by Chris Simms
The man in the Redskins baseball cap kept the lens of the camera on her. ‘She’s cutting the call. Did you get it?’
The matchbox-sized device concealed at the base of the perimeter fence of Orion House’s main car park was no more than thirty feet from where Iona stood. While she’d been speaking, her mobile phone signal was being relayed to the TETRA scanner on a table in the back of the unlit office. Numbers flickered on the glowing panel on its side.
‘We had long enough,’ the man sitting beside it murmured. The apparatus he was gazing at had been made in America and was authorized for use only by its intelligence services and certain other countries it chose to equip.
A moment later, the encrypted signal had been cracked. ‘We’re in,’ he announced. ‘Her number and the one she was just connected to.’
After capturing the registration of the car the female detective unlocked, the man in the baseball cap turned round. ‘Then let’s hear what was being discussed.’
TWENTY-NINE
The headlights of Liam’s car shone briefly through the kitchen windows as he swung on to Nina’s drive. She immediately stubbed out her half-smoked Sobranie in an ashtray already crowded with filters. He’d rung ahead to say the visit had been a success – but only just. Her Dell had been in the old woman’s flat which, fortunately, was on the ground floor; he’d been forced to escape through a window when someone had started knocking on the door.
Back in his car, he’d passed a police vehicle racing in the direction of the home. So he’d turned round and driven back past the house. His suspicions were correct: blue lights were flashing on the driveway and, even before the care home was out of sight, two more, unmarked, vehicles had raced up the short drive. It meant the police were closing in. They needed to get out of the country as fast as possible. He opened the kitchen door and walked towards her.
‘Where’ve you been?’ she hissed, snatching the laptop from his hands and placing it on the breakfast bar. It was hers. Absolutely no doubt about it. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling with relief.
He watched her as she breathed out, arms dangling limply at her sides, fingertips twitching minutely. Like she was tapped into another world, communicating with the gods. Finally her head turned to him and she smiled.
‘You’ve done well, Liam. We’re safe.’
‘You wanted to know where I’ve been?’ He shook his head. ‘Driving through country lanes shitting myself. I nearly didn’t come back, Nina. Nearly just did one. We’re not safe. They’ve almost worked this out. I didn’t know if they might already be here when I drove up the drive.’ He felt a muscle in the corner of his mouth spasm and tried to turn it into a bleak smile. ‘I did her as well, Nina.’ He regarded the laptop as if some element of her lived on within the machine. The organ music. ‘They can’t catch me for this. I’ll not die in prison.’ His cheek muscle fluttered again and he pressed his thumb against it, crushing the flesh against his molars. ‘I fucking won’t.’
She stepped up to him, brushed his hand away from his face and gently cupped his cheek. Her thumb moved back and forth across the spot of skin that had taken on a life of its own. ‘Do not worry. Everything is arranged.’
‘What’s happening with the flights?’
She lowered her hand to gesture at a stack of bags by the dining table, the holdall full of hair extensions balanced on the top. ‘You need to pack some things. Not much; you won’t need much. A plane is coming for us tomorrow at four, the private airfield out near Woodford.’
He looked out of the window. ‘A private flight. You arranged that?’
She nodded. ‘All the paperwork from the office I’ve put in the firepit by the patio. There are boxes of files there, too.’ She opened the laptop and turned it on. The wallpaper image was different. She tried her password but it didn’t work. How silly to think she could check the hard drive for the information that meant so much. She closed it. ‘Burn this, too. Take a hammer to it, then burn it. Along with all the files. Everything.’
‘What about the two in the cellar?’
She checked her watch. ‘Madison needs to be at the airport in an hour. Her flight goes at seven fifteen. The ticket is for Beirut, but she’ll be met at Istanbul. Chloe needs to come with us; she has no passport.’
Liam’s top lip peeled back. ‘Why bring her? Let’s leave her. Lock the fucking cellar and leave her. She’s baggage we don’t need.’
