The birthday girl

by Stephen Leather

  Vincenti frowned. 'Nah, I don't think so. It was… messy.'

  'Messy? What the fuck d'ya mean, messy?'

  'There were two shots in the chest, then one in the neck and one in the side of the head. Like she'd panicked. There was a gap between the first two shots and the second.'

  'Which is what a pro would do. Whack him, then two shots up close to make sure.'

  'Yeah, but you'd put two in the temple, or the forehead. She blew away half his face.' Vincenti spoke rapidly, less nervous now that he was being asked about technicalities.

  'How long before the cops got here?'

  'Ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.'

  Utsyev stood up, rubbing his gloved hands together as if trying to get rid of the dried blood. 'What did you tell them?'

  'That someone came up the fire escape and hit him while we were outside. We saw nothing, just heard the shots.'

  Utsyev nodded his approval. 'They buy it?'

  'Seemed to.'

  Utsyev walked over to the window. The frame and glass were covered in white fingerprint powder. There were dozens of prints – it was an old building. He opened the window and stuck his head out. The car park below was almost empty. 'Anyone see her go out?'

  'No, Mr Utsyev. No one.'

  Utsyev pulled back into the room. 'Okay,' he said, 'show me what you've got. What was your name again?'

  'Vincenti.'

  'Show me what you've got, Vincenti.'

  Vincenti took Utsyev back into the corridor and along to another office. He stepped aside to allow Utsyev and his two bodyguards to enter and then closed the door behind them before opening a safe in the corner. From the safe he took a handgun, a pair of black shoes and a pair of torn panties.

  Vincenti held out the handgun. 'It's a Heckler amp; Koch, but an unusual model.'

  'Serial number?'

  'Yeah. Another reason why I don't think it's a professional hit.'

  Utsyev nodded and picked up the panties. 'You got contacts in this godforsaken city that can trace it?'

  'We've a coupla cops on the payroll can do it for us if the gun's legit.'

  Utsyev absent-mindedly crumpled the white panties and wiped his nose with them, as if they were a handkerchief. 'Do it,' he said. 'And do it fast.'

  'Understood,' Vincenti said.

  Utsyev suddenly realised what he was doing with the panties and tossed them into the safe. He picked up the broken shoe and examined the heel. 'You're working for me now, Vincenti.

  Stick with me all the time, in case I need you.' He gestured at the two bodyguards. 'That's Kiseleva. The guy with the acne's Ostrovetsky.' The men nodded neutrally at each other.

  Utsyev tossed the shoe into the safe. 'I wanna find this fucking Cinderella, and soon.'

  Mersiha spent her last day at school in a state of near-panic, certain that at any moment the police would walk into her classroom and take her off to jail. She was unable to concentrate on any of her classes. All she could think about was the gun she'd left at The Firehouse, trapped under Sabatino's body.

  The police would be sure to trace it to her father, and then it would all be over. And even if by some miracle they didn't find out that the gun was registered in her father's name, he'd discover it was missing the next time he opened the gun cabinet.

  It wasn't fair, she kept thinking, it just wasn't fair. All she'd been trying to do was help her father, and now it had gone horribly wrong.

  She racked her brains for a way out of her predicament, but she kept going around in circles. There was no way she could get the gun back; her fingerprints were all over the weapon; the doormen would be able to identify her; she'd gone there with a loaded gun in her handbag. There wasn't a jury in the world who wouldn't think that she'd gone there with the intention of killing him. Premeditated murder, that's what they'd call it, even though she'd gone there only to scare him. The worst she'd intended was maybe to shoot him in the leg like she'd done with Dr Brown.

  It had been a huge mistake, she realised that now. The biggest mistake of her life.

  At lunchtime she sat in the cafeteria with a tray of uneaten food in front of her. Allison walked up with her sandwiches and orange juice and was about to sit down, but then thought better of it and moved off to another table. Allison ate in silence, from time to time looking nervously across at Mersiha. She'd long stopped pestering her for details of the previous night's rendezvous.

  Mersiha considered telling her parents what had happened, knowing that it would be better if they heard it from her rather than from the police, but at the back of her mind was the vague hope that something would happen to save her.

  It wasn't retribution that she feared because she'd already resigned herself to the fact that she would be punished.

