Unfinished Business

by W. Soliman

  “Give it up, Monika,” I said quietly. “You don’t really want to shoot us.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Or what?”

  She moved a step closer. And trained the gun squarely on Kara’s chest. “Or you get to see her die, as well. It was her family, her bloody sister, who caused all these problems.”

  Ignore the gun and keep her talking. All the time she’s talking she won’t be thinking about shooting. Well, that was the theory. “How do you make that one out?”

  “Her sister turned my father’s head. He was sane and sensible until she came into his life. Then he was reduced to chasing after her like a trained puppy. It was sickening to watch.”

  “Sane and sensible?” I quirked a brow, risking antagonising her. That was the best description of the Russian Mafia I’d ever heard but decided not to say so. “Never been in love yourself, Monika?”

  She glared at me. “Love’s overrated. It ruins everything.”

  Ah, so she’d had her heart broken somewhere along the way then. “Interpol know all about your operation here,” I said quietly. “They’re outside. Don’t make it worse by hurting us.”

  “What have I got to lose?” She shrugged. “It’s all over now. My father’s gone.” Her voice caught and she paused, the hand holding the gun less than steady. Was that a good thing? It was impossible to know. “So is she.” She glowered at Jasmine’s body leaking blood all over the blond wood floor. “And at least I had the satisfaction of doing it myself. Doesn’t matter if I kill you, as well. They can only put me in prison once.”

  “Or deport you back to Russia,” I pointed out mildly. “The prisons aren’t quite as comfortable there, I’m told.”

  She snapped her head in my direction. “The crime was committed here.”

  “What crime?” I shrugged. “You didn’t shoot your father. We’ll say that Jasmine was caught in the crossfire. No one need ever know.”

  She curled her lips into an ugly sneer. “Do you take me for a complete idiot? You’ll say anything to save your miserable neck, but the moment the authorities arrive you’ll tell them everything.”

  “I’m a policeman, Monika,” I said, hoping she didn’t know I’d retired. “They might not have the death penalty in this country anymore, but do you have any idea what some of my colleagues will do to cop killers?”

  “You think I care about myself.”

  A sudden crash distracted us all, even rousing Kara from her state of shock. Anton fell to the floor, groaning. Monika glanced only briefly in his direction but it was the chance I’d been waiting for. With one bound I covered the distance between us, grabbed her wrist to prevent her pointing the gun at me, and wrestled for control of it. I was stronger than her and it was over in seconds. The gun discharged, shattering a beautiful opaque window on the landing, sending glass showering into the night. I twisted her arm up her back until she howled with pain and stopped struggling. Only then did I turn to Anton and nod.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No problem,” he said, picking himself up. “It looked like you could use a distraction.”

  The front door burst open and several men wearing helmets and Kevlar vests and shouldering automatic weapons charged through it. Monk and Levine brought up the rear.

  “What kept you?” I asked, leaning over the banisters as they stepped over the goon I’d tripped earlier.

  “We weren’t too sure what was happening,” Monk said, ascending the stairs. “You ought to have called me before this went down.”

  “I had a few other things on my mind.”

  I passed Monika over to one of the police officers, who handcuffed her and read her her rights. Then I drew the traumatised Kara away from the bodies, into the room Igor and Monika had vacated a short time before. Monk issued a few curt orders and followed us in there.

  “That was quite a climb you did up that drainpipe, Charlie,” he said.

  “I aim to please.”

  “We weren’t too sure what to make of the long delay. We were just discussing whether or not to intervene when that window made the decision for us.”

  “Glad you could make it,” I said sarcastically.

  “What happened?”

  Succinctly I brought him up to date. He asked a few questions along the way but made no notes. That didn’t surprise me. He had total recall and nothing would be forgotten. He smoothly took control of everything after that, simply telling me to get Kara out of it.

  I didn’t need telling twice. I found a bottle of brandy in the cocktail cabinet and made her down a healthy slug. Then I rubbed her hands between mine, saying nothing, just trying to infuse some warmth into her. When the trembling became less severe and a little colour returned to her face, I got one of Monk’s men to drop us back at her car and drove us back to Brighton. I didn’t ask if she wanted to go home. She wasn’t in any state to be alone so I took her back to the boat with me.

  When we arrived, I helped her to undress. Then we crawled under the covers and I held her close. She lay passively in my arms, appearing to take some comfort from my presence and the fact that I wasn’t plaguing her with questions. It took about an hour before the tears came, and when they finally did I thought they’d never stop. What did put an end to them, unfeeling as it might seem, was her urgent desire to remind herself she was still very much alive by making love.

