports and places it in the overnight bag. After that she stows her weapons in another holdall along with all her other IDs.
‘It’s time to get out of Dodge,’ she murmurs, as though to convince herself she has to leave.
She leaves a note for Daz and Marie, telling them she will be absent for a few months. She doubts they will care about her absence until the next rent period comes around and she probably won’t return anyway.
Before she leaves, she glances around the room that has been her home for more than six months. This exit has more impact than the one from her former country home. She examines the emotion. It is like the beginnings of toothache, a dull, annoying pain that you somehow know will get worse if left unattended. Neva doesn’t know how to address it, or how to understand what it is that’s making her unhappy. Is it the small comfort of this house, or the thought of leaving England altogether?
Taking the two bags, Neva closes the bedroom door and locks it. She’s left some belongings, though there is nothing she is attached to. She knows she will have no need to return here. Then she walks downstairs and out of the house.
Out of habit she looks up and down the street, then under her car, just in case something has been placed there. She is a dangerous enemy and any potential assassin will know this. It wouldn’t be wise to get into close combat with her. Once she’s satisfied, she climbs into the car and drives away.
After dropping her weapons bag into her retained storage unit, she abandons the car and makes her way to Manchester Airport in a taxi.
By the time she arrives, she has bought a one-way ticket to Geneva and a first night’s stay in a hotel there.
Chapter Forty-Four
MICHAEL
Following up on Neva’s request, I arrive at the mortuary after hours. I could have waited until tomorrow, but Serge will be on duty and he is always the most helpful diener of all of the mortuary assistants.
I show my identification at reception and then walk down the corridor to the lift. Exiting at the basement, I walk down a corridor which smells of bleach towards the mortuary. The door is locked, with a keypad on the side next to a bell. I press the button and a few seconds later Serge comes out of a side room and hurries towards the door. He sees me and presses the door release button on the other side.
The body is being kept in a private facility run by MI5 and MI6. I have been here many times and I’ve built relationships with the coroner and his orderlies. Particularly Serge Kostow.
‘What brings you over this late?’ Serge asks.
‘I need to see the toxicology on Damon Sharrick,’ I explain.
‘Ah! The corpse with the bullets in his head.’
I smirk at Serge’s blunt answer. ‘Yeah, him.’
‘Doctor Wendler didn’t do any tests on him,’ Serge says.
‘Really? I thought that was a matter of course?’
‘Normally. But he got word from your office not to bother.’
I’m surprised by this but keep my expression deliberately blank.
‘Can I change that? Discreetly?’
‘Sure. What are you looking for?’ Serge says.
‘Anything unusual. Doping, hallucinogens, poison, that sort of thing.’
I follow Serge into his office and watch as he fills out the paperwork on a red form.
‘This form is used to ensure only the person requesting the information gets the results. That’ll be me, and then I’ll pass it to you,’ Serge explains. ‘You want this sent to your office email?’
‘No. I’ll come and see you when you have the report,’ I say.
Serge nods. Serge is used to these requests from agents. Some want to keep information for their own personal reveal at briefings; others have different reasons for secrecy. It’s all in a day’s work. In my case, I’m not really sure why I want to keep this secret at the moment, but instinct tells me I should.
‘I’d like to see the body,’ I say.
Serge leads me into the storage room.
‘He’s in number three,’ Serge says. Then he opens the fridge and pulls out the drawer.
There is a sheet over the body. I’ve never understood why they do this. What’s the point? The guy isn’t feeling the cold now. But it’s a tradition, relating to respect for the corpse, I suppose.
Serge pulls back the sheet. I can see the state of the injuries Sharrick sustained prior to his death. The collarbone is jutting out at a weird angle. There are two neat bullet wounds in his forehead.
‘Were the bullets still in?’ I ask.
‘No.’ Serge turns the head of the corpse to show me the exit wounds, wider and messier than the way in. ‘The corpse was washed, wearing a fresh, dry-cleaned suit. No blood where he was found, so he died elsewhere.’
I feel the frown on my forehead before I can straighten my face. Why would the killer go to such trouble, and then return Sharrick to his home? It was almost as though they wanted him found. Maybe Neva was right and this is some sort of message to show they are on to her.
Serge pulls back the sheet further. I look at the man’s hands. They are chafed, as though he had been gripping something hard to prevent himself from falling. There are signs of old callouses across the palm in the same place.
‘What did you make of these?’ I ask.
Serge looks at the wound. ‘I’ve seen these types of callouses before. Usually builders have them.’
