Legitimate Target

by Dee McInnes

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Viv said. “Who sent you?”

  “Nobody. I’ve…chosen to issue this friendly warning.” The man glanced over his shoulder. “There was a war on, right? Yer man was simply collateral damage.”

  Yer man? Did he mean her father? Viv heard raised voices on the other side of the doors, out on the pavement. Pete? The fake security guard was remonstrating with somebody.

  “Open these feckin’ doors,” shouted a voice she recognised.

  “Looks like it’s time for me to make myself scarce,” the gunman said. The skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkled, as if he was smiling. His face was in shadow, but there was something familiar she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “Viv,” Pete shouted.

  “No. Wait.”

  The door that led onto the street flew open and the gunman fired twice.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The shots flew over her head, ricocheting off the ceiling.

  Pete?

  She saw him, poleaxed on the floor, his arms stretched out in front of him. One of the ceiling panels was dangling by a wire. She heard the gunman’s receding footsteps pelting toward the station. She ran over and knelt down. There were no obvious signs of injury. Her heart was thumping in her chest. “Pete? Are you okay?”

  He turned his head and opened his eyes, the other side of his face pressed against the floor. “Jesus, I thought I was a gonner.” He stood up and dusted himself down. “Let’s not hang about. Maybe we’ll still be in time for last orders?”

  “Fuck that.”

  They lay with their arms wrapped around each other until daylight poked through a gap in the curtains.

  “This was unexpected. Not that I’m complaining,” Pete said.

  Viv got to her feet. They had shared the couch, but they were both fully dressed, wearing the same clothes from the night before. Empty bottles from the mini bar were scattered on the carpet.

  “How many of those did we have?” she asked, running a hand through her hair. “I need to shower and change. Afterward we can take stock. Order some breakfast, would you? A croissant or something will do, and I’ll have an…”

  “Americano?”

  She smiled. “Don’t be getting too many ideas, last night was…”

  “A one off? I get it, don’t worry. But I’m always more than happy to take it up a notch. I mean…” Pete hesitated, his face turning red.

  “I know. I’ll bear it in mind.” Viv leant down and kissed him on the cheek.

  When she came out of the bathroom, Pete had turned on the television and was surfing channels. Their food arrived and they sat opposite each other, at the small, circular table in front of the window. Bit by bit, Viv told Pete what she had found out from Maeve and Mac.

  “So, ye think that guy last night was T.P or The Sherriff? The one with the shooter, I mean. You know, I’ve heard that name before,” Pete said, rubbing his chin. “That time my Uncle’s place was visited by hoodlums, back in the mid-seventies, they said The Sherriff wanted a favour. It’s a common enough alias for someone on the other side of the law. But nevertheless…?”

  “Could be a co-incidence? But, yes, I think so. Either one of them.” The image of Wesley Hutton and his silver cap-gun flashed at the back of her mind.

  “It definitely wasn’t Dermott or Mac,” she added. “I’d have recognised their voices and Mac couldn’t run like that. He has some sort of leg injury. The last thing the guy with the gun said, before you stormed in doing your Bruce Willis impression, was ‘there was a war on’. I’m pretty sure that referred to my father’s murder, to what he called ‘collateral damage’. It doesn’t fit in with the Haslett case. Last night you said you’d found Karol, and that you’d tell me the rest in the morning?”

  “Yes,” Pete said, wiping strawberry jam from his fingers. “We finally caught a break and Aidan only had to exert a wee bit of pressure before Karol sang like a canary. The guy you saw behind the wheel of the van that bumped you and Carmen off the M2, was…” he paused and drummed the edge of the table with his fingers. “Rhona Haslett’s driver. Karol’s cousin.”

  “What? Are you sure?” Viv asked.

  “Yes. Karol said the lady at the big house paid his cousin, Kosmy, to do it. You remember Rhona’s driver was wearing those mirrored shades whenever we saw him behind the wheel of the Mercedes?”

  “Ye-s, it could have been him, I guess, but why? It seems extreme, an over-reaction?”

  “Well, Kosmy was in it for the money. That’s all Karol claimed to know. You’re the one who’s met Rhona face to face. Maybe, like her brother, she had a few screws loose? She seemed liable to fly off the handle, going by what happened outside court.”

  “It still seems unlikely,” Viv said, rubbing the scar over her eye, remembering Rhona’s sour expression and how she had dismissed Viv’s suggestions out of hand. But Reggie Scott’s tale of a ten-year-old Rhona, obsessed with her father and the candle-lighting ritual, had the ring of truth. The weariness Viv had felt after Mitch shot Haslett threatened to overshadow her. “There’s only one solution,” she said. “We’ll confront Rhona. Threaten to go to the police with what we know, unless she comes clean.”

  “I had a funny feeling you were going to say that,” Pete said. “And what about last night? I know we legged it, but there’s still time to report the incident to the PSNI.”

  “This one’s personal. I don’t want anyone else muddying the water or driving those bastards underground, until I’m sure of the facts. Until there’s definite proof. Mitch is in court tomorrow. We’ll tie his story up, then resume the search for Donnelly and his puppet-masters.”

