by Lin Anderson
‘Yes, but if you didn’t order them …’
‘I will enjoy them nonetheless.’
Rhona acted relieved. ‘Thanks. You’ve saved me from embarrassment.’
‘Good. Have you many more deliveries to do?’
‘Yours was the last one.’
‘So you can relax now?’
‘Not if I go back to the restaurant.’ She laughed.
He was scrutinising her. ‘Do you like Russian food?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘What do you say to sharing some of your mistake with me?’
‘I couldn’t …’
‘Or perhaps you’ve eaten already?’
‘No.’ If you didn’t count sharing McNab’s pizza.
‘Why don’t you dish up two plates and I’ll organise some wine to go with it. Misha’s an excellent cook, as I’m sure you’re aware.’ He nodded at the other man and they left the room together.
The original plan had been to have a swift look round for any indication that Claire might be resident in the flat. Dining with Kalinin could give her a better opportunity to do this but it also meant the Russian would have more time to pick her story apart. She met Kalinin at the door.
‘Not leaving?’
‘Actually I was looking for the bathroom. If I’m going to stay and eat, I’d like to clean up a bit.’
‘Of course.’ He pointed in the opposite direction. ‘Through the door at the far end of the main room, then third on the left.’
The route he’d indicated led into a square vestibule with three doors. The third lay partly open and was obviously the bathroom. Rhona ignored it and reached for the handle on the first door.
It swung open on a luxurious bedroom dominated by a king-size bed with a leather headboard. Above was a mezzanine gallery which had double doors leading to a balcony. There was no outward sign of a woman’s presence in the room.
Rhona quietly closed the door and tried the second handle. This room was smaller and stuffed with computer equipment and what looked like a row of security screens high on the wall. Rhona spotted a view of the reception area and several of the outside of the building. McNab and the car were nowhere to be seen.
A loud grunt startled her as a large seated figure, partly hidden by equipment, turned. She watched mesmerised as the man rose to his feet, exposing a pair of enormous hands. This had to be Solonik. She muttered a string of words that included sorry and bathroom and swiftly exited.
Once inside the bathroom she locked the door and stood with her back against it, fear rippling through her body. What if Solonik had seen McNab take the food from the van and give it to her? What if they’d already picked up McNab?
Rhona took a deep breath and tried to still her nerves. McNab hadn’t parked at the entrance and neither had the van. It was perfectly possible that the interchange would not have appeared on camera, but she had to be sure. She extracted her mobile and called McNab’s number. It rang unanswered.
She heard Kalinin’s voice in the hall and ended the call, flushed the toilet, then turned on the tap full. While she washed her hands, she checked the bathroom for signs of a woman and found none. In fact none of the rooms she’d seen suggested Claire or Emma’s presence. If Kalinin was responsible for Claire’s abduction, it seemed he hadn’t brought her here.
When she returned to the main room, Kalinin had set out the food on a table next to the window.
‘I thought you’d got lost.’
‘I did a bit.’ She smiled. ‘What a lovely flat.’
He acknowledged the compliment, then beckoned her over and pulled out a seat.
‘This is very kind of you, but I’m not sure I should stay. Misha will wonder what’s happened to me.’
‘Then call him and set his mind at rest.’
Rhona checked her watch. ‘I don’t suppose he’ll notice if I’m not too long,’ she conceded.
He showed her the bottle of wine he’d selected to go with the meal.
She refused with mock reluctance. ‘I’m driving, remember?’
‘You could walk, it’s not far.’
‘I’d better not abandon the van.’ Even as she said it, Rhona wondered whether Kalinin was already aware that there was no van. If he was, it wasn’t obvious from his expression or his voice.
‘Then one of my men will drive you.’ His smile suggested he was used to getting his own way.
She took her seat.
‘So, Misha’s friend,’ he said as he poured the wine. ‘Are you going to tell me your name?’
She lifted her glass and sipped some of the pale golden liquid. ‘Rhona.’
