Breaking Dead: A stylish, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller (The Sophie Kent series)

by Corrie Jackson

  ‘That’s Lev’s cousin. He’s been staying next door for a while. We complained about the noise. No children,’ she gave me an exasperated look, ‘and they party late.’

  ‘Have you ever spoken to him?’

  The baby’s cries kicked up a gear and she swayed back and forth. ‘Do you mind if I ask what this is about?’

  I smiled. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. My name is Sophie Kent and I’m a reporter with The London Herald. I’m investigating a story and believe this man could be connected in some way.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘What kind of story?’

  There was no point frightening her. ‘I can’t say at this stage. I was hoping to speak to the cousin. Do you know when he’ll be back?’

  She shrugged. ‘Lev’s at a tech conference but he told us his cousin was leaving soon. The house has been pretty quiet. I hoped he’d already gone.’ She smiled tightly. ‘Not that I have a problem with Russians. But Rafferty isn’t the best sleeper, and the blaring techno doesn’t help.’

  I handed her my card, just as it started to rain. ‘If you see him again would you give me a call? I’d really appreciate it.’

  I hurried down the path, and spotted a café on the corner opposite. Rain beat down and bounced violently back up from waterlogged pavements. People pressed into doorways marvelling at the sight. A man in a dark suit broke cover, zigzagging down the street; a flimsy newspaper over his head providing scant shelter.

  My shoulder collided with something hard. As I turned, I caught a glimpse of a pierced ear and a shadow of stubble disappearing up the gravel path. I stared after him, debating what to do. A light went on in an upstairs room.

  I needed a second to regroup. I ran to the café and ducked inside just as a low boom of thunder shook the windows. Fumbling with my phone, I dialled Durand’s number. He didn’t pick up.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A skinny waitress in a pink-striped apron raised her eyebrows.

  I opened my mouth to speak but a sight across the street made the sound die in my mouth. The front door opened and Alexei appeared with large holdall over his shoulder.

  Without stopping to think, I hurtled through the café door. Silver needles of rain stabbed my face, blinding me, but I could just make out Alexei across the street. If I hurried, I could cut him off. I stepped off the curb and a car railed past, honking its horn, and soaking my feet in icy water. As I jumped out of the way, I skidded on a wet leaf. Pain sliced through my ankle. Alexei was twenty feet away and approaching fast. I had to stop him.

  ‘Alexei!’ His head snapped up but he didn’t slow down. ‘I need to speak to you. My name is –’

  ‘Get out of my way.’ He shoved me roughly to the side, and a spasm of pain shot through my leg.

  ‘Wait!’ I ran past him, blocking him off. The driving rain drowned out my voice. ‘I need to ask you about Natalia Kotov.’

  Alexei stopped in his tracks. ‘What did you say?’ His voice was coarse, crushing, like rocks smashing together.

  The wind blew a sheet of rain into my face and I shielded my eyes with my hand. ‘I know you’re Natalia’s ex-boyfriend. Your Twitter handle is @cityofbrides. I know you were at The Rose the night she was killed –’

  There was a low growl and Alexei spun round to face me. Rainwater flowed down the narrow contours of his face and off the end of his sharp nose. His black eyes dug into mine as if they were spikes.

  My heart was in my throat. ‘I know you were following her. Please, I just want to ask you –’

  Alexei took a step towards me. ‘You know many things, Sophie Kent?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘I know many things too.’

  ‘Look, I’m not the police. I don’t have any hold over you. I just want to ask you some questions. If you’re innocent, what have you got to hide?’

  Alexei inched closer and his mouth twisted into an ugly smile. ‘I watched you and her. In that pub. I was there, watching, the first day you knocked on her door. She should never have opened her fucking mouth.’

  ‘Why did you follow her to London?’

  ‘Because she ran from me. I loved her so much I could crush her skull between my hands. I tried to make her see how much I loved her but she wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘You scared her, Alexei. I know about the blue flowers. I saw them at the hotel. You were stalking her –’

  ‘I was protecting her, you bitch.’