Nina crossed her arms. ‘We don’t travel without that girl. The payment for her is our ticket out. No girl, no flight.’
He rubbed at his head. ‘This isn’t good. Me and you? It won’t look strange. You’re the VIP, I’m your minder. What’s she? The maid?’
Nina looked at her watch then took keys from her pocket. ‘She’s coming. Now, I’ll get Madison up here. You make sure she’s on that flight then come straight back.’
She walked through to the utility room, unlocked the top door, went down the narrow steps, selected another key and opened up the second door into the basement. A suitcase was leaning against the wall. ‘Madison, are you ready? Liam’s here to take you to the airport!’
The two of them appeared in the lounge doorway. Madison, hair now in a short bob, looked self-conscious and apprehensive.
‘Come, Madison. It’s time to go.’
She turned and hugged her friend, arms grasping her tightly. ‘I don’t want to go on my own.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Chloe replied. ‘Don’t take the best room, you hear? I want the one with the biggest balcony and largest bed and—’
‘Come on, we have no time!’ Nina barked.
They broke their embrace and Madison wiped a tear from her eye. ‘It won’t be the same without you.’
Nina took in the girl’s long, slender legs and high breasts. She would be popular, wherever she ended up. At least for the first few months. And Chloe? Nina suspected her journey would come to an end far, far more quickly. ‘You’ll be seeing each other in a few days. It’s hardly worth saying goodbye. Now, Madison, we must go.’
At the bottom of the stairs, Madison reached back and gave Chloe’s hand a last squeeze. With a tight-lipped smile, Nina closed the door and relocked it. Then she made a scooping movement with both hands. ‘Up! Come on, we haven’t got long.’
As soon as Liam’s car was off the drive, she got her phone out. A male voice ordered her to wait. A couple of clicks later, he spoke.
‘Tell me what’s happening.’
‘The laptop is here, in front of me.’
‘It is the one?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes. There’s a scratch in the corner of the screen. It’s mine.’
‘Good. Now destroy it.’
‘I will. And the first one? She’s on her way.’
‘Excellent. The second?’
‘She’s ready, too. We’re both ready.’
‘What about Khan, the policewoman?’
‘I have an idea for her. The plane will need to be ready. It must happen fast.’
‘You will need to move fast, Nina. The plane will wait for fifteen minutes only. Arranging this has cost me a lot of money. It leaves after those fifteen minutes whether you’re there, or not.’
‘Will …’ She realized her voice had lifted. Nerves were making her sound shrill. She started again more slowly. ‘Will you be there? Are you coming to get us? To get me?’
‘You mean, will I be on the plane?’
‘Yes.’
He laughed. ‘Swooping in to your rescue, carrying you up and away into the clouds?’
She didn’t know what to say. He used jokes like snake oil, to wriggle out of an answer.
‘Nina, I’m coming to get you. Are you happy now?’
‘Yes. Thank you. I … I’ll need Liam.’
‘Why?’
‘To help carry them. Chloe is a large girl. The female detective is very small, but I cannot handle two people. Not on my own. Even getting them into the car.’
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‘Very well. But Liam does not come to the airfield. Arrangements are for one car to go airside and three females to go on board. You, the negress and that detective. I will have people ready to help get them on board. Liam must not still be with you by then.’
‘OK.’
‘And Nina? It’s vital we have both of those girls. A very important client has been assured of Khan. Do you understand?’
Probably the Russian, she thought. The one with the enormous yacht. She wondered once again who was taking delivery of Chloe. ‘Yes.’
THIRTY
Iona’s legs felt like they were on remote control as she plodded back across the car park of Orion House. Watching one foot follow the other revived memories of doing her Duke of Edinburgh’s Gold award. Her group had completed the fourth day of the expedition after a night when storms had lashed their tent from sunset to sunrise. Damp, cold and exhausted, she remembered urging her friends to keep going as they squelched along a sodden sheep trail that led to the final checkpoint.
