The Killer

by Susan Wilkins

  Natalie sat at the table, legs crossed, cradling her mug and with a sullen look on her face.

  Sullivan propped his iPad up in the middle of the table so all three of them could see it. ‘Your brother was a prudent investor—’

  ‘He was a fucking drug dealer and a villain.’ There was no mistaking the suppressed anger in Natalie’s voice. ‘And you can’t tell me that the old bill aren’t after his stash and won’t start hounding us too if they think we’ve got money. I’ve got a son. I don’t want him growing up like we did, knowing his family’s dodgy and that everyone else thinks he’s scum.’

  Kaz reached across the table to her sister. ‘Nor do I. But listen to what he’s got to say, Nat. That’s all I ask.’

  Natalie huffed and folded her arms.

  Lounging in his chair, Sullivan gave her a solicitous look. ‘I understand your feelings, Natalie.’ He enjoyed the role of counsellor, Kaz had already figured that out. He was the wizard who could make it all happen, and that suited his vanity.

  He stroked his chin. ‘Y’know, my wife loves horses and the countryside. She also gets very emotional about climate change. We donate to all sorts of charities. But here’s the thing: the global economy is neither fair nor just, and it’s never likely to be. The rich get richer and the poor get screwed. Throughout history revolutions have come and gone. But in every single one, it’s been the desire for power in specific individuals that has destroyed or undermined all attempts to promote the common good. Human nature is what it is. The ruthless win.’

  It all sounded a bit pompous to Kaz, but he was an educated bloke. She could see why her brother had trusted him. He knew what he was talking about.

  Natalie was scowling. ‘I don’t see what this has got to do with us. Or Joey.’

  ‘It means that all we can do, all we can ever really do in the end, is protect our own. Okay, your brother was a drug dealer – and he happened to be very good at it. But the products he sold were arguably no more harmful, either to individuals or the planet, than many other things. He asserted his will through violence, which has always been the way of our species and continues to be. He wasn’t a good man, but I don’t judge him. That’s not my job. The market is all about what works, and it works best when it self-regulates. Ethical judgements, like emotions, only get in the way of business.’

  ‘Right, well, if I can even remember all that I’ll tell it to the old bill when they come knocking, shall I?’ Natalie’s expression was sulky, like a kid at the back of the class, bored by the bullshit.

  The lawyer’s manner remained serene. ‘My job – for which I am well paid, if you’re wondering – is to ensure that doesn’t happen.’

  Kaz caught her sister’s eye. ‘Thing is, Nat, Joey’s put us in a different league. We go away, start a new life somewhere—’

  ‘What about Mum?’

  ‘We’ll take care of her.’

  ‘I’m not living with her again.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  Natalie heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, I don’t fucking know. All I want is for Finlay to have a better chance.’

  ‘And he will. I told you when we was downstairs, today everything changes. Finlay can grow up strong and loved, go to a posh school, speak a couple of languages, have a totally different life.’

  ‘You really believe that?’

  Kaz met her gaze. ‘I absolutely do.’

  Sullivan tapped the iPad with his finger and the screen came to life. ‘This is a conservative valuation of assets. The UK property portfolio has performed very well and currently stands at sixteen point two million. Offshore funds retained in cash stand at two point five. Equity investments and overseas commercial property, I estimate at around five. Total assets, twenty-three point seven. Even with your brother’s difficulties, asset growth of the portfolio has been close to twenty per cent in the last year.’

  Natalie’s astonished look veered from the lawyer to her sister and back. ‘Joey was worth twenty-three point seven million pounds? He was a fucking drug dealer.’

  Sullivan smiled. ‘I think, Natalie, it’s more accurate to say he was a very innovative entrepreneur in recreational pharmaceuticals and an astute investor.’

  She shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s like we won the lottery. It’s unreal.’

  Kaz rocked back in her chair. She was equally astonished. She’d already realized it was a lot. But twenty-three point seven million? It was Monopoly money.

