Death Trap

by Mitchell, Dreda Say

  ‘Now why would a big shot brief like him do that?’

  Rio leaned across the table like she was about to tell him a secret. ‘The police think you were involved in Greenbelt. He wants to find out what you know so he can defend your uncle.’

  Samson wore the look of a cocky, older man. ‘But, like I said Mizz-won’t-tell-me-her-first-name, I don’t know anything about nothing.’

  ‘Gary told Foster that you do.’

  The cockiness withered away. ‘Why would he say that?’

  ‘Because it’s true?’

  Samson shook his head as he too leaned forwards. ‘Nah, you’ve got it all wrong, lady. I don’t know anything about it and neither does my Uncle Gazza. I mean, be honest Mizz Filey – the Larkins aren’t that kind of family. Raids on people’s houses? Dousing people in petrol to find out where their valuables are? Gunning people down? That’s not us—’

  ‘For a man who doesn’t know anything about the Greenbelt Gang you certainly seem to know a heck of a lot about what they did inside those houses.’

  Samson swallowed.

  Rio pressed on. ‘So why did you flee the country after the fifth raid when the shooting started?’

  He swept the unruly hair on his forehead into place. ‘I don’t know anything about any fifth raid, fourth raid or millionth raid, but I’ll tell you exactly why I came to Cyprus.’ He leaned so far across the table that Rio could feel the heat from his breath against her cheek. ‘The courts back home sent me to see a shrink because of some trouble I was in. And you know what that shrink as good as said? That I was a nutter, and I should be banged up in a loony bin. So I decided to skip town before they locked me up with a bunch of bonkers people. So the family arranged for me to come here. Then I was framed for that ruck in the casino up the coast and here I am. So, I don’t know anything about any Greenbelt crimes. Now then – are you going to help me persuade the local Johnnies that I’m innocent of the casino thing and to let me go? Or do I have to rely on that crap lawyer from downtown that the local Five-O have given me? Thought you Foster people are meant to be the best?’

  Rio could hear the real question in the tone of his voice. Are you who you say you are? Or somebody else?

  ‘I’ve got reason to believe that someone wants all the members of the Greenbelt Gang dead.’

  Samson froze, his hands clutching into fists.

  Rio kept the pressure on. ‘If you were involved, that would include you too. And I’ve also got reason to believe that whoever that person or people might be has a very long reach. Perhaps even as far as a prison in Cyprus. If you know anything you need to tell me now.’

  ‘Don’t know shit, darling.’ But the unsettled expression on his face told her different.

  ‘In that fight in the casino, you were shouting, “I’m a gangster, I’ve killed people . . .”’

  Samson unclenched his hand. Relaxed into his seat. ‘You know what, Mizz Foley, I think I’m going to take my chances with that lousy local lawyer.’

  Samson might be a psycho, but he was a clever psycho. Rio knew her journey had been a total waste of time. Defeated, she got up from the table. As she turned to go, Samson looked up at her, ‘Oh, when you get back to England, say hello to my Uncle Gazza for me . . .’

  Rio gave him a half smile and went to press the red button to alert the guards that she wanted to leave. But as she raised her hand, she felt a strong arm squeezing hard around her neck. She was yanked backwards into a corner of the room. With his spare hand, Samson pressed something lethal and sharp against her face.

  Hissed, ‘You really must think I’m idiot? You don’t think I know who you are? You don’t think I know what went down back home? My uncle Gazza was killed by a cop.’

  Rio started struggling, but he pressed the knife deeper into her skin.

  ‘My dad told me there was a black, lady cop, with a cool momma afro, fronting the operation to catch my uncle, so I know who you are and I know why you’re here. I might be mad but I’m not stupid. I’ll tell you your first name and your last – Mizz Rio Wray.’

  forty-four

  Samson’s hold on Rio grew stronger.

