by Tom Wood
He said, “While you were still going into work, was anyone off sick? Did anyone not show up that day or during the days beforehand?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Please think, Gisele. Take your time. Were any of the other lawyers not in the office that day?”
The tip of her tongue was visible between her lips while she tried to remember. Then her eyes widened and she said, “Lester Daniels. He hadn’t been in for a couple of days. I’ve no idea why.”
“What kind of law did he practice?”
“That’s a good question. He’s kind of this old jack-of-all-trades at the firm. Bit of a renegade. I love the guy. Such a character. But what does this have to do with Lester?”
“Did you work with him at all?”
“Of course. All the time. I’m the firm’s general drudge. Oh, shit. What are you saying? Is Lester involved in this?”
“Perhaps. Do you know where he lives?”
• • •
The Danielses’ home was a three-story town house in the center of a parade of identical flawless residences with brilliant cream facades fronted by black wrought-iron fencing. One million pounds bought a mansion in most parts of the world. In a pleasant area of London, it bought a three-bedroom house with on-street parking.
“How well do you know Lester?” Victor asked as they approached.
“As well as anyone knows their boss, I guess. Perhaps better. There have been a lot of firm social evenings. Drinks in swanky bars when someone wins a case—that sort of thing.”
“Do you know what car he drives?”
She thought for a moment. “One of those classic sports cars with a soft top. Racing green, he told me.”
Victor didn’t inquire further because there was no such car parked on the street. Vehicles lined each curb, nose to tail. There were no empty spaces and only enough road left between either flank for a single car to drive along slowly. Victor liked that. A Range Rover would have difficulty giving chase and there was nowhere for watchers to loiter.
Gisele drew a breath and pushed the doorbell. It rang with a cheery electronic jingle. Victor noted the speed with which it was answered, but not by Lester Daniels. He took the woman before him to be Mrs. Daniels, based on her age, the ring on her finger, and her expression. It was one of anxiousness and pain. He wasn’t as surprised as Gisele, who hesitated and stammered when the woman asked, “What do you want?”
The lack of politeness and the tone matched his evaluation of her. She was stressed and worried and had better things to do than answer the doorbell to strangers.
“I . . . uh . . . I’m Gisele Maynard. I . . . I work with Mr. Daniels. I was wondering if I—we—could speak with him.”
The woman looked at Gisele with wide, disbelieving eyes that shone with anger. “Is this some kind of fucking joke?”
Gisele was too shocked to respond.
Victor said, “Has something happened to Lester?”
The angry eyes snapped in his direction. “I wouldn’t know, would I? He’s missing.”
“Oh, my God,” Gisele breathed, putting a hand to her mouth.
“Who are you people? What do you want?”
Victor said, “May we come in, Mrs. Daniels?”
“It’s Rose, and you haven’t answered my question. Who are you and why are you here? This really isn’t a good time. My husband is missing.”
“As I was saying,” Gisele began, “I work with Lester. But I’ve been off . . . sick for the last week. This here”—she put a hand on Victor’s arm—“is my brother, Jonathan. I didn’t know Lester was missing. I’m so sorry. Is there anything we can do to help?”
The offer seemed to soothe the anger from Rose Daniels’s face. But pain replaced it. Her eyes moistened. “Thank you, that’s kind of you.” She stepped aside and held open her door. “Come inside, please.”
“Thank you,” Gisele said, and entered through the doorway.
Victor checked the street for any new vehicles or people, but there were none. He followed.
Rose Daniels was a small woman who seemed smaller still in the tall hallway. She led them through to the kitchen, where a mug of tea sat brewing and steaming on a wooden worktop. She took a teaspoon from its resting place near the mug and fished for the tea bag. Her hand was trembling as she carried it to a bin and she dropped it. She started to cry.
“Allow me,” Victor said as he used his nails to retrieve the tea bag from the slate floor and took a square of kitchen towel from a roll to wipe up the mess.
Rose nodded her thanks as she dabbed her eyes and gestured for them to sit at a breakfast bar. Gisele complied, but Victor remained standing where he could see the hallway and the kitchen window without having to turn his head.
She began talking without any prompts.
“The police are useless. They say he’s not missing. They say he’s been using his credit card and his car has been recorded on CCTV. They haven’t said as much, but I can tell they think he’s run off with another woman. But Lester would never do that. He wouldn’t. He really wouldn’t.”
“I don’t believe it either,” Gisele said. “Lester’s a lovely man.”
Rose cried again at that, but controlled herself after a moment.
“When did you last see him?” Victor said, trying to sound like a concerned acquaintance and not an investigator.
“Over a week ago,” she said. “He left for work as normal on Wednesday and never came home. He wouldn’t simply disappear on me without saying anything. Something’s happened. I know it.”
Gisele looked at Victor, who made sure not to look back in case Rose saw the exchange.
“I think,” Gisele began, “that what happened to—”
Victor interrupted before she could continue: “Are any of his clothes missing?”
Rose looked away. “Yes. I checked, of course, after what the police told me about his card. But I don’t believe it. There must be another explanation.”