  Two brick walls loomed in the corners of my eyes. With a stab of fear, I realised Alexei had edged me into an alleyway. ‘Is that why you went to The Rose that night? To protect her?’

  Something flickered across his face. ‘And why would I tell you that, Sophie Kent?’ He spat my name out as if it were poison on his tongue.

  I had to keep him talking. ‘Because you loved her. I don’t think you’re a bad person.’

  ‘Wrong again. I am the very worst kind of person.’ Alexei backed me further into the alleyway. My legs came into contact with something hard. I stumbled and hit the ground. ‘Get up, bitch.’ Alexei was so close that I could smell stale cigarettes and his unwashed clothes. I dragged myself off the ground and held my hands up to protect myself. Rain dripped down my face and seeped into my clothes.

  The noise eased and I looked up to find we were standing underneath an iron fire escape. Alexei’s hands gripped my shoulders and he slammed me against the wall. I looked past him to the mouth of the alleyway, but the bins hid us from view. ‘Expecting someone?’ His eyes were mocking.

  I shivered with fear and forced myself to look at his face. ‘Why are you following Eva?’

  Alexei’s eyes hardened. ‘Don’t mention that bitch. If it weren’t for her . . .’ His grip tightened and I cried out. ‘You should have left her alone. If people hadn’t tried to keep us apart, Natalia would still be alive. I told her bad things would happen to people.’

  I opened my mouth to speak but Alexei clamped a large, wet hand over my face. Struggling to breathe, I scrabbled at his hand. ‘The police . . . are on . . . their way.’

  Alexei gripped my neck, his eyes bristling with menace. The skin on his hand was velcro-rough and my pulse thrashed against it. I met his gaze and the savagery in his eyes forced my stomach to the floor. Something sharp grazed my neck.

  Alexei put his mouth beside my ear. ‘This is your fault. I would have left you alone if you hadn’t come looking for me.’ I squeezed my eyes shut.

  ‘Drop the knife, Bortnik.’

  A voice rang out, loud and clear. I opened my eyes and saw Durand halfway between us and the alley entrance. His face was calm, but I heard the edge in his voice.

  Alexei growled, and pushed the knife against my skin. White-hot pain speared through me.

  ‘Bortnik, I’m warning you. I have a team of officers here. You do not want this woman’s death on your record. Drop the knife.’

  My vision blurred. I couldn’t breathe. Over Alexei’s shoulder, shapes edged towards us. I stopped struggling and went limp, trusting Durand to do his job.

  Alexei’s eyes burned into mine and he pressed harder against me.

  Then he let go, and my knees gave way.

  The shapes descended and I was distantly aware of Alexei being thrown against a wall and handcuffed.

  Durand crouched down beside me and gripped my shoulder as I gulped down lungfuls of icy air.

  ‘You took your time.’

  Durand shouted over his shoulder. ‘Waters, call an ambulance.’

  I pushed myself up to sitting. ‘I don’t need an ambulance.’

  Durand gave me a stern look. Then he pulled me onto my feet. ‘Let me have a look.’ His jaw tightened as his eyes flickered over my neck. His voice was tight with anger. ‘What were you thinking?’

  I shrugged. ‘I wanted the exclusive. And you were ignoring me.’

  ‘And the story is worth risking your life for?’

  The coldness in his face made me feel like crying. ‘Not now, Sam.’

  He looked as t
hough he was going to say something else, then he held out a large, warm hand. ‘Let’s get you out of the rain.’

  As he led me towards the flashing blue lights, I saw Alexei being pushed into the back of a police car. ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘But –’ I clenched my fists. ‘If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have found Alexei Bortnik. And now you’ve made your arrest, you’re shutting me out?’

  Durand looked over my head and signalled to an officer behind me. ‘Thank you for your help. I’m grateful. But this doesn’t change our situation. I will call you when we have news, I promise.’ He put a hand on my shoulder and guided me out of the alleyway. ‘Officer Waters will drive you home. Or to the hospital. You should get checked out, Sophie.’

  He held the car door open. I gave him a scathing look, then slid inside.

  Officer Waters, a neat-looking woman with a chestnut plait, turned round. ‘Where to, Miss Kent?’

