“Who would do such a terrible thing?” she sobbed. “They were little children.”
Wrapping her arms around the trembling woman, she held her for a while. “I’m so sorry, Alice. I’m so dreadfully sorry. What can I do?”
“Find out who did this terrible thing.”
“Oh, I will, Alice. If it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll find out who did it. Do you have anywhere to stay?”
“I’m going to stay with my sister,” she croaked. “I’m not allowed to go back to the house yet.”
“Did Harry have any enemies? Do you have any idea who you might think would have done this?”
“I don’t know, Kat. Harry was a really nice guy. He didn’t have any enemies. The only person who was at odds with Harry was Delany.”
“Who’s Delany?”
“He’s a local business tycoon. He’s into all sorts of things. He wanted to invest in Harry’s Pharmaceutical deal, but Harry turned him down… I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to. Can I do anything?”
“I don’t know, I…” She began crying again. After a long moment, she pulled herself together. “You could do one thing. Harry was taking an important file to the office. Could you look for his briefcase? The file should be in it and take it to the office?”
Kat frowned. She had found a briefcase in the bedroom, but Kat didn’t want to compound the problems of the grieving woman by informing her the briefcase contents were missing. Harry may not have had any enemies, but he’d certainly had something worth stealing. After Kat lied to Alice about promising to look for the briefcase, Kat and Dore left the police station.
Kat and Dore were buying a sandwich at Denny’s when Preston caught up with them. There was a gleam in his eyes, and Kat knew he’d found something.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, ordering a coffee. “That kid they murdered was either incredibly bright, or it was an accident. Either way, I know who broke into the Becker house.”
Pulling out a photograph, he slid it across the table. The picture was of three men standing in the Becker hallway. It had been taken from low down and wasn’t pin-sharp, but sharp enough to ID the men. Almost certainly, little John Becker had taken the picture, although perhaps not consciously. Maybe in his fright, he’d accidentally press the shutter release. Whatever the truth, they could see precisely who attacked the family.
Kat peered at the photograph. The nearest man was quite tall, looming over the camera, the man behind him overweight. But she was more interested in the third, bearded man. He was the only one holding a gun, which made him the likely shooter. “So, who are they?”
“The tall man is Adams, the chubby one is Frost, and the one with the beard is called Stickler. They’ve all got criminal records as long as your arm. And they all work for a man called Delany.”
“You know who Delany is?”
“Everyone knows who Delany is. He’s a multi-millionaire and practically Mafia. He’s very well connected. I wouldn’t hold my hopes in finding evidence connecting him with any of this.”
Kat snorted. “Who said I wanted to find any evidence?”
“Kat, don’t get involved. I know Harry was your cousin, but…”
“Preston, Harry was my cousin, and John and Jane were his beautiful kids. I am involved. Maybe Delany didn’t personally do this, but he ordered it. Even if he hadn’t expected anyone harmed, he’s still responsible.” Kat gave Preston an evil look and said, “I need a plausible reason to visit this scumbag!”
“You could try crashing his party. He’s having a house warming tomorrow night. There’ll be fancy cars and even helicopters landing on the lawn. It’ll be quite a shindig.”
“Cracking idea. Get me a helicopter. I’ll pay for it.”
Dore groaned and put his head in his hands. “Oh my God, here we go… shades of North Africa…. So what do you plan on doing? Machine gun Delany’s men, Semtex the house?”
Kat brightened. “Semtex the house,” she echoed. “What a bloody smashing idea. Get me some Semtex.”
Dore let out a roar of laughter, causing other customers to turn around. “Aye. Let me just nip off to the Pharmacist and pick up a pack or two… Where in the bloody hell am I going to get Semtex in Virginia?”
“Preston? Can you get me some Semtex?”
“I may be a retired OSS agent,” he reminded Kat, “but I still have a few contacts in the CIA who still owe me favors.” He grinned. “I’ll get you some Semtex.”
“Preston, you’re a peach,” she said, draining her coffee cup. “Jock, we’re going clothes shopping. I want to look beautiful.”
