Portrait Of An Assassin - Richard Godwin

by Near To The Knuckle

  A major cabinet member has been conducting covert and illegal arms negotiations with rogue states.

  I felt a sense of relief.

  The second leading story was about the serial killer.

  The headline read:

  “Killer strikes again: two ministers shot dead on their doorstep.”

  XXXI

  The story flooded the tabloids.

  The government immediately suspended Klein and conducted an investigation into the dealings. Junior ministers resigned and there were calls for a police enquiry.

  And it followed.

  Morris was the first to be dragged across the coals. He wasn’t saying anything, refusing to give away his boss, but the pressure was obviously getting to him.

  I had him figured as another guy waiting for his pension. I didn’t fancy his chances. The paparazzi smelt blood and were circling him like a wounded animal.

  Meanwhile, Lauren began to piece things together. She didn’t say anything directly to me, knowing I was watching her back.

  I told her I’d bought a place in Sicily and asked her if she fancied a holiday.

  We were living together during this time.

  Meanwhile, the serial killer continued to strike.

  The body count was rising rapidly and the more I read about him, the more I saw the signature of a trained gunman.

  There was more to the story and I knew it, except I only had one eye on it.

  ***

  A few weeks later Klein was questioned by the police.

  His picture was plastered all over the Sunday papers, and by the look on his face he wasn’t enjoying the attention.

  The material added up and the stories made it clear he was guilty.

  His ministerial post was gone and taken by someone else. He had the look of a man who knew it was over and was looking at time.

  He was the kind of guy who operated by using and setting up others, so Morris was the obvious fall guy. He”d been routinely questioned, but his tight–lipped response meant that a lot was going to be decided in court. And that was exactly where it was heading.

  Then, two things happened in the space of twenty–four hours which would change the course of events irrevocably.

  The killer struck again with another sniper shot. The victim Morris.

  As he was picking the milk from his doorstep, the shooter picked him off, leaving his brains all over the porch.

  I caught the story in the evening paper on my way back to meet Lauren at her office.

  When I got there reception informed me she had gone out for lunch and hadn’t returned.

  ***

  At midnight there was still no sign of her at my apartment and I knew they had her.

  By then I’d pieced it all together.

  Morris’s death was to order: the serial killer was a hired assassin working for Klein.

  I sat down and Googled the news coverage from when the story broke.

  For months now, key industrial and political figures had been dying. A few red herrings had been thrown into the stew just to confuse people: a wino here, a shopper there. Some of the others were interesting: a leading director who was just about to start shooting a film about arms dealing. Another victim was a government auditor who had a reputation for whistleblowing.

  Morris had taken the bullet for Klein and I wasn’t about to let Lauren be the next victim. Someone would make contact. What Klein wanted more than anything else was his reputation and freedom back. With Lauren alive he had some bargaining power with me.

  XXXII

  When the call came it was from Lauren.

  She was struggling to sound calm, but the fear was there.

  “Jack, it’s okay. I’m not hurt.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. They want you to meet them, to hand over what it is you’re holding on them. If you do that, they’ll let me go.”

  “Where and when?”

  “They’ll call you. They said to tell you to get everything you’ve got and bring it with you when you meet with them.”

  “Okay.”

  “And they say just you on your own.”

  “Okay.”

  “Jack, you’re the only person I can trust in this...”

  The line went dead. They were going to let me dangle. I’d use the time.

  I knew what they wanted: the missing snapshots. They had everything else. My apartment had been ransacked and all computers and files removed. But I had the memory card.

  I also knew if I gave them what they wanted, they’d kill Lauren.

  I’d never felt angrier than when I put that phone down. All the hits I’d carried out I’d done with professional detachment, scumbags who deserved to be wasted.

  Now I had a personal motive.

  I needed to know who was holding Lauren.

  Fast.

  I’d never wanted to carry out a hit so much, and this time I wasn’t going to get paid.

  They were going down, and I was going to put them in a death spiral.

  ***

  I spent twenty–four hours staking out Klein’s house.

  The gates only opened twice, once to admit a limousine with blacked–out windows, once a van.

  I saw no sign of him.

  The gates shut out the outside world and I couldn’t make out if he was even there.

  I knew he had staff and kept irregular hours, but beyond this little else. He was a secretive man.

  He had to be in contact with his hired help and the only way to find Lauren was to follow him or bug his calls.

  He wasn’t going to let himself be tracked. The paparazzi were pursuing him and he wasn’t going to hand them any juicy shots.

  The kidnapper was keeping him updated by phone.

