‘Anyway, Carballion lent fifty grand to Roper and Billy’s company to help them finish the project. Unfortunately, around the same time, the country tipped into recession, the money ran out again, and when they put the flats on the market, no one was buying, so the whole thing collapsed. The banks repossessed the building, Billy and his wife and kids lost their house, the company went into liquidation, and Roper declared himself bankrupt, so he wasn’t liable.
‘But the two of them still owed money to Carballion. The best part of thirty thousand, which neither of them could pay. Billy, of course, didn’t realise who he was dealing with, until one day he and Roper were grabbed by Carballion’s goons and taken to a derelict building in Hackney to meet the man himself and explain why they hadn’t paid him back.
‘From what I heard, Roper and Billy were made to kneel in front of Carballion with guns pointed at the backs of their heads. Billy was mortified. He couldn’t believe this was happening and tried to explain that it was nothing to do with him and all Roper’s fault. Now Roper could have manned up and told the truth. He could have taken the rap, but he didn’t. He put the blame on Billy. Said that it was all his idea to borrow the money.
‘The problem for both of them, though, was that Carballion really didn’t care who was to blame. He’d lent the money to their company, so in his eyes they were both equally liable. And now they were in front of him saying they couldn’t pay. The story goes that Carballion told them in no uncertain terms that of course they were going to pay, and as a little incentive he was going to punish one of them then and there. So he takes out a ball-peen hammer, the sort you use for banging nails into a wall, and places it on the floor between the two of them. He then takes out a coin and tosses it, covering it with his hand. “We’re going to play a little game of heads or tails,” he tells them. “Whoever guesses correctly uses the hammer to break every finger on the loser’s left hand.” He turns to Roper. “You’re the one who’s going to make the call, but before you do, I’m going to give you a little clue. You’ve got to decide whether you trust me or not.” And with that, Carballion moves his hand away from the coin so only he can see which side it’s fallen on. He says to Roper, “If I were you, I’d call heads.”’
‘Shit,’ says Tania, clearly caught up in the story. ‘And what did he call?’
‘Roper’s a cunning bastard,’ I say. ‘He always has been. He figured that Carballion wanted to punish him more than he did Billy, but he also wanted to give him a chance. He knew the one thing Carballion admired most in a man was balls. And only a man with real balls would disagree with his call.’ I pause for a moment. ‘So that’s what Roper did. He called tails. And he won.’
‘And then?’
‘Exactly as you’d expect. The story goes that Roper didn’t even hesitate. He picked up the hammer and smashed Billy’s fingers without a second thought. He then walked out of there and got himself involved with another partner, made some money on his next project, paid back Carballion. Even became friends with him for a while before Carballion got sent down. In fact, Roper went from strength to strength after that.’
‘And what happened to Billy?’
‘His luck turned the other way. His wife left him, took the kids; he stayed flat broke and in debt; died a few years later of alcohol poisoning.’ I shake my head, look at Roper sitting in the interview room with his big-shot lawyer, chatting away, telling his story with an air of supreme confidence. ‘You know, Roper didn’t even bother going to his funeral. That’s why I hate him. The man’s got no honour. No loyalty. No redeeming features at all. He’s just a piece of shit.’
‘You know, I’ve never heard that story,’ Tania says, staring at the two-way mirror.
‘That’s because he’s got a whole army of lawyers to keep everything out of the papers,’ I tell her. ‘We’re not even meant to discuss it amongst ourselves because there’s no incontrovertible proof it ever happened and it might prejudice any case against him. Roper’s always had the establishment on his side. But tonight might be our chance to change all that.’
‘I don’t trust his daughter,’ she tells me. ‘She’s hiding something.’
‘She’s hiding lots of things,’ I say. ‘But we’ll get them out of her.’
Ten minutes later, DS Wild and I are back in the interview room with Kate and her lawyer. The lawyer looks irritated and Kate looks tired and ever so slightly anxious as we take our seats. I restart the interview for the benefit of the tape, apologising for the short delay in proceedings.
