Murder By Umbrella: (Passion) (The Nikki Sinclair Quartet Book 1)

by Jaye Rothman

  I was completely unprepared for the hostility of his reply. He didn’t bother to mask his fury at my question.

  “Yes, we do,” he hissed in Russian. “It’s the language of the Motherland. Do you understand me, Nikki Faber? Yes, I think you do. Be careful.”

  With that, Yerzov marched out of the room, leaving me standing in his wake. I was amazed at the outright contempt he held for his adopted country.

  Bryant had paled and stood with his mouth agape. Did he, too, understand Russian? I had a strong hunch he did.

  Bryant appeared stunned into silence after Yerzov’s outburst. He ushered me through a grey steel door that didn’t have any obvious security into the blindingly lit laboratory. Six florescent lights were suspended from the ceiling, and the walls were painted a dazzling white. I would have a case of snow blindness if I had to spend a day in here.

  The scientists were all dressed identically in long white coats. The low murmur of conversation stopped immediately on my arrival. Eight pairs of eyes stared at me with expressions ranging from wariness to outright animosity. It was made abundantly clear without any of them speaking that I was an unwelcome visitor, a foreigner encroaching on their turf. Bryant made brief work of the introductions. Six of the scientists nodded, and only two had the courtesy to shake my hand. According to Bryant, most of their working days seemed to consist of writing on blackboards and puzzling over formulas at their desks.

  Finally we made our way over to Eva. She was seated at a desk and appeared absorbed in some mathematical problem. As Bryant made the introductions, she stood and smiled at me. There was a slight redness around her eyes, but that was all the evidence of last night’s ordeal. I was totally mesmerised and truly hoped that my jaw hadn’t dropped, but I think it probably had.

  If she had been just two inches taller, Eva could have graced the cover of Vanity Fair or any of the other top glosses. She was gorgeous – about 5’5” tall, slim but not thin, with blonde hair that she wore tied in a ponytail. Her eyes were the colour of blue irises on a summer’s day, and she wore a touch of pink lipstick on full lips. She greeted me with a formality that I found charming, and she blushed as our eyes met and held. We shook hands, and I think we both held on longer than was strictly necessary. Her hand was warm and her grip firm, and I didn’t want to let go. I reflected on what her touch would be like on my skin.

  At precisely 1 p.m. the scientists stopped working, took off their white coats, put them on the back of their chairs and left the room. It must be lunchtime.

  “Are you lunching, Nikki?’ Bryant enquired, looking at his watch.

  “Yes, thanks. Can you show me the way to the restaurant?” Bryant led me there reluctantly. As soon as he opened the door, there was a distinct lull in conversation, and heads swivelled in my direction. I heard a few indistinct words muttered in Russian. Bryant excused himself hurriedly, saying that he had a number of phone calls to make, which was probably true. I guessed that Braithwaite’s name would be at the top of the list and, if Bryant had any sense, he would be requesting a transfer.

  I took a seat at a table by the window and scanned the room. Conversation had recommenced, but it was muted, and I was still on the receiving end of a number of wary and distrustful stares. A waitress brought a plate of what looked like beef and cabbage, and placed it in front of me. There were no choices here. I glanced up and saw that Eva was sitting directly opposite me at another table. As I ate, I cast surreptitious glances across at her. She concentrated on eating and didn’t join in the conversations either side of her. Eventually she caught me looking and stared openly at me. This time I was the one who blushed and looked away, and I wondered what her lips would feel like on my own.

  I drove back to Squirrel Cottage. This time I wasn’t surprised to find Lonnie sitting at the kitchen table. He had made a pot of tea and was busy cleaning his Glock.

  I took the chair opposite him and poured myself a cup. “How did it go last night?’

  Lonnie grinned. “Well, I’m now the new darts champion of The Spreading Oak.”

  I laughed. “You’re not supposed to be drawing attention to yourself.”

  “I know.” He shrugged. “Anyway, not surprisingly, no scientists turned up. Two of the guards came, blokes called Johnson and Price, and I got chatting to them.

  I interrupted Lonnie. “Do you mean Corporal Johnson and Private Price?”

  He looked puzzled. “No, Nikki, these blokes definitely aren’t serving soldiers. Have you met them?”