  I bugged his lines, but the only thing I heard was his wife calling friends, complaining about the press intrusion into their lives, and Klein talking shop with a few business colleagues.

  He wasn’t giving anything away.

  I’d guessed he would probably make his important calls on a mobile and I was right.

  Then, bright and early the next morning, the second call came through.

  A man’s voice said, “One o’clock, bring everything we need.”

  “I give you this, I want Lauren there. And she leaves with me.”

  “You’re not calling the shots.”

  “That’s the deal. I have more information which hasn’t reached the papers yet.”

  He didn’t know if I was bluffing.

  “You’ll see her when you hand it over.”

  “No. I arrive and show you what I’ve got. Then you give me Lauren. I don’t hand anything over until then.”

  There was a pause.

  Then the line went dead.

  This would smoke Klein out. A man as secretive as him wouldn’t discuss anything important over the phone, even a mobile.

  He would be at his office, so I drove straight round there and waited.

  Just as my mobile went, his car drove out of the parking lot.

  I followed.

  “Hello?”

  “Okay. But you bring everything.”

  The meeting was two hours away and I was gambling that my ruse had forced a meeting between Klein and his accomplice.

  His car meandered in and out of traffic, going downtown towards Kennington. Then it turned into Battersea. It stopped outside some flats.

  Klein got out and went down some steps into a basement.

  He came out a few minutes later with a guy in a track suit.

  He was heavily built and had the upright gait of someone ex–military.

  I followed them to some lock–ups on the edge of an industrial wasteland, hiding my car.

  There was a row of units looking over onto some gasworks.

  They walked round the corner and walked back.

  I parked on the corner and watched as the guy in the track suit opened one of them and they went inside.

  Half an hour later they emerged.


  Klein was saying something and it got pretty heated.

  His accomplice got on his mobile.

  Mine rang.

  I had them.

  I waited.

  Just before it went to voicemail I answered.

  “Yes?”

  “The time’s been changed.”

  “When?”

  “Two.”

  “Where?”

  He gave me an address which I recognised as the basement flat I’d seen Klein pick him up from.

  I watched them drive off and then went over to the lock–up.

  There was no sign outside.

  I looked around. The place was deserted.

  I walked back to my car and returned with a jemmy.

  The door wrenched open pretty easily and I went inside.

  I found the light and walked past piles of boxes to the office at the back.

  The glass door had a blind pulled on the other side.

  It was locked.

  There was nowhere else to hide someone.

  I kicked it in and found Lauren tied and gagged in the corner.

  She looked terrified but when she saw it was me her expression mellowed to relief.

  I freed her legs and arms and pulled the industrial tape off.

  “Thank God,” she said and threw her arms around me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I mean, shaken up but he didn’t hurt me.”

  “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

  She was shaking and I got her into my car and drove her to my flat.

  I fed her and made sure she wasn’t hurt.

  She was telling the truth.

  I’d got to her just in time.

  XXXIII

  I checked us into a hotel, and after eating, she had a bath.

  By now the deadline had passed, but it no longer mattered.

  When my phone went, the voice sounded angry.

  “Do you want us to hurt her? Why didn’t you show?”

  “I got held up. I can make it later.”

  He hung up.

  Lauren came out of the bathroom in a robe, drying her hair.

  “Do you know what I really want right now, Jack?”

  “You name it.”

  “A drink.”

  I poured her a brandy.

  “You know, when I’ve recovered, I’ve got a few questions to ask you, and you’re gonna answer them.”

  I just watched her until she started to fall asleep.

  Then I went out.

  By now it was late.

  They would have found that she’d gone.

  I made my way over to the basement flat.

  When I got there I could see a light.

  I waited until he came out.

  He was carrying a case. Just the right size for a gun.

  I followed him to another address a few miles away. He went in for the night and after a few hours I guessed he wouldn’t emerge again until morning.

  Klein’s orders must have been to relocate then kill me and Lauren.

  I figured he would go to my penthouse first, so I headed straight to her flat. The place was exactly as she’d left it.

  I’d read through everything on the net about the serial killer and re–examined his profile.

  The papers were giving out this picture of the sordid world of an embittered professional, coming up with theories of a failed politician with a grudge.

  Klein’s intention had obviously been to throw as many red herrings out there as people would swallow. And people had eaten this one whole and were queuing up for more.

  Psychologists were spouting the same old stuff about personality disorders and abused childhoods, the same old yarn. I knew differently. The whole media machine was being used to distort the truth and protect the people at the top.

  The only thing they were getting right was that this guy was a pro, and I knew his background was military.

  Klein had thought this through carefully and hand–picked him.

