Motive

by Alan McDermott

  “Or they just value their privacy,” Ingram pointed out.

  “Perhaps, but given the location of the grave, it’s unlikely that anyone would come across it by accident. I think the person who sent the email also obscured the tyre tracks, and they would only do that if they were the killer.”

  “Then why not pass that to James’s defence team and let them put it to the jury,” Ingram said as she picked up her coat and briefcase. “And get some sleep,” she added as she left his office. “You look terrible.”

  Chapter 14

  As Phil had promised, a cab was waiting for them by the time they walked back to the main road. Terry got in beside the driver and Ryan shared the back seat with Phil, whose frosty attitude gave him the perfect excuse to stare out of the window.

  Ryan noted what looked like a laundrette, with garish orange writing above the door, and he memorised the name of the street as they reached the corner. He kept repeating it to himself as they journeyed deeper into the capital, breaking it down into single syllables to make it easier to remember.

  It took half an hour to get to the Grand Hotel on Rruga Ismail Qemali, and they’d each been booked into single rooms. As soon as he got to his, Ryan wrote down the name of the street and placed the small slip of paper in his wallet. He hit the shower, changed into a new shirt and slacks and went down to the bar to meet the others. Phil and Terry were already there, their pint glasses almost empty.

  “What are you having?” Ryan asked.

  Terry polished off his beer. “Not for us. We’re hitting the town.” He dug into his pocket and handed Ryan a roll of Albanian bank notes. “That’s thirty-five grand, about two-fifty in real money. Don’t spend it all at once.”

  “And don’t go getting nicked,” Phil added as he got off his bar stool. “Be back here at midday on Friday, or you’re walking home.”

  “There’s a couple of good restaurants on this street,” Terry said as he slipped his jacket on, “and the casino is about a hundred yards on your right as you leave the hotel. If you’re looking for company, turn left out of the hotel, walk right to the end of the street, take another left and a right at the roundabout. Best strip club in town.” He clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Have a good one.”

  The pair left, and Ryan sipped his beer until he was sure they weren’t going to return. He threw the barman a hundred lek and left half of his drink. He wanted to keep his head clear.

  He stopped at the first restaurant he came to. On such a pleasant day there were plenty of people eating al fresco, but Ryan chose a small table inside, near the back, and picked up a menu. A waitress appeared, her long black hair tied in a ponytail. She smiled provocatively at Ryan, something he was used to. If this were a social trip he’d have happily flirted with her, but he didn’t have time for distractions. He ordered the seafood pasta and she sashayed away, glancing over her shoulder to see if he was watching. Ryan saw her head turning and averted his eyes, pretending to be engrossed in a fresco on the wall.

  He wished he had his phone. It wasn’t as if he had many people to call, but he liked to keep up to date with current affairs. It would also be handy to look up the street he was going to visit that night, but he could always pick up a map from a local shop.

  After eating Ryan went for a walk. He found a place that catered to tourists and bought an A-Z map, and after quickly consulting it he made his way to the river. It was a huge disappointment, looking more like an open sewer. Still, he sat on the grass of the sloping bank and ran through the index until he came to the street he was looking for. It turned out to be about three miles south-west of the Grand Hotel, an easy stroll, but he would take a taxi to a nearby street and walk from there. He had no idea what the crime rate was in Tirana, and he didn’t plan on finding out the hard way.

  Ryan wandered the streets for a couple of hours. He found a clothes shop and purchased a black jersey, then went back to the hotel. There was no sign of Phil or Terry, and he assumed they were enjoying a few beers and a lap dance. Ryan took his book down to the bar at five in the afternoon. He found a quiet table and had a couple of beers while he finished his novel, then went into the restaurant and had a steak before retiring to his room at seven. He set the alarm on his watch for midnight and was asleep in minutes.

  * * *

  When he woke to the bee-beep, bee-beep, bee-beep of his watch, Ryan wet his hair and ran a comb through it, then took advantage of the coffee-maker in the hotel room. By one in the morning, dressed in his new black jumper and black jeans, he was waiting at the kerb in front of the hotel. The late-summer night was cool, but not quite jacket weather. After a couple of minutes, a cab stopped to pick him up. Ryan gave the driver a slip of paper with the name of a street written on it. He’d looked it up on the map and it was a couple of hundred yards from the target address. Traffic was much lighter than when they’d hit Tirana twelve hours earlier, and he arrived at his destination within minutes.

  After the taxi drove away, Ryan crossed the street and walked down a narrow road. A couple of minutes later, he was once again at the location where he’d got in the cab with Phil and Terry earlier that day. In the dark of the moonless night, it looked even more unwelcoming.

  The house he was looking for was about seventy yards away, down another small road. From where he was standing, Ryan could see the house that was in the midst of construction. It was about twenty yards from the ten-foot green gate where they’d left the van, and tall enough to give him a good view of the surrounding area.