  I briefly described my encounter with them.

  Lonnie sipped his tea. “That’s odd, because Johnson and Price are private security. Price told me a platoon of ten soldiers used to guard the place, but they were sent back to barracks, orders of the MOD. Apparently it was cheaper to contract out and use a private security firm.”

  “Why didn’t Bryant tell me this?”

  Lonnie shook his head. “More to the point, why didn’t Braithwaite let you know?”

  I poured more tea into my cup. “I don’t know. Something strange is going on here. Did you know that all the scientists speak Russian in the lab? I met Yerzov – he spoke to me in Russian and he described the Soviet Union as the Motherland. I’m also betting that Bryant speaks it.”

  Lonnie looked at me in amazement. “That’s pretty blatant, isn’t it? What the hell is going on?” He paused and sipped his tea. “Bryant – yeah, I checked. There’s no record he speaks it. He gained a double first at Oxford – French and law. Unless he’s taken private lessons from the Prof.”

  “We’re in a little village in the heart of the Sussex countryside and it seems the entire population are fluent Russian speakers.”

  He lit a cigarette and appeared deep in thought. “Nikki, do you think the guards speak Russian?”

  “I don’t know. You’d better check that out. I’m going to walk over to Pagham and see CJ. I need some air.”

  I changed from my trouser suit to my Levis and set out for Pagham Harbour. As I walked, I analysed the stare Eva had given me. Was she a lesbian? No, she was straight. Or so Bryant had told me. Regardless, I now had the perfect excuse to arrange a meeting with her, as I needed to check out Bryant’s alibi. I grinned. Was Eva as straight as she appeared to be?

  The residents’ lounge was deserted, apart from CJ, who was sitting in a comfortable armchair reading the Guardian. I watched her for thirty seconds.

  “Hi, Nikki,” she said without looking up.

  “You knew I was here?”

  “Yeah. Just making you wait, honey.”

  I smiled and shook my head. I sat down in the armchair next to hers. It was a pleasant, relaxing room, and the large picture window framed the striking view over the harbour. White clouds scudded by, blown by the wind that had started to pick up.

  “Do you want a drink?” CJ asked.

  “I’d love one. Scotch, please. Make it a double.”

  CJ put her newspaper down and went to pour me a drink. “Listen up,” she said over her shoulder. “Something strange happened last night. I went down to the harbour this morning and was chatting to one of the fishermen. He said that at about two a.m. he heard noises on the beach. His cottage looks directly out to sea. A man was pushing a small rowing boat down the shingle into the water. This guy was glancing around, as if he didn’t want to be seen, and he rowed directly out to sea.”

  I took the offered glass and absentmindedly drank it down. CJ rose, held out her hand for my glass and went to pour me another.

  “Were any boats reported stolen?”

  “I checked with the local Police. Nada, nothing.”

  I quickly updated CJ on the latest developments. “I bet that was Polakoff rowing out to a larger vessel. He’s probably on the way home to Mother Russia by now.”

  “So the formula has gone?”

  “Yeah, and probably the toxin with Polakoff.”

  “Do you think it was still here until last night?”

  “Yes, I think so. The toxin could easily
have been stored in Polakoff’s fridge.”

  “Why do you think Mester and Maksimov were killed?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps they were too dangerous to leave alive, but killing them has drawn a lot of attention to the facility. Perhaps that was the plan all along, so the media gets to hear about it and, because of public opinion, it gets closed down. It’s a win-win for the Soviets.”

  CJ gave me an anxious look. “Take it easy, honey. You’ve had two doubles in ten minutes.”

  “Have I?” I examined my empty glass absently. “Can you check out a Leonid Yerzov? He’s just been promoted to deputy of the facility. Braithwaite hasn’t been informed of this. I have a feeling I’ve seen him before. His face was familiar. I don’t know why. Maybe I’ve seen his photo in the book; I don’t know. Also ask him to check out when the MOD decided to use a private security firm to guard the facility. We need to find out who ordered the soldiers back to barracks. Lonnie’s going back to the pub later to check out if Price and Johnson are Russian speakers.”

  “Sure, I’ll get on to Broadway. Remember the Humber that followed us down here?”