  What she couldn't bear was the pain she'd see in her father's eyes when he discovered what she'd done. The pain and the disappointment. She looked down at the stainless-steel knife on her tray. She pictured herself taking the knife and drawing the blade across her wrist, imagining the blood drip, the way it had splattered down from Sabatino's wounds on to her black dress.

  Maybe that would be the best way out. At least she'd be spared the look in her father's eyes.

  She reached for the knife and toyed with it. The blade was too blunt, she realised. She'd need something sharper. A razor blade, something that would cut cleanly and deeply. There were razor blades in the bathroom cabinet, she remembered.

  Katherine used them in her safety razor to shave her legs.

  Mersiha could lie in the bath, stretch out in the warm water, and do it. She held the image in her mind, lying naked in the warm water, one hand stretched out of the bath, blood running down her arm and on to the tiled floor, the razor blade clutched in the other hand. She imagined Katherine and her father bursting into the bathroom and finding her, crying over her body. Then the funeral, her coffin bedecked with flowers and wreaths, the priest talking about a young life cut short, her father crying, grieving the way he'd grieved for Luke. She shivered. No. She wouldn't kill herself, no matter how bad it got. She put the knife down on the tray. There had to be a way out, she thought. Allison was looking at her, a sandwich halfway to her mouth.

  Mersiha forced a smile and Allison immediately looked relieved, taking the gesture as an indication that she should move tables. She picked up her tray and slid into the chair opposite Mersiha.

  'Aren't you hungry?' she asked, nodding at Mersiha's untouched tray.

  'Not really.'

  Allison leaned over anxiously. 'Mersiha, I don't know what's wrong, but if there's anything I can do to help, all you have to do is ask, okay?'

  Mersiha was touched by the girl's obvious sincerity, and she felt a sudden wave of guilt for the way she'd used her. 'Thanks,' she said. 'But there's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do.'

  I Allison continued to eat her lunch, keeping a wary eye ongo, leaving a newspaper on the table. Mersiha jumped to her feet, knocking her tray and startling Allison.

  'Sorry,' she said, dashing over to grab the discarded newspaper.

  It was an afternoon edition of the Baltimore Sun. She stared at the front page, taking in the stories as quickly as she could: a steel mill had announced redundancies, a little girl had fallen from her bedroom window, the President said he wanted to build closer diplomatic and trade links with China, and the police had discovered cocaine worth ten million dollars in a discused warehouse in the city.

  Mersiha flicked anxiously through the paper. She found the story on page three. It was the biggest piece on the page, describing how the owner of The Firehouse had been shot to death. There was a black and white photograph of Sabatino standing in front of the nightclub, a bottle of champagne in one hand, a glass in the other. A police spokesman said it appeared to be a burglary that had gone wrong and that there were no suspects. Mersiha frowned. There was no mention of the gun, no description of the assailant. She re-read the story. It said that police were working on the theory that a man had clim
bed up the fire escape and had been surprised to find Sabatino there. There was definitely no mention of the gun. Or her shoes. And it said man, not woman. How could that be? Maybe it was a trick, maybe the police were deliberately withholding information like they did on television cop shows, hoping that she'd give herself away. But that didn't make any sense. At the very least they should have used an artist's impression of her – the doormen had seen her up close. There was something wrong. Something very wrong.

  Freeman jabbed at his intercom button. 'Jo, any sign of Maury?'

  'Sorry, no. He's not at home either.'

  'Okay, can you get me Josh? Ask him if he'll pop in, will you?'

  'Sure thing, Tony.'

  Freeman looked over the new Thai contract as he waited for the Development Director to arrive. The Thais had already telexed twice requesting early delivery, so he was eager to get it couriered out to them. It was a pleasant change for customers to be pestering CRW for orders. Generally it was the other way around. But as Anderson had pointed out, it was just one contract. His intercom chirped. 'Josh is on his way up,' Jo said.

  Freeman signed the contract and took it out to her.

  'Fed-Ex, please, Jo. I don't want this one getting lost in the mail'

  Josh arrived, a file under his arm and a pair of blue-framed spectacles pushed back into his red hair.

  'Hiya, Josh. Go right in,' Freeman said. He followed him in and closed the door. 'How's production?' he asked.