‘So where were we?’ I ask with a smile.
‘My client is trying to tell you her story,’ says the lawyer in a sharp tone, ‘and we’d like just to get on with it.’
‘Of course,’ I say, ‘but before we start, can I ask why you’ve been telling us you’re pregnant when you’re clearly not?’
20
Matt
I was on the A4 around Perivale, heading west out of London, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and the scene of the crime, when the kidnapper’s phone vibrated in my pocket again.
I knew I had to take the call, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. As I went to pull the phone from my jacket, a police patrol car pulled level with me in the next lane. My first thought was that they had come for me – that someone had seen me flee the scene and called in the rental car’s registration number – and I felt an immediate rush of panic. Somehow, though, I managed to keep my hands steady on the wheel. Staring straight ahead, I tried to see out of the corner of my eye what they were doing as we drove in tandem in the slow-moving traffic.
The phone continued to vibrate in my pocket. I knew I was going to have to take the call. I saw a side road up ahead and indicated while slowing down. The police car began to move ahead of me but the traffic was still too slow to put much space between us, and it was only when I’d turned onto a residential street lined with a parade of shops that I finally grabbed the phone.
I was too late. It had stopped ringing.
Cursing, I took the slip road in front of the shops and managed to park in front of an empty unit at the far end.
I sat there for a full minute trying to regulate my breaths, slowing everything down, just as I’d learned in the yoga classes I attended several times a week at our hotel, pushing out all the panic and guilty thoughts I couldn’t afford to have right now. Kate was being held captive. The man holding her had been trying to get hold of me. I needed to talk to him urgently.
I took out the phone. As well as the two missed calls from unknown numbers, there was also a text. When I clicked on the icon, I saw that once again the sender was listed as Matt Walters. It just said: Answer the phone next time.
No threat. No anger. Just a simple instruction. It struck me then that if I was arrested, no one would believe my story, for the simple reason that Kate’s kidnapper had covered his tracks immaculately. I had no doubt the phone he’d given me was untraceable – as I’m sure were the numbers he’d called from. There were only two texts on the phone and both appeared to come from me. Neither one gave any credence to my story. I might be able to prove that Kate was missing eventually, but not that she’d been kidnapped, let alone by whom. If anything, the fact that I’d killed a man would make me the prime suspect in her disappearance. All it needed now was for the body of the woman to turn up downriver and it was unlikely I’d ever be a free man again.
There was, however, one thing that might bolster my story . . .
I opened up the Tor browser on the kidnapper’s phone and found the link he’d sent that had shown Kate on the stage with the noose around her neck. If it was still live . . .
But when I pressed the button, it just said Site not recognised on an otherwise blank screen. I tried again with the same result, then, with a sigh, dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, realising in that moment that I couldn’t handle this any more. My life, which only a few days ago – maybe even a few hours – had seemed so full of potential, was effective
ly over.
The rain started up again – a downpour like the one earlier, the raindrops clattering on the windscreen – and I hate to have to admit it, but I put my head in my hands and sat there sobbing my heart out, wishing there was someone – anyone – who could help me.
And then the kidnapper’s phone was ringing again, that horrendous car horn noise that signalled that yes, I really was on my own, and no, things weren’t over yet.
I wiped my tears away with a gloved hand, aware that there was still blood on the glove from where I’d been searching the pockets of a dying man. A little of it got on my face and I used my jacket to scrub it off before grabbing the phone.
I saw that this was a video call purporting to be from my supposed contact Matt Walters. A prompt asked me if I’d like to accept the call. I didn’t like the idea because I knew there’d be a specific reason why he’d want to video-call me and it wasn’t going to be good. But I pressed accept, and as I held the phone up to my face, I could see my own image – stressed and exhausted – in the top right-hand corner of the screen.