  Well, the lady was in shock so whatever she wanted…

  Afterwards we talked for hours, trying to make sense of it all.

  “I don’t understand what made Jasmine turn out the way she did.”

  “Finding out what your father was doing to your brother would have been enough to turn anyone’s head. Especially someone as young as she was at the time.”

  “Yes, but to then ally herself with criminals…”

  “Well, she reckoned she was rebelling against your father by linking up with Kalashov, but all she actually did was replace one controlling man with another. She got swept along with his glamorous existence, convinced herself it was what she wanted. Anyway, there was no way out for her by then. She’d got that bit right.”

  Kara leaned her head against my shoulder. “She did really seem to care for him.”

  “Yes, she did, which is why she wanted him to get out of his activities in Russia and do something less risky.”

  “I suppose.” She sighed. “It’s a good job Anton spilled the beans about the cybercrime. Jas obviously didn’t know anything about it.”

  “No, he was Kalashov’s one straight employee. It also explains your sister’s startled reaction when he blurted out what he knew. She got the truth out of Igor when he took her to London. Then she played the part of the victim in order to find out how much we actually knew.”

  “I doubt we’d have been able to stop them if Anton hadn’t accidentally pointed us in the right direction. Neither of us had a clue what they were really up to.”

  “Oh, if Anton hadn’t said anything, then Monk would have. He was hoping that he wouldn’t have to, and that by the time we stumbled over the truth we’d be in too deep to turn back. And that’s precisely what happened.” I grimaced, reluctant to put into words the admiration I felt for my old gaffer. “Wily old sod, is Monk.”

  We went to see her mother together the next morning and broke the news of Jasmine’s death as gently as we could. Then, back at the boat, we tackled the problem that was uppermost in Kara’s mind.

  Jasmine’s two children.

  “What will happen to them now, Charlie?”

  “Not sure. But Social Services are bound to become involved.”

  She looked at me, fresh determination in her eyes. “Do you think they’d grant me custody?”

  Epilogue

  It was a crisp autumnal Saturday afternoon, almost three months after the business with Kalashov. Kara and I sat drinking fresh coffee in the kitchen of a bungalow in Saltdean. Jarvis Goldsmith’s bungalow. He’d been right to suggest we wouldn’t meet again. He died less than a month af
ter moving into the hospice and, remembering how he’d looked that last time I saw him, I couldn’t be sorry about that. I don’t actually believe in an afterlife, but if there is such a thing I hope he’s been reunited with my mother.

  This time I didn’t duck my obligations and went to the funeral. It was sparsely attended by some of his ageing cronies from the world of music and a few members of his dead wife’s family whose pseudo-grief really got to me. They were obviously only there because they had expectations from his estate. But they were destined for disappointment. Jarvis’s solicitor collared me at the end of the funeral and asked me to go and see him. When I got ’round to doing so, I discovered, to my astonishment, that I was Jarvis’s sole beneficiary. This house and a reasonable sum of money were all mine. The relations made noises about contesting the will, but nothing had come of that and I, the man who desperately wanted to shake off the shackles of respectability, felt as though I was being pulled back towards normality at every turn of the cards. Emily was delighted. She seemed to think I could be happy now that I had a proper place to call home.

  She still just didn’t get it.

  I was on the point of putting the house on the market and pocketing the proceeds when I thought of Kara’s urgent need for somewhere to live. It took a lot of string-pulling on Monk’s part, but Kara got what she wanted and was granted temporary custody of her nephew and niece. It was what Jasmine wanted too, apparently, because her solicitor produced a legal document naming Kara as guardian of her children in the event that anything happened to her and Igor. There was also a considerable sum of money set aside for their education and upbringing. That was a bit of a sticking point with Kara. She didn’t know where it had come from and didn’t want anything to do with illegal funds. I persuaded her to see reason. If the funds were the result of Igor’s nefarious activities in Russia, then finding their true owner would be next to impossible. She reluctantly accepted that point of view and took investment advice from someone I recommended to her.

  I glanced out the kitchen window at the garden. In spite of the fact that it was autumn, it was a lot neater than it had been the last time I’d been here. Two redheaded children plus Harry and Gil were helping Kara’s mum rake up leaves and put them on a bonfire. It seems the lovely garden at Kara’s parents’ house was her mother’s own work after all. Her one abiding passion. She’s putting the same amount of passion into the garden here but has another outlet for it now, as well. Her grandchildren.