He saw from Gisele’s eyes that she understood the reason for his interruption. She said, “Was he stressed because of work? I know he had a big caseload.”
“Lester loved his job. Even when he was overworked. If you’re trying to imply he couldn’t cope and disappeared, then—”
“No, I’m sorry,” Gisele was quick to assure. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t know what I meant. This is all so shocking.”
They sat in silence for a while. Rose sipped tea, then said, “Forgive me. I didn’t ask if you wanted any. How rude of me.”
She went to stand but Victor held out a hand to motion for her not to. “That’s okay. We’re going to have to go, I’m afraid. My sister is giving me a lift to the airport.”
“Yes, yes. Don’t let me hold you up.”
Gisele said, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you at this difficult time. Is there anyone I can call for you?”
Rose exhaled sharply. “The damned police. You can tell them to do their job.”
They said their good-byes and left Rose to her tears.
Chapter 64
Outside, as they walked away, Gisele said, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Victor nodded.
“But why? I don’t understand. What did he do? Something he was working on? Someone he was representing?”
“That’s what we need to find out. Whoever this woman is, she’s connected to one of Lester’s cases—and that case must have the potential to destroy her. If she thought killing the lawyer working the case would prevent it from going ahead, that suggests no other lawyer could step in. So either Lester is the only barrister on the planet who was able to take the case, or there won’t be enough time for another to continue it now that he’s out of the way. So, which case did you work on with Lester that has a built-in deadline? Possibly a case that he picked up only recently.”
/> “I don’t know.” She saw the skepticism in his eyes. “I don’t. I said I worked for him sometimes. I didn’t say I knew the details of everything he did. I filed, I researched, I photocopied, and made him cups of Earl Grey. It’s not as if I even met the clients. He would work on dozens of different cases at any one time. Like I said, he was a maverick. He did things his own way. He didn’t even like to share with the other seniors. He would never tell me anything important. To have any idea what this might be about I’d have to go to the firm and check through his case files.”
Victor shook his head. “You can’t do that. They’ll be watching.”
“Then we’ll never know what this is about. We’ll never know why Lester was killed. We’ll never know why I’m . . . Hold on.” She stopped and turned to face him, forcing him to stop too. “If Lester is the barrister on a case that could, as you say, destroy her, why does she want me dead?”
He said, “Because you worked on the case too, even if you don’t know you did. Lester must have told her that. He must have given her your name.”
“Why? That makes no sense.”
“I’m afraid it does make sense. They must have tortured him or threatened to kill him or his family. Before he was killed, he gave them your name. They asked him who else knew what he did and he said you.”
“No. He wouldn’t do that. Not Lester. There’s no reason to. It was a lie. I don’t know anything.”
“Everyone talks in that situation. And you do know. There’s a piece of information you have that she can’t risk getting out. Lester was the original target, but you’re a loose end.”
“What the hell does that mean? That I have to be killed just in case?” She put her face in her hands. “So, all this is a mistake? Oh, my God, people are trying to kill me for no fucking reason.”
“You scared them,” Victor explained. “When they tried to kidnap you and you escaped, they panicked. They couldn’t question you. They couldn’t find out what you did or didn’t know. They assumed the worst, which was that you indeed knew everything and could destroy them. It doesn’t matter what the truth is. Lester gave her your name, and the fear of exposure is enough for her to send a team of mercenaries after us. Whether you are a genuine threat to her is irrelevant. Now it’s gone too far. They can’t let you live.”
“What information could be so important to go through this, but so insignificant that I don’t have any idea what it might be?”
“Her name,” Victor said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s there in a file, innocuous and unimportant, but it connects her to something. And you’ve seen it: filing, photocopying, whatever.”
“How could she have gotten away with it? Lester and me both being murdered? It would be too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”
“People like this don’t get caught for crimes against civilians. They would have spun a story to hide the truth: maybe you and Lester ran off together before tragically dying in a car accident.”
“That couldn’t work, could it?”
“These things happen all the time. The reason you don’t know about it is because it works.”
“Then fuck her. We can’t let her get away with this.” Her hands were tight fists at her sides. “I want to bring her down. What else can we do? Keep running and hiding until they catch up with us again?”
“No,” Victor said. “That’s no plan. You’re right: we have to go after her.”
“Please tell me you know how.”
He nodded. “Go through Lester’s files. You have to figure out who she is and what she’s scared of.”
“But you said they’d be watching the firm. How can I?”
“We’ll find a way. But first I need to speak to your stepfather.”
• • •
The address Victor gave Norimov corresponded to a brownfield site on the south side of the river, between a long-disused power station and a development of new apartment blocks. There was a single route into the stretch of wasteland: a narrow path topped by loose gravel, just wide enough for a car to traverse. The land was uneven but flat. Signs near the path advertised the future homes that were to be built on the site.
Victor had been waiting with Gisele since eleven a.m.
A rented Subaru pulled off the road at five minutes past twelve. Late, despite Victor’s warning. The car navigated the wasteland in a slow circle before coming to a stop in the approximate center.