As the side entrance of Orion House drew closer, she wondered where her life was going. Will I still be making my way into a building like this in five, ten, fifteen years’ time? Dog-tired from the demands of an investigation that just doesn’t let up? I’m twenty-six years old. Could I even do this stuff in my forties? Do I want to still be doing it in my forties? No. In my thirties? Not sure. She thought about her older sister, Fenella. At home with her kind husband and gorgeous twins. Preparing the little pair their mushy food. Shaking soft toys that played little tunes.
What about me? Her hand paused, door card ready. I want a baby at some point. Two. Even three. She knew the smile on her lips was twisted; it had come from self-pity. I don’t even have a boyfriend. Not even close to one. Martin’s face appeared in her head. She didn’t want it to, it just did. He was smiling. Oh my God, she groaned to herself, swiping her card in the reader and yanking the door open. Get a bloody grip, you desperate cow.
Her phone went off. She fished it from her pocket, extending one foot behind her to stop the door from banging into her. Jim’s name on the screen. That’s all I need right now. For a moment she hesitated. Her conscience prodded her and she pressed green. ‘Morning, Jim! You’re up bright and early.’
‘Yeah, and you. I’m on earlies. I went past your house and saw the car wasn’t there.’
She wished he wouldn’t do that. It wasn’t exactly a detour on his part, but it still felt like he was checking up. ‘Right.’
‘Everything OK?’
‘Knackered. But apart from that, yeah, I’m good, thanks.’
‘Good.’
There was a pause. Iona felt herself wondering if this was a personal or professional call. She knew which she’d prefer it to be. ‘So, what’s up?’
‘Oh, sorry. It’s about the girl who died.’
Which one? she almost asked. The one you were investigating until we came along and snatched it from you? Or one of the others? ‘Emily Dickinson?’
‘Yeah. I’ve been going over the reports. Well,’ his voice altered as an accusatory tone crept in, ‘the parts people like me are allowed to view.’
She stepped back out of the door and it swung shut with a loud click. ‘Jim, you know the score. It’s not me going over things with the black pen.’ She hoped he wasn’t going to ask anything awkward; this was a work phone. All calls were recorded.
‘Yeah, sorry. Only jealous.’
She blinked with surprise: the fact Jim had also applied to the CTU – and failed to get in – was a sensitive point, to say the least. Sometimes she wondered if it hadn’t been the start of the end of their relationship. To hear him joking about it was a real turn up. ‘Don’t be. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper night’s sleep.’
He laughed. ‘Listen, prime suspect in this is the Haziq character, right?’
She was still working out a response when he spoke again.
‘Don’t worry, we’ve been given his description, told he’s pretty much the main priority. Him and the colleague, Khaldoon.’
She wondered whether to mention Liam Collins, but decided against it. ‘Yeah, that’s correct.’
‘And you’re also looking at him for the two other students, Philip Young and the Irish girl, Donaghue, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes – anyone who bought one of a batch of laptops that went missing from the office where him and Khaldoon worked.’
‘CityPads?’
From the way he asked the question, Iona wondered if he was now pumping her for information. Fishing for details that didn’t appear on the version of the report that had been circulated round the various divisions. She wished she had a copy of it to hand. ‘Where are you going with this, Jim?’
‘I don’t know – just looking for threads, like we’re supposed to do.’
Please don’t, she thought. You haven’t got enough information to do that. And besides, it’s no longer your job. ‘OK.’
‘Emily Dickinson’s laptop, the Dell. She had it in a carry case when it was taken from her. Same thing happened to Philip Young – is that correct? He was attacked and the Dell along with its carry case was—’
‘Jim, I’ll have to stop you there.’ Her eyes wandered to the bland office block across the road. Half the units in it seemed permanently empty, judging by the lack of life in the place. ‘You’re asking me for details outside the Emily Dickinson murder.’
‘Except they’re not, are they? Outside her murder – not really.’
Now he sounded peevish. She hesitated. ‘The murders appear to be the work of one person, yes.’
‘Wow. Really? I’d have never thought that.’
‘Come on, Jim. You know my hands are tied on this.’