  And her one remaining child.

  She and Kara had long heart-to-hearts in the aftermath of Jasmine’s death, clearing the air between them, letting their feelings out. Kara now knows all about the way she was conceived and can understand the subsequent difficulties her mother had in warming to her. The children, the innocent victims in all of this, are helping to break down the barriers between them. I offered Kara this house to live in until she decides where she wants to settle, and her mother’s a regular visitor. She often picks the children up from the local school they’re enrolled in if Kara’s working, and needs no excuse to stay over to act as babysitter. Inexplicably she still lives in that barn of a house with her louse of a husband. Kara now refuses to have anything to do with him and won’t risk having him near the children either.

  “How’s it going?” I asked her, nodding towards her mother, who looked ten years younger than the last time I saw her.

  “We’re still taking it cautiously, Charlie. One day at a time and all that but I don’t feel estranged from her anymore.” She smiled at me and brushed my lips with her forefinger. “It’s a good feeling too.”

  “I’m glad.”

  We fell silent, smiling as we watched Saskia trying to climb on Gil’s back and ride him like a pony. The stupid mutt was wagging like crazy and didn’t seem to mind in the least. I marvelled at the adaptability of children. They’d been removed from everything that was familiar and placed in the care of a virtual stranger. Their opulent surroundings and exclusive schools had been replaced with the mundane, but they seemed to be thriving. They had made friends locally—something they’d never been permitted to do in Weymouth—and were behaving like normal children. They’d been told that their parents had gone on a journey.

  Kara stood up to join me at the window and I slipped an arm ’round her waist. “When are you going to break the news to them?” I asked, nodding towards the kids.

  She grimaced. “Soon. They have to be told. They’re happy enough.” She frowned. “At least I hope they are. It’s difficult for me to tell. I’m still learning to be a substitute mum. Even so, it’s best that they know their mum and dad won’t be coming back. Social Services have been giving me some help on how to break it to them without causing too much stress.”

  “You’re doing great. They love you.” I squeezed her hand and drained the last of my coffee. “Well, I guess I’d better get Harry back to the boat. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Stamford Bridge,” I reminded her.

  “Ah yes, he must be looking forward to that.” She smiled, not making it entirely clear which he she was referring to.

  “He is.”

  I kissed her, opened the door and called to Harry and Gil. Kara and I are still an item but I never stay over when I have Harry with me. The last thing I need is Emily getting on my case about strange women influencing our son. Besides, I’m still wary of the commitment thing.

  Kara isn’t the only one to have made changes in her life, I reflected as I put Harry to bed that night, wondering if smudges from bonfires counted as dirt that needed to be removed. I decided not.

  I responded to Brendan’s plea to help with the kid who played jazz piano so exceptionally in that grimy hut. He’s getting a hard time from his mates for not conforming and is threatening to stop playing. Brendan’s suicidal at the prospect of losing yet another protégée, so I’ve taken pity on him and am doing what I can to help. Not just because he’s such a talent but because the only other option for the kid is, realistically, a life of petty crime. It would be such a waste.

  I poured myself a beer and sat at my desk in the wheelhouse, Duke Pearson’s “Jeannine” playing softly on the stereo, staring at the file of papers Jarvis gave me just before he went into the hospice. Coward that I am, I still haven’t looked at them, worried about what I might find when I eventually do.

  Perhaps tomorrow, after the football…

  About the Author

  W. Soliman has spent most of her life trying to avoid getting involved with boats. Growing up on the Isle of Wight, the headquarters of British yachting, made that challenging. At her husband’s urging she finally gave in to the lure of motor boating some years ago. Hours of ploughing through all sorts of sea states gave her ample opportunity to think up seafaring mysteries, adding that all-important personal touch. Her beloved mongrel accompanied her on many of these trips so she has firsthand knowledge of doggy behaviour on the high seas.

  Unfinished Business is the first in a series of Charlie Hunter mysteries, harking back to his old unsolved cases during his days as a detective.

  W. Soliman also writes historical romance for Carina Press. Check out her website at www.wendysoliman.com for more information about all her books. Follow her on Twitter, where she can be found as wendyswriter, or visit her author’s page on Facebook at Wendy Soliman—Author. You can also contact her through her website. She’d love to hear from you.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-9244-8

  Copyright © 2011 by Wendy Soliman

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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