by Adam Carter
Someone had shot Mr Polinski, and I was growing convinced it had not been Nathan Wentworth. But if not Nathan, who? Who would have a motive to shoot an old man, and what was the shooter’s connection with Nathan?
They were questions to which I did not have any answers at all, and no real means of finding them out. Like it or not, now that I had discovered Nathan was responsible for at least one shooting, I would have to contact Carl and tell him everything I knew. Such a thought was by far the worst I had had all day. And that included the fight I had lost against that damn bush.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Gangster
Meeting Carl would have been awkward because it would have meant explaining far more than I was willing to. So I decided to park somewhere and phone him, for that way I could hang up just as soon as the conversation grew awkward. I told him about Nathan; his surname and his involvement in the bank robbery. Carl seemed more disturbed than anything and I could tell he was about to tell me all over again that I was getting in too deep. He knew I would not want to hear that, however, and to his credit reined it in.
“I can use this,” he said instead. “I’m not involved in the bank investigation but this means I can call in extra resource. Two investigations, one suspect.”
“What if Nathan was telling the truth? What if he didn’t kill Mr Polinski?”
“You think he didn’t?”
“You’re actually asking me?”
“Lauren, please don’t hate me all the time. Yes, I’m asking your opinion. Just because I don’t want you involved in this, doesn’t mean you’re not getting results.”
I hesitated, for that was a compliment. I tried to work out whether it was veiled as something else, whether he was perhaps even trying to make fun of me, but every way I looked at that, it sounded very much like he was telling me I was doing a good job.
“Thanks,” I said sincerely.
He grunted, and I could hear what effort it had been to take such a blow to his ego. “Truth is, I’m not getting very far myself. I still can’t track down this Rowena Silvers woman you mentioned.”
“Maybe she gave me a false name.”
“Oh, the name’s right. I know where she lives, but she’s not home. I’ve been to her work and she’s not there either. No one seems to know where she is, she’s just vanished.”
“She might have gone into hiding in case she’s next to be targeted.”
Carl shrugged in that infuriating way which meant he preferred to have all the evidence before forming an assessment.
“Do you think she might have been the one who shot Mr Polinski?” I asked.
“I don’t know, I can’t find her to ask. What impression did you get of her? Is she capable?”
I thought back. “All women are capable of murdering their lover, Carl.”
“Is that a threat?”
“We broke up a long time ago; if I was going to shoot you I would have done it already.”
“Nice to know I’m safe then.”
I thought more about Silvers. She had been the most insincere woman I had ever met, yet her concern had seemed genuine enough. If she was guilty, she was also a fine actress. That did not mean she hadn’t killed him, just that if she had she had certainly fooled me.
A sudden thought came to me. “Maybe whoever shot Mr Polinski has taken her out as well.”
“Maybe, I don’t know. If I could talk to this Nathan kid I might be able to work it out.”
“Depends which Nathan we’re talking about.”
“Come again?”
I didn’t want to get into this with him. The last thing I wanted was for Carl to deny that run-around I’d been forced to endure. Still, I was angry enough at that moment not to care. “That trick you and Lewis played on me. I’m not going to ask if you were in on it, Carl, but I want you to know if you were, that was a dirty blow.”
“Lewis?”
“Yeah. Don’t act as though he didn’t tell you about it, Carl.”
“Lauren, I really don’t know what you’re ...”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I cut in. It was not entirely true, but the fact was I had more than enough to be worrying about at that moment without having to deal with Carl’s denials. “Let’s just get back to the case. Nathan. If he was innocent, who else could have had it in for Mr Polinski?”
Carl did not seem happy but knew I was in one of my hang-up moods if he played his hand poorly. He therefore did the only thing he could have under those circumstances and agreed to talk about the case again.
“From what I can find out, Polinski really didn’t have any enemies,” he said, which was of course nothing I had not already determined myself. “Whoever killed him, I can’t see that it was because he had done anything that wrong.”
“Hiding Nathan seems to have been his only crime,” I agreed. “Hold on, maybe they were after Nathan.”
“Nathan? What do you ...?” He paused while he thought that through. “That would make sense. Someone goes after Nathan and finds Polinski instead. But surely they wouldn’t have mistaken the old man for Nathan?”
“I don’t know. I ...” A shadow fell across my car window then and I looked up with a frown. There was someone standing right next to my passenger door, leaning against my car. “Hold on a minute,” I told Carl and leaned across to get a better view. Suddenly the driver’s door was yanked open and pain shot through my arm as someone grabbed me. I screamed, struggling, wishing I had my seat-belt on, my phone clattering away into the gutter. I was pulled out onto the street, stumbling and falling, splitting my knee on the kerb. The man from the passenger side was upon me as well by this point and the two men dragged me to my feet.