  “Okay. I’m in, ‘tho I think you’re not wise. They nearly took my head off. I’d better go home and get changed. I’ll be back within the hour.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can arrange another appointment with Rhona. Otherwise we’ll just turn up on her doorstep and demand answers. Text me whenever you’re on your way back and I’ll be out front.”

  Rhona’s Personal Assistant was adamant. “I’m sorry. Miss Haslett has left strict instructions to say that she doesn’t wish to have any further contact with yourself, or anyone from your Agency.”

  Viv climbed in beside Pete and fastened her seatbelt.

  “You left something in the back seat,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s for you,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. She had covered the framed print in Christmas wrapping paper. “It’s a present for your flat, if you like, you can open it when you get home.”

  “This day just gets better and better,” he said, smiling.

  “Don’t speak too soon,” she said. “We’ve already had one kickback. Rhona doesn’t want to speak to us, but we’ll still give it a go.”

  Forty minutes later they pulled into the hospital car park.

  “That’s Rhona’s office up there,” Viv said, pointing to the window on the top, left-hand corner, overlooking the courtyard. An orderly wearing purple scrubs was pushing someone around the fountain in a wheelchair. Viv flipped down the vanity mirror, checked her reflection and stuffed her notepad and pen into her pocket. “Wish me luck.”

  Viv had hoped she might make it straight to the elevator, but the foyer was deserted, apart from the receptionist. It wasn’t the same woman who had signed her in before, but she shook her head when Viv asked if it was possible to see Rhona, adopting a no-nonsense expression. “I’m very sorry, unless you have an appointment…?”

  Viv slumped back into the passenger seat. “Strike two,” she said.

  “Eveleen Manor?”

  “Worth a try.”

  The house looked the same as it had before, but the wrought iron gates between the scrolled posts were firmly shut.

  “What now? Ring the buzzer?” Pete suggested.

  “We’ll never get in,” she said. “Drop me off. I’ll try it on foot. Further along, near the bridge, I think I remember a lay-b
y. Wait for me there. I’ll send you a message to let you know if I have any luck.”

  “Be very careful,” Pete said.

  Viv shinned the railings, dropped to the other side and waved him off. She followed the driveway until it forked, taking the track that veered to the left. She kept close to the cover of a thick Laurel hedge, staying alert to any sound of activity. She thought that the track could have led to the stable block - before the fire. The manor house extended a long way back. She thought she recognised the small, frosted window of the bathroom along the corridor that led to the kitchen. She got to the end of the building and peered around the corner.

  The rear of the house had two wings on either side of a rectangular garden. A modern, glass-fronted conservatory had been added onto the back of the west wing. Viv crept closer. An awning window was pushed out at a forty-five-degree angle. She could see the outline of two people sitting inside.

  “What … now?” she heard Gillian say.

  “We have to wait for the post-mortem… surely a formality,” a voice that sounded like Rhona Haslett’s said.

  Viv sidled closer, crouching low beneath the open window.

  “Pastor Martin is making all the necessary arrangements. As soon as this is all over, we can try to get back to normal,” Rhona said.

  “Thank the Lord. I hope you’re right. Is Doctor Kozlowski coming to dinner?”

  “Yes, we’re offering him a place on the board.”

  “So soon?”

  “Life goes on, Gillian. Steven would want us to make sure the future of the hospital isn’t compromised by any of the negative publicity and Jan will be an excellent addition to our management team,” Rhona said.

  Viv’s phone chimed with an incoming message. Shit. She tugged it out and put it on silent.

  The conversation inside the conservatory paused.

  “Did you hear something?” Gillian said.

  “Where?”

  “It sounded like it was outside.”

  Viv flattened herself against the wall and looked up, hoping they would ignore it - but seconds later Gillian’s face appeared in the gap, her bird-like eyes narrowing. “You, again.”

  “Who’s there?” Rhona’s face joined Gillian’s and she glared down. “How dare you! I’m calling the police.”

  “Go ahead,” Viv said, standing up and moving back so she could see them properly. “I thought I’d give you the opportunity to hand yourself in, voluntarily, before we expose your attempts at derailing our investigation. There’s three counts of attempted murder to answer.”

  “That’s totally preposterous.”

  “Your driver said you put him up to it.”

  “Kosmy?”

  “Straight out of the horse’s mouth,” Viv said.

  “Get him on the phone,” Rhona snapped.

  Gillian’s face disappeared.

  “You’d better come in,” Rhona said. “There’s an entrance around this side.”

  Viv sent Pete a message as she walked.

  Rhona was wearing a white blouse with a narrow, red stripe. A fine knit Cashmere sweater was draped around her shoulders. Gillian had already left the room. Rhona confronted Viv, hands on her hips. Rhona had the same expression on her face, as if she had just tasted something bitter. “I’ll be making a formal complaint,” she snapped. “About the unacceptable level of intimidation that I’ve faced from the press. My brother’s funeral hasn’t even taken place, and here you are, trespassing on private property. Eavesdropping,” she gave a snort and reached for a silver cigarette case. Rhona placed a cigarette between her lips and lit the tip with a matching lighter.

  “Don’t you know smoking is very bad for your health?” Viv said.