‘Ah, Rhona.’ He nodded as if in approval. ‘And how long have you and Misha been,’ he paused, ‘friends?’
She lifted her spoon. ‘Not long. A few weeks.’
‘And yet I have never seen you at the restaurant?’ His voice was playful.
Rhona paid close attention to her borscht. ‘I’m not there very often.’
She looked up to find him observing her intently. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you really want?’
Kalinin was no fool. He knew she wasn’t here simply to deliver food he hadn’t even ordered. Stay as close as possible to the truth, Rhona reminded herself. A good friend would be worried about Claire’s disappearance, even perhaps to the extent of contacting her former lover.
‘Actually, I’m not a friend of Misha’s, I’m a friend of Claire Watson’s. I used the excuse of delivering a meal to ask you if you know where she is.’
She had surprised him, maybe even astonished him. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it had had nothing to do with Claire. Kalinin appeared to master his emotions before answering.
‘Claire and I parted company some weeks ago, as you are probably aware.’ His voice barely concealed his anger. ‘I have not seen her since. You can search the apartment if you wish, but then again you may already have done that.’ This time his smile was not so benign.
Rhona tried to rise from the chair but Kalinin reached forward and caught her right wrist, forcing her back down.
‘We haven’t finished our conversation yet, Rhona.’
He came to stand over her, maintaining his vice-like grip, slowly twisting her wrist away from her body. She gasped as a line of fire ran up her arm. He grabbed her other hand, prised it open and forced it on to his crotch. Rhona felt the beat of his blood under her palm.
‘What, no begging me to stop?’
When she didn’t answer, he forced her face hard against his chest. The suffocating scent of his cologne turned her stomach and she began to panic. She was back in that place again: the crushing weight of the Gravedigger pinning her down.
‘Shall I tell you what I should do to you for coming here? Or perhaps you have discussed me already with Claire?’
Rhona struggled for breath, her mouth and nose smothered by him. Suddenly he released the pressure on her head and tipped up her chin to stare down into her face. There was a flush on his cheeks, but his eyes were cold.
‘When you find Claire tell her I have not forgotten her betrayal, nor will I.’ He pushed her abruptly away.
She dragged herself to her feet. This time Kalinin did not prevent her. As she walked towards the door Rhona was aware that he might yet dispose of her as easily as he had disposed of Alexei. One word to Solonik would achieve that. For all she knew he had already disposed of McNab.
When she reached the hallway, Solonik’s huge bulk barred her exit. He awaited orders from his master. Rhona tried not to look at the massive hands that had snapped Anya’s lover’s neck, then thrown him like garbage into the skip. The hands that had pounded McNab’s face.
Kalinin’s barked order, when it came, was in Russian. Rhona expected Solonik to grab her, but instead he opened the door, his face impassive. She stepped into the glass hallway and reached the elevator. As the lift dropped, she leaned against the wall, her heart racing at the possibility of escape. When she emerged at the bottom the guy on the desk smiled a
welcome.
She walked straight past him.
‘Hey, where are you going?’
The last word she heard was ‘slag’.
Outside, the freezing air cut through her. She glanced wildly around, looking for McNab’s car, then walked swiftly away from the building, conscious of the click of her heels on the frosted pavement. Late on Christmas Day, the area round the apartment block was deserted. All Kalinin had to do was have Solonik pick her up by car and take her somewhere away from here. Somewhere no one would hear her scream.
The revving of an engine sent her running for the nearest corner. She turned swiftly left, hearing the wheels’ attempts to grip the icy surface as the vehicle followed. The pavement here was covered with the hard-packed remains of snow. Momentum drove her forward, the soles of her shoes skittering across the icy surface. She was in one of the narrower alleys that allowed access to the back of what had once been mercantile buildings. Rhona prayed it would not turn out to be a dead end.
The car slipped past her and turned abruptly left, blocking her flight. She was aware of a figure jumping out and shouting as she turned a full 180 degrees and began her retreat.