There was, however, no face staring back. Instead, all I could see was darkness surrounding a moving beam of very bright light. It took me a couple of seconds to realise it was a torch beam, and that the kidnapper was holding the phone the other way round so that I could see what he was seeing.
And what I was seeing was making my skin crawl. As I watched, the unseen kidnapper stepped inside a room and his torch illuminated the top half of Kate. She was sitting propped up against a toilet seat, the blindfold still over her eyes, her hands behind her back. She was now wearing a coat over her pyjamas and there was a blanket bunched up over her tummy.
I felt an intense yearning for her. If I could just get her back, everything else would be easier to face.
She squinted as she became aware of the light and turned away from it. I heard a chain rattle as she tried to move. ‘Hello?’ she called out, her voice remarkably calm. ‘What’s going on?’
And then something else appeared on the screen. A gloved hand holding a razor-sharp scalpel.
‘Don’t do anything,’ I said desperately into the phone, my face amplifying the fear I felt. ‘I’m here now. I’ve done what you asked. Leave her alone.’
But there was no answer, nor any response from Kate to the sound of my voice. She was only a few feet from the phone now as the kidnapper crouched in front of her, holding the scalpel up to the screen. The bastard had muted me, and I had no choice but to stare as the scalpel moved ever so slowly towards Kate’s face so that the tip of the blade was almost touching it.
‘What’s going on?’ she said, fear in her voice now, even though she couldn’t see the blade. ‘What are you doing? Talk to me.’
The kidnapper angled the phone lower as he moved the scalpel slowly down Kate’s body, the blade almost touching her silk pyjamas, moving inexorably towards her belly – and our unborn child.
The blade only millimetres away now.
My mouth was open. Nothing came out. I could no longer speak.
And then the footage cut out and the phone went dead.
21
Matt
The next five minutes were the longest of my life. With no way of contacting the kidnapper, I had to sit impotently in the car, wondering what he was doing to Kate. I couldn’t believe that he’d physically hurt her, or our child. Why would he? That was what I kept telling myself anyway. But it made no difference. The fear was still there. It was like I was in a boxing ring, disorientated and alone, being dealt heavy blow after heavy blow from every direction.
When the phone rang again, I almost didn’t pick up because I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take.
But I was simply going to have to be strong, and when I saw it wasn’t a video call, I almost cried out with relief.
‘Is Kate all right?’ I said, before he could speak. ‘If you’ve hurt her . . .’
There was silence on the other end of the line. I waited.
‘Why didn’t you answer my calls?’ asked the heavily disguised voice.
‘Is she okay? Tell me. Please.’
‘What I showed you was a warning. That’s what will happen if you disobey instructions.’
I felt relief, but it was tempered by the knowledge that Kate must be going through hell.
‘I did what you instructed,’ I told him, ‘but I couldn’t take your earlier calls because I was in the process of getting away from the house you sent me to.’
‘Where are you now?’
I wasn’t going to give him my exact location in case he decided to double-cross me and tip off the police. ‘I’m not sure. Somewhere around Ealing.’
‘Is the target dead?’
‘Yes,’ I said, closing my eyes, trying to block out the memories of his final moments. ‘He’s dead.’
‘How did you kill him?’
It struck me that he could have been watching on a hidden camera. Was he testing me? ‘The knife,’ I told him, almost spitting out the words.
‘And what about the master copy? Have you got that?’
I had to be careful. ‘He said there wasn’t one. I searched his body and didn’t find anything.’
Silence. Then: ‘The problem is, Matt, I know there’s a master copy. So that means you’ve failed. Which means you’re no longer any use to me.’
‘I killed him, just like you instructed. Now for Christ’s sake let Kate go!’
‘I think we’re finished here.’
He was washing his hands of me. Now that I had nothing to bargain with, he was just going to leave me high and dry. I had to act.
‘I know where it is. The master copy.’
There was a short pause on the other end of the line, but at least he was still there. ‘So you were lying to me?’
