KILL ME IF YOU CAN (Dave Cunane Book 8)

by Frank Lean

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Osman isn’t as deep into Islam as they are. He hasn’t been to mosque since he arrived in England.’

  ‘That would be why he was wearing an Islamic crocheted hat and carrying a ruddy big dagger when we met him, would it?’

  ‘The knife was to protect me and he wears the hat, the kufi, to convince his uncle Mansuur that he’s still a loyal Muslim. He’s been dependent on Mansuur since he overstayed his visa.’

  ‘OK, let’s skip Osman’s life history. Where’s the notebook you stole?’

  ‘Yeah, er, Boss,’ Tony broke in, ‘we’ve been talking about that. Pauline still isn’t absolutely certain that you have her best interests at heart.’

  ‘That’s right Tony, victims of robbery rarely think well of thieves. You should know that.’

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Dave. Pauline’s admitted that she hid the notebook in your office.’

  ‘Sounds likely!’

  ‘She doesn’t have it on her. We made her turn out all her bags and everything. So I believe her.’

  ‘And I should entrust the lives of my children to your judgement Tony?’

  ‘You’ve already trusted your own life to it,’ he said.

  There was no answer to that.

  ‘The deal is this. If you allow us to take her to the office she’ll show us where the notebook is and then we’ll let her go and bring back the notebook.’

  ‘Nice! The minute you’re out of this house she’ll cut loose and tell the police she’s been kidnapped. She’s got you just where she wants you. I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Dave, a word in private please,’ Tony said pushing back his chair and advancing towards me. He put his arm on my shoulder and steered me to the backdoor. Was I now under the control of the reconditioned brain?

  ‘Listen,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I know it’s rubbish but Pauline really believes that if she gets in that car with you she’ll be making her last journey. She thinks you’ll shoot her in the head when you get the book.’

  ‘That is rubbish.’

  ‘Dave, it’s not what I believe. It’s what she believes. You were really cold to her when she worked with you and she’s convinced herself that if not actually a killer you could be.’

  I seethed. I wanted that notebook so badly that I was almost ready to kill for it, almost but not quite.

  I turned to face ‘Pauline Milner’, an identity that was as dissonant as the note a cracked bell to me.

  ‘All right, luvvie,’ I said in a fruity Manchester accent, ‘I’m considering the plan my friends have come up with. You see they sympathise with criminals because they’re ex-criminals themselves. I don’t and I’ve never been a criminal so you need to convince me that you won’t be down at the cop shop screaming kidnap as soon as these two let you go.’

  ‘I won’t go to the police because Osman will lose any chance of gaining UK residence if they find he’s been involved in theft. Let me go and you’ll get your precious notebook back. Anyway, I couldn’t lead the police to you because I don’t know where this house is.’

  Two reasons: one so-so and one good. It was true that she hadn’t seen much on the journey to Altrincham.

  I looked at her. It was the same expressionless face I’d seen across the reception desk at Pimpernel for weeks. What was she: a mistaken fool or a master spy? Whatever she was, she was a lot cooler than she’d been earlier.

  My hunger to have that notebook in my hand was intense and it was true that I’d already entrusted my life to Tony Nolan and his reconditioned brain. Still, there was always Bob’s cellar. I could demand that she tell them where the notebook was stashed and lock her in there until her two admirers brought the book back. The drawback was that I’d lose whatever trust and credit I currently had with Tony and Lee.

  I didn’t need a reconditioned brain to work that one out.

  ‘OK, I agree to your arrangement Tony, but with one modification. Clint goes with you and if she doesn’t hand over the notebook he brings her back.’

  We all looked at Clint, whose eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

  Tony then turned to Lee who nodded his head. To my satisfaction neither consulted ‘Pauline’.

  ‘OK by me, Boss,’ Lee agreed.

