Undercurrent: A P.I. Munro Crane Romantic Suspense Thriller

by Louise Rose-Innes

  “Two years,” Crane exclaimed. “That’s a long time.”

  “I didn’t know if he was dead or alive,” she continued, the faraway look turned bitter. “He didn’t call once. Not once in two years.” She turned to Crane, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “What kind of man does that to his new wife?”

  Crane paused, not sure of what to tell her. Then he gave her the truth, “One preoccupied with avenging his family’s death?”

  “Is that what he was doing over there?” Her voice had lost interest. “He never talked to me about it.”

  “That’s where I met Kaz,” Crane said, after a moment’s hesitation. “In Afghanistan.”

  “Really?” Sarah perked up. “Were you fighting too?”

  “Yeah, I was in the special forces. There was a joint military operation with the Afghans, to fight the Taliban. I was injured, and your husband rescued me. He saved my life, Sarah.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “Kaz, saved your life?” It was as if she couldn’t reconcile this image of her husband with the one she’d grown to hate.

  He nodded. “I was injured and he carried me several miles to safety. If he hadn’t come along when he did, I wouldn’t have made it. Of that, I’m certain.” She didn’t need to know the gory details.

  They started walking again. “Perhaps there was some good in him once,” she mused. “Although, I didn’t see that side of him. When he came back he was a different person.”

  “So what happened next?”

  Sarah held up her hand, a wry smile on her face. “While Kaz was away I bumped into Chris again. It was as if we’d never been apart. I realised what a mistake I’d made letting him go the first time. After a couple of months, I moved in with him. We were so happy.”

  “Until Kaz returned from Afghanistan?” Crane finished for her.

  She nodded. “He was so angry, it was as if all that fighting turned him into this aggressive, dangerous man. I hardly recognised him.” She shivered. “He demanded I come home, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t love him anymore and…” she faltered, biting her lip.

  “And you were pregnant with Chris’s baby?” The child in California. It all made sense now.

  “How did you know?” She stared at him like he’d pulled a rabbit from a hat.

  “The airport. Kaz said you were visiting family in California. I put two and two together.” He wasn’t about to tell her he’d had a buddy trailing her when she visited her son. That would freak her out completely.

  “You’re good,” she said quietly.

  “Is that where you went the other weekend? To visit your child?” No harm in having her confirm it.

  She nodded, and twisted her hands in front of her. They were slender and pale. Crane wanted to take them in his own and comfort her, but he resisted. It wouldn’t be a good idea to get too close. “He lives with my parents. I go as often as I can, but it’s difficult. Kaz doesn’t like me going down there, but he won’t have Ben in his house.”

  “Ben, that’s a nice name. How old is he?”

  “He’s four now.” The pride was evident in her voice. “He goes to a great school and he’s doing well. He’s happy.”

  They came to a fork in the forest path and paused. A tree had fallen over, its trunk lying on its side, like a makeshift bench. Crane gestured to it. “Shall we sit down?” They were far enough from the house to avoid detection and he was pretty confident nobody had followed them.

  She straddled it at one end, while he did the same at the other. “Excuse me for asking this – and you can tell me it’s none of my business – but why don’t you just leave your husband and go be with your son.”

  She studied her nails, it was then he noticed they were bitten down to the quick. “It’s complicated.”

  Crane didn’t push her. She was scared, that’s why she didn’t leave. He’d seen the fear before, and now again, in the strained jaw and tense shoulders. What did Kaz have over her? The child? Were all these killings some sordid message to her? Leave me and you’re next?

  His gut told him it wasn’t that simple and Kaz wasn’t that much of a psychopath. Or was he? How well did he really know the man who had saved his life?

  He decided to focus on what he did know. Kaz was an astute businessman, logical and disciplined. He wasn’t prone to fancies, but he could be impulsive and obsessive. Take his father’s death, for example. He’d disappeared off the grid for two years to avenge his family. So why not Sarah? Perhaps he felt the same way about her?

  He sensed she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and why would she? They’d only just met and she’d already divulged enough. He had a much clearer picture now of what had happened.

  “So, you suspect your husband had something to do with Chris’s death? That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

  She stuck her chin up into the air. “I know he did. I just can’t prove it. Chris would never have capsized his own boat, not unless he was avoiding something.”

  “Like another boat?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Exactly. If they were rammed by another boat, that would explain the accident. There was no way they’d survive if they got swept overboard.”

  “Except your friend Rick did survive.”

  Sarah nodded. “Yes, he was down below fetching the lifejackets and fell, knocking himself out. Luckily, there was still some air in the overturned boat, so he didn’t drown like the others.” Overcome with emotion, she looked down at her hands again. Crane could see her blinking furiously, trying not to cry. “But they killed him anyway.”

  Not on my watch.

  Crane had to admit it did seem extremely likely Kaz had orchestrated the boat accident, then when Copeland had survived, he’d arranged his death too.

  “Why would your husband want them dead?” he asked. “Surely it can’t be because of what happened four years ago?” Chris, maybe, but the other two men? What did they have to do with anything?

