Unfinished Business

by W. Soliman

  “There must have been a murder enquiry.”

  “Of course. But how many random shootings can you think of that have been solved? Unlike in crime novels, unless the perpetrators are known to the victim, it’s virtually impossible to track them down. Trust me, I know about what I speak.”

  “Was it random?”

  “The police thought so. Wrong place at the wrong time, and all that.” I wasn’t about to tell her that the gunman was reportedly a hit man hired to kill an Iranian dissident, a lady similar in height and appearance to my mother, who played third violin in the orchestra. There was such a thing as information overload.

  Monk knew, of course, which is probably why he’d told me about the Iranians being Kalashov’s paymasters, hoping I wouldn’t be able to resist having a dig back. It irked me to acknowledge he was right. Kara’s seductive methods were only part of the reason why I’d agreed to go to Weymouth with her.

  “They were unable to find any reason why anyone would want to kill either my mother or Jarvis,” I said.

  “Why did you leave the police force when you were still so young?”

  “Disillusionment about the way the job was going. All that paperwork, unrealistic targets and pressure to meet them. And then my marriage broke up, my uncle died a year later and left me this boat, and it seemed like the ideal time to get out and try something else.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Six months. And I was forty at the time, to save you asking.”

  She giggled. “Ah, the old midlife crisis. That would account for the Harley.”

  “Wash your mouth out, wench!” I tickled her into submission.

  “How did your father take your mother’s death?” She gulped. “Oh God, I can’t believe I asked that question. Sorry, that was insensitive.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t. My parents met when Mum started making a name for herself. He played violin for a second-rate regional orchestra she toured with for a while. Dad wasn’t half the musician Mum was but love blossomed, as they say, and they married. Dad gave up the orchestra and became Mum’s manager—”

  “But I thought you said—”

  “I came along late in their lives. Dad wasn’t much of a manager. He didn’t have the necessary charisma, wasn’t thick-skinned enough to take the rejections, and was jealous of any male who spoke to Mum, which didn’t exactly help. So when I was born Dad was cast in the role of babysitter and Mum got herself a new manager.”

  “Did your father resent being demoted?”

  “I think there was a lot of tension between them. They argued a lot. He was jealous of Mum’s talent and success. But not to the extent that he’d arrange to have her killed.”

  “And her new manager was the man who was with you when she died?”

  “Yes. She’d known Jarvis for ages. He’d tried to entice her away from Dad, managerially speaking, and when he eventually did so her career took an upward turn almost overnight.”

  “Which couldn’t have done much for your father’s bruised ego.”

  “No, I guess not, but when I showed some musical ability Dad invested all his interest in me. Made me his project, if you like. When Mum died he wanted me to carry on playing the piano like nothing had happened, if you can believe it.” I felt myself scowling. “He didn’t seem to think having my mother’s brains splattered all over my face would affect me in any way.”

  “Not exactly the empathetic type then.”

  “You could say that. Anyway, I rebelled and haven’t touched a keyboard since.”

  “That’s terrible! Your father’s attitude, I mean, not your rebellion. Didn’t anyone get you professional help, after what you’d been through?”

  “It was offered but unbeknownst to me my father refused on my behalf, saying he’d look after me and we’d get over the loss together.”

  Kara stared at me in bald disbelief. “And I thought my father was insensitive.”

  “My father doesn’t exactly qualify as the ultimate role model. We’re not so very different in that respect.”

  “Does yours still live in Brighton?”

  “No, when I wouldn’t play the piano anymore and joined the police, he lost interest in me. He married a trombone player a year after Mum died. They run a B&B in Yorkshire.”

  “Was he suspected of involvement in your mother’s death? Not that he could have had anything to do with it if he wasn’t there, but isn’t the husband always the first person the police look at?”

  “Yes, they pulled his life apart but never found any reason to suppose he was involved. Not only was he not in Croydon at the time but he also had a cast-iron alibi. He was in a pub full of people and had dozens of witnesses to prove it.”

  “And you’ve been trying to find out what happened ever since.” She smiled at me. “No wonder you understand what I’m going through. About Brett, I mean. I’ve always been able to sense a sort of empathy between us. Now I understand why.”

  “I suppose.” I couldn’t think of any reason to postpone the inevitable. “Monk will be waiting for us to get in touch. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  “Absolutely! And you promised you’d help me.” She looked at me intently. “Charlie, is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that something doesn’t feel right but I can’t put my finger on what it is. I’m hardly an expert on terrorism but it all seems a little too trite. How come Monk knows so much about what your sister’s husband is supposedly about to do?”

  “Charlie, he’s involved with Interpol. They must have ears to the ground, informants everywhere.”

  “And a better way to get on the inside than sending lambs like us.”

  “You heard what he said about that.”

  “Yes, I heard.” I sat up, trying to arrange my thoughts into some sort of coherent order without the distraction of her delectable body draped all over mine. “But this is big, Kara. It’s risky, and with so much at stake it ought to be handled by specialists, not you, me and a soppy dog.”

  “Perhaps they won’t suspect ordinary people like us.”