CHAPTER THREE
T he Bell 47 was a beauty, its goldfish bowl canopy offering perfect vision. Preston had done them proud, and the flight was perfectly timed. Kat had a clear view of the grounds as the sun was setting, allowing her to see Dore arriving at Delany’s mansion in his rented Bentley. She made a show of it, circling the house while they waited for another helicopter to leave, and allowing Dore’s Bentley to enter the grounds without a written invitation. I’m with Lady Falkner; he would say, pointing up to the Bell when he stopped at the gate.
Kat was excited to be on her first mission since the war. She peered down at Delany’s enormous Hollywood house, noting the stables and paddocks, the large swimming pool, the sweeping lawns, and the extensive terrace. She was also impressed by another Bell 47 parked at the back of the house.
She had researched Delany and was surprised to find he was only forty-two, graduated from Yale, and had amassed more than half a billion dollars. According to Preston, he courted politicians, had the cops in his pocket, and owned a casino in Las Vegas. Delany was also a crook and was protected by the mob. There was also no downside; happily married, he had two children and was getting wealthier by the day.
She thought about her cousin and his beautiful children. The detective in charge of the case had never seen anything like it. The girl shot in the throat and head, the boy tied to a kitchen chair and shot in the chest. It was atrocious. It was also clear that the police would never get anywhere. She hadn’t shown them the photograph. According to Preston, it would probably magically disappear. Anyway, the photograph wasn’t proof that they had murdered the family. There were no fingerprints, no shell casings, and no bloody footprints. It would be an unsolved crime, no doubt committed by some crazy person. Case closed.
But that wasn’t the only worrying thing. Delany had contacts in the CIA, which meant there was a connection to MI6. She would have to be very careful. If CIA agents were at the party, and if they recognized her, MI6 would know in a matter of minutes. All it would take was a phone call. If MI6 wanted to take her down, they would probably do a deal with the CIA. Her thoughts were interrupted when the rotors changed their pitch as the steady whine became a rhythmic thumping. They were landing. No landing cross painted on the grass, but no such convention was needed. Between rows of expensive cars, many parked on the lawns, and the trees that lined the driveway, the landing space was apparent.
She watched as the ground loomed up to meet them, and suddenly became aware of her gown. It was a long, sequin green satin side-slit gown that almost touched the ground. The shoulders were bare, and she wore an emerald necklace to complete the outfit. She was also carrying a gun, a Baby Browning, strapped to her thigh, and she needed to move the slit of her gown a bit to access it.
When the helicopter settled on the immaculate lawn, she waited a moment before climbing out. She wanted people watching her as she disembarked in her gown. Opening the door and opening the slit of her gown a few inches, she extended a shapely leg, and within seconds, two of the party’s ushers were striding towards her.
“Can we help you, ma’am?”
“Aren’t you sweet?” She said, dropping the hem as she stepped out and ducking until she was clear of the rotors. “Is Mr. Delany around?”
“If you follow us, we’ll take you to him.”
Fol
lowing the men through the crowds of chattering guests to the terrace, she scanned all the cars. To her relief, Dore was climbing out of his rented Bentley. They had let him in.
It wasn’t hard to Spot Delany. He was a tall, handsome man, deep in conversation with the Chief of Police and his wife, and a man who’s face she’d seen on political posters around town. Delany turned as she approached. He’d watched the helicopter landing.
“Excuse me, sir,” the usher said, stepping to one side. “Lady Falkner.”
Delany gave her a beaming smile and held out his hand. “Good evening. Welcome to my humble abode. Can I get you a drink?”
Taking his arm, careful not to reveal what a firm grip she had, Kat gave him a beatific smile. “Thank you. Champagne would be lovely.”
Delany snapped his fingers, signaling a waiter. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. Your name’s Lady Falkner?”
“Please, call me Katelyn. We met at your casino in Las Vegas, but you were rather busy at the time. I believe someone had won a considerable amount of money at the blackjack table.”
Delany laughed, but Kat clearly entranced him. “Very likely. I’m always busy when I lose money. Can I show you around? We have a very unusual entrance hall.”