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But what else can it be?” Her eyes were wide with terror. “What if my husband is a cold-blooded killer?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “If he’s a killer, we’ll get him.” Crane could feel the fear and uncertainty radiate off her. Her whole body was rigid with it.

  “But you’re after him for drugs, not murder. I’ve never seen drugs in this house… or anywhere,” she added with a shrug. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’m afraid so. The authorities have suspected him for some time, but they can’t prove anything. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help?” She was eager. She wanted to get involved, do something to help put her husband away.

  Crane thought for a moment. “There is something, but it’s risky.”

  “What?” She perked up.

  “His cell phone. If you could find it and see if you can get any numbers off it.”

  She looked dubious. “I can try, but he keeps his phone on him all the time, and it is password protected. I’m not sure how I’d get into it.”

  Crane shook his head. “Forget it. It’s too dangerous anyway. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

  He gave the faintest of smiles. Her journalistic instincts were coming to the fore. He could see the flicker of interest in her eyes, the determination in the stubborn set of her chin.

  “You know we had some guests from the Middle East over for dinner last night. I didn’t know them and Kaz asked me not to say anything – they don’t like to speak to women – so I didn’t talk to any of them.” She dropped her voice unnecessarily. “But they could have been part of the drug smuggling ring, couldn’t they?”

  He nodded, thoughtfully. “It’s a pity you didn’t get a photo of them.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I didn’t, but they’re probably on the security cameras.”

  “You have security cameras?” Crane frowned. He hadn’t seen any a
round the place. How had he missed those? He must be slipping.

  “They’re hidden. Kaz says there’s no point in having them if everyone knows they’re there.”

  Secret cameras. “Do you know where they are?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, no. I’ve never seen them. I presume there’s one out front, and possibly out back, but my guess is as good as yours.”

  Crane was thinking hard. “Is there a control room? Somewhere where the feed gets recorded?”

  “Yes, there’s a room around the side of the house, behind the garages. It’s always locked and I’ve never been in there, but that’s where it’s all run from, I think.”

  “Is there someone stationed in there?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve only ever seen Kaz go in there.”

  He’d noticed the room behind the garage but hadn’t seen anyone go or out of it since he’d been here. He’d assumed it was a store room. Perhaps it was only used when they had guests and needed to keep a close eye on things. “I’ll see what I can find out. You’ve been very helpful. Thanks.”

  She smiled back, meeting his gaze with her own.

  “Anytime.”

  Sarah left shortly afterwards, jogging back to the house along the path. He watched until she’d disappeared amongst the trees, her ponytail bouncing as she ran. They’d exchanged phone numbers so she could text him if she found anything, or if she needed his help.

  Crane took a shortcut through the forest to the staff bungalows. He’d studied the wilderness area around the lakeside mansion on the map he kept in his room, but he didn’t need it in this instance. His sense of direction was excellent.

  A security camera. Now that was good news. Perhaps Doug’s team could identify the men who’d come to dinner. It might give them some indication of who else was involved, on the Afghan side.

  Back in his room he showered, changed and went for a stroll around the property. If anyone asked, he was surveying the perimeter, getting to know his surroundings. It would be expected of a conscientious new recruit.

  The sun was half an hour from setting, but already low in the sky and below the trees, so what little light was left was dappled and threw long shadows over everything. He knew from experience this was not a great time to go exploring. Things distorted, objects were unclear and it could throw out his judgment.

  Without wasting any time, he made a bee-line for the control room, a small concrete hut behind the double garage. He kept an eye out for the hidden cameras, without making it too obvious, in case someone was watching. He spotted one, under the rafters, angled downwards, taking in the entire side of the house. There was no way to avoid it if one approached the control room from this direction.

  Outside the locked metal door, he paused to look around. A keypad was attached to the wall beside the door. As far as he could see, there was no lock mechanism or keyhole on the door itself, only the keypad which could be accessed with a passcode. That posed a new problem. If he was going to get in, he needed the code.

  At that moment, he heard boots crunching on the gravel behind him. Turning, he saw the guard who lived two bungalows down. Peter, he thought his name was. He’d seen him patrolling the grounds after dark and had had to avoid him the other night when he’d broken into the study.

  “Evening,” said Crane, giving the man a friendly nod.

  The security guard frowned, then reciprocated with what Crane assumed was a smile. Not the friendly type, then. With a wide, stocky build and a rugged face dotted with pockmarks, the man looked like he wasn’t afraid of a little confrontation.

  “It’s Peter, isn’t it?” asked Crane, walking up to him. “I’m Crane.” They shook hands. Peter was a head shorter than Crane, but a foot wider. It would be an interesting fight, Crane thought wryly, if it came down to it.

  “Are you security? I’ve seen you doing your rounds.”

  Peter grunted. “I’m on the night watch. You?”

  “Bodyguard, but I do some other stuff as well.” Peter would know what he meant.

  “Do you mind if I join you? I’m trying to familiarise myself with the place.”