  ‘Know where the word shank comes from?’ he growled. ‘From the word shiv. Some say it’s a Roma word for knife and others say it’s from shive, which was a razor.’ His grip tightened. ‘Know how easy it is to make a shank inside prison? A toothbrush with a razor blade in it; a filed-down piece of a bed frame . . . Now I’m real proud of mine, Mizz Wray: wet toilet paper left to dry like papier mâché. Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t put any of my shit on it to cause you an infection as well. Mind you, what’s an infection when your eyes have been stabbed clean through?’

  The worst thing to do was to show fear, so Rio kept her face immobile and the emotions back. She had been trained to deal with violent confrontations. But that generally meant violent confrontations with criminals who could think rationally, even in extreme situations. This violent young man didn’t know the meaning of the word rationality.

  ‘This is all being played out on the security camera in here.’

  He laughed softly. ‘Ain’t no cam in here, Mizz Wray, I checked it out as soon as I got in here, like you should’ve. Plus the way the guards chat about having lousy wages, ain’t no way cash is going to be spent on a luxury item like plush security.’

  ‘How do you know what the guards say; you speak Cypriot all of a sudden?’

  His green-brown eyes lit up with relish. ‘If you’d done you’re homework again you’d know they speak Turkish this side of the island. And some of my closest friends back home are Turkish and I’ve always found it easy to pick up different lingos.’ The makeshift knife pressed deeper, but didn’t spill blood. ‘Now stop stalling and start spilling.’

  His angry breath fired up on her cheek. ‘You’re right. I’m Rio Wray. I shouldn’t have lied to you. That was wrong and I’m sorry . . .’ There was a very slight loosening in his grip while Samson gleamed with pleasure when he realised that he was right. ‘And you’re spot on again; your uncle Gary is dead. There was a police raid on the house, but I . . . we didn’t kill him. It was a set-up. He was killed by someone else. I want to find out who killed him. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, don’t worry about that at the moment, you’ve got a more pressing problem – how you’re going to get me out of here.’

  The prison guard was right; the boy was loco. ‘I can’t get you out of here. You know that. Think straight.’

  His lips pressed up against her ear. ‘You’re lucky you’re not dead already. If you don’t get me out of here, you certainly will be. You won’t believe what a slow, painful death I can deal out to you before the guards get in here. They’ll be scraping bits of you off the floor and scooping them into bin bags. Trust me on this – I’m mad, Rio. You must have seen that report that calls me a potential psychopath. So it’s official – I’m a nutter.’

  As if to prove his point he jabbed his blade against her throat. Samson had inadvertently given her time to think while he explained his escape plan and Rio considered carefully what to do next. While Samson told her how they were going to overpower the guard, knock him out, steal his uniform and gun before walking out as calm as you like, Rio thought of another way of getting what she wanted. She let Samson finish off his ludicrous plan before saying to him, ‘You’ve been watching too many B-movies in that cell of yours.’

  ‘Well, you’d better think of another way to bust me out of here, otherwise someone in your family will be collecting your pension early.’

  Rio knew she was probably becoming infected with Samson’s madness but maybe getting him out of here wasn’t such a bad idea.

  ‘OK. But there’s a price tag attached. If I get you out of here, you have to tell me all you know about Greenbelt.’

  Samson let out that soft laugh again. ‘Oh please. You’re running the case and you want me to tell you all about it?’

  ‘After your uncle was killed, I was
suspended from duty. I’m supposed to be off the case. If I repeat what you tell me to anyone that would mean I’ve carried on investigating. I’ll be in big trouble. Not as much as you, but big trouble nonetheless, which is not a place I want to be.’

  Samson released the grip on her neck. He held his weapon in his hand close enough to be able to kill with it but he was clearly thinking about what Rio had said. ‘It’s still information though. You could use it against me later.’

  ‘I know you were involved, Samson. I don’t have any proof though and I don’t suppose you’ll be providing me with any.’

  ‘How do I know you’ll get me out?’

  ‘I want the information you’ve got. I’ll have to get you out if I want it, won’t I? I don’t care what you’ve got up to here.’

  Samson took a step backwards and slipped his shank back down the back of his trousers. He gave her a broad but intimidating smile. ‘OK. You get me out and I’ll tell you what I know.’