  “Yeah. Did you find out who was driving?”

  “No, I asked Dexter to check.” Dexter was responsible for MI6’s motor vehicles. “When he looked at the record book, yesterday’s page had been ripped out.”

  I stubbed out my Rothmans in the pottery ashtray. I couldn’t remember smoking it, and promptly lit another.

  “Dexter dropped off a Mini for me today. I figured it might be necessary to have a set of wheels.” She reached out for me and squeezed my hand. “Come on, let’s go to bed for an hour. That will relax you.”

  I gave a wan smile and took her hand. Bed was the last place I felt like going. I didn’t know if I could endure CJ crawling over my body, kissing and touching me, when I craved the touch of unfamiliar skin and lips. Reluctantly, I followed her upstairs. I was preoccupied and distant as we made love and it seemed like an age before I eventually succumbed to CJ. It hadn’t been pleasurable or exciting, and a sense of relief washed over me that it was over.

  I must have fallen asleep for when I woke up, the room was dark, except for a smudge of yellow light from the lamppost in the street. I squinted at my watch. It was 7 p.m. CJ had buried her head in my shoulder, and I could feel the wetness of her tears on my skin.

  “It’s late, and I’ve got to get back.” My voice was dismissive.

  She said in a low voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was that late. Nikki, I…” She paused as if to choose her words carefully, as if they might cause me to have a change of heart. “I don’t want just to be a fuck for you. I’m kinda looking for something…”

  Her voice wavered and trailed off. Her words hung in the air between us. Already I was reaching for my clothes and hurriedly dressing. I didn’t switch the light on because I didn’t want to see her pain and hurt. The pain and hurt that I had caused. How many times had I slid away into the dark after intimate encounters? Without saying a word, or leaving a note with my phone number, breaking promises of meeting for a drink.

  “Want to go to the pub for some fish and chips?” CJ ventured again.

  “No, thanks. I’ve got to get back.”

  There. I had turned her down without an explanation. A shudder ran through me. I despised these behaviours in men, but I did exactly the same. What had I become? How had I become so cold and cruel towards my lovers?

  When we were in bed just now, I had closed my eyes so I could visualise Eva’s face, and the long, intense stare she had given me. CJ had all but disappeared for me then, replaced by thoughts of how Eva might respond to me. Would we have sexual chemistry? Would she give me what I craved in and out of bed?

  I knew this was a vile thing to do, but I told myself that I had been feeling uneasy about CJ’s sexual domination over me – although only ten days ago I had found it exciting and thrilling that she desired me like that. In Hammamet I had even fantasised that we might have a future together and, I think, part of the attraction was that she knew how I spent my working days, so for once I wouldn’t have to lie to a lover.

  My hand was on the door knob when CJ spoke bitterly, her voice snapping me back to the present. “I hope you enjoy interrogating Eva.”

  I heard the sound of sobbing as I closed the door. CJ already knew that she had been replaced.

  Did I feel guilty? Yes, of course. Had I used CJ? Yes, but she knew the score, didn’t she? Did CJ care about me? Yes, but she wasn’t in love with me, was she?

  As I hastily left Pagham Harbour and CJ, I was guilty of not concentrating on my surroundings, and I realised that I had forgotten my torch. The clouds partly obliterated the moon, so I couldn’t rely on it to light my path. I walked briskly now. The wind had picked up, and the ground was still muddy underfoot after today’s rain. My running shoes slipped on the soft earth and I stumbled, nearly losing my balance. I was sure there would be a thunderstorm soon. As the sky became darker, large spots of rain as big as 10-pence pieces started to fall. I began to regret my hasty departure; I should have swallowed my pride, apologised and asked CJ to drive me back.

  The branches of the trees were waving and swaying in the wind, and the leaves were blowing around me. I didn’t like the countryside; I was happier in a city, with hard pavements underfoot and busy roads to navigate. In the distance I heard an owl hoot and the rustle of bushes. Was it an animal, perhaps a badger or a fox? I stood utterly still and listened. Was someone following me? I couldn’t hear anything besides the sound of the rain beating on the earth and vegetation. I checked my shoulder for my Beretta. Damn. I had locked it in a cupboard at Squirrel Cottage. I should be carrying it at all times but I hadn’t thought it necessary tonight. I wouldn’t be making that mistake again. I swore out loud.

