Prey

by L. A. Larkin

  Wolfe tries to sound chilled, even though fear clings to her skin like a spider’s web. ‘Come on, tell me who you are.’

  The bakkie sways into a pothole. Wolfe slides along the slippery seat and has to grab the safety bar with her free hand, almost dropping her phone.

  ‘I’m more interested in you, Olivia Wolfe. You have a brother, Davy, recently released from prison. You’re the daughter of Edward and Catherine, from Dulwich Hill, London. You broke your leg at five, jumping off a garage roof, convinced you could fly. Davy taught you to box at ten. You were a school boxing champion at twelve.’

  How does he know this? He must have her medical records. And more. Only two people know she was convinced she could fly as a kid – Davy and her dad. Nobody knows where her dad is. Her brother, however, would happily share such details if he thought it would hurt her.

  ‘Am I talking to Samuel?’

  He ignores her question. ‘Your dad disappeared when you were fourteen. Your world imploded, didn’t it? You were daddy’s little girl.’

  He is stirring up painful memories, memories she has fought so hard to suppress.

  ‘You went off the rails then. You lived in a squat with your drug-dealer boyfriend until the police raid. That’s when detective Jerry Butcher came into your life. You owe him a lot, don’t you?’

  He’s demonstrating his power. His web of contacts. His ability to reach people she cares about. She knows she mustn’t let it get to her, but it has. The caller is intelligent, authoritative. No, this isn’t Samuel. This has to be the man Samuel reports to.

  Think, Olivia. Think. The best form of defence is attack.

  ‘You’re the head of the poaching syndicate,’ she says, ‘I want to meet you. Tell me where and when.’

  ‘There is no poaching syndicate, Ms Wolfe. It only exists in your imagination.’

  ‘Then who are you?’ Wolfe activates her incoming-call recording app, silently cursing herself for not doing so earlier.

  It’s as if she hasn’t spoken. ‘Butcher never charged you, did he? Because of him you went back to school. He’s always looked out for you, hasn’t he?’

  A hot flush creeps up from her chest to her face. He’s pressing all the right buttons: she will always protect Butcher.

  ‘This is boring me. Let’s talk about four mutilated bodies. Why did Samuel kill them?’

  ‘I’d prefer to talk about the gym in Tooting where Butcher and Ponnappa run their PI business. They’re snooping around my business, just as you are, and it has to stop.’

  She is shaking with fury. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You know what I want. Leave well alone, Olivia.’

  ‘I don’t give in to threats.’

  ‘Then dear old Butcher and sweet little Ponnappa are not long for this world.’

  She forces a laugh. ‘You’re no match for them.’

  ‘Are you sure? And what about Butcher’s wife and kids, and Ponnappa’s family?’

  She sucks in her breath. Holds it. She cannot risk their lives.

  ‘I’m listening,’ she says.

  68

  ‘What’s got into you?’ Casburn asks, sitting on the wooden steps leading up to Hannah’s kitchen door. He bounces his right leg in irritation. He talks to her. Something about new intel. She isn’t listening.

  An hour earlier, Wolfe’s blackmailer had made her an offer. Return to the UK. Drop the story. Never interfere with his business again. In return, Butcher and Ponnappa will be left alone.

  ‘You’re booked on an afternoon flight tomorrow. Take it,’ the caller had said. ‘And don’t tell Casburn about this conversation.’

  Back inside Hannah’s compound, Wolfe paces the front yard like a caged animal, trying to think of a way out of her predicament.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ says Casburn. ‘I said, we’ve identified the last two victims.’

  Wolfe hears his voice, but his words wash over her. She threads her fingers through the wire mesh of the fence, her back to him, a momentary break in her pacing. She kicks the fence. And again. She doesn’t know what to do.

  ‘Hey! Are you listening?’ Casburn shouts.

  ‘What? Sorry, say it again.’

  ‘Can’t you sit still for one bloody minute?’

  His words finally reach her.

  ‘This is how I think best. When I pace,’ Wolfe says, whirling around to face him.

  ‘Do it somewhere else. You’re pissing me off,’ Casburn barks.

  ‘If you don’t like it, you go somewhere else!’