  Rio’s hand rubbed against the last place the makeshift weapon had touched her skin. ‘How about a down payment, to prove your good faith? Half the payment now and half later – that’s how it works, isn’t it?’

  Samson’s eyes became hooded. ‘OK. You want a down payment, how about this? Raid number six, where that Bell family were whacked. You’ve been looking in the wrong place. Get me out of here and I’ll tell you the rest.’

  forty-five

  10:50 a.m.

  Crazy, crazy, crazy.

  Rio slumped back in the driver’s seat of the hire car parked in the shade of a fig tree. Had she just agreed to get Samson Larkin out of prison? Was she losing her frigging mind? Wasn’t it enough that she’d gone against orders to stay away from this case and now she was planning to do something that really crossed the line?

  Not unless the way she did it didn’t actually break the law. Rio’s first thought was to go to the British High Commission. No, she couldn’t do that; word would hightail it back and the top brass would know what she was up to. Damn, she needed to think of a way to get loco kid out. Whatever she decided, she had to make this happen overnight; she did not have the time to stay on this island another day.

  She checked her mobile: a string of ‘safe’ texts from Calum. But for how long was the teenager going to be safe if she didn’t get this fixed? Just as she was about to put her mobile away, it rang.

  Rio recognised the ID – Strong.

  ‘Have you found some evidence from the house?’ Rio asked eagerly.

  ‘Nope. Or that might be yes—’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘Any members of your team, including me, are being kept well back. DI Paul Mayberry’s squad are doing the honours, including anything to do with the hitman – although I think that’s being completely scaled back. That guy’s a real tight arse and the only people he’s reporting back to are Newman and Tripple. If anything has been found, no one’s saying. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.’

  ‘Thanks, Strong.‘

  ‘One of these days you might actually call me Jack.’

  Then he disconnected the call.

  Rio took out the car keys and leaned forwards to stick them in the ignition . . . and froze. The panel below the steering wheel was gone. No, she couldn’t be seeing what she was seeing. Too much sun. Rio closed her eyes, shook her head, re-opened them. The ignition panel was definitely missing. Instantly she was on high alert. Unless this was some type of local novelty crime someone knew she was in Cyprus.

  ‘Detective Inspector Wray?’

  Startled Rio twisted her head to find a man leaning down, watching her through the driver’s side of the car. His features were blunt, his nose broken more than once and his eyes hidden by shades.

  He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge what he’d said, just continued. ‘You need to come with me.’

  ‘And why would I do that?’ Rio countered.

  His answer was the opening of the passenger door by another man. From the slight bulge under the newcomer’s jacket she could tell he was carrying hardwear. Surrounded on both sides Rio knew she didn’t have a choice . . . yet. The man on the driver’s side stepped back, giving her the space to get out. When she saw the size of the men her worries increased; both were well over six foot and packing a significant amount of muscle. Still, muscle might give you strength, but it could also slow you down.

  ‘Don’t think about running,’ the man said, as if reading her thoughts, ‘we will only find you.’

  ‘What do you want with me? Who sent you?’

  He extended his arm towards her with the curtsey of a gentleman taking his lady love for a stroll about town. But Rio wasn’t moving until someone told her what the hell was going on.

  ‘If a stranger came up to you on the street, told you to follow them without saying what was going on, would you do it?’

  The men moved in on her. Rio tried to run, but she didn’t get far. One of them grabbed her by the collar of her jacket and yanked her back. She almost tumbled, but was saved by both men taking one of her arms each and lifting her off the ground.

  ‘Let me go,’ Rio yelled, her feet kicking out.

  But they took no notice as they carried her down the street, rounded a corner and headed straight to a gleaming Shogun Range Rover. One of the men took out his keys and popped the boot.

  ‘Nooo . . .’ Rio moaned.

  But it was no use. Rio was dumped inside. The boot door slammed over her.