  An inane grin spread over her features as she turned to her sister. ‘It’s real, babes. Believe it.’

  71

  When Tom Rivlin had crept out of Nicci’s flat it had still been dark. He’d left her sleeping. The relationship – and it was definitely that – kept surprising him at every turn. As he got into his car to drive back to Essex he remembered his father’s comments at his parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary bash. He’d thought at the time that the old fart was being soppy and sentimental. How could you know she was the one on the first date? But when Nicci Armstrong had walked into his office two weeks ago, something in Rivlin’s universe had shifted.

  She wasn’t a girl that you’d fancy on sight, although she was undoubtedly beautiful. Maybe it was that she wasn’t a girl, full stop. She was a woman, a fully fledged grown-up and, once you got beyond the tough carapace, endlessly intriguing and seductive.

  A grey and overcast day was dawning as he drove across Hackney Marshes and he wondered if he was falling in love. It was an odd feeling: excitement and apprehension, the sensation of things speeding up, a tumble of emotions pitching you forward.

  Back at the office, a mountain of paperwork awaited him. Case files on the Kemals had to go to the CPS. Stoneham was cracking the whip.

  He texted Nicci at eleven but got no reply. She was probably busy. SBA was having problems and her boss, a former Met commander, was being difficult. In Rivlin’s opinion, she should just hand in her notice. He’d put to her the proposition that she should rejoin the police, but he hadn’t got a straight answer. All she’d said was she’d think about it.

  In the course of the afternoon he sent two more texts. He phoned her around five o’clock but she didn’t pick up. They’d talked about meeting up that evening for dinner. He phoned the SBA offices and spoke to an evasive receptionist who kept repeating what was obviously their standard mantra: she wasn’t available but would call him back.

  He worked until nearly seven then began calling her in earnest, both her mobile and the landline at her flat. Had she forgotten about their dinner date? She was probably out on a job and her phone battery had died, that was the most likely thing to have happened. Rivlin was a pretty level-headed bloke, he knew the mundane explanation for any mystery was usually the correct one. He also knew that Blake had got her doing bodyguarding work and that often involved antisocial hours.

  By nine p.m. he was feeling annoyed. Was she trying to make some kind of point? He was assuming the attraction between them was mutual, but perhaps he was being arrogant. Did she think it was all moving too fast? Was this an attempt to cool things off? If it was, then he’d prefer her to be honest with him and tell him to his face. He hated relationship games and had assumed, up until now, that this simply wasn’t Nicci’s style.

  Looking for an outlet for his fretful energy he went for a run. It was dark and drizzling but he hammered out a fast ten kilometres in under forty minutes. Back at his flat he showered, made himself beans on toast and called her again. There was still no answer. Women didn’t treat him like this. Did she think he was some sap she could pick up and then drop when it suited her? At half past eleven he decided to drive to London and tell her exactly that.

  By the time he got there, the flats were mostly in darkness. He pressed several entryphone buttons at once to blag his way into the building, then banged on her door. His insistent pounding brought the next-door neighbour out into the hall. She was wearing pyjamas and a belligerent look. Rivlin was polite and apologetic, but the only information he coul
d glean was that she hadn’t seen or heard Nicci and didn’t think she was home.

  The rebuffed lover was rapidly morphing into the suspicious cop. Where the hell was Nicci? If she’d been planning to go away overnight, surely she would’ve mentioned it? Could there have been some sort of family emergency? He racked his brains to remember where her parents lived. That was the explanation he settled on. An accident, maybe a sudden illness? He had no idea about her parents’ state of health.

  As a police officer, he had the means to track people down, though to use such resources for personal purposes was a disciplinary offence. It was after midnight and he told himself he needed to be patient and wait until the morning. If she still hadn’t surfaced, he’d go to Stoneham and ask permission to trace her parents.

  Stepping out onto Newington Green where his car was parked on a double yellow line, Rivlin became aware of a figure in the shadows.

  A short, fat barrel of a man moved out into the light. ‘You Rivlin?’

  ‘Yeah. Who are you?’