  He could remove any obstacles to his success as an arms dealer by setting up the smokescreen of a serial killer on the rampage, and take out his enemies.

  I knew that if Klein was pushed, the killer would be told to act quickly.

  So the first thing I did was call him.

  At nine o’clock I rang straight through to his offices and he picked up.

  “Klein?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to drop a much bigger bombshell today, one that will see you put away for good.”

  “Who is this?”

  “You know who I am.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  He was wary of being bugged and wasn’t going to say much, but it didn’t matter.

  “I’m at Lauren’s flat.”

  “Who’s Lauren?”

  I hung up, knowing he would get straight on the phone to his accomplice.

  I left a note which read:

  “Location: Oxford Street, McDonalds. Time: 12.00.”

  Nice and busy.

  It would provide cover and publicity.

  In the boot of my car I had an Armalite AR–10, the weapon favoured by the serial killer who by now would be racing towards Lauren’s flat.

  XXXIV

  Martoni had some offices just opposite the McDonalds.

  I knew they were empty and I’d already cleared it with him: I could use them and had the keys.

  I went straight there and up to the top floor of the building.

  The entire floor below was unoccupied.

  I locked the door and made my way over to the window.

  I had the McDonalds in my sights.

  Then I waited.

  There was a thick crowd below. People milling around, dropping litter, eating burgers, dodging one another, busy with their shopping, talking on their mobiles.

  The killer had often picked people off in a throng, and this hit was going to bear all the hallmarks of one of his shootings.

  He took his time.

  What neither he nor Klein were aware of was that I knew what he looked like.

  And after an hour I saw him.

  He was wearing a pin–striped suit and looked quite different, but it was him all right.

  You can tell if someone’s carrying a weapon. There is a definite gun gait you can spot. He was tooled up with a handgun.

  He walked up to the McDonalds and then stopped.

  Then he went inside.

  I focused the rifle on the door.

  I squared the telescopic lens on it and waited.

  A few minutes later he came out and started walking away. I put the cross hair on his forehead, he was walking towards me. That made it easier.

  I waited till he passed a group of tourists, then fired.

  All it took was one shot. The rifle gave a gentle hiccup. He went down like a tree and just lay there while the crowds stepped over him until someone noticed the pool of blood spilling across the pavement. Then a woman stopped and held her hands to her face.

  She had brain matter on her dress. Another woman noticed the thick stains on her blouse and started screaming. The short, sharp, staccato noises broke the air and sounded like a siren.

  A group formed while others stood back and watched.

  People got on their mobiles.

  I put my rifle in the hold–all and went out into the deserted hallway.

  Then I left by the rear exit and walked to my car.

  I was out of there before the police arrived.

  XXXV

  At the hotel Lauren was okay, if a little drunk.

  “It’s over,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  We had some lunch at the hotel. I’d started to think about how I could tell her who I was and realised it was not going to be in this country.

  ***

  Later that night I called Klein.

  All I said was, “The package is now in the hands of the press and the pol
ice.” I then hung up.

  I’d left the memory card at the offices of The Sun.

  They had one very happy editor.

  If the police didn’t get to him quickly, then I’d take him out. Without his sniper, he was for the moment just another wounded politician avoiding further publicity.

  The following morning I went over to Lauren’s place on my own.

  No one tailed me.

  I wanted to clear it up before she saw any mess.

  It wasn’t too bad.

  The front door had been kicked in and a few drawers emptied onto the floor, but that was about it. I hadn’t given him enough time to cause too much damage.

  I called a carpenter and a locksmith and tidied the rest up myself.

  ***

  The papers really got their teeth into this one.

  One front page read:

  Mad killer shoots businessman from rooftop in Oxford Street.

  The theories multiplied and no one had the slightest clue what had really happened.

  No one ever got to know who the latest victim was. His identity had been surgically removed by virtue of his job.

  What the police didn’t know was that there would be no more murders from the guy they were looking for.

  He’d been killed with his own signature.

  And the papers were about to get a whole lot busier with the breaking news about Klein.

  XXXVI

  He saved me the trouble.

  A few days later I read in the papers that Klein had killed himself, a bottle of booze and pills by his bed.

  The headline read:

  “Disgraced government minister’s body found by wife.”

  Guys like that, operating from a safe distance of spin and professional exploitation find exposure hard to bear.

  He never got to read the scoop.

  The story lasted for weeks, and they picked over his bones until they were bleached white.

  He’d certainly made a name for himself.

  ***

  Lauren started to recover from her ordeal. We moved out of the hotel and into my apartment.