  “You enjoy playing with fire, don’t you?” Rhona said, blowing out a stream of smoke.

  “Wasn’t that how all of this started?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Viv said.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to enlighten me.”

  “How does it go, ‘In this world is darkness, so we must shine. You in your small corner, and I in mine?”

  Rhona took a step back. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

  There was a knock on the door that led from the main building and Kosmy came in, followed by Gillian. Kosmy was wearing a dark suit and a black tie. For once Viv could see his eyes that were a vivid shade of blue. Gillian had the purple and cream coloured worry-pearls around her neck. Her hair was sticking out like straw and the spider veins on her face were more pronounced than ever.

  “You wanted to speak to me, Miss Haslett?” Kosmy said.

  “I’d like you to make sure this...lady leaves the property,” Rhona said. “If she doesn’t, call the police. Tell them we have a trespasser.”

  “Wait a minute,” Viv said. “Can you tell us where you were on Saturday afternoon? And last week, on Wednesday, when someone burnt down your cousin’s place out at Woodside Business park?”

  “Kosmy, you don’t have to say anything,” Gillian said.

  He looked at Gillian, then back at Rhona.

  “How much were you paid to do her dirty work?” Viv asked, staring at Kosmy. “Listen. Listen to me. Both of you are guilty of attempted murder, under the principle of joint enterprise. But, if you give evidence, your sentence could be greatly reduced. You could claim employer coercion. The police might look favourably on your circumstances.”

  “This is ludicrous,” Rhona said. “Kosmy, please tell her I have done no such thing.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kosmy folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet. He had a squat, muscular build. Viv felt like shaking him. Kosmy had put Carmen in danger and started the fire at the industrial park, put their lives at risk for financial gain.

  “I’m waiting for an explanation,” Rhona said. She marched across to the door and turned the key, slipping it into her pocket. “No-one’s leaving this room until I have some satisfactory answers.”

  “You’d better ask her,” Kosmy said, pointing at Gillian.

  “Gillian?” Rhona said.

  The housekeeper sank into the chair at the window, twisting one of the pearls between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s all her fault,” Gillian said, looking up at Viv.

  “How come?” Viv said.

  “If you and yer sidekick hadn’t tricked your way in here in the first place, none of this would’ve happened,” Gillian said.

  “She’s been here before?” Rhona said, raising her voice. “All employees were left with strict instructions not to talk to anyone, especially hacks.” She lit another cigarette from the one that was already burning and ground the butt into a marble ashtray.

  “I’m very sorry, it was only meant to be... it was a mistake,” Gillian said, looking down at her lap. “They rang the doorbell. I recognised the big, tall lad with ginger hair from the TV outside court last week. He pretended to be an orthopaedic patient, but I saw right through their story and thought I’d send them on a wild goose chase for thinking they’d got one over on me. I didn’t float up the river in a bubble,” she said, in a defiant tone. The housekeeper unravelled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes.

  “Go on,” Rhona said, lowering herself into the chair opposite Gillian.

  Kosmy loitered behind Viv, leaning against the wall. Viv slid her phone out and started the voice recorder. She wasn’t asking for permission.

  “I heard, from a friend at the golf club, that they went out there afterwards, questionin’ Alwyn Stewart,” Gillian said. “I realised then I should never have said anything…although I only mentioned a few things about the day mistress Rosemary died. I worried they would keep askin’ questions and might find out about…the other thing.”

  “You’re a stupid fool,” Rhona said.

  “I knew Kosmy’s cousin. We used to take the church used-clothing donations out to him at the industrial park. We got forty
pence per kilo. Of course, I also knew it was the place where Christopher McVeigh had died. I asked Karol to keep an eye out and to let Kosmy know if he saw her,” Gillian jabbed her finger at Viv, “or the other one, snooping about. I told, I told Kosmy that if he frightened them off, and could stop them looking any further, there would be money in it, for him…and Karol.”

  “Five hundred pounds, each,” Kosmy chipped in.

  “What?” Rhona said.

  “It was me own money,” Gillian snivelled. “I didn’t realise they would take it so far. I didn’t know they would be so…reckless.”

  “You’re talking about the arson attack that happened last week, at Chris McVeigh’s old place?” Rhona said. “And this woman was there at the time?”

  “I’ve prayed for forgiveness,” Gillian said, twisting an aubergine-coloured pearl.

  “Thanks to you, I was nearly burned alive,” Viv said. “And what about the car crash last Saturday? Was that another… little misunderstanding?”

  “You mentioned three counts of attempted murder?” Rhona said.

  “That’s right. I was shopping with a close friend, the same day we had our little chat in your office. Your driver here ran us off the motorway. My friend was lucky to escape with no more than a bump to the head, but it could have been a lot worse.”

  “Gillian. Have you taken leave of your senses?” Rhona asked.

  “I felt I had to do something…I overheard you on the house phone before you went into work. You repeated what your assistant, Catherine, told you. What she had said,” Gillian jabbed her finger at Viv. “About something very important, to do with a candlestick. There were only a few people who knew its significance. Tania must have found out from Doctor Haslett and told them. I promised your mother I would do anything to keep the secret.”