by David Gilman
‘I don’t need them. Ice packs and painkillers for the nose once I push it back into place. It’ll be as good as new in a couple of weeks. I’ll stitch the leg myself. I want nothing official being recorded here.’
‘Between me and the police, you won’t be drawn into it.’
‘OK. I’ll look after myself, Maguire.’
‘But it’s over, Raglan. Nothing more to be gained from this. Time for you to go home.’
A diver broke the surface and raised a thumb. They had her. He watched as the police lights caught a flash of white in the water. Two divers raised the ragdoll body to the surface. The white blouse was stained from the blood washed through its weave. Abbie’s head lolled to one side. As they placed her in the recovery boat, the floodlights brought the dead girl sharply into focus. Her eyes stared at Raglan.
They would join others that haunted him.
*
He owed it to Mandy, Steve and Melissa to tell them that Carter was dead. He walked away from the place of killing. By the time he reached the outer police cordon he had changed his mind and decided to speak to Abbie’s parents first. Mandy had endured loss before, Steve had escaped the terror and Melissa just wanted her daddy home. They would console each other, and grieve together, and no matter what pain they felt right now Mandy had a future with the children. That was their hope. Abbie was all her parents had.
By morning, when the crime scene officers gave the all-clear, the bodies had been removed and the police tape taken down from the cordon, Raglan was sitting in a taxi outside the Southall house. He had cleaned up and changed his clothes but his face still bore evidence of the fight on the rooftop. Would they believe the lie that it resulted from a car crash? A fatal one for their daughter who had been driving? A hit and run. He waited until the curtains were drawn back, picturing Abbie’s mother making the first of many cups of tea for the day.
He paid the cab driver enough money to wait for him and went up to the front door.
Abbie’s mother looked startled at the rough state of the man who stood before her. She ushered him in, clutching her dressing gown. He smiled regretfully. Her startled look was one of denial and disbelief. She knew; of course she did. The man who stood before her was about to tear their lives apart. She would need more strength now than ever before. Her husband would take it hard. Tears welled as she forced one leaden foot in front of the other.
Raglan sat with Abbie’s mother and father. Two broken hearts cleaved in pain. After delivering the news he watched the man slowly disintegrate as his wife clasped his hand to her tear-streaked face. Raglan stepped forward and placed his hand on his shoulder. Jal Khalsa breathed deeply and settled his pain. He nodded Raglan away and regained his composure and dignity.
‘I will deal with this matter, Mr Raglan. I can see that you were also hurt in the car crash. It was thoughtful of you to ignore your own injuries and bring us the news of our daughter’s death. That cannot have been an easy duty to undertake,’ Abbie’s father said with quiet formality.
Raglan was ready to leave. ‘A man will come and speak to you in a short while. He was Abbie’s boss.’
‘From the Department of Transport?’
Raglan nodded. The lie was the lesser of two evils. Maguire was right. The girl had kept her own secret intact – why unravel that with the truth now?
‘And the man who caused her death?’ said Abbie’s father.
‘I’ll find him,’ said Raglan. ‘I promise.’
36
The government machine swung into action. The story neatly unfolded that a team of detectives, acting on a tip-off from an informer, had discovered where the kidnapped banker was being held. Armed police had rescued Jeremy Carter, but he died from the injuries inflicted by his kidnappers during his imprisonment. The men who died in the shootout with armed police were of Eastern European origin. No one said they were believed to be Russian. In a separate, unrelated incident at Canary Wharf on the Isle of Dogs, a single as yet unnamed man believed to be suffering from mental health issues broke into a private clinic and killed the hospital’s 45-year-old receptionist, named as Mrs Marjorie Chambers, and the 36-year-old security guard, Alan Jessup. Their families had been informed. Once again armed police responded and were attacked by the suspect, who was shot dead. A full Independent Office for Police Conduct investigation would take place.
Maguire, the Home Secretary and the Metropolitan Police Commissioner had thrashed out the denial of the truth in a pre-dawn meeting, which was then used to brief the Prime Minister. They decided that the heading on their briefing notes from Maguire, namely: RBOC: Russian-Backed Organized Crime, would not be brought to public or media attention. An international arrest warrant remained in place for Yegor Kuznetsov. They made no mention of the fact that the man had worked in the past for French intelligence and was wanted for the murder of four Moscow police officers. Given Kuznetsov’s involvement in the past with the Russian state, the latter was suspected of being the main beneficiary of the attack on Carter and the information he held. None of that could be proved and it was deemed not to be in the public interest to air it. Eventually the Russian killer would resurface and when he did, Maguire hoped MI6 would be the first to know about it.
*
Raglan stood with Elena Sorokina at the airport while a Russian embassy official spoke to the airport security people. Her personal sidearm had been stripped and placed in a tamper-proof box that would be kept by the pilots in the cockpit. She had returned to the miserable hotel to nurse her broken ribs following the shooting while awaiting her final orders from Moscow.
‘What about the Indian girl?’ Sorokina asked Raglan.
‘Dead,’ said Raglan. ‘He killed her.’
Her face creased with disgust. ‘I have failed, Raglan. Where will you go now?’