  ‘Eddie Lunt. I work for Nicci.’

  ‘What you doing here?’

  ‘Waiting to see if she comes home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m worried about her.’

  The two men stared at one another. Rivlin scanned the pixie features and the neat sculpted beard. Nicci had talked about Eddie and her annoyance at having to work with him. He looked cold and damp. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Couple of hours. Saw you go in. Wondered if it was you. She went off the grid this morning. I been trying to track her down ever since.’

  ‘What was she supposed to be doing today?’

  ‘She said she was going to meet this cleaning contractor who does some work for us. But I went round to his place and he denies all knowledge.’

  ‘Do you think he was lying?’

  ‘Why would he? I thought maybe she had a meet with someone and was using the cleaning bloke as a cover. That’s why I’m here, figured in the end she’d come home.’

  ‘Meeting someone? Like who?’

  Eddie shrugged.

  The cop fixed him with a direct look. ‘And why would she need a cover?’

  ‘Y’know, office politics. Can get a bit complicated.’

  Rivlin smiled. Nicci was right about her sidekick, he had the evasive manner of someone who sailed pretty close to the wind.

  ‘I know she was worried that Viktor Pudovkin was looking for Karen Phelps. Is that what we’re talking about here?’

  ‘Probably.’ Eddie scratched his beard. Rivlin wasn’t sure who he thought he was protecting.

  ‘Have you talked to Phelps?’

  ‘No. Don’t know where to find her.’

  The cop grinned. ‘I do.’

  72

  The money did the trick, as Kaz had always suspected it would. Her sister’s amazement rapidly turned into compliance. When someone tells you that you’ve inherited a fortune, that from now on everything is going to be different, it’s pretty hard to say no, I don’t want it. And Sullivan was able to calm Natalie’s fears about the police.

  Assets deemed to be the proceeds of crime were recovered, he explained, but usually only in circumstances where people were being flash or stupid. Money-laundering was a specialized financial service that the City of London offered to a global clientele. Regulation was light and easy enough to circumvent. Once you stepped up into the multimillion pound league you were a high net worth individual and a potential investor. The police only had the resources to chase the most blatant offenders and, provided you behaved with discretion, it was in no one’s interest to dob you in.

  The lawyer’s advice was to relocate abroad for the time being. Natalie said she needed to think about this. But for Kaz it was a no-brainer. Her fantasy was a villa beside a beach, somewhere she could paint and where she and Irina could live happily and quietly together, away from the threat of both the law and Pudovkin.

  This was the dream that she had tried so hard to get Joey to sign up to. Why act stupidly and risk prison when you had enough squirrelled away to keep you in comfort for the rest of your days? She’d have to find a way to get the probation service onside until her licence expired. But Sullivan suggested that this could be achieved by finding a suitable course of study to apply for. She’d already been online and discovered an interesting history of art course in Barcelona.

  All of this had left Kaz fired-up and hopeful. There were a few details to be ironed out. Ellie was obviously a problem. Once she’d recovered, where would she live and who would take care of her? But like everything else, Kaz reasoned, money would help find a solution. Glynis was resolute in not wanting to be involved in the family move. She’d be happy to come and visit, she said, but she liked her life just the way it was. She wasn’t that keen on abroad.

  After they’d all gone, Kaz remained buoyed by the lawyer’s confidence. Once you’d made your money, it seemed, going straight and legit was really not a problem. All fortunes throughout history were based on some kind of villainy – that was another of Sullivan’s inspiring fables. If only her brother could’ve seen things this way, he’d probably still be alive.

  Kaz got out her iPad and was soon scrolling the Net and familiarizing herself with the Spanish property market. Mainland or the islands? Mallorca appealed to her. By the time Irina finally emerged from her room, in a silk dressing gown, Kaz was checking out beachfront villas.

  Irina gave her a sultry smile. ‘Your family visit. Is nice. I hear. I don’t want to disturb.’

  ‘You should’ve come down and said hello.’ She turned the iPad towards Irina. ‘Come and look. Wha’d’you think?’