  There was no one around, so Ryan walked down the lane and then climbed over the six-foot concrete wall and into the grounds of the new build. The structure was little more than a breeze block shell, and the stairs had yet to be built. Fortunately, a ladder stood, giving access to the top floor. On the second floor, he found a window that overlooked the green gate, but all he could see was what looked like a workshop, and the huge double doors were closed and secured with a padlock. As there were no signs of life, Ryan decided to take a closer look. He climbed back down and jumped the wall into the lane, then walked to the gate. It was made of steel and was too tall to see over, so Ryan moved to his right and grabbed the top of the wall. He peered over the top and saw nothing, so he pulled himself up and over and walked over to the workshop. There were two small windows on either side of the double doors. Ryan looked through one of them and saw the back of the Transit van, its rear doors open.

  The only thing he recognised was the licence plate. The side panels had been removed, as had the floor of the cargo area, and the pieces were strewn around the inside of the building.

  Ryan doubted they’d come all this way just to have the van serviced. It could only mean one thing; they were going to line the walls with something. Drugs, probably, or even weapons. Customs officials at the posts might be on the lookout for suspicious packages or large amounts of alcohol and cigarettes, but they wouldn’t go to the trouble of disassembling a vehicle as part of their inspection routine.

  Ryan had seen enough. He climbed back over the wall and walked calmly to the main road, then headed back towards the centre of the city. He hoped to hail a cab on the way, but few seemed to venture out this far. He ended up walking the entire way.

  As he neared the hotel, he didn’t feel much like sleeping. The only venue that seemed to be open at two in the morning was the casino, so Ryan walked in. The receptionist asked for photo ID and he handed over his driving licence, then she buzzed him inside.

  He’d been to casinos a couple of times, and this was much like the others. Slot machines lined the outer walls, while the gaming tables dominated the centre of the room. Ryan navigated towards the roulette table and handed the dealer ten thousand lek. He got fifty chips in return.

  Three spins later, they were gone. He parted with another ten grand and fared better, leaving the table half an hour later with thirty thousand in his pocket, a profit of around seventy pounds. As he walked towards the cash desk he heard a commotion at the blackjack tables
, and it wasn’t hard to spot the man at the centre of it.

  Phil was clearly drunk, and like many hardened gamblers, he was blaming the dealer for his losing streak. Ryan saw two huge members of security making their way to the table, and he decided to try to defuse the situation. He jogged over to Phil and put an arm around his shoulder.

  “I think it’s time to go, mate.”

  Phil shrugged him off, stood and pushed him in the chest, and Ryan fell backwards onto a small table laden with coffee cups and sandwiches. He picked himself up just as the security team reached Phil. One of them grabbed Phil’s arm and immediately regretted it. Phil’s punch caught him on the jaw and he dropped like a stone, and the other bouncer went straight in for the knockout. He pivoted on his left foot and his right whipped around and struck Phil on the side of the face. He went sprawling, and the bouncer dropped a knee onto his chest and started pounding Phil’s face.

  Ryan couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Phil had brought this on himself and was getting what he deserved, but they were a team.

  Ryan grabbed the bouncer’s collar and yanked him backwards. He expected the man to land on his back, but despite his size, he was surprisingly agile. He sprang to his feet and swung his arm in a wide arc, but Ryan saw it coming. He ducked underneath the swing and delivered two quick punches to the man’s kidneys, then one to the side of his face. The bouncer staggered, then shook his head and roared as he came back for more. Ryan waited until he was two yards away, then spun ninety degrees and thrust out a leg. The bouncer walked into it and the sole of Ryan’s boot connected with his jaw, sending him crashing to the floor.

  Ryan didn’t stop to inspect the damage. He grabbed Phil and dragged him to his feet, then helped him to the exit. By the time they reached the door, Phil was ready to go back for more, but Ryan kept a tight hold on his jacket and pulled him outside.

  “You’ll get us nicked, you fuckin’ idiot!”

  “Get off me!” Phil thrashed around, but Ryan had the advantage of being sober. He pulled Phil towards the hotel, ignoring his protests, and by the time they reached the Grand, Phil had worn himself out. Ryan took him up to the fourth floor and deposited him on his bed. He made a couple of attempts to get up, then abandoned the struggle and closed his eyes. Within seconds he was snoring.

  Ryan went to his own room, brushed his teeth and lay on his bed. He now knew the reason for the trip, though what they would be smuggling back to the UK remained a mystery. Terry had hinted that there were regular runs to Tirana, so it was possible that one day he’d discover the nature of the consignment. Given what they’d said on the journey, though, he didn’t think it would be any time soon.

  Chapter 15

  When Kelly arrived at the hotel, Scott could tell immediately that something was amiss. She smiled and kissed him when he opened the door to let her into the room, but then she turned cold, as if a switch had been thrown.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she told him. The smile was there, but devoid of warmth. “I hate meetings, that’s all. They sap the life out of me. I’d rather wrestle sharks than sit listening to a presentation for an hour.”

  Scott had never had that problem, but could imagine how boring it would be.

  “Did they say what your next assignment would be?” he asked, hoping the answer might be one that cheered her up a little.

  “No, not yet. There are about four or five that are suitable for me, but most are in London. There’s nothing in your neck of the woods.”

  Scott guessed that was why she seemed a little off. Perhaps she was just sad at the prospect of leaving France and ending their brief relationship. He knew he was.