The chase was over in seconds. Rhona felt a heavy hand grab her shoulder. McNab was breathing heavily, his multicoloured face like something out of a horror movie.
‘Where the hell are you going?’
Now McNab was driving and Rhona was the one slumped in the passenger seat.
‘You’re shaking.’
‘I’m cold.’
He turned the heater up full blast, but the flow of hot air didn’t help. Shock had set in, making her shudder uncontrollably.
‘I’m taking you home.’
She didn’t care where she went as long as it was warm. The inner-city streets were deserted apart from a gritter distributing salt. McNab hadn’t asked what had happened inside Kalinin’s apartment, no doubt waiting until she was ready to broach the subject. Rhona didn’t trust her teeth not to rattle together if she opened her mouth to speak.
When they reached her apartment, he took the key from her and let them in. The cat rushed to greet them, winding round her legs, purring loudly. Rhona asked McNab to check Tom had food while she took a shower.
She let the water run as hot as she could bear it. At first it made no difference, then gradually she felt warmth replace the icy grip on her limbs. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory of Kalinin’s cold stare and vice-like grip. No wonder Claire had run from him. No wonder she had gone into hiding. According to McNab, Emma had not been afraid of Nick. No doubt Kalinin had enjoyed his hold over the mother, while playing the nice guy to her daughter.
Eventually Rhona stepped out of the shower and redressed, putting on an extra layer. The flat was warmer now, so McNab must have found the thermostat. She also smelt coffee. When she entered the kitchen, he was slipping something into the microwave.
‘It was a toss-up between chicken and vegetables and vegetables and chicken,’ he said gravely.
Rhona smiled. ‘I should have taken the Russian food with me when I left.’
McNab looked relieved. ‘You’re ready to talk?’
They carried the food through to the sitting room. He lit the gas fire while she curled up on the couch. She was hungry, but when she took a forkful of food it tasted like cardboard. She moved it about the plate for a bit, then abandoned it for the coffee. She told McNab her first impression of Kalinin.
‘Nice?’ McNab was incredulous.
Rhona persisted. ‘He had a nice smile. He didn’t moan about the food arriving even when he didn’t order it, in fact he made a joke about it.’
‘Mmmm.’ He sounded unconvinced.
‘I could see why Claire might have liked him – at the beginning.’
They both fell silent at that.
Rhona related how Kalinin had attempted to persuade her to stay and eat with him.
‘Not a good idea.’
‘By then I was pretty sure he didn’t believe the story about the food. When he asked outright why I was really there I told him I was a friend of Claire’s and asked if he knew where she was.’
McNab almost choked on his chicken.
The sudden memory of Kalinin’s vice-like grip assailed her but she forced herself to continue. ‘He didn’t like being questioned about Claire, but eventually told me she’d left weeks ago and he hadn’t seen her since.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘Yes. There was no sign of Claire or Emma in the apartment. I checked all the rooms when I went to the toilet. There was a computer room with security screens. Solonik was in there. One of the screens showed the entrance to the building, and your car had gone. I thought they’d picked you up.’
‘I shouldn’t have let you go in there.’
Rhona shook her head in irritation. ‘You didn’t let me. I chose to. I think we can be sure now of one thing. Kalinin didn’t abduct Claire, so who did?’
48
Chrissy stared across the back garden at the dark outline of the distant woods. She had seen something, she was sure of it. She pulled on a coat and boots and went outside. The winter light had faded fast, dropping its blanket of darkness. As the sky had cleared and the temperature plummeted, the moon and stars had arrived, their reflection on the snow making it seem almost as bright as day.
The farmer had come by an hour earlier, declared it impossible to get her car as far as the main road before tomorrow and asked whether she wanted to spend the night with them at the farm. Chrissy had turned down his offer, wanting to be at the cottage should Rhona get through on the landline or even come back to check on her. Mr Jenkins wasn’t too happy about leaving her on her own, but she declared that she was used to being alone and it wasn’t a problem. Mollified but not entirely convinced, the farmer promised to be back at first light.