  ‘And Miss Fothergill, and you’ll always be Miss Fothergill to me, you can look on this trip to the suburbs as a belated leaving ‘do’ from Pimpernel Investigations. I don’t want to see you again and just to make sure that you don’t know where this house is do you mind wearing your hijab over your face as a blindfold? It’s not that I don’t trust you but you know what they say… once bitten, twice shy?’

  ‘You don’t need to be like that, Mr Cunane,’ she said cattily, ‘spying on you was your own relative’s idea so maybe he thought there was no smoke without fire?’

  ‘Hmmm, I suppose one proverb deserves another but just get out of here before I change my mind.’

  I put her phone down on the table in front of her giving the battery to Lee.

  ‘She gets the battery when you kiss her goodbye.’

  They left quickly but before departure I made sure Clint understood his part and I also retrieved the bullets for the Glock.

  When they’d gone I made myself a cup of coffee. It was the last thing I needed because I was already wired but it seemed like the thing to do. I went into one of the reception rooms and sat back on the sofa. My mind was buzzing. What was I going to do when I learned the name of Lew’s mystery plotter? I’d have to give the book to Claverhouse and Appleyard but it was hard to trust them. Brendan Cullen yes, but it was impossible to know which side of the fence Claverhouse and Appleyard were really on.

  No, I’d have to play it the way Lew had originally wanted. He didn’t trust anyone official. He’d wanted me to be his avenging angel and had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure he had the right man. I guessed that Lew was one of those people who know how to get rich and stay rich. He’d married a rich woman and never spent a penny since or made an investment without thorough research. How long had he known he might need me, ‘a man capable of drastic measures’ as he believed? Or had he only started investigating me when he decided to entrust me with his massive fortune? Whatever the reason was he’d enmeshed me in his web.

  There was also the thought that the old prude probably stuck a pretty young woman in my office to see if I’d given up my bed-hopping ways.

  So when the notebook arrived I’d have the mystery plotter’s name: Joe Bloggs for the sake of argument. Then I was supposed to set myself up as judge, jury and executioner and kill Mr J Bloggs? I didn’t think so. The best I could hope for now was to make a deal with Joseph Bloggs Esquire: immunity in return for my silence.

  Was such immunity even remotely possible?

  Joe Bloggs was powerful, might even be on the point of achieving supreme power. Wouldn’t he squash me like a bug as soon as I came into his range? The best solution for Jan and the children might be if I picked up the Glock and blew my brains out.

  No, that wouldn’t happen.

  I took the Glock and put it into Bob’s rucksack and after a moment’s thought went upstairs for the Uzi and the bullet proof jackets and packed them as well. Things were getting lively and I might need them in a hurry. It was better to be safe than sorry. Always careful not to offend my tender minder assistants I put the rucksack away in a cupboard.

  I would try to lie low and keep out of things; maybe slip off to Ireland and take the family to the Italian villa. Everything might blow over. How could an individual be expected to influence events on this scale?

  It was too much and I must have fallen asleep at that point.

  When I came to the Aunty Velmore phone was ringing.

  Time had passed and my sidekicks hadn’t returned. It was nearly eight a.m. Something must have gone wrong. That cunning woman had tricked them. I should never have let her go.

  The phone rang insistently.

  I picked it up.

  ‘Dave,
I got your text,’ Marvin said throatily.

  ‘Marvin, I’m so sorry. I texted you because I didn’t want to wake you up early.’

  ‘Man, I sleep with the phone right next to me. You woke up Cissy and she kick me out of bed.’

  Cissy, aka Cecilia Roebuck, is Marvin’s partner.

  ‘So I’m up and I t’ink I might as well go down to the office right there and then an take a look and there it is. GKY is charging the estate for special business research. It started with at an initial cost of three and a half grand and is marked “continuing” at five hundred a week for the last three months. I’ve already queried this and the man at GKY came over all vague on me ... he don’ know what it is, some private research they’re doing for Sir Lew.’

  ‘Spying on me, that’s what the research is.’

  I filled him in on the details.