  Their love-making that night was tepid, perfunctory, and afterwards she turned over and fell straight to sleep. The next morning, he was barely been able to get a smile from her, and although she perked up as the day wore on, she still wasn’t the girl he’d fallen for.

  They took the two o’clock shuttle back to France. Scott bought sandwiches in the buffet car.

  “When will they have a decision about your next assignment?” he asked.

  Kelly shook her head as she munched the sandwich, then swallowed. “It’ll be made tomorrow.”

  “But you’re pretty sure it’ll be London?”

  “It looks like it,” she said, and Scott detected a hint of sadness in her voice.

  He’d already told her that he never wanted to return to England. A flying visit was one thing, but the mere thought of settling back there set his heart racing. He could hear his heartbeat, and a knot grew in his stomach. He wished there could be some sort of compromise, a way to continue what they had, but the possibility seemed remote. He considered asking her to quit her job, but that would have been selfish. She had her life mapped out, and the next five years would be used to gain experience in the market before branching out on her own. He couldn’t ask her to abandon her plan simply because he was besotted with her. He could certainly afford to provide for her, so she could concentrate on starting her own business, but what if things didn’t work out between them? What if they grew apart after a few months?

  “I really wish we could find a way to make this work,” Kelly said, as if reading his thoughts, “but I have to think long-term. I know you can’t live in London again, and there’s no way I could commute. The only option would be to request a transfer overseas, but these days everyone wants to do that.”

  He was glad to see she was thinking along the same lines, but they weren’t any closer to a resolution. Perhaps the only way forward was a long-distance relationship.

  “If you’re happy to keep seeing me, we could meet up at the weekends,” Scott suggested. “I could travel to London one week, you come visit me the next.”

  Kelly’s face lit up at the suggestion. “That could work,” she beamed.

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Her expression suddenly changed and her head dropped. Scott sensed bad news. “There’s also a possibility I could be sent to Australia.”

  “What? But…that’s fantastic!”

  “It is?”

  “Of course! I’d love to go there. How long would that be for?”

  “A year,” Kelly said, suddenly happy again. “It’s a role within the Melbourne office, again working for the wine industry. A couple of people have already requested it, though, so chances are I won’t get it.”

  Scott hoped she was wrong. Australia would be the perfect location, even if it was only for a year. “We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed,” he said.

  The train emerged from the tunnel and soon after they pulled into Calais station. Scott was happier now that they were on French soil once more, but he’d give it up in a heartbeat to be with Kelly. If she could swing the job in Melbourne, he would follow her just as soon as she was settled. If things were still good by the time her placement was up, he might think again about persuading her to quit and start her own business.

  A month earlier, he would never have imagined his life turning around so quickly. He’d gone from wallowing in self-pity to having a reason for living, and he would do whatever it took to keep the feeling going. Kelly seemed as keen as he was to make a go of it, and the worst-case scenario was that they only got to see each other at weekends. That was still more appealing than never seeing her again.

  “When we get back to Auxerre, I won’t be able to stay the night,” she said, bursting his bubble. “I’ve got so much packing to do.”

  “Surely it’s just a couple of suitcases,” Scott said.

  “You’d think, but I was always a heavy traveller. Kitchen sink, and all that. I’ve got to see my client tomorrow morning, but I was hoping we could spend the evening together.”

  “I’d love that,” he said, and his heart danced its own jig of approval.

  Chapter 16

  As Terry drove the van back through France, Ryan couldn’t help but wonder what contraband was secreted around and below him. It had to be something that wou
ld fetch a good price on the black market, so he ruled out cigarettes. Drugs was the most likely answer.

  Terry and Phil had knocked on his hotel room door on Thursday morning to thank him for intervening at the casino. Ryan had shrugged it off, but Phil seemed genuinely grateful. He’d invited Ryan to go with them that day, and had treated him to dinner followed by a few beers and a lap dance at the Candy Club. More beers had followed, and he’d collapsed into bed at two in the morning.

  Ryan had been worried that the local police might be called in to investigate the brawl at the casino, but Terry had squared that away. He’d spoken to Endrit, whose mafia connections were enough to convince the casino manager to forget the entire incident. They didn’t call the police, and in return the casino didn’t burn to the ground.

  The three of them had taken equal turns at the wheel on the drive back, and during the obligatory drinking session on the ferry ride to Bari, Terry and Phil had treated Ryan as if he’d always been one of their own. When they’d stopped at one of the services in France, Terry had purchased several crates of beer for each of them, along with a few cartons of cigarettes for Marsh. He’d called it a bonus for a job well done.

  All went well until they reached Calais. Terry pulled over near the Eurostar terminal and turned off the engine.

  “We’re taking the train from here,” Terry said, and he and Phil got out and opened the back door for Ryan. He picked up his bag and climbed out.

  “No, I mean me and Phil are taking the train. You take the van across on the ferry.”

  “How come?” Ryan asked as he tossed his holdall onto the passenger seat.

  “The boss’s orders,” Phil said.

  Ryan suddenly knew the reason they’d brought him along. He would be the one to take the van through customs in Dover, and if the hidden cargo was discovered, he would take all the heat.