‘He doesn’t look like a builder to me,’ I say.
Serge nods. ‘Doctor Wendler noted them in the report.’
‘Thanks, I’ll take a copy of the full report and if you can get a rush job on the tests there’ll be a bottle of whisky in it for you.’
‘You know me too well,’ Serge says.
Once outside I tense up. Hairs prickle at the back of my neck and I feel like someone is watching me. I look around but see no one in the car park and all the parked vehicles appear to be empty.
I order a taxi and wait by the reception door until the driver turns
into the car park. Then I get inside and we drive away. Out of instinct I turn to look at the parking area again behind me. At that moment a car starts up and begins to follow. From the back of my cab, I watch the other vehicle. It stays behind us through most of the journey and then, a few streets from my flat, the car turns off and drives away in a different direction. I’m uncertain whether I was being followed or if this was just a coincidence.
I’m just being paranoid.
But the hairs are still standing up on the back of my neck. I feel odd. It’s as if I’m in a goldfish bowl being watched by a superior being.
The taxi pulls up outside my flat and I get out. I force myself not to look around as I push open the reception door and enter the building.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being observed even as I reach my front door.
Once inside my flat I check the surveillance equipment I’ve installed, looking at the recordings of each room on my laptop. Nothing has happened; all is as expected. But even so, I’m uneasy. Then I realise why.
If it was possible for Neva to access the restaurant and street cameras, then what could someone with the resources of Archive, or the Network, do? The thought occurs to me that I may well have given my life up to surveillance without realising it.
I disconnect the equipment from my WIFI and switch it all off. If there is any possibility that I’m being monitored, by Neva or anyone else, I won’t make it easy for them.
Chapter Forty-Five
MICHAEL
A week later I meet Serge in a sushi bar in Soho. We sit side by side, selecting food from the conveyor that goes around the room. As Serge tucks into his first plate, I open my briefcase and put it down on the floor beside us. Without a word, Serge drops a manila envelope inside. Next, I place a bottle of Jack Daniels down on the counter. It’s in a brown paper bag. Serge takes it and puts it into his rucksack. We eat in silence, pay separate bills, and then I leave, taking the briefcase with me.
Back at my flat I open the envelope and look at the toxicology report. All seems normal with one exception; there are traces of LSD in Sharrick’s blood. I don’t know what to make of it. Or why the report was not done immediately. All it shows me is that Sharrick had taken something prior to his death. Was that willingly, or was he doped? Seeing how well Sharrick had looked after himself, I find it difficult to imagine that he would resort to drug taking, especially something as difficult to control as LSD. I come to the conclusion that he was drugged.
I read the rest of the report. Wendler noted the hand chafing but has made no speculation as to what caused it. That, it seems, is down to me to discover. Maybe Neva can shed some light on this.
I use the burner phone to dial Neva’s number, only to discover that the phone has been switched off. I haven’t heard from her since the pizza restaurant. I stare at the phone, disappointed. I send a quick text, just in case. But other than this, I now have no way of contacting her and cannot share this news or, more importantly, discuss with her what it all means.
It seems I’m back to square one, out on a limb, and totally alone with anything I learn.
Chapter Forty-Six
MICHAEL
I wake with a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. The thought that the toxicology information was being deliberately ignored in relation to Sharrick’s death just keeps looping around in my head. I can’t recall any other time when a drugs report on a body hasn’t been made as a standard part of an investigation.
When I get into work, I look back at the records and see Ray Martin’s name signing off on the autopsy. This throws me: why would Ray tell the coroner not to do a complete report?
Beth, Leon, and I have been investigating Sharrick but hadn’t run this by Ray because there was no need to. I now look at the records and notice that Ray has accessed the files on Sharrick that I’d put on the system. This means that Ray has been looking at what we were working on. I wonder why. Perhaps Ray always checks on us, as part of his own managerial role? But no. The system doesn’t show his name against any of the other files. Ray has only read records in the past where we have asked for his opinion and expertise. He has enough work without looking for more. So why has Ray shown an interest in Sharrick’s case, when it hasn’t even been discussed with him?
Neva’s suspicions come floating back to me. She was certain that there was a leak in Archive. If the Network had known of MI5’s interest in him, Sharrick would be seen as a threat or a weakness. It would give them a motive to terminate an operative who had, until then, been very useful. Well, Sharrick was no use to them now, or to Archive. And Neva has cut ties with me, which means no more leads.
It frustrates me that this case, like so many others, will probably fall down around our ears with nothing to show for all the research I’ve done so far.