Glancing across at Dore, who was already, glass in hand, making his way towards the house, she beamed at Delany again. “I would love to see your house. It looks very similar to Jerry Perenchio’s house in Los Angeles.”
Leading her towards the house, he winked at her. “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s an exact copy. I used the same architects. Except there’s one difference. I installed an interesting feature.”
As they made their way through the crowds of laughing and chattering guests, intermittent wafts of perfume, and cigar smoke tingling in her nose, she followed Delany into the house. She could no longer see Dore. She knew what he was doing. Armed with a photograph, Dore was hunting for Adams and Frost. He wasn’t allowed to hunt for Stickler. That was Kat’s job; if she could find the despicable man amid the crowds of people, she was going to take care of him personally.
She was both amazed and delighted when she saw what Delany wanted to show her. Kat now had a plan of how to dispose fittingly of the killer of her cousin and his children. Gleaming in the myriad light of the many chandeliers stood the most massive fish tank she’d ever seen. At least forty feet wide, and reaching almost to the gabled, cathedral ceiling, it was nearly as big as the entrance hall. Flights of stairs ran up either side, joined at the top by a viewing platform. The reason was apparent. Inside the enormous tank, was a shark drifting back and forth.
“God almighty!” she exclaimed, staring up at it. “Is that a tiger shark?”
“It certainly is,” Delany said, proudly. “We call her Gretchen because she eats so much. Would you like to feed her?”
What I would like, she thought, is to find Stickler. I’ve found his perfect resting place. “I would love to see her from the viewing platform. It must be quite scary.”
“Wait until you see her eating. She’s quite ferocious.”
Following Delany up the right-hand staircase, she studied the shark as they climbed. It must have been at least fifteen feet long. It was hard to imagine how they got it in there, or how they would get it out again when it died.
“I have to have seawater shipped in every two weeks,” Delany said. “As you know, we’re not far from the ocean.”
The viewing platform was separated from the open tank by a waist-high wooden railing. A large container had been installed, and by the looks of it, filled with butchered beef. Picking up a filleted shoulder, Kat threw it into the tank. To her surprise, the shark barely reacted, until it finally sensed the food, then it took it from the surface in a giant surge of water.
Delany was being distracted by someone waving to him from the floor below. “I apologize, I’m being called again. I’ve got to go down. Will you be alright if I send someone up to look after you?”
“Absolutely fine. I can always come down when I get bored.”
Watching Delany descend the stairs and speak to someone, Kat could see Dore looking up at her, grinning and giving her a little salute. It could only mean one thing; he had found one or both attackers. Dore was concealing a Ka-Bar knife. Not that he needed one. He was quite capable of killing someone with his bare hands. Picking up another piece of meat, she threw it into the tank. This time the shark took it eagerly. It was hungry and waiting for more, swishing back and forth and causing waves that sloshed over the side. She didn’t notice the man climbing the stairs.
“I’ve been asked to keep an eye on you.”
She turned to see a short, bearded man. He was wearing an ill-fitting tuxedo, and his western bootlace tie had seen better days. She recognized him immediately. It was Stickler. How could she have been so lucky? She’d only been here for half an hour.
“Mr. Stickler,” she said. “What a surprise. You’ve come to keep an eye on me?”
“We… know each other?” Stickler asked, frowning, and fingering his tie.
“Not exactly. We have mutual acquaintances. Of course, they’re all dead now, but still.”
Stickler screwed up his eyes, thinking of everyone he knew who was no longer alive. “Perhaps you’d remind me.”
“Oh, I will, but first, would you mind throwing more meat into the tank? I don’t want to get my gown wet, or blood on my hands… which you’re probably used to,” she added.
Stickler’s frown deepened, but he picked up a hunk of meat, leaned over the tank and dropped it in. The shark reacted instantly, drenching Stickler. “That enough?” he asked, brushing the water from his jacket.
“Not really,” she said, sliding the side-slit of her gown and pretending to straighten her stockings. “Feeding sharks is such fun. There’s a much larger piece of meat in the cabinet. Would you mind picking that up? I’m sure you’re strong enough to lift it.”