  ‘Fuck you!’ says Casburn.

  Wolfe feels a rush of fury. People she loves are in danger. Everyone is telling her what to do: Yushkov, Cohen, Casburn, her blackmailer. She can’t think. She just wants to hit back.

  ‘Stand up!’ she yells.

  ‘You’re losing it, Wolfe. Get a grip.’

  ‘I’m going to kick the shit out of you.’

  Casburn sniggers, ‘Yeah, right.’ But as Wolfe rushes him, Casburn jumps up only just in time. ‘What the fuck’s going-?’

  Before he can finish, Wolfe lays a right hook into his jaw. His head jerks to one side, he stumbles, but he’s fit and strong and he instinctively defends himself. He hits back. Wolfe has her hands up to protect her face, so he punches her in the stomach. She doubles over, winded, stumbling backwards.

  ‘Don’t think I won’t hit you again,’ Casburn shouts, his spittle bloody. ‘You want more, I’ll give you more.’

  Wolfe is gasping for breath. ‘Stop!’ she says, peering up at him, hand outstretched to placate him.

  But she’s received harder punches before. When she trains with Butcher, he doesn’t hold back.

  The tension in Casburn’s body relaxes. He mirrors her. That’s when she charges, headbutting him in the stomach. The force of it throws him backwards on to the ground. She loses her balance and lands on top, her head pounding from the impact.

  Casburn blinks a few times, his face screwed up in pain. ‘Fuck that was devious,’ he pants. ‘You… gonna… stop… now?’

  ‘Yes… are you?’ she says between gasps.

  ‘Yes.’

  Wolfe slides off his torso and sits in the dirt next to him. ‘Bloody hell, that hurts,’ she says rubbing her forehead.

  ‘Hard stomach,’ says Casburn. ‘Too hard for your head.’ He bursts out laughing.

  It’s infectious. She laughs. She can’t stop. She’s crying with laughter.

  Hannah stands in the doorway watching them. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Just letting off steam,’ Wolfe replies. ‘We didn’t mean to be disrespectful or anything.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s good to hear laughter for a change.’ Hannah vanishes into the house.

  Casburn wipes away a trickle of blood from his mouth. ‘You know, you fight well, if a little crazily.’

  Wolfe’s laughter fades away. It has to be one of the nicest things he’s said to her. Perhaps the only nice thing. ‘Thanks.’ She picks up some dirt and lets it trickle through her fingers. ‘I’m fucked, Dan. Whichever way I turn, I’m fucked.’

  ‘What’s happened? Moz gone and fired you or something?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  She falls quiet. She doesn’t know what to do.

  If she tells Casburn about her blackmailer, how will he react? She can’t risk doing anything that jeopardises Butcher’s and Ponnappa’s safety, but it’s possible Casburn could help keep them alive.

  ‘I got a call. From the man himself. The syndicate leader.’ She looks up at Casburn. His expression has changed. Hard. Attentive. Detective-mode.

  ‘You what?’

  69

  Under President Robert Mugabe’s rule, you could buy almost anything in Zimbabwe. Which is how Nguyen, a Vietnamese national, became the owner of a 162,000-hectare private reserve and hunting lodge on the eastern bank of the Shashe River.

  The land was once four separate privately-owned game reserves. The white owners were removed, their land designated for Zimbabwe
’s war veterans. But Nguyen offered Mugabe’s son, Robert Junior, double what the land was worth, and the war veterans were allocated land somewhere else. Patrolled day and night, the guards have orders to shoot to kill. Nguyen has spent a small fortune on restocking the park with lions, leopards, elephants and rhinos bred in captivity for the sole purpose of being hunted. His guests are guaranteed a kill. His guides make sure of that.

  Nguyen does not fear for his life in Zimbabwe as many foreigners do, because he has the protection of Robert Mugabe Junior. More than that, Mugabe often utilises the lodge for his most private business meetings. As do others whose relationships Nguyen wishes to cultivate. Far from prying eyes, arms dealers come to Nguyen’s property to meet with regime leaders condemned by the pitifully weak United Nations. Russian oligarchs can satiate their appetites for pretty young girls or boys, knowing their secrets are safe.