After he’d left, she had built up the fire and raided the fridge. In between times she’d checked her mobile and the hall phone then turned on the television and watched the news of the effects of the blizzard, relieved that the forecast was for severe frost but no further snow.
Chrissy pulled up the hood on the jacket, her breath condensing like a white balloon as she trudged towards the trees. Moonlight gave an eerie translucence to the snow and gave the approaching trees a spectral quality she found slightly unnerving.
If there was someone here, there will be footprints. She spoke out loud, in defiance of her uneasiness. She walked the boundary of the trees, looking for some indication that the movement she’d seen from the kitchen window had been a human being and not just a deer. She found the snow undisturbed apart from clusters of tiny bird-like claw prints.
Satisfied for the moment, Chrissy turned and faced the cottage. From where she stood it looked like a picture postcard, surrounded by snow, outlined against a dark sky filled with stars, smoke drifting lazily upwards in the still night air. She shivered, feeling the intense cold bite at her nose and cheeks. This was silly. There was no one daft enough to be out here except her. Even the farmer had given up for the night and gone home to his supper.
Chrissy headed back to the cottage, vowing to close the curtains, lock the doors and ignore any further daft notions that someone might be observing her. The smell of the warming casserole met her inside, reminding her how hungry she was. She dished up a plate and carried it through to the sitting room.
The cottage settled into silence, punctured only by the crackling of the fire. Exhausted by her constant toing and froing, Chrissy disposed of her plate and lay down on the sofa, her mobile set to loud near by.
The baby’s concerted kicking woke her. Chrissy rolled on to her side and cradled her belly, feeling a tiny heel stretch the skin.
‘Hey. How about sleeping when I sleep?’
She was rewarded by a larger movement, as though in response to her request, and pulled the heavy grey blanket to her chin, conscious of a drop in temperature. The fire needed more wood, but for the moment she couldn’
t bear the idea of leaving her warm cocoon. Eventually she stretched out an arm and checked her mobile in case it had rung when she was asleep. There was nothing to indicate a missed call or text message.
Chrissy flung back the blanket and heaved herself up. Sleep had made her heavy and sluggish, the baby pressing low in her abdomen. She grunted as she dropped to her knees in front of the fire, grateful she had made the effort to bring in a good supply of logs.
As she reached for one she heard the distinct sound of a foot crunching on snow. She froze, her hand on the log. A second footstep followed the first. She let go of the log, eased herself on to her feet and extracted a poker from the fireside set.
She may have been wrong before, but she wasn’t now. There was definitely someone or something moving about outside the cottage. The most likely explanation was a deer, as McNab had mentioned one grazing in the back garden. Chrissy held her breath, conscious of the baby jerking and kicking as though it shared her dismay.
There was no light in the room apart from the glowing remains of the fire. To anyone wandering about outside, the cottage would be in darkness, little to no smoke coming from the chimney, either deserted or its occupants asleep.
Chrissy’s heart hammered in her chest. All the doors were locked. She had checked them before she lay down. No one could get into the cottage.
But someone had got in, a small voice reminded her. And that someone had taken Claire and Emma away. Chrissy ran the layout of the cottage through her head. Was there somewhere she could hide? She discounted the idea almost immediately. Once inside it would be obvious to an intruder that the cottage had an occupant and it would only be a matter of time before they found her.
Chrissy made for the back door as quietly as she could. The heavy jacket she’d worn earlier was hanging up near by. Still clutching the poker, she pulled on the coat and slipped her feet into the boots. As she did so she heard a movement outside. She stood rigid with fear as someone launched their full weight against the kitchen door, shaking it in its frame. The next attempt came seconds later. Under such a determined onslaught it was only a matter of time before the door gave way.
She reached for the bolt and eased it open just as the intruder returned for their third try. Bolt drawn, the door flew open easily.