  Peter glanced at the camera room door as if he wanted to go inside, but then nodded.

  Crane fell into step beside him.

  “This building looks pretty impenetrable.” He nodded towards the concrete block. “What’s inside?”

  “Camera feed.” One sentence. Great, they were getting somewhere. His accent was strong, Eastern European.

  “Where are you from?” Crane asked, as they rounded the corner and strolled across the front of the house. Immediately, a security light flooded the foreground. Crane looked up. The light was attached to the corner of the house, high up on the wall, below the rafters. Blinding, if you looked directly at it.

  “I’m Czechoslovakian,” he replied, his eyes staring beyond the carpark into dark recesses.

  “You’re a long way from home,” commented Crane. The light was bright enough to see at least half the carpark. The rest would be in darkness once the sun had fully set.

  “The work is good here.” He switched on his flashlight. It wasn’t strictly necessary given the bright security lights, the second of which had flickered on as they approached the other side of the house.

  “Fair enough.”

  They walked in silence for a while, Peter shining his flashlight into the bushes beside the kitchen. This was the most protected side of the house, and the way he’d broken in the other night. A leafy tree with long, drooping branches prevented the light from reaching the kitchen windows and a wooden side door. He couldn’t see any cameras, but had to assume he hadn’t been spotted, otherwise someone would have raised the alarm by now.

  “How long have you worked here?” It was a casual question, one that anyone might ask a colleague they wanted to be friendly with. Except these types were hardly ever friendly. There was no such thing as office banter.

  “Six months,” he replied, then as an afterthought asked, “You?”

  Crane shrugged. “A couple of days. I fought with Kaz, I mean, Mr. Erkel in Afghanistan. That’s how we know each other.”

  The Czech nodded. By divulging some personal information Crane was establishing trust. Or trying to.

  “Did you kill Aneez?” The Czech gave him a hard look.

  The question took him by surprise, but he should have expected it. Kaz obviously hadn’t told his staff what had happened, but rumours abounded in those circumstances. One day the Serb was here, then the next he went out on a job and didn’t come back. Crane had been with him. It was a natural assumption.

  “No, I tried to save him,” he said after a beat. “We ran into some problems and he got injured. I couldn’t get him out in time.”

  The other staff members wouldn’t know about the hit on Copeland, unless Aneez had told them and Crane got the feeling the giant Serb had been too professional. No, this was an attempt to find out what had happened to their work colleague and fellow Eastern European, that was all.

  Peter grunted again and gave a small nod, although he didn’t look a hundred percent convinced. Crane didn’t blame him. Aneez would be a hard man to put down. “I can’t give you too many details,” he said, by way of explanation.

  The Czech nodded again. They approached the front of the house. It overlooked the lake, the surface of which was smooth and glassy. Brown leaves had collected around the edges giving it a scarred appearance, like an antique mirror.

  The porch was lit with two lamps which threw soft puddles of light across the decking. It looked inviting, even though it was a chilly evening. Crane thought if he was Kaz, he’d be sitting out there right now, gazing across the water and into the forests beyond, enjoying the hazy sunset.

  “It’s a beautiful place,” commented Crane, for want of anything else to say. The Czech didn’t respond. He shone his flashlight under the deck and then into the shrubbery that surrounded the lake. He was thorough. Crane was impressed.

  “So who are the other g
uys?” Perhaps he could get an idea of who did what around here, if Peter was willing. “I know Mick, I think he does the day shift, right?”

  Peter nodded. Mick was his day-time double. Always on watch, two hourly patrols around the premises.

  “Alex and Ishmael are the gate guards. Michael guards the carpark, and there’s a new guy, I don’t know his name. He arrived today.”

  Crane nodded. He’d seen the new guy arrive. He was in the end bungalow, next to Crane’s. The one Aneez had lived in. Perhaps his replacement?

  “Who looks after the camera room?” He kept his voice as nonchalant as possible, but even so, Peter gave him a skew look. “It’s only manned when there are VIPs on the premises, otherwise it’s off-limits. I check it every night to make sure the cameras are working properly.”

  “Makes sense.” Crane decided to move on. “So that’s the permanent staff. I saw a couple of other guys with semi-automatics the other night during the party. Who were they?”

  Peter shrugged. He was bored of this conversation. “They were bought in for the evening. It happens when the boss has guests over.”

  “I’m sure that’s a pretty regular occurrence.”

  Another shrug. This time Peter didn’t deign to answer. Crane was dangerously close to overstaying his welcome. They’d lapped the house now, so he thanked Peter and peeled off towards the path leading back to the bungalows. It was a cosy set-up. The permanent staff all stayed on the property at the far side of the lake, but as far as he could tell, the housekeeper didn’t live on the premises, nor did the cleaning staff who came in twice a week.

  It was dark by the time he got back to his bungalow. The entire patrol had taken forty-five minutes. Longer for Peter, who hadn’t got back yet. He would probably backtrack to the control room to check it, since he hadn’t been able to earlier.