Mesmerized, Stickler stared at Kat’s shapely legs. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” she said, grabbing the Browning strapped to her thigh and pointing it at him, “I think you do. It’s about the same weight as the little girl you murdered. Now pick it up!”
Stickler’s face went sheet-white for a split-second, as he realized what she was talking about. He gathered his composure and said, “bite me, bitch.”
Kat smiled at him. “Now is that any way to talk to a lady?”
“If you shoot me, every armed person at the party will be up here in seconds.” Stickler said, leaning against the railing.
“Shoot you? Now, where would the fun be in that? I only have this gun to get your attention. You murdered a helpless little girl and then tied her six-year-old brother’s hands behind his back… before you shot him. Now, if I had the time, I gut you from head to asshole and strangle you with your own intestines! But I’m on a tight schedule.”
“You talk big with a gun in your hand,” Stickler said with an evil grin trying to intimidate Kat.
“You’re quite right. Too much talking,” Kat said, smiling. Without warning, Kat swung her pistol, striking Strickler in the throat, collapsing his trachea. Strickler, wide-eyed and unable to breathe, grabbed his throat and gagged as he backed up to the railing of the tank.
Kat opened her slit gown wide, giving her legs room for a well-practiced round-house karate kick to Strickler’s head, sending the gasping man over the tanks rail and into the waiting jaws of the voracious shark.
He didn’t scream when the shark ripped his left leg off, or when it sank its razor-sharp teeth into his midriff. Strickler just blew bubbles as the shark took him down, shaking him like a dog with a rag.
Kat heard screaming. People were pointing up at the tank and backing away. Taking advantage of all the anarchy in the house, she ran down the stairs and into the garden. With all the guests crowding the doorway, desperately trying to get out of the home, no one took the slightest notice of Kat as she ran to the Bentley. She had one last job to do. Climbing in, she started
the engine. The car was still warm from Dore’s drive to the Delany house. It smelled of leather and car polish, and it struck Kat as a terrible shame. She loved beautiful cars.
Weaving through the startled guests running to their vehicles, and with her hand on the horn, she aimed the Bentley at the terrace steps and floored the gas. The car hardly made a sound as it mounted the steps and was positively silent when she drove it through the open front doors. Parking it in front of the shark tank, which now glistened a bright pink, she leaped out of the purring Bentley and headed for the exit. She was halfway across the lawn when she saw Dore.
“You’d better have the remote!” she said gleefully.
“You mean this?” he asked, holding up what looked like a black cigarette case. “Are we ready?”
“Ready!” she yelled.
Most guests had fled the house, either scrambling down the road in their fancy cars or escaping into the garden when Dore pressed the remote. The explosion was massive. Kat had no idea how much Semtex Preston had put in the Bentley, but the front porch and all the windows blew out, and seconds later, there was a tidal wave of water rushing out of the house and down the terrace steps from the destroyed shark tank. Kat and Dore didn’t wait for the aftermath. They ran to the rental car they had hidden earlier and disappeared into the night.
Casually driving down the deserted road, Dore turned to Kat and asked, “so Lass, you feel better now?”
“Yeah. It was just like North Africa… Kill bad guys. Blow shit up. Ride off into the sunset… It can’t get any better in life than this…”
CHAPTER FOUR
K at could smell coffee when she walked bleary-eyed into the Devis’ kitchen. Yet again, she had overslept. Virginia seemed to have that effect on her. Pouring herself a coffee, she wondered where Dore was. He was always up early. Even during the war and after exhausting missions, Dore only slept for a few hours. He just wasn’t a sleepy person. Kat, on the other hand, could sleep for England.
Stepping onto the back porch, she scanned the paddocks. Red Star and Rocket were missing. Maybe Mrs. Devis had gone for a ride with her son. She couldn’t imagine Dore riding somewhere on his own. He’d become quite a good rider, but it wasn’t his thing. Dore was much more at home in a military Jeep, or on foot. He was a Scottish highlander, born and bred.
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