‘Hey,’ says Beth from the door. ‘You look glum.’
‘Bit gutted about Sharrick,’ I say.
‘What did your source say?’
‘My source is frightened and has stopped contact.’
‘That’s crap,’ Beth says. ‘I was hoping we’d pull Sharrick in for an interrogation. This is very disappointing.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I say.
‘I thought he might know about the kids. The missing kids. Call me soft but I’d like to get the bastards behind that,’ Beth says.
‘Me too,’ I say.
‘Did your source ever give you anything on that?’
I shake my head. ‘No,’ I lie, because I can’t reveal what Neva’s told me about the house and her kidnap without admitting it’s her.
Beth frowns a little, then she shrugs. ‘I can’t help searching for anyone to blame for it. How awful it is for the parents. And I’d like to learn one way or another what happened to those kids.’
‘Well, if there was any link to Sharrick, we’ll probably never know.’ I say. ‘Sorry to be so negative.’
Beth turns to go.
‘Beth? Did you see a tox report for Sharrick? There isn’t one on the system.’
‘No. Ray said not to bother,’ she says.
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. He said it wouldn’t tell us anything and he’d rather the doctors put their effort elsewhere,’ Beth explains.
‘Oh. Right.’
I’m full of doubts as Beth walks away. Ray has made a point on this case of changing normal protocol. But the outcome of the toxicology report gave me no leads anyway, so ultimately he was right. It was potentially a waste of time. Unless Neva can shed some light on it and that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.
This is ridiculous! Ray isn’t corrupt! I shake away any doubts I have about my boss. How can I question Ray on this? Ray brought me into Archive; he promoted me, gave me a purpose. Neva was wrong; Sharrick’s death was a coincidence and her disappearance was an overreaction.
No matter what, I just can’t believe there is a leak in Archive. But even as I try to convince myself of this, I find myself analysing my colleagues and the way they work. Is there anything off about any of them?
Chapter Forty-Seven
NEVA
The chalet is in the mountains in Saint-Cergue, a resort some six miles from the small village of La Cure. For most of Neva’s time here it has been out of season, and therefore secluded. However, the surrounding flats have recently started to fill. For anyone else this would be a lonely experience, but Neva is used to her own company.
As the season starts, she avoids the arriving tourists. Even so, she doesn’t truly relax, remembering to train her body daily, as though she expects the onslaught of the Network’s silent army of assassins at any time.
Once every few weeks, she drives out to buy food. Sometimes she shops in the Swiss side of La Cure, at other times she passes deeper into France. She doesn’t make eye contact with the sales assistants at the stores and doesn’t engage in conversation with them above asking for what she needs. She wears various disguises so that her appearance is never the same. She tries to limit th
e frequency with which she attends any particular shop. When she has exhausted the area, and begins to feel that the shopkeepers are paying her too much attention, she drives further away for her groceries.
This takes her longer each time.
Two months into this routine, she returns from a whole day driving to and from a shopping mall. Before she enters the chalet, she notes that the hair positioned as usual across the bottom of the door is missing. The hairs stand up on the nape of her neck. She glances around the open-plan living space, trying to assess what is different. The room is large with a sofa and an armchair facing a big television. There’s a low coffee table in front of the sofa, and a sideboard below a wide hatch that looks into the kitchen. To the left is a family bathroom that also leads into a fairly big double bedroom. On the right is a door leading to another twin room that Neva doesn’t use.
Then she sees the anomaly. The television remote control has been moved from its usual spot. Normally it is on the arm of the chair facing the TV, but now it rests on the sideboard near the kitchen. Neva is meticulous about the placement of her gadgets, though she does briefly consider that she may have moved the device herself and has forgotten. But no. She wouldn’t have placed it there. It is almost as though someone has been using the TV while waiting for her arrival.
She walks into the room as though all is normal and places the bag of groceries down on the sideboard. Then she bends down and pulls her knife from a sheath hidden in her boot. Simultaneously, she removes her Glock from the holster strapped under the sideboard.
At that moment, a maid comes out of the family bathroom.
‘Sorry…’ she says in broken English. ‘Late today, miss!’
Neva hides her weapons inside the grocery bag before the woman sees them. Then she turns away as the maid finishes her final sweep of the room.
She watches the woman move towards the door and follows, intending to run the lock behind her as she leaves. Normally she puts the ‘Do not disturb’ sign up on the door when she’s out. She doesn’t like the maids to be in the chalet without her presence and she only allows them in once a week.
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