  ‘Dave, you know GKY are the guys who complained to the Law Society ’bout me after I started calling my business DQW for a laugh. The word on them is that GKY stands for Go Kill Yourself and they don’ like a one man firm taking the piss out of them.’

  ‘So now you’ll be able to get your own back.’

  ‘Best not Dave, they employ hundreds of people and I’m still one man. They’d wear me down.’

  ‘OK, but you can tell them we’re challenging that part of their bill and tell them exactly why.’

  ‘I’d like to do that Dave but as your lawyer I must advise you that it’s better to pay up and shut up. A big firm like GKY will just drag you through the courts with appeals and delays and you’ll end up paying much more than what they’re charging for your uncle’s little game and I guess they don’t feel they owe you any favours after you let me take the Weldsley Estate business away from them.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Listen Dave, mon, accentuate de positive. This girl was clever enough to get two people to pay her wages for the same work and then to hide in plain sight but you got her. You’re like a terrier Dave, once you get your teeth in you don’ let go.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice Marvin. Do what you think best about GKY.’

  ‘Do you want me to come and look at the notebook wit’ you? Be a witness, like.’

  ‘Marvin, these people have already tried to kill me four times because they thought I’d had a look at it. It wouldn’t be healthy for you to take a peek.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘No. I’m not going to cause Cissy a load of grief by getting you killed. I feel bad enough about what Shaka Higgings did to you.’

  He laughed and closed the call.

  36

  Friday: 8.10 a.m.

  I heard the car pull up outside.

  Clint, Tony and Lee were in it and Tony was holding up a sealed envelope.

  They’d got the notebook.

  They rushed into the house.

  ‘We put her on the eight o’clock London train,’ Tony started.

  ‘Forget about her,’ I snapped. ‘She’s not important now.’

  ‘Tony and Lee paid for her ticket,’ Clint said.

  ‘Hey, Jaws, zip it up,’ Lee warned.

  My heart had already started pounding but before ripping the notebook out of the envelope I remembered what I’d said to Marvin about the danger of knowing too much. My associates had gathered round to share any discovery.

  ‘Guys, it’s better if I do this alone,’ I said, ‘then if you need to deny that you know anything you can be convincing.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Dave, if we get to the stage where we’re denying things it’ll already be too late,’ Tony said. ‘Knowing things might help us live a little longer. We’re all in this together or we’re out. Just say the word and we’ll go.’

  ‘Damn right,’ muttered Lee.

  I decided to make no further noble but pointless statements of the bleeding obvious.

  The envelope was exactly the same as I’d left it on Monday when I’d swathed it in three yards of Sellotape. It didn’t appear to have been opened.

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘You know the office has a suspended ceiling?’ Tony said.

  ‘I should, I had it installed.’

  ‘Pauline just went into the office, climbed on the desk, pushed up a ceiling tile and pulled this out. We’d have found it if we’d searched but we didn’t even look.’

  ‘Why would you? But has it been tampered with since Monday?’

  ‘Let me make sure,’ Tony insisted.

  Reluctantly I parted company with the envelope.

  He examined it under a strong light.

  ‘This hasn’t been opened, Dave. See the outer layer of paper covering the padded envelope?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s thin and tears easily. It’s layered for security reasons. These envelopes are used for high value goods; passports, cash, jewellery and stuff. If you stick it up with extra Sellotape like you did, then you’ll tear the outer skin when you take the tape off and you can see if it’s been tampered with. This hasn’t. There’s no way anyone could remove all this Sellotape without ripping the paper and I can see where you wrote Private and Confidential and signed it in your handwriting so it’s the same envelope.’

  He was convincing but MI5 have the resources to swap the envelope and copy the handwriting but as I couldn’t imagine why they would bother I kept my mouth shut. I found a sharp knife, slashed the tape and pulled out the notebook.

  It appeared to be the same notebook I’d handled on Monday: small, about four and a half inches by three and bound in luxurious black leather. The letters LG were embossed in gold on the top right hand corner.

  Scarcely daring to breathe I opened it.