  I tried to lift my wrist to look at my watch but I couldn’t summon the energy. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost two thirty.’

  I looked down at my sodden clothes, my trembling hands and my swollen ankle. ‘Take me to The London Herald.’

  19

  Kate hung up the phone. ‘Christ, what happened to you?’

  I limped towards the desk. ‘Turns out Natalia’s ex-boyfriend isn’t my biggest fan.’

  ‘You’re soaked through. Do you have a change of clothes?’

  I shook my head numbly and she disappeared behind the desk divider. ‘Here, these will be enormous on you but at least they’re dry.’ She held up a pair of navy trousers and a creased white blouse. ‘Go and change. I’ll make tea. Although you look as though you need something stronger. Should you even be here?’

  I shrugged. ‘Where else would I go?’

  Kate nodded. She got it.

  I hobbled to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. My hair hugged my head like a swimming cap, and sooty streaks of mascara ran down my cheeks. Alexei’s stench clung to me. Inching down my shirt collar, I winced at the cuts on my neck. Then I peeled off my wet clothes and stood under the hand-dryer until my puckered skin turned pink. Kate’s clothes drowned me, but I rolled up the sleeves and trouser-legs, grateful that they smelled of her cologne, and not Alexei.

  By the time I got back to my desk, Kate was nowhere to be seen. She’d left a mug of tea for me and I cradled it between trembling hands, willing the warmth to spread through me. I had to keep busy. I left a message on Eva’s phone, informing her that Alexei was in custody, and asking if she’d give me an official interview. I’d already tweeted Alexei’s arrest from the back of the police car, although I didn’t mention the role I played in becoming his next victim. Rowley would want that for the print edition. When I pulled up my Twitter feed to check my responses, something caught my eye. #Modelmeltdown was trending. So was #loonylawson. I clicked on Lydia’s Twitter page. She had posted a video an hour ago. It had already gone viral.

  I clicked on the link with a heavy heart. The video showed Lydia in bed naked, one arm outstretched above her holding the camera. She was drunk, or high, or both. Her almond-shaped eyes were glassy and her lips moved as she gazed into the lens. In the background, bottles of pills lay scattered across her bedside table. It took me a moment to realise she was singing; her voice wavered, like a ribbon of smoke.

  ‘She’ll cut you with her smile, then laugh as you bleed.’ I could only make out snatches of lyrics before Lydia appeared to pass out.

  Forty-five seconds of sweet agony. I replayed it three times and each time Lydia looked more unhinged. If she was teetering on the edge of career suicide, this video surely meant sudden death. It had already been retweeted 450,000 times. What was she thinking? I logged on to Stitched.com. Amos Adler’s headline jumped out: BREAKING NEWS Has Loony Lawson Lost It For Good?

  I pictured Cat pacing in her office, phone under one ear, spinning this story with everything she had.

  ‘No, darling. She’s fine. Suffering with exhaustion. Between you and me Lydia works too hard. That’s why we’re scaling back her London Fashion Week appearances.’

  Suddenly my phone rang. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you have half an hour?’ Durand’s deep voice poured balm into my troubled head.

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘Come to the station. You need to see something.’

  I sat up straighter. ‘I’m invited to the party now, am I?’

  I heard the smile in his voice. ‘You can drop that attitude. I’ve had to pull every string going to get you in here.’

  There was something different about Durand’s voice.

  ‘Has Alexei Bortnik confessed?’ I reached for my coat, but it was soaking wet so I left it on the back of my chair.

  ‘I’ll fill you in when you get here. And Sophie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Use the back entrance.’

  I shivered in the back of the taxi, counting down the minutes on my phone, as though staring at those plump little digits would block out the white noise of the city around me. Alexei was in custody. Eva was safe. But Lydia was a walking disaster-zone. I dialled Cat’s number.

  ‘If you’re ringing for a quote about that video, you can fuck off.’

  I smiled in spite of myself. ‘I want to know if Lydia is OK.’

  ‘Does she look OK to you?’