I got a brief look at them even as my panic set in. They were both tall and broadly built, wearing nondescript white T-shirts and dark jeans. Neither was smiling: in fact they seemed to be commanding entirely blank expressions as they drew me away from my car. I looked about, for it was still vaguely light and there should have been people on the street. But there was no one, or at least no one willing to help.
A car pulled up before us and I knew what was happening. I dug in my heels, trying to stop them, but the two men forced me across to the other car. Flailing with my arms as best I could, I kicked backwards into the shin of one of the men. He grunted, his grip slackened, and I convulsed in the grasp of the other man, my arm becoming as slippery as an eel; and then I was out of his grip.
I ran as fast as I could, but only made it several metres before one of the men tackled me to the floor, his meaty arms encircling my midriff and bringing me down hard. His expression had soured and I could tell he was angry that I had shown him up. I thought he was going to hit me, but he did not need to. Instead he just stood, holding me in the air, kicking and screaming, and threw me into the back seat of the car. The door slammed on me and I suddenly ceased my cries as one of my attackers jumped into the passenger seat beside me and pulled a gun.
I could feel my heart stop in that moment; my eyes must have been as wide as saucers. The man seemed a little annoyed, but not as much as the one who had tackled me. Nor did he say a single word, for he could see I perfectly understood the situation.
Another door slammed and the other man was back in the front passenger seat. Without a word the driver took off, leaving my car open and abandoned, my phone buzzing in the gutter. Every connection I had to the outside world was gone and within just a few moments I was in the hands of the very people Carl had been trying to warn me about all this time.
As fearful of my life as I was, I could not help but feel annoyed that perhaps Carl had been right all along. My only sobering thought was that maybe now I would at last find out just what the hell was going on.
*
Pain had never really been something I could handle very well, but as I sat in a constricted bundle with ropes bound so tightly they were burning into my flesh, it at least gave me something to concentrate on other than my situation. I did not know where I had been
taken, did not in fact recall much of the journey at all. I was forced to keep my head low, my mouth shut, and as we pulled up it was into a confusing, dark mess. I reasoned it was a warehouse, since that was where all these sorts of things happened. Abandoned warehouses were the favourite haunt for drug deals, hostages, discreet killings and a whole number of other nefarious, illegal activities. Just which I had fallen into I could not say, especially since I was still attempting to piece together every aspect of my investigation.
My investigation! Ha! It was at this time that I had to admit to myself that I was in over my head, that I never should have set off on this bizarre mission to begin with. I was not a detective, I’d just happened to live with one for a while. But listening to all the various tricks of the trade did not make me a master of them. It was something I should have admitted a long time ago, and as I sat uncomfortably in the terrible silence, I had so much time to reflect on all the mistakes I had made. Not only with regards to Mr Polinski, but with my life in general. I had done so much I now regretted, but it was a regret outweighed perhaps by all the things I wish I had have done. There were so many things I would have done differently, but it did not matter any more. I was going to die trussed up on a chair in the middle of a dark warehouse and there was nothing I or anyone else could do about it.
A click sounded from somewhere and light exploded around me. I clasped my eyes tightly shut for fear of burning out my corneas or something, although knew I needed to see as much as I possibly could if I was going to stand any chance at all of escaping this mess alive. As I slowly raised my eyes, therefore, it was to see a scene I had hardly expected; and yet one which was no less fearful regardless.
I was in a large room and was surrounded by a series of plush sofas and chairs one might expect to see in the waiting room of the Queen’s doctor. The carpet was thick and luxurious, with the most exquisite furniture I have ever seen sinking into its glorious depths. There were paintings adorning the walls: actual original paintings of landscapes and nude men and women cavorting with faeries and stuff. I could tell they were old and faintly even recognised one or two, which frightened me at the prospect of just who I had fallen foul of. Glancing further about I could see the reason light had flooded into the room was because the blinds had been lifted from the windows: blinds so effective that dropping them plunged the room into almost total darkness.
There was also an oval area in the centre of the room sitting on a raised stone platform. Within this oval space there bubbled some form of hot tub, and while there was no one in it I felt a sharp shudder cringe its way down my spine.
There was a man in the room with me, the one who had lifted the blinds. He was one of the men from the car, although now his attire was more expensive. He did not wear a suit, in fact was still dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, although even from a distance I could tell they were of quality material. Whoever these people were, they did not want anyone to find out I had been grabbed by people of wealth.
The man said nothing to me and finished opening all the blinds. By the time he was done, the room was practically aglow. I could vaguely see out of the windows, although did not struggle to do so: I did not want him to get the impression I wanted something.
His task done, the man approached me and I tensed, my eyes boring hard upon him, my will silently daring him to try something. He reached into his jeans and pulled forth a flick-knife, bringing the blade to bear with the air of a man who has done such so many times before. He reached towards me with that blank expression he favoured, and I tried not to watch the knife as it approached. I knew he was going to cut my bonds, I knew he was going to do that because if these people had wanted me dead they would have killed me somewhere else. But when you’re trussed up helpless and someone slowly brings a knife towards you, you don’t have a whole lot of choice in what to believe.