  As I trudged miserably along, the rain began in earnest. Why hadn’t I brought a raincoat? I cursed my stupidity as I pulled the collar of my denim jacket up closer to my neck. My clothes were no protection against a torrential downpour. The rain was obscuring my vision and streaming down my neck in rivers, soaking through my t-shirt onto my skin. I shivered with the cold.

  I had reached the path that led to the village. Trees and bushes danced in the wind as the gusts increased. I comforted myself with the thought that in another ten minutes I would be in Squirrel Cottage and having a mug of tea.

  I don’t know what made me look round. I think it was the sound of twigs snapping. In a split second someone had me in a bear hug, trapping my arms against my body. I was immobilised. My feet couldn’t get any leverage on the soft muddy ground, and I was thrown heavily face down. I tasted wet earth. Someone with a great deal of strength was pressing me down and their left arm was around my neck in a chokehold. I was gasping for breath and knew I had ten seconds maximum before I would black out and quickly die. My assailant shifted position minutely, which decreased the pressure on my neck a fraction and allowed me to turn my head slightly. The moon came out from behind a cloud and suddenly I could see why my attacker had eased up: out of his jacket pocket he produced an insulin syringe. He grunted, flicked off the cap of the needle and brought his right hand round in an arc.

  I had to make a move now. Instead of struggling, I went limp. This caught him off guard, and I managed to wriggle out of his grip and throw my body to the right. I kicked back as hard as I could and encountered his shin. This might slow him up. I rolled onto my back, and he tossed the syringe into the bushes and threw his whole body weight on top of me. His hands were trying to grasp my neck. He was going to strangle me. I twisted my body from side to side so he wouldn’t be able to get a hold. My left hand was groping in my jeans for the door key to Squirrel Cottage. I found it, balled the key in my fist and jabbed in the direction of his eye, with all the force I could muster. I missed, but caught the bridge of his nose. He let out a screech.

  “You fucking dyke bitch,” he snarled. “I’ll kill you.” Blood had started to gush from his nose and down his face, mingling with
the torrential rain. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, which I had counted on. This was my chance. I used the side of my hand to hit him in the throat. It connected. He fell on his side in the mud, choking and gasping for breath. I was on top of him in a flash with my hands round his neck and my thumbs pressing hard on his windpipe. Now it was my turn to squeeze the life out of him. I didn’t have the opportunity to finish the job. A crack of thunder, loud as a starting pistol, caused me to jump and out of the corner of my eye I saw a large branch, held by a gloved hand, crashing down towards me.

  CHAPTER 5

  DAY THREE

  My head thumped. I gingerly touched the lump, which was the size of a small egg, opened the bottle of painkillers and took four with a large swig of water.

  “I’d go easy on those if I were you.” The advice came from the corner of the room. It was Lonnie, flicking through yesterday’s Daily Mirror.

  I groaned. “My head. What the hell happened?”

  I sat up gingerly in bed, then realised I was naked and quickly pulled the bedclothes around me. I recalled someone stripping my clothes off.

  “Did you undress me?”

  “No, don’t worry.” He chuckled. “I phoned CJ. She came over. We got you checked out by Dr Buchanan – he’s the resident doc. He said you should take it easy.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I hated to be naked in front of men, even Lonnie. I found my packet of Rothmans on the stained rickety bedside table and lit a cigarette.

  Lonnie had become worried about me when I didn’t return from Pagham Harbour, he said. He had phoned CJ, found out that I’d left and had searched for me. He had found me lying in the mud. There had been no sign of my assailant.

  I reflected that it would have to have been someone reasonably fit and strong to overpower me. So far, I’d not run into anyone like that other than Leonid Yerzov. Would he risk attacking me? It would be an enormous gamble for him, as he would be deported unceremoniously back to the Soviet Union if he were caught. Defectors who were extradited to their own countries were either gaoled or mysteriously vanished. Who was my attacker’s accomplice? My assailants knew I was a lesbian, but how did they know? Maybe someone was watching CJ and had put two and two together.