  I didn’t bother to say what I thought of that suggestion. “Is it feasible to expect your sister to spill the beans? She’s been married to the man for years and must feel something for him.”

  “If she knows he’s responsible for Brett’s death, who knows what she’d be prepared to do? Besides, there’s only one way to find out.”

  “Yeah, if you insist.”

  “Come on, Charlie, think positive. Let’s see Monk now, decide how we’re going to play it and take it from there.”

  The voice of reason. “Yes, ma’am!”

  “The shower’s mine first.” She threw back the bedclothes and made a dash for it.

  “There’s room for two.”

  “And you’d know that, would you?”

  “Sure.” I overtook her and switched on the taps. “I designed the room myself.”

  She rolled her eyes but took no persuading to join me under the hot jets of water.

  An hour later Monk and Levine presented themselves on board, loaded down with a bagful of croissants and fresh orange juice. I was aware of Monk scrutinizing us carefully. I doubted whether the change in our relationship—Kara’s swollen lips and a certain light in her eye—escaped his notice. He half-smiled but wisely refrained from comment.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I trust you both slept well.”

  I scowled at him and got straight down to business. “Against my better judgement we’ll go to that bloody school and make contact with Kara’s sister but, just so we’re clear, that’s as far as we’re prepared to involve ourselves. This thing is too big for us.”

  “Thank you.” Monk inclined his head towards us both. Kara, who was busy in the galley making coffee, merely smiled absently and told him he was welcome.

  “When do you think we should leave?” I asked Monk.

  “Well, the regatta starts today. Are you a member of the Island Sa
iling Club, Miss Webb?”

  “Yes, and call me Kara.”

  “Okay, Kara, I think you and Charlie should make yourselves seen at the club today. Watch the racing and talk to as many people as possible so anyone watching can’t fail to notice you.”

  “Is anyone watching?” I asked. “I thought I noticed a young gangly kid with dark hair.”

  “Yes, him and a couple of others.”

  “Yeah, I clocked those too.”

  “Glad to hear you haven’t lost your touch.” Monk took a bite of the croissant Kara placed in front of him. He was the only person I knew who could eat one without making a huge mess. I wanted to ask him how he did it but restrained myself. “I have a couple of people coming over today who’ll take your place on the No Comment, just to be on the safe side, but I reckon after today the watchers will be called off.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  “We think we’ve noticed someone else watching the boat itself as opposed to you, so we’ll know soon enough if he disappears,” he said. I was impressed, not having seen anyone near the No Comment myself, but was damned if I’d say so. “If you take the Sealine, my couple will look after Gil and impersonate the two of you until you get back.”

  “Gil comes with us.” I made it obvious from my tone that the issue wasn’t up for debate. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was so insistent but something told me a large dog, even if he was a gentle giant, might come in useful at some point.

  “As you wish.” Monk must have realized how little provocation it would take for me to back out. “Can we rustle up another dog who looks like Gil?” he asked Levine.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said nonchalantly.

  “See to it then.” He turned back to us, handing me an invitation to the sports day at Chapter House school, together with directions to the establishment. “You will be Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Higgins. You have a five-year-old son, James, whom you are thinking of enrolling at the school at the start of the new year.”

  I scowled at him again. “You seem to have arranged everything. What if we’d said no?”

  He shot me an amused look that told me he’d known that wasn’t going to happen. “I like to be prepared, Charlie,” he said, taking another bite of his croissant.

  “How do we keep in touch with you?”

  He handed me a mobile phone. “This is a pay-as-you-go so it’s untraceable. My number is programmed into it under ‘George’.” I raised a brow, since that wasn’t his name. “Levine is under ‘Joseph’. You’d better leave your own mobiles with me when you go, along with your credit cards and anything else that might reveal your true identities. Just in case.”

  I grunted, resisting the temptation to ask in case of what. Sometimes it was better not to know.

  “Here’s some money and a few bits and pieces to back up your new identities.” He handed me an envelope stuffed with cash. “Not for a moment do I imagine you’ll need them but better safe than sorry, what?”

  “What exactly do you want me to say to Jasmine?” Kara asked.

  “Whatever you say, it will have to be done very carefully. Don’t forget she’ll have one of her husband’s men standing guard over her.” Monk rubbed his chin. “Merely get close to her, let her see who you are and try to find out if she knows about your brother’s murder. Other than that, I’ll have to leave it to you to decide how much more it’s safe to say in that environment. Hint, if you can, that her husband was involved in Brett’s killing and see how she takes it.” He spoke to Kara but his eyes rested upon me. “The vital thing is to establish a means of communication. A phone number where you can reach her, an arrangement for her to call you, anything at all.”

  “We’ll see what we can do,” Kara said.

  “There are some wigs in this bag for you to try on, Kara. Choose one and wear it all the time, even when out at sea. And when at the school remember to wear sunglasses, both of you, and hats, if possible. If you speak to Mrs. Kalashova for long it will be noticed, and the less recognizable you are the better if will be for you both.”

  Kara shivered and I instinctively reached out a hand to cover hers.