I ignored the question. ‘A woman came to the house and interrupted me while I was searching the man’s body. She must have let herself in; she obviously knows him well. I chased her. There was a struggle and I saw she had a flash drive around her neck. It was black.’
‘And did you take it?’
‘No. She got away.’
‘That was very foolish of you.’
‘What the hell do you expect? I’d just killed a man. I’m not cut out for this. If you wanted him dead, I don’t understand why you didn’t just do it yourself. It would have been a lot easier.’ Because that was the thing I couldn’t understand. Why send a rank amateur like me to do a job that he was clearly better equipped for? It didn’t make sense. Jesus, none of this did. ‘The thing is,’ I continued, ‘I can find her.’
‘How do you propose to do that exactly?’
‘I have the man’s phone. I can use that. I’ll get her and then I’ll get the drive. And this time there’ll be no problems.’
The kidnapper was silent again. I had no idea how I was going to manage this task, but that really didn’t matter. I needed to buy time. This was the only way.
‘You’ve got until nine p.m.,’ he said, and ended the call.
22
Kate
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m not pregnant.
I was pregnant, though, until very recently. And the truth is, Matt still thought I was. So when the kidnapper had come into the bathroom a few minutes earlier, shining a light in my face and refusing to speak, running something sharp down my body, all the way down to my tummy, I knew he was doing it for Matt’s benefit.
I’d been absolutely terrified. It was the kidnapper’s silence that got me the most. The fact that I couldn’t reason with him. And I had no idea what he was going to do, and whether he planned to hurt me with the blade.
I didn’t know why he had to involve Matt in this. It wasn’t anything to do with him.
I love Matt. Deeply. I’d been single for the best part of fifteen years, and had pretty much given up hope of ever being in a relationship, when bang, one day he’d come waltzing into my life, gorgeous and smiling, like something out of a movie. It had been the cla
ssic whirlwind romance. He had it all. The looks, the teeth, the charm, the laugh. Maybe not the height. He was short – five foot eight (although he always claimed it was nine) – but at least he was all in proportion, and I wasn’t going to quibble. The thing was, he was so damn likeable. You couldn’t help but warm to him. He just had that authentic ‘nice guy’ vibe, which so many men try to put on but never quite muster. He also had just the right level of melancholy behind his eyes to suggest he’d lived a proper life, and that there was depth to his charm. Add to that the fact that he was only a year younger than me, and we really were the perfect match.
And it had all turned out so well. I got him to move in with me at the hotel. We became a team. I fell in love. So much so that after a year together I was the one who actually proposed to him.
Yes, before you say anything, I know that’s not how it’s meant to happen. But I’ve never been one to go down the conventional route. I did it one night when we were sitting alone beside the pool under a tropical star-filled night sky. Not on one knee. I just leaned over, kissed him softly on the lips and popped the question.
I caught him off guard, but then his face broke into one of his wide, infectious grins and he replied that yes, of course he’d marry me, and that was that. We were engaged. The future beckoned. We talked about kids. We both wanted them. Me especially. After the upbringing I’d had, I knew I could do a much better job than my mum had with me, and so we started trying straight away, because at thirty-seven, time was not necessarily on my side.
And then three months later, we got the news we’d been longing for. I was pregnant. We were ecstatic. We were going to be a proper family.
It was my idea to come back to the UK for a few months. The April bombings in Colombo and Batticaloa had decimated our bookings that year, and even by November they were still extremely sparse, so neither of us was needed at the hotel. Even so, Matt hadn’t been keen to come home. He loved Sri Lanka and had few ties to the UK – and no desire to be here just as we were heading into winter. But I’d persuaded him on the basis that healthcare for the baby would be better here, and after she was born, we could return to Sri Lanka as a family. There were other things happening in my life too. Things I wanted to share with Matt when the time was right.
Kill A Stranger: the twisting new thriller from the number one bestseller Page 9