  The four-by-four came to a stop about thirty minutes later, although Rio couldn’t be sure because she couldn’t see her watch in the dark. She wasn’t afraid to admit that she was scared, but the only way she was going to be put down was after giving the fight of her life. Well, that’s if they just didn’t shoot her straight through the hood door.

  With that sombre thought ringing around her head Rio heard the crunch of footsteps near the side of the car, then around the back. The boot clicked. Rio waited, and waited. Nothing. Cautiously she pushed the hood open. A strong stream of sunlight hit her in the face, making her squint. She couldn’t see anyone, only gorgeous blue skies, so she scrambled out of the car onto a dirt road leading through row after row of stunning orange groves. She couldn’t see the men but noticed a small, older man tending to an orange tree.

  Looking around sharply she rushed over to him.

  ‘Please help me.’

  The man turned around, a pair of clippers in his hand and an orange in the other. He was a good four inches shorter than Rio, with the shrunken and spotted skin of the aged, and a cute Buddha belly. He wore a tattered straw hat.

  ‘Some men kidnapped me,’ Rio continued in a rush. ‘Put me in the boot of a car—’

  ‘In the boot of a car?’ His voice was heavily accented, but sounded very different from those that Rio had encountered on the island. ‘My men did that to you? That’s certainly not very gentlemanly of them.’

  Stunned Rio stepped back, the sweat pooling in a river down her back. ‘Your men?’

  He coughed, doubling over at the waist. Once he had the cough under control he slowly folded back up, the exertion of coughing leaving his face a brutal red in the heat. Then he smiled. ‘Have you ever tasted an orange straight from the tree?’ He held the fruit in his hand out to her. ‘My groves are renowned for their succulent sweetness.’

  Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight’ Sonata? Where a shank got its name from? Sweet orange groves? If Rio did drugs she’d think she was tripping since hitting this island.

  ‘Why did you kidnap me? How do you know who I am?’

  He started peeling the orange. ‘I make it my business to know most of the faces that come to this fair shore, but in your case that isn’t strictly true. A friend asked me to watch your back.’

  ‘A friend?’

  He pulled the orange apart, held a segment out to her. ‘Calum Burns.’

  Midday

  Rio wiped the orange juice from her lips as she lay back on a sun lounger by the extravagantly large swimming po
ol. The man, who still hadn’t introduced himself – although Rio was in two minds whether she wanted him to or not, knowing the type of company Calum kept – had called his men back and they had driven to his home. The villa was situated on a hill with an eye-popping view of the coastline. The swimming pool area was shaded in places by palm trees and other trees with white and pink blossoms. It was idyllic – a true place in the sun, where relaxation was its number one job.

  Except Rio didn’t feel remotely calm. The problem with Samson Larkin hadn’t gone away and she was the ‘guest’ of a man she suspected, if she had her badge, she definitely would not want to know.

  ‘Ah, I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,’ the man said as he reappeared outside. He had changed and was now dressed in loose-fitting linen pants and a matching top. His hat was gone, leaving the sun to mingle in his full head of short, iron-grey hair. He took the lounger beside Rio and settled back.

  ‘Sometimes it’s better to not know someone’s name, it makes things easier. But it feels wrong in this case because I know who you are,’ he said.

  A bit of Rio told her not to ask, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘Considering your home is on a hill, it suggests that you want to make sure you see anyone coming before they see you, so I suspect that you’re someone I really shouldn’t be sipping fruit juice with, on a terrace overlooking the sea.’

  He heard her interest so supplied the answer. ‘Khaled Zidane.’

  There was no way that Rio could hide her surprise. Zidane was a notorious arms dealer who had stamped his name on the global map back in the 1970s, trading with well-known terrorist groups and outlaw armies. He was an illusive figure who had managed to evade capture from the many warrants out on his name.

  ‘With your reputation, why tell me your name?’

  He smiled, making him look more like a kindly granddad than an infamous crook. ‘I don’t have long for this world.’ He said it with no sentiment. ‘And Calum did me a good turn a year or so ago. Also I don’t think you’ll want anyone to know you’ve been associating with me.’