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘It’s a fucking PR disaster. Three more designers have cancelled their contracts and her campaign with Maybelline is about to go down the toilet. I have a conference call with them in an hour and I know they’re going to pull the plug.’ I heard street noise in the background, as though Cat had walked outside. ‘She needs to lie low, get her shit together and make a comeback next season. It worked for Kate Moss.’

  I leaned my head against the window. ‘Cat, I meant how bad is Lydia?’

  There was a pause. Her frosty tone thawed a fraction. ‘I’ve never seen her like this before. I don’t know what to do. Look, I have to go. I’ve got a stinking migraine. I’m going to check if she’s OK on my way home. I mean, honestly. As if Fashion Week isn’t crazy enough.’

  Ten minutes later, the taxi pulled up outside New Scotland Yard, and Durand met me at the door. He glanced at my clothes.

  ‘Did you shrink in the rain?’ The wind whipped my hair into a frenzy and I put a hand up to flatten it. He noticed me limping. ‘I take it you didn’t get checked out by a doctor?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  He shook his head. ‘You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.’

  The bottom of my trousers dragged along the carpet as we made our way through the warren of corridors. Durand stopped outside a white door marked Property Stores.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘My way of saying thank you,’ he said, pushing open the door.

  The room was large and stuffy and smelled of old cardboard. I hovered by the edge, looking along the endless rows of shelves that held plastic containers, each marked with a number. I wanted to ask Durand about our conversation earlier. I needed to know who was spreading malicious gossip about me. But he strode over to a square table in the centre, where a box marked 419 was waiting, and I was back in the room, mind on the game. Durand handed me a pair of latex gloves and I watched as he unlocked the container and pulled out a battered, brown notebook.

  ‘This was in Alexei’s bag.’

  The corners of the notebook curled upwards and the cover was distended where too many bits of paper had been stuffed inside. I peeled off the elastic band, anticipation rippling through me.

  Page after page was filled with photographs of Natalia. Instagram and catwalk photos, old pictures of her in Russia. He’d defaced the W magazine photograph with crude illustrations: a penis between her legs, a knife sticking out of her breasts. Creepiest of all were the photographs Alexei had taken without Natalia’s knowledge. Her on the phone outside Green Park Tube S
tation, leaving a newsagent’s holding a can of Coke. One was taken on the top deck of a bus, showing the back of her head three rows in front of him.

  I whistled. ‘What a nutter.’

  Alexei had scrawled Russian words in scratchy blue pen in every available inch of white space. ‘Do we know what he’s written yet?’

  Durand leaned against the table and folded his arms. ‘He won’t tell us. But a translator is working on it.’

  ‘Has he confessed?’

  A shadow fell across Durand’s face. ‘He originally claimed he went to the hotel to talk to Natalia, but changed his mind and left. When we revealed his prints were on her door-handle, he changed his story. He’s now saying he opened the door, stuck his head round but she was already dead so he ran.’ Durand cleared his throat. ‘There’s one more thing.’ The catch in his voice made me look up. ‘Alexei’s prints match something else.’

  He crossed the room in three strides and returned with a large plastic bag.

  ‘Recognise this?’

  I felt the air leave my chest. ‘That’s not – but –’ I peered into the bag. The axe-head was still crusted with Jason Danby’s blood. My brain struggled to piece it together. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Alexei went to Milton estate that day to see Natalia. Evidently he didn’t appreciate the way their conversation ended so he took it out on Jason Danby when he left.’

  I stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘That’s it? That’s why Danby was killed?’

  Durand heard the hysteria in my voice and moved towards me. ‘Alexei is a despicable man. When I told him Danby was only fourteen he laughed.’

  I sank against the table. ‘Christ, it’s all so . . . meaningless.’ I plucked at the edge of my glove. ‘So you knew about Alexei?’

  Durand shrugged. ‘We knew someone was sending Natalia threatening messages, but the IT team hadn’t tracked down the sender. A couple of her friends mentioned an ex-boyfriend in their statements and Interpol gave us a name. We were almost there but your meddling got us there quicker.’ Durand’s face grew serious. ‘Sophie, you have to be more careful. Men like Alexei Bortnik don’t play games.’