  Nadia trembled as her husband rattled the door handle. How could she have been stupid enough to leave it locked? He would be suspicious of her now, and she’d be given even less freedom than she currently enjoyed.

  “Nadia, Nadia, are you all right?”

  She detected underlying fear in her husband’s voice and wondered if she ought to answer him. If she’d really swallowed her pill, would the racket he was making have woken her? She wasn’t sure but settled for mumbling something and curling into a tight defensive ball. The sound of several pairs of feet rushing down the corridor outside reached her ears. Some of Igor’s men had come to see what the problem was. The rattling stopped. An exchange of rapid-fire Russian preceded the connecting door to Igor’s study flying open. She was aware of several people looming over her but kept her eyes firmly closed, concentrating on keeping her breathing even. She heard Igor quietly dismiss his men. Then his hand touched her shoulder and shook it gently. She opened her eyes and blinked at him, hoping she looked sleep-disorientated when in fact she was now wide awake.

  “Igor, what’s wrong?”

  “Are you all right, my darling?”

  “Mmm, sleepy.”

  “Why is the door locked?”

  “Door, what door?” She shook her head, closed her eyes again and clasped her hands together under the covers to prevent them from trembling. Her heart was racing. Surely Igor must be able to hear its loud, irregular beat. “Come to bed, Igor.”

  “In a moment.”

  The tension had gone out of his voice. She heard him cross to the door in question and unlock it. Then he sat beside her on the bed and lifted the house phone. He spoke in Russian to whoever answered it. Probably Viktor, who never seemed to sleep. He asked if anything unusual had happened during the evening, to which he obviously received a negative reply. Had anyone been near his wife’s room? No again. Had anyone been absent from their posts for any reason? Nadia’s heart missed a beat when she heard the mention of Anton’s name. He had supposedly been working online for Igor but had left the library twice. She breathed a sigh of relief when Igor concluded he must have gone for a smoke. As a purist he never smoked anywhere near his beloved computers.

  But Nadia knew the real reason Anton had left the library was to try to overhear what had been going on in Igor’s study. She knew because she’d asked him to do it. Her blood ran cold at the thought of his narrow escape. Of what Viktor would have done to him if he’d been caught eavesdropping. And all because she forgot to unlock a bloody door!

  “I must have locked the door myself as a precaution before I went into the study,” Igor said quietly into the phone, “and forgot doing it.” He paused, listening to something Viktor said to him. “No, that’s impossible, I gave her a pill myself. Besides, why would she? But be extra vigilant, Viktor, I don’t like irregularities, especially now.”

  He hung up and Nadia could hear him shedding his clothes. The mattress sagged as he climbed into bed beside her. Aware that she must divert him from thinking too deeply about Anton’s unexplained absences, she rolled towards him, mumbled as though in her sleep and snuggled against his side. As she knew he would, Igor wrapped her in his arms, holding her close. What she hadn’t expected was that he would kiss her when he supposed her to be asleep. She hadn’t been prepared for his hands to start roving over her body either, like he actually intended to make love to her. What the hell should she do? Respond or continue to feign sleep?

  Deciding that sleeping through his actions would be more suspicious than coming to, she forced her eyes open and tried not to cringe as his hands continued to explore.

  “Igor?” She blinked in confusion. “What time is it?”

  “It is late, my darling, but I want you.” He made no apology for waking her. “Close your eyes and let me love you. Loving you is all I seem to be able to th
ink about when my mind should be elsewhere. And it’s all your fault. You have my heart, and for you I would move mountains.”

  Nadia trembled at the fierce sincerity behind his words. She closed her eyes as passion gripped her, wondering with the section of her mind still capable of rational thought what Monika had been doing at the house. Wondering what Anton had overheard.

  Igor was inside her, hard and insistent. Nadia gave herself over to pleasure, opening her legs wider as she lifted her hips to meet him, unable to stem the tears that slid from the corners of her eyes. Her last conscious thought before she climaxed was what to do about the new life she was convinced was growing inside her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Early Monday morning, before it was light, Kara, Gil and I sneaked across the pontoon and took control of the Sealine. Kara was sporting a fetching short dark wig. A man of about my height and build, a woman with long red hair, and a dog that bore an uncanny resemblance to Gil exchanged places with us on the No Comment. Where did Monk find these people—to say nothing of dogs—at such short notice?

  The Sealine’s engine room checks had been completed by Monk, who informed me the tanks were topped up with marine diesel and the fridge fully stocked. With no reason to hang about, Kara let the lines go and we were away. Quite what lay in store for us was anyone’s guess, especially since I was convinced Monk hadn’t told us everything he knew.

  I sat at the double helm seat and steered the boat slowly out of the marina, careful to avoid the buoyed channel reserved for the ferries from Southampton. Kara tidied away the fenders and lines and then slipped up beside me, her face lifted to the wind. There was a slight chop as we cleared the mouth of the Medina river, but once we were clear of it I opened up the throttles, hoping it wouldn’t blow up any more. This boat might have more speed than the No Comment but she was much less likely to take rough seas in her stride. Gil curled up on the floor of the cockpit, taking up most of the limited space as he settled in for a snooze.