  'No problems – full steam ahead,' Josh replied. 'You can really feel a change in the optimism, you know? That Thai order has really boosted morale.'

  'Yeah, that was the contract I just gave Jo.' Freeman sat down and steepled his hands under his chin. 'Look, Josh, I'm going to need your help. I'm taking my daughter to Colorado and I'll be away from the office all next week. I'd like you to hold the fort.'

  Josh looked startled. The? But what…?'

  'Maury's having a few problems of his own right now,'

  Freeman said.

  'I knew his mother-in-law was sick, but I didn't…'

  'Yeah, it's a bit more complicated than that,' Freeman interrupted. 'He's been under a lot of pressure and I think it'd be better if he took some time off. I know you can handle it, Josh. You know this company inside out.'

  Josh nodded, clearly flattered by the offer of extra responsibility.

  'I'd be more than happy to, Tony. Anything I can do to help, you know that.'

  Freeman sighed with relief. 'Jo can field most of the minor stuff, and there are no major contracts to be negotiated,' he said.

  'What about the bank?'

  'I'll have a word with Walter. This Thai deal has given us some breathing space, so he'll be cool about it.'

  'Jo has your number in Colorado?'

  'Ah. Unfortunately not. It's a cabin in the middle of nowhere and there's no phone. I'll try to arrange a portable or something and call you with the number. Failing that I'll check in with you from a payphone each day. But I'm sure you'll be able to handle everything.'

  'I appreciate your faith in me, Tony. I really do. I won't disappoint you.'

  Freeman watched Josh leave the office. He was still worried about leaving the company with Anderson going walkabout and Sabatino's threats still weighing on his mind, but his desire to spend time with Mersiha outweighed all other considerations.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Anderson would come to his senses after a few days' rest, and Sabatino was just a blustering fool who thought he could get his own way by playing the hard man. Everything would work out just fine.

  Katherine was measuring kidney beans into a large pan when Mersiha walked in through the kitchen door, Buffy at her heels.

  'Hiya, kiddo. How does my famous five-alarm Texan chilli sound for dinner?'

  'Sounds great,' Mersiha said.

  'How did it go last night?'

  'Huh?'

  'Last night. How did it go?'

  'Oh. Great. Yeah, we got lots of work done.'

  'Glad to hear it. I'd hate to think you were just watching MTV, painting your fingernails and gossiping about boys.' Mersiha headed for the hallway. 'What's the rush?' Katherine asked.

  'Don't you want to help?'

  'I've some stuff I want to put in my room, that's all. And I want to finish some work before tomorrow.'

  'Not like you to be so tidy,' Katherine said.

  'A new leaf,' Mersiha shouted, running up the stairs with her sports bag.

  'Don't forget to pack!' Katherine called after her. She picked up a large onion and began to peel it. As she ripped off the outer skins she heard Mersiha switch on the television in her bedroom.

  So much for homework, she thought. Well, at least it was the news she was watching.

  Mersiha lay awake, her eyes wide open as she stared up at the ceiling. She'd gone to bed early after supper, telling her parents that she wanted to get an early night before the following day's flight to Colorado. Buffy lay at her side, breathing heavily. The dog wasn't allowed in the bedrooms, but she'd seemed to sense how unhappy Mersiha was and when the house had fallen silent she'd crept upstairs and pushed open her door with her muzzle.

  Mersiha had welcomed the company and she gently stroked Buffy's head, taking comfort from the warm fur.

  The shooting had merited only a brief mention on the Fox evening news and the main networks hadn't even carried the story. The Fox reporter had said that police were still working on the theory that a thief had shot the owner of The Firehouse.

  Something was definitely wrong, Mersiha thought, racking her brains for a reason why they hadn't mentioned the gun. There was no way she could possibly get away with what she'd done.

  Retribution was coming, but she didn't know how or when. It was like a big black storm cloud waiting to break.

  Katherine poured coffee into Freeman's mug. 'They're calling for snow in Baltimore tomorrow,' she said. 'Why don't I drive you to the airport? You don't want the car sitting under six feet of snow when you get back.' She made to top up Mersiha's mug but Mersiha shook her head as she finished off her scrambled eggs.

  'You don't mind?'