A moment later the phone in Victor’s pocket vibrated. He answered.
Yigor said, “I here. Where you?”
“Nearby,” Victor answered. “Step out of the car, open all the doors.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m telling you to.”
“You crazy.”
“Do it. Stay on the line.”
Victor watched as the Russian climbed out of the driver’s seat and proceeded to walk around the car, opening the passenger’s door and both rear doors. No one else was inside.
“Happy now?”
“Deliriously so. Stay on the line. I’m coming over.”
He stood up from where he lay on a shoulder between the old power station and the wasteland, some five hundred meters from where Yigor was parked. He returned to his own stolen Fiat and climbed inside. Gisele sat in the passenger’s seat. Victor said nothing, and she obeyed his earlier request to stay silent. He activated the phone’s speaker and set it in his lap so he could listen to Yigor while he drove the short distance to meet him. He parked ten meters away from the Subaru, climbed out of the car. He hung up and slipped the phone back in his pocket.
Seeing this, Yigor did the same. “What was that for?”
“To make sure you couldn’t contact anyone.”
“Why would I?”
Victor didn’t answer.
“You hurt my feelings, Mr. Bad Man. I never—”
“Save it,” Victor said, drawing his pistol. “Give me your gun.”
Yigor looked shocked, then offended. “Why? You see I bring no one. You can trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone. Give me your gun and I won’t distrust you as much.”
“You paranoid, man.”
“The gun,” Victor said. “Now.”
The Russian screwed up his face and with big, exaggerated movements drew out his weapon. He threw it at Victor’s feet.
Victor tucked his own gun away and retrieved Yigor’s from the ground. He passed it to Gisele through the open passenger’s-door window.
She said, “I told you that you could trust him.”
“What now?” Yigor asked, hands in pockets.
Victor said. “You’re going to answer some questions.” He aimed his gun at the Russian’s left knee. “You need to tell me everything you know if you enjoy the ability to walk.”
The mobile phone vibrated against his hip. He fished it out and checked the screen, thinking Norimov was calling. He wasn’t. A different number was displayed. For an instant he didn’t understand. Then he did. The sender was Yigor, who was edging closer, then charging, the scrape of his shoes and the blur of movement in Victor’s peripheral vision providing a split second of warning—enough time for Victor to drop the phone to free his hands and bring them up in defense.
The big Russian slammed into him. Even properly braced, Victor would have no chance to resist the momentum. Being only half-ready, the impact jolted him backward, ruining his balance, giving Yigor the opportunity to grab his jacket and fling him at the stolen car, where Gisele sat. Victor collided with the hood, toppling back onto it, then rolling laterally to avoid the elbow driven down at his skull. The sheet metal buckled and dented from the monstrous force.
Yigor’s muscle was gym built and steroid fueled, but he had the speed of a lighter man. He grabbed Victor as he rolled off the hood, lifting him up and slamming him onto the ground, going do
wn on top of him to crush and smother. Victor took the impact of their combined weight, losing the air from his lungs, but scooped up a rock into his left hand and drove it into Yigor’s face, which tore a gash across his forehead.
Victor twisted and pushed out from under him as Yigor recoiled from the blow, creating some distance and releasing the rock as he came to his feet. He reached for the gun but it had fallen from his waistband in the struggle and lay unseen near his enemy’s feet.
He attacked to distract him from noticing the weapon. The Russian blocked the punch and grabbed Victor’s jacket as he followed through with another punch, pulling him closer and launching a head butt that Victor slipped and turned from, taking hold of the hand attached to his jacket, twisting it clockwise, forcing the Russian to release him or have his wrist locked. He chose the former. Victor backed off to create space, but circled so his enemy turned away from the gun on the ground.
Yigor used the pause to pull a folding knife from a coat pocket. Blood from the forehead wound seeped down the left side of his face.
Victor ducked low to avoid a slash at his neck, darting to Yigor’s left to keep out of the knife’s arc, and slipped around his exposed flank. A hook to the ribs caused the Russian to cry out and attempt a wild backhand attack. Victor batted the weapon from Yigor’s grip. It whistled through the air, clattering on the hard ground too far away to risk going for.
Yigor ducked low and threw himself at Victor, pushing him into the car’s driver’s side and pinning him there with his superior weight.
Hands went for Victor’s throat, palms wrapped around the neck, fingertips pushing against his spine, thumbs pressing down on his windpipe, cutting off his air supply. He punched up in return, striking Yigor’s face, adding to the blood from his forehead and cheek wounds, but they were arm punches with no power generated from planted feet and twisting hips. Yigor smiled through them, asking for more, happy to take them. They both knew Victor would be dead long before Yigor’s face broke apart.
Victor’s chest burned for oxygen as he grabbed the man’s hair in his right fist to lock it in place and drove his other thumb into Yigor’s left eye socket. The Russian tried to pull away from the pressure on his eyeball but Victor could stretch his arm farther than Yigor’s two could extend while maintaining the choke.