‘I’ll stay with Carter’s family for a couple of weeks, help them to deal with it.’
‘No one deals with it,’ she said.
‘I know.’
The embassy official beckoned her. Sorokina extended her hand in farewell. ‘Let’s not pretend that our one night together means anything more than it did.’
He saw the cold look again and knew that she had retreated into her professional shell. It suited him, though her grip stayed in his for a moment longer than was necessary.
‘Safe journey,’ he said.
*
Raglan spent the following three weeks with Amanda and the children, his presence helping to temporarily fill the void left by Jeremy Carter’s death. He took over household duties his friend would have managed, while the family’s slow absorption of the stages of their grief bubbled to the surface. There were tears, and rage. They were angry at Carter for dying, for abandoning them. Bereft that there had been no final embrace or tender word. An agony of silence descended on the household. Raglan created a routine of running every day with Steve and telling Melissa a night-time story while fielding questions about her father. Following his investigation, Maguire finally reached the conclusion that Raglan’s defence of Jeremy Carter, insisting that he had never diverted funds, had been correct. The family would receive Carter’s civil service pension and the additional sum due to any serving field officer who died in the line of duty.
Amanda Reeve-Carter buried her second husband in the fourth week after he had been seized, on a bleak and misty October day. Muffled against the cold, she hugged her children to her as Raglan gripped her shoulder to ease her trembling. Maguire and several dark-suited officials from the Service attended, standing at a respectful distance from Amanda and her family at the graveside. The directors of the bank, ignorant of Carter’s true role, muttered words of consolation and sorrow at his death. They seemed nervous of the anonymous, emotionless men watching them. They must have known they would soon be under the most intense investigation.
Maguire approached Amanda, and Raglan saw bitterness pull at the corner of her mouth. She was a courageous woman, unafraid to express her feelings towards those wh
o caused injury to her family and he half expected her to slap aside Maguire’s extended hand. She didn’t; she simply ignored the gesture of greeting.
‘Jeremy held out for nearly a week under appalling treatment and you dared to question his loyalty,’ she said to Maguire.
‘Amanda—’
Her arched eyebrow made Maguire backtrack from his attempt at intimacy. ‘Mrs Reeve-Carter, I can offer no explanation that might lessen your distress. There are protocols in place that we must adhere to, as we did in the early stages of our investigation. I have spoken to the Prime Minister and made the strongest recommendation that Jeremy is awarded an appropriate honour for his outstanding courage and exemplary work for the Service.’
‘I have enough medals given for death in the line of duty,’ she said. She stepped away with her children; then she turned to deliver a final admonishment to the MI6 section chief. ‘I know how this works. What you feed the press is one thing, what I want is another. Find the bastard who did this and kill him.’
As Raglan went to accompany her, Maguire caught his arm.
‘We need to talk.’
‘I’m leaving in a couple of days. I thought that’s what you wanted. I’m the one person you don’t need to be dragged into any more of this. Besides, what’s left to say?’
‘Your Russian girlfriend is back in town.’
37
Raglan took his time walking the hundred yards towards her. She was waiting on the Victoria Embankment, standing beneath one of the old-fashioned street lamps. The River Thames looked a muddier shade of grey than usual. Maguire had given Raglan the time and the place: obviously Sorokina was still distrustful of meeting indoors. The constant noise of traffic on the Embankment and the sibilance of the wind across the water would make it difficult for her conversation to be recorded. She wore calf-length boots over jeans with a three-quarter-length belted coat, its collar turned up against the cold. Her head was bare as she faced into the wind so that it blew her hair back from her features. He looked beyond her but saw no sign of any minders or cars parked under the pretence of being broken down. She was alone.
She saw Raglan approaching her. There was no smile of greeting. ‘You are late,’ she said icily. ‘I thought your kind was never late. Being in the right place at the correct time can be a matter of life and death in your business.’
‘Are you planning to kill me?’ he asked, risking a smile, ‘because if you are, I would rather be late for my own funeral.’
‘This is something funny? I don’t understand. Of course I am not going to kill you. Why would you think that?’
‘It was my pathetic attempt at humour. Forget it.’
‘Very well. There is no time for humour. Do you wish to take me to bed?’
Raglan considered the proposition for a moment. ‘You came all this way for sex? What’s happened to all the men in Moscow? Is the rumour true?’
She looked puzzled. ‘What rumour?’
‘That President Putin is gay and that all the men in Moscow have followed his example.’
She frowned. ‘Are you drunk?’
‘I’m beginning to think it might be better if I was. What is it you want, Elena?’
‘I am here to propose to you.’
‘You want to marry me?’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because you said you wanted to propose to me.’
‘Then I have my words incorrect.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I wish to say I have a proposition for you.’
‘Ah. That’s me condemned to a single life after all. OK. I accept.’
‘I have not yet explained what it is I have in mind.’
‘I’m sure I’ll find it pleasurable.’
She gazed at the madman who stood before her. ‘You are a fool, Raglan. Perhaps we should speak in Russian so there is no further misunderstanding. I am here on business but I did not see any reason why we could not enjoy some pleasure as well.’