So I closed my eyes. If he was going to kill me, he was going to do so regardless, and I refused to play these little games with him.
A moment later I could feel my ropes coming away and I was able to breathe again.
Opening my eyes, I could see the man had taken to resting against the side of a comfortable chair. He was watching me intently, playing his knife to extract the dirt from under his nails. He was trying to intimidate me, that much was obvious, but since I was already terrified I didn’t see he could really accomplish much.
Rising slowly, I tested my limbs. They ached badly, but I flexed my arms and legs where I stood to restore circulation. When my captor made no move to stop me, I decided I would try for a wander around the room. His eyes followed me, but otherwise he made no move at all.
Wandering briefly towards the hot tub, I lingered only long enough to make sure it was what I thought it was and not something like a bubbling vat of human blood. It was, of course, just a hot tub. From there I headed to the windows and gazed out upon the city. It was a wondrous sight, for I had never before seen London from such an angle. I had been on the wheel thing one time, and I could see it now in the vague distance, so tiny beneath us. I did not know buildings were even made this big in London, yet since I don’t live there I had never given it much thought.
I was far from home, then. Whoever had taken me had driven me farther than I had thought. They had taken me far away from anyone who might have any chance at rescuing me, which meant I was on my own. I did not at the time know what they wanted, but whatever it was I was going to have to figure out my own escape.
Carl was not coming for me, no matter how much I wished he was.
The door at the far end of the room opened and I span at the sound, my entire body tensing once more, my fingernails pressing into my clenched palms as I tried to stop myself shaking. A woman entered, although it did not make me feel any better to discover it was possibly a woman behind this whole thing. She was tall, elegant and graceful in her moves, and I would have judged her age somewhere in her fifties, although a lot of money had been spent on making her seem much younger. Her build was slim, but she was far from attractive. Her face was almost a square, her eyes too thin, her cheekbones extremely rigid. Her dark hair was cut short, drooping over her eyes in almost an emo’s mop. She was wearing a blue dress which did not cling to her lack of form, yet there was still something alluring about her. The benefits of wealth, I reasoned, that it could make even a worm resemble the apple it infested.
The woman did not smile as she glided into the room and did not so much as acknowledge the man casually playing with his knife. Her eyes locked onto mine and I felt an overwhelming urge not to look away. So I met her gaze, hoped I was projecting defiance and not desperation, and knew I would die either way so thought I would give having a backbone a shot.
“Are you the one in charge here?” I asked with what was hopefully more courage than I felt.
The woman continued to regard me for several moments before saying, “Your name is Lauren Corrigan. You’ve been hanging around with the wrong crowd, it seems.”
“Did you kill Mr Polinski?”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “You don’t get to ask questions. Leroy tells me you were seen with the Wentworth boy. When he gave Leroy the slip he decided to come after you.”
I glanced across at Leroy, who gave me a short salute with his knife before turning his attention back to his personal grooming.
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.
“Maybe nothing. It depends what you give me, and how easily you do that. I want the Wentworth boy and you’re going to give him to me.”
I had spent the last couple of days tracking Nathan down myself and there was no way I was going to be able to find him again. I had a feeling that to tell this woman such a thing would buy me a trip to the river.
“Why do you want Nathan?” I asked. “You’re not the police.”
She did not seem amused by my suggestion and I could sense there was something she was not telling me. A reason she was keeping her face so stony, as though she feared to crack her carefully-
constructed demeanour.
“My name is Katherine Redthorne,” she told me, and in that moment I knew she was not going to let me walk out of that place. “Four weeks ago Nathan Wentworth walked into a bank armed with a shotgun and the intention to use it if he had to. Things did not go as he planned and he panicked. And because he panicked he shot someone who was there simply because he was making a withdrawal. A legitimate withdrawal. That man was named David Redthorne. He was my son.”
I said nothing. I sympathised with this woman to some extent, although of course the main concern running through my mind was how I was going to get out. She was a mother who had lost her son and clearly had the resources to do something about it. She was rich, and her money had likely not come through legitimate means. That this was a family of gangsters I had stumbled upon was so ludicrous it was almost laughable; but it is somewhat impossible to laugh when you know you’re about to be killed by professionals.
It seemed I had at last solved the murder of Mr Polinski. In looking for Nathan, her heavies had shot the wrong man, or questioned him and not liked his answers. I had visions of Mr Polinski standing up to Leroy and Leroy taking exception to the old man’s tirade. It was a despicable situation and how I wished I could somehow get the information to Carl.
“So you see,” Redthorne continued in a flat tone, “I want Nathan Wentworth. My men have had no luck in finding him since he disappeared from your car, so you’re going to tell us precisely where he is.”