  Best of all, he is praised by conservationists worldwide for his magnificent contribution to the conservation of African endangered species. Staged photos of him at the reserve have appeared in publications as diverse as the National Geographic, Time magazine, and The New York Times.

  From the lodge’s semi-circular lounge room, he looks beyond the waterhole where elephants wallow in muddy water, to the private runway and aircraft hangar where his Learjet glints in the sun. Any moment, his first guest will land. Yury Sukletin, a key member of the syndicate. What Sukletin sees in the weak-chinned, wimpy British Chancellor he really can’t imagine. Perhaps it’s the attraction of opposites? Or perhaps it’s the secrets Sackville whispers to his lover at night? What was that eighties British comedy show called? Little and Large?

  ‘Harold, will you let me speak?’ Nguyen says into the phone, finding it hard to disguise his exasperation.

  If Sackville wasn’t essential to his business, he’d have the twat eliminated. The man hasn’t stopped whining for two minutes and fourteen seconds and Nguyen is running out of patience.

  ‘Of course,’ Sackville mutters. ‘But you must understand, it’s my neck on the line here. It’s not your name on that bloody bank account.’

  ‘It is under control, Harold–’

  ‘No, it isn’t! I’ve pulled every string possible to stop Casburn. It’s getting awkward. I’ve already involved the Foreign Office. And the police commissioner. If I push any harder, someone will smell a rat.’

  ‘He’s been ordered back to London, am I correct?’

  ‘Yes. But–’

  ‘And he’s under investigation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Make sure he’s taken off this case.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Sackville mumbles irritably. ‘And Wolfe?’

  ‘I have made her an offer she can’t refuse.’

  ‘What if she does refuse?’

  ‘Journalists like her have an unfortunate knack of disappearing.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Sackville whimpers.

  ‘Harold, there was no need to cancel your flight. We need you here this weekend.’

  ‘Of course it was necessary. I can’t come anywhere near you. In fact, I shouldn’t be bloody talking to you.’

  ‘Yury will be disappointed.’ Lovers are so easy to manipulate, he thinks.

  Sackville sighs. ‘As am I. I just can’t risk it.’

  ‘Harold, let me be clear. I expect you here on Saturday. Some big decisions need to be made. Two members are jittery. Nervous of the increasing media attention poaching is getting these days. I want you to smooth troubled waters. It’s one of your many strengths.’

  ‘I really can’t come.’

  Nguyen makes a mental note to ask Sukletin to speak to Sackville. After all, it was Sukletin who introduced the British Chancellor to the syndicate, and it was Sukletin who persuaded him to control the money, together with Ximba.

  ‘Do I have to remind you about the flat in Swiss Cottage your wife knows nothing about? My gift to you.’

  ‘All right, all right. Just keep your voice down, will you.’

  ‘In your absence, decisions that affect your future will be made. And you may not like them.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ Sackville’s bluster hardly hides his cowardice.

  ‘No, Harold. But I expect to see you tomorrow.’

  70

  Wolfe and Casburn sit side by side with their backs against the compound’s mesh fence. Wolfe’s phone is balanced on her knee. He listens intently as she plays the recorded conversation she had with her blackmailer. She studies Casburn’s side-profile for a reaction. But he has his poker face on. The recording ends.

  ‘I have to do what he says. I can’t let anything happen to them.’

  ‘Have you told them about this?’ Casburn asks.

  ‘Not yet. I know how Jerry will react. He won’t give in to a blackmailer. He’ll continue investigating the syndicate, no matter what I say.’

  Casburn pulls a packet of Nicorette from his jeans’ pocket. Throws two pieces into his mouth and chews. Hard.

  ‘If you do what this guy says and give up, he’ll always have a hold over you.’ He gives her a hard stare. ‘Butcher and Ponnappa will never be safe and nor will you, as long as he’s out there.’

  ‘I know that. But if I don’t get on that plane he’ll send someone to kill them.’

  ‘I can organise for them to disappear. There’s a witness protection house in Wales I know is empty. They could go there until we’ve caught the son of a bitch.’

  Wolfe considers the offer. ‘But what about their families, Dan? He threatened them too.’