‘Your last words to me at the airport were that we shouldn’t pretend our night together was anything more than what it was.’
Finally, she smiled. ‘And what it was, was pleasurable.’
*
The tourist hotel was an improvement on her previous one. The bed was bigger, firmer and quieter. The room was warm; it was comfortable to be naked. And room service was efficient and convenient for anyone not wishing to leave the hotel. Which they didn’t.
Her broken ribs had left no visible sign on her slender torso; the wound on his leg was a narrow furrow with a few black marks left by the stitches. The bruising from his broken nose had faded. Sorokina’s body was as firm as her unabashed desire for him was strong; though he was careful, just weeks after her injury, she was fierce. She winced in pain as he pressed too hard against her; she swore, ignored the discomfort but let him ease her into a more comfortable position. Then she laughed as her chin caught the tender bones around his nose and he gasped, tears in his eyes. They squirmed with care and then their desire overcame them.
After hours in bed and then sharing the tub bath, eating whenever they felt like it, she awoke to find him sitting at the small table by the window. He had pulled on a T-shirt and boxer shorts and was watching her. She glanced at her shoulder bag and small carry-on suitcase. Neither seemed to have been tampered with. She was uncertain. The wardrobe door that concealed the room safe was open, but the safe door was closed. Even Raglan could not have discovered the combination.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Wondering who sent you and why. We’ve had the pleasure; maybe it’s time for the pain,’ he said and tossed a brown Manila envelope on to the bed. She looked alarmed and glanced at the wardrobe again. He shrugged and lowered the tension with a smile. ‘I’m nosey and I like to get a heads-up on what’s around the corner.’
She was less angry than he imagined she would be. ‘How did you open the safe?’
He tipped out her small shoulder bag and flipped open the small leather wallet exposing her identity card. ‘First four numbers, last four, middle four. It was the middle four.’
‘You should trust me, Raglan. I do not wish to cause you harm.’
‘After the last few hours, I might have to disagree.’ He smiled again. ‘I didn’t open the envelope. You’re not armed this time. The hotel is booked and paid for by you. I checked. So whatever this is, other than being a time to reacquaint ourselves, it is not official.’
‘In a way it is.’ She sat up and tucked the sheet around her, hiding her nudity now. The envelope stayed on the bed. Raglan went to the coffee machine and gestured with a cup. She nodded. He slotted in the capsules.
‘Are you in trouble? Did your bosses give you a hard time when you got back?’
‘No, not really. They might even promote me to lieutenant colonel.’
He fiddled with the coffee preparation. ‘Do I salute you now?’
‘No. Later.’ Now it was her turn to smile.
He handed her the coffee. ‘You’re a different woman when you smile, Elena. You should do it more often.’
‘In the Moscow police if you smile too much they think you have big secrets and you end up in the frozen north in a police station that looks for stray dogs. Or that you are a village idiot. I did not get to be a major by smiling. I said I did not wish to cause you harm, but what I have in that envelope might even cause your death.’
‘Then the sex was for a condemned man.’
She didn’t smile. ‘Perhaps, yes.’
He waited. Her seriousness told him he should stop the quips. Time to listen and find out the real reason for her unannounced visit to London.
‘Nine days ago there was a show trial in Moscow. Without police knowledge, another internal security branch seized Yegor Kuznetsov. It was a mock arrest. My boss, General Ivanov, was not even involved. He had no cause for complaint because they prosecuted the man you know as JD for the murder of my brother and the other police officers. His arrest meant the interna
tional arrest warrant was no longer in force.’
She leant forward, now not caring that she exposed her breasts from beneath the sheet. She peeled back the flap of the envelope and slid out a folded newspaper cutting. She handed it to Raglan who unfolded it and saw a photograph of JD being escorted into the courtroom. Raglan could read enough Russian to understand the headline, which stated that the wanted cop-killer had been arrested and quickly brought to trial.
‘It was…’ She searched for the appropriate saying. ‘A set-up. General Ivanov had no access to the information as to how Kuznetsov was so quickly found after his return from London. Obviously, it was arranged with the help of corrupt officials. It means we are no longer looking for him. The case is closed.’
‘So if a deal has been done, then where is he?’
‘We no longer have the death penalty in the Russian Federation. He was sentenced to life imprisonment in a prison colony miles from anywhere. We discovered that your JD is part of organized crime. The Russian mafia. He is protected.’
A dummy court case to protect a key asset who had delivered vital information to his backers. Organized crime acting on behalf of the Russian state, and state officials would not sacrifice someone as efficient as JD. He was too valuable to them.
‘There are more press cuttings, but it was unnecessary to bring them. They gave General Ivanov and the Moscow CID full credit. Those who are protecting your JD made sure we could not challenge the arrest. He has been sent to a penal colony, but it was all part of the show trial so that the public’s faith in our judicial system could be restored. He will be there a couple of months. No doubt with special privileges. And then – who knows?’
‘They’ll pretend to transfer him for health reasons to another prison, but they will give him a new life somewhere else so they can use him again.’
She nodded.
‘And your General Ivanov told Maguire about JD?’