  Tony stood behind me, observing intently over my right shoulder. It was annoying but he wanted to be in this for keeps so what could I say?

  Lee and Clint had already started to look for something to eat.

  The first few pages were a disappointment.

  ‘They’ll be passwords,’ Tony commented, ‘Neladgam43, wife’s name and year of her birth and the others are more of the same; how very, very careless of you, Uncle Lew.’

  ‘Runs in the family,’ I muttered, thinking of the ease with which Fothergill/Milner had cracked my security.

  I turned the page over.

  There were names of Manchester and London churches with times attached.

  ‘Mass times,’ Tony explained.

  ‘Yes, he was a very pious man, Uncle Lew, but that didn’t stop him sharing another man’s wife,’ I said sourly.

  ‘Dave, your uncle’s left you millions and you sound as if you don’t like him.’

  ‘Listen Tony, when I went to bed on Sunday evening I was a happy man, with a family and my own business …’

  ‘A struggling business.’

  ‘Whatever! But compared to now I hadn’t a care in the world and that’s down to dear old Uncle Lew.’

  ‘Come on, Dave, things were worse when you were banged up with the nonces in Strangeways.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I conceded.

  I repressed the memory of Tony spitting in my face. He gave me a very serious look so perhaps he was remembering the same event.

  I turned more pages over. They were filled with appointments, shopping lists, addresses, every kind of mundane detail that a busy man might need to note down and they were in no kind of order and gave away nothing about his enquiries. I remembered that Lew was under sentence of death from cancer when he wrote all this. His filing system involved putting a line through the appointments he’d completed. Last week’s appointment at the Bluewater Shopping Centre, Hithe, Kent was listed but the name of the appointee wasn’t.

  If I had a month I could retrace his movements and perhaps come up whatever had led him to the existence of the plot but I didn’t have a month.

  It wasn’t until the very last few pages that I found what I was looking for.

  My heart was already beating fast, now it almost jumped out of my chest because across the top of the page was the name M.O.
Lochhead and Sons, Ltd, underlined. Underneath it this was written:

  ‘David,

  Should you decide to do what I will ask tomorrow, you will need to contact Margaret Pickering, the wife of my very dear friend, Alban Pickering. If you ask the code question I will write below she will reply with the code phrase listed here. She will then do a further check by asking you a question only you can answer. She very likely will take further precautions and only then will she give you Alban’s current location, phone number etc.

  It is essential you follow these procedures correctly and are word perfect or she will not respond. This may all seem childish to you but following just such procedure has saved many lives in the past.

  Alban is a close friend and the son of a close friend. I trust him with my life, such as it is. He is as concerned as I am by the gravity of the plot against our dear country and would, himself, dearly like to take the measure I will propose to you. However he is watched day and night and the slightest diversion from routine on his part will lead not only to his death but the death of his family.

  You are our only chance of success: a resourceful man with a capacity for violence whose ability is unknown to our enemy.

  Alban will give you the name and also provide you with the equipment you will need for your task. I’m afraid the game is up for me. The man visited me this evening (Sunday). He came to gloat.

  If I’d been armed I’d have killed him but I wasn’t and his guard was alert. He went under the name of Rick Appleyard which is only a work name. Alban knows who the creature really is but despite all my pleading he won’t give me the name but has decided on one last attempt at persuasion for the good of the service. I can only hope he succeeds. If he does Alban will order you to stand down. If he fails he will name the man to you and give you all the support he can. The rest is up to you.

  I can only stress again that without this individual at the helm this plot cannot succeed.

  One further thing.

  The man calling himself Appleyard is arrogant and like many criminals thinks no-one is as clever as himself. I asked him for a number I could phone if I changed my mind about cooperating and he told his bodyguard, a former soldier whom he addressed as Lansdale, to give him a piece of paper. The bodyguard had a small notepad from which he tore a sheet. Appleyard then wrote down a mobile phone number which, as I’m sure he knew very well, does not exist. However on tracing over the paper with a pencil I found that the following had been previously written on the pad.