  ‘That’s harder to sort out. Their immediate family could go with them. I could find a second house. But the more people we have to move, the more likely it is that the syndicate will catch on to what we’re doing.’ He pauses. ‘We’re so close to finding him, Olivia. Don’t give up now.’

  She makes a WhatsApp call to Butcher and Ponnappa. It’s lunchtime in London. She explains everything. As she expected, Butcher digs his heels in. Ponnappa is nervous and doesn’t want her family to be hurt.

  ‘My mum and dad and sister have to come too. And the dog,’ Ponnappa says.

  Casburn makes the necessary arrangements for SO24 to pick up Butcher and Ponnappa, and their immediate families, and take them to Wales. He expects them to be in their protected houses by nightfall.

  That done, Casburn checks his watch. ‘I’ve got to get to Rustenberg airport.’ He gets up and brushes dirt off his jeans. ‘Henry’s found somebody to fly me to Zimbabwe.’

  ‘Fly us, you mean.’

  ‘You don’t have a visa.’

  ‘Come on, Dan. You want my help, so tell me why you’re going there?’

  ‘Okay.’ Casburn sits back down next to her. Chews his gum.

  ‘Yury Sukletin.’

  Wolfe’s eyes bulge. ‘Russian billionaire and criminal? What’s he got to do with this?’

  ‘Long story. I’ll start at the beginning.’ He clears his throat. ‘The Home Secretary became aware Harold Sackville was meeting Yury Sukletin regularly. He feared Sackville was sharing highly sensitive information with the Russian, who, by the way, is a close friend of Putin’s.’

  ‘Why the suspicion? There could be many legitimate reasons why they would bump into each other.’

  ‘Because every year for the past three years Sackville takes a long weekend to South Africa. Each time he meets with Sukletin. They dine together.’ He looks at Wolfe. ‘They sleep together.’

  ‘Okay, I didn’t see that one coming.’ Wolfe mulls it over. ‘And if word gets out that Sackville has a sexual relationship with a Russian criminal with close ties to Putin, and has millions stashed in a dodgy bank account, it could rock the foundations of our government. Undermine confidence in our leaders.’

  ‘It also just so happens that the man funding London’s new casino in Shepherd’s Bush is Sukletin. We suspect our Chancellor had something to do with Sukletin’s successful bid.’

  ‘A scandal like this could force an election.’

  ‘
The economy could take a nose dive.’

  They both go quiet.

  ‘When did you learn about the offshore account?’ Wolfe asks.

  ‘Shortly before you did. We suspected Sukletin had somehow persuaded the Chancellor to join his syndicate. To manage the money side of things.’

  ‘So, all those questions you asked me in Kensington Gardens were about finding out how much I knew?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘I’m still not clear why we’re going to Zimbabwe.’

  ‘We?’ He shakes his head. ‘Because Sukletin is flying into Buffalo Range Airport in Zimbabwe tomorrow at eight in the morning and I for one want to know where he’s going and who he’s meeting.’

  ‘You think he’s meeting Sackville?’

  ‘Last I heard Sackville cancelled his flight. He must have got wind I was asking questions about him. But Sukletin is still going to Zimbabwe, so there has to be somebody else he wants to meet. Could be the syndicate leader with any luck.’

  Wolfe stands up. ‘I’ll get a visa. I’m coming with you.’

  71

  Tumi drops them off at Rustenburg Airfield and they head straight for the cream-coloured bungalow where they are to meet their pilot. A bald man behind the counter, sporting a name badge with Jacobus on it, welcomes them with a warm smile that fades fast when Casburn introduces himself.

  ‘Ah,’ Jacobus says, looking sheepish. ‘There seems to be a problem. The flight plan’s been rejected.’

  ‘Rejected?’

  ‘Ja. And no visa.’

  Casburn shakes his head. ‘My visa was organised. I was told to pick it up here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, there is no visa. It’s been cancelled.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘I tried. Your number rang out.’

  ‘What number do you have?’

  Jacobus reads it aloud. One digit is incorrect.

  Wolfe looks at Casburn. They both know that political strings have been pulled to prevent Casburn entering Zimbabwe.