  The Russian peered at the screen. ‘For holiday?’

  ‘To live. For us to live.’

  Irina huffed. ‘No way! I live in London. Best place in the world. You had seen Magnitogorsk you know this.’

  ‘Yeah, but this is so beautiful and peaceful. You could walk on the beach every day.’

  ‘And who would be your friends? You have this place. Why you want some white-painted – ’ she screwed up her nose in disgust – ‘peasant house.’

  ‘I can’t stay here, babes.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, too many hassles.’

  ‘Which hassle?’

  Kaz sighed. This was not the reaction she’d expected. But then she hadn’t really considered what Irina’s point of view might be.

  Irina’s lovely features had taken on a mulish expression. ‘Which hassle? The cops? You pay. They go away.’

  ‘That’s not so easy here, babes.’

  ‘Is easy. Cops like money, same as everyone else.’

  ‘Thing is, there may be other people after me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t want you to worry about all this.’

  ‘But you want me live in peasant house. Who?’

  Irina was standing over her, hands on hips, like some pissed-off Valkyrie. Kaz was at a loss. She wanted Irina to be impressed by her at the very least. And maybe one day to love her. This didn’t look promising.

  The Russian folded her arms. Her frustration at her limited command of English was fuelling her anger. She heaved a sigh. ‘Okay. I talk to some people. Friends of Yev. No need to run.’

  ‘I’m not running.’

  Irina flicked her hand at the screen in disdain. ‘You want live here?’

  ‘Why not?’

  The Russian simply shook her head. Her disgust was all too apparent. She walked over to the kitchen. ‘You got coffee?’

  Kaz got up. ‘I’ll make some for you.’

  ‘I make it.’ The tone was combative. ‘Machine?’

  Kaz pointed to the wall unit. Irina pulled out the coffee maker. She was mumbling to herself in Russian. Standing beside the table, Kaz felt like a fool. This was their first row; she didn’t want it to be their last.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—’

  Irina glared at her. There was obvi
ously a lot more she wanted to say but couldn’t articulate in English. ‘I lose my brothers. So much I cry. I stay here. London.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Who after you?’

  With her dreams rapidly dissolving, Kaz saw no point in continuing to be evasive. ‘Viktor Pudovkin.’

  Irina stared at her, then burst out laughing. ‘No! Is fixed. After Joey die, Yev, he talked to Pudovkin. All is good.’

  ‘How d’you know this?’

  ‘Yev say. He don’t want no more trouble. He went to Pudovkin and he fix.’

  ‘Yeah, but since then—’

  ‘Okay, I talk to Galina.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘She wife of Viktor. She good friend.’

  ‘You know Pudovkin’s wife?’

  ‘Well, she friend of Alexei.’

  ‘Who’s Alexei?’

  Irina lifted the small, brimming espresso cup from under the nozzle of the coffee maker. She took a thoughtful sip. ‘I stupid. I stay with Mika. Stupid! I was scared.’

  ‘That’s understandable.’

  ‘Should’ve left Mika, gone to Alexei.’

  ‘Well, you’re with me now, babes.’

  Irina gave her a cursory glance. ‘I go see Alexei. He good friend Galina. He fix.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No.’ There was an abruptness in Irina’s tone. Then she seemed to recollect herself and gave Kaz a seductive smile. ‘Just me. Is better.’

  An hour later Irina sashayed out of the apartment to the waiting car. It was painfully obvious to Kaz that she’d dressed to impress. The teasing neckline, the killer heels, her blonde hair carefully washed and styled to look sexy. She was undeniably gorgeous. Irina was on some kind of mission but was it on Kaz’s behalf or did she have an agenda of her own? The latter seemed more probable. And who was Alexei?

  Kaz sat staring out of the window as the weak October sun gradually sank over the rooftops of West London. She’d gone from exuberance to wretchedness in the course of a day. She longed to take the money and run, to escape the hassle forever, to be free. But one name kept coming up.