‘Oh, cheers. That’s appreciated. Thanks, Iona.’
Great, she thought. Now he’s moved on to sarcasm. Next it’ll be straightforward bitterness. ‘I’ll check, OK? Find out what I’m permitted to tell you. I’ll call you back.’
‘Don’t put yourself out on my part, please. I’d hate to think I’m inconveniencing you lot, trying to help get this guy caught. That would be inexcusable, wouldn’t it?’
Bloody hell, now he’s ranting. ‘Give me a bit of time. I’ll call you.’
‘That’s very good of you.’ The line cut.
She held the phone away from her face to look at it. That, she thought, is why I couldn’t live with you any longer. You can be such a complete arse.
Martin was still at the desk. As she weaved her way across the office she studied him for as long as she dared. He was slumped sideways, chin on one hand, gazing down at something. The posture gave him a boyish air, a kid yearning for the school bell so he could get outside and collect conkers. Or whatever boys liked to do. She wanted to ruffle his hair.
‘How do you girls do it?’
She looked to her left. Sergeant Fairfield was in his seat grinning up at her. There was a cup of black coffee before him. ‘Bugger all sleep, and do you look like shit? Nope.’
‘Don’t I? The bags under my eyes feel pretty bad.’
‘Bags?’ He scoffed. ‘You haven’t got bags. Want to see bags?’ He pointed across his desk. ‘Check out Taylor. His are more full than Victoria Beckham’s on the way back from the Champs Élysées – or wherever the hell she does her shopping nowadays.’
‘They don’t live in Paris, you imbecile,’ Taylor shot back. ‘He doesn’t even play for PSG anymore.’
‘I imagine they keep an apartment there. It is, after all, so very la-dee-dah.’ With both hands, he raised an imaginary handbag, shooting Iona a mischievous glance at the same time.
‘Bitter blue,’ Taylor retorted in a sing-song voice. ‘Can’t stand the fact Beckham played for United, can you? All the goals he scored for England – you should worship our David like the deity he is.’
‘Rather eat soot,’ Fairfield muttered, attention going back to the bacon roll next to his coffee.
Iona had taken three steps before Taylor spok
e again.
‘Rather take millions from some dodgy sheikh, try to buy success and still fail, you mean.’
‘Children, children,’ Iona called back. ‘Not this early in the morning, please.’
As she took her seat, Martin looked up. ‘Hey, I forgot to get a bloody paper on the way in.’
‘Do you want one? I don’t mind nipping back out …’
‘Nah.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’m ever going to make it as a professional Sudoku player. Time to accept it and move on.’
She smiled, wondering where the one from the previous day had gone. It didn’t appear to be on his desk. ‘Nothing back from the embassy in Islamabad, I suppose?’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘The doctor said she had to sleep. Yeah, I thought. That would be nice, a bit of sleep. Who knows when we’ll get anything out of her. Not until Hamilton and Baguley get there, I suppose.’
‘And Collins?’
‘The whole city is looking for him and Haziq.’
‘So, what are you working on?’
‘Oh, just the notes from the old people’s home.’
A needle got her, right in the chest. ‘Who …?’ She felt her competitive side kicking in and checked herself. ‘You’re doing those?’
‘Yeah, Roebuck asked me.’
She glanced across to the DCI’s office. He was in there, reading through print-outs. A voice was going off in her head. Why wasn’t I asked? Why didn’t Roebuck give it to me? Martin’s not even a proper member of the team. ‘Let me know if you want any help.’
‘Would you mind?’
‘Course not.’ She was about to add that it was always a good idea to have someone else check your work when he lifted his hands, forefingers extended.
‘My two-fingered typing technique is shocking.’
She wondered if the twitch she felt was a mental one or if her head had actually moved. He’s asking me to do his typing. Is he taking the mickey? Nothing in his eyes suggested he was. ‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’
He picked up on the sarcasm in her voice and lifted an eyebrow. ‘When did you learn to touch-type so well, anyway?’