  'There's a few things I want to pick up at the mall. It's no trouble. Don't forget to leave a number where I can reach you.'

  'There isn't a phone in the cabin,' Freeman said. 'Didn't I tell you?'

  'You're joking.'

  'No, I thought I told you, Kat. The cabin's often used for honeymooning couples, so they make a big thing about not being disturbed.'

  'Tony – what if something were to happen? Say you had an accident. What if you get caught in a snowstorm?'

  'The weather out in Colorado isn't bad. I took a look at the Weather Channel first thing,' he said. 'You'll get more snow here than we'll get at Estes Park.'

  'But what if I need to get in touch with you in an emergency?'

  Freeman handed her the rental agent's glossy colour brochure.

  'There's the agent's number. They'll pass on a message.

  They're only a few miles away.'

  'I'm not so sure about this,' Katherine said, lighting a cigarette from the gas stove.

  'We'll be fine,' Freeman said. 'I think there's some sort of short-wave radio in the cabin, for emergencies. And I'm going to try to hire a portable phone.'

  'Now that's a good idea,' she said.

  'We'd better be going,' Mersiha pointed out, loading her plate and cutlery into the dishwasher. Buffy chuffed in agreement, assuming that she was going with them. 'Oh, Buffy, I'm sorry,'

  Mersiha said, kneeling down by the dog and hugging her. 'You can't come. But we'll only be away a week.'

  Buffy barked happily, still assuming she was going to be taken for a walk. The dog licked Mersiha's cheek. Mersiha hugged her again, then picked up her blue nylon bag. 'I'm ready,' she said.

  Freeman put on his waterproof skiing jacket and picked up his bag. 'Got everything?' Katherine asked. 'Tickets? Money? Credit cards? Snow plough?'

  Freeman
hugged her and kissed her on the lips. Mersiha went outside to the car, taking care that Buffy didn't escape. The dog began to whine, sensing that she was about to be left on her own. Mersiha climbed into the back seat. She was looking forward to the trip, but her enjoyment was tempered by the constant fear that the police would identify her as Sabatino's killer. She'd slept little the previous night. She'd gone over the killing again and again in her mind, but couldn't work out why the doormen hadn't described her and why the police hadn't tracked down the Heckler amp; Koch. It was a distinctive weapon and she doubted that there would be many in Maryland. It didn't make any sense. She should be in a cell being interrogated by Homicide detectives, not about to depart for a week's vacation in Colorado.

  'Penny for them?' her father said as he got into the front passenger seat.

  'Oh, I was just wondering if I'd packed everything, that's all.'

  Mersiha hated lying to her father, but she knew she had no alternative. What else could she say? 'Just thinking about the man I shot to death, Dad. Nothing much.'

  Freeman reached over and pinched her cheek. 'Don't worry about it, pumpkin. Anything you've forgotten we can buy when we get there.'

  'Ah, yes,' Mersiha sighed. 'America is truly a wonderful country.'

  'You know what I could never work out?' he asked.

  'What?'

  'Where you got your sarcasm from. It's a total mystery to me.'

  Katherine dropped her husband and Mersiha outside the United Airlines terminal, dispatching Freeman with a kiss on the lips and Mersiha with a big hug and exacting a promise to be careful if she went skiing. She still had misgivings about the two of them being holed up in a cabin in the wilds of Colorado, but she understood her husband's desire to get closer to Mersiha.

  She had been a part of their family for more than three years, but there was so much about her they didn't know: what had happened to her parents, what her life had been like in Bosnia, why she kept having nightmares. Art Brown hadn't managed to discover what made Mersiha tick; maybe Tony could.

  Katherine realised that she hadn't fastened her seat belt and she immediately thought of Luke and the way he'd died. A small thing like a simple strap and buckle meant the difference between having a son and having a dark hole in your heart where a son used to be. She felt tears prick her eyes and blinked them away. She missed Luke, missed him the way she'd miss an arm or a leg – a constant awareness that something was absent and that life would never be the same without it. She turned to look at the passenger seat and pictured him there, his eyes sparkling, laughing and giggling and loving her. Her belief in God had died when she'd buried Luke. She knew that no omnipotent being would have taken away her boy and put her through the years of grief and misery and loss. There was no God, no Heaven, just the hell of life on earth with the memory of a dead son.