by Seb Kirby
“So, you brought me here to threaten me?”
“Of course not. To warn you there will be consequences if you continue.” He pauses to lick his lips. “Look, I don’t want to see the career of an up-and-coming journalist like you ruined. But you’re suspended from your paper right now. Your disciplinary hearing in a few day’s time might not go as well as you hoped unless you start to play ball with me.”
“You’re threatening me.”
“No. I’m just pointing out there are bound to be consequences if you don’t stop what you’re doing.”
“It was you, wasn’t it? Putting pressure on the owner. Getting me off the story.”
“Emma. There is no story. Start getting that into your mind and the world may become a better place. Look at yourself. You’re exhausted. When did you last get a good night’s sleep? Why put yourself through all this?”
“Because some people care about the truth. You wouldn’t know what it means.”
His pupils narrow to pinpoints. “I’m not about to take any lectures from the likes of you on the truth, young woman. Not when I’ve been fighting for just that for as long as I have. It may not be your understanding of what it means, but don’t do me the disservice of pretending I’m somehow evil and you’ve got a monopoly on all that’s of virtue. Believe me, the greatest evil in this world is done by people who are convinced they’re doing good.”
I stand my ground. “No, Mr. Stanley. There is real evil in this world. Nothing you can say will alter that.”
He turns to Wilsden. “And now you’re making accusations about an upstanding pillar of the community. A Chief Inspector, no less.”
I stare at Wilsden with pity in my eyes. “I know what he’s done. I won’t stop until I succeed in telling the world what a disgrace he is to his office and what a danger people like you and him are to everything I hold dear.”
Wilsden gives no sign of recognition. He waits for Stanley to continue.
Stanley bares his teeth. “Then, this is about more than you just losing your job, Emma. There’s more to lose in this life, you know that don’t you?”
“Then you are threatening me.”
Stanley appears to change the subject. “Tell me about Tony Galbraith.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“But you have met him and more than once. You can do yourself a great favor if you tell us what you’ve been doing with him.”
“It needs to stay confidential.”
“How can I accept that?”
Stanley signals to Eddy. “Bring him in.”
Tony Galbraith, tied to a chair, is dragged in from a side room. He’s bloodied and beaten, his head slumped forward.
I scream. “What have you done to him?”
“We needed to talk. No one likes a blackmailer. A dirty business. He needed to come clean about just what he was insinuating about me and my friends. And, as you can see, that’s exactly what he has done. With a little help from James and Eddy.
I now know the veil of respectable inquiry Stanley has imported from his parliamentary life has been ripped away.
Stanley leans forward. “Now, Miss Chamberlain. It’s time to tell us what you know.”
CHAPTER 81
On the third floor of the Montebanc, Cargill finds what he wants in the area used as a mess by the employees during break periods. The room is empty as he steals his way in but, no doubt, it will not be long before others arrive. This is the place where the Club personnel change from their outdoor clothes into the flunky suits they wear on duty. Behind a sliding door are several outfits awaiting their owners to check in for the next shift.
He chooses the largest and hopes it will fit his massive frame. It’s tight, but he manages to shoehorn himself in. When he checks in the mirror on the back wall of the wardrobe space, he gives himself an admiring smile. He has to admit, he looks the part.
As he makes his way back out onto the third floor corridor, a stocky flunky steps out of the elevator and begins walking towards him. Cargill holds his nerve and even gives the man a nod of recognition as he passes on route to the mess. It’s a fair test.
Cargill now knows he does indeed pass muster.
Once in the elevator it’s a question of which floor to choose. He settles for the first floor, presses the button and waits for the descent.
There is a long pause as the elevator remains in place. Someone has pressed the call button on the third floor. This is going to be complicated, after all. When the doors open, it’s the same man he passed by in the corridor a few seconds earlier.
The man steps in with a suspicious look. “You look new about this place. When did you start?”
Cargill doesn’t hesitate. He pulls the serrated blade knife from his trouser pocket and strikes a blow to the man’s heart. He stumbles and falls as Cargill plunges the blade deeper.
This is a problem. He can’t leave the body here. That will lead to the alarm being raised and his task made difficult, if not impossible. He presses the button to open the elevator doors and drags the body out into the corridor.
Even for someone of Cargill’s strength, it takes a Herculean effort to drag the body back to the mess room and bundle it into the wardrobe space.
This will buy time but not that much. If anyone comes to clock on for a new shift and opens the sliding door, they will discover the body. And then there is the small matter of the blood stained carpet along the corridor.
He has to hope he’s guessed right as he returns to the elevator and presses the button for the first floor again.
It’s a mistake. On the first floor he finds an open area filled with armchairs and coffee tables where regular members of the club can sit, read, converse or, more often, doze. It’s not the place where he will find his targets.
By the time he turns to retrace his steps, the elevator doors have closed and the indicator shows that it’s been called and is descending.
Cargill looks for the stairs. Why are they always so hard to locate in buildings like this?
As he walks out into the seated area in search of the stairs, one of the club members, a military-looking man dressed in tweeds, attempts to call him to request help of some kind. Cargill ignores the man, leaving him to complain that standards are not what they were.
Once he finds the stairs, Cargill climbs up to the second floor.
This is it. His every instinct tells him that. As he pushes open the door that will take him out onto the second floor, he glances along the corridor and steps back out of sight. There are two men guarding a room halfway along the corridor.
This must be where Wilsden and Stanley are. But how to get to them?
There is only one way.
He steps out onto the corridor once more, pulls out his phone, holds it out before him as if he’s receiving some important message, and begins walking towards the two guards.
When he comes close to touching distance and before they have time to challenge him, he calls out. “New instructions from Wilsden. You’re wanted downstairs.”
The first of them, a bald-headed forty year old with tattooed knuckles, gives Cargill a look that says: What the?
But it’s too late. Cargill draws the blade and slashes the guard at the throat, felling him in one stroke.
The second guard reaches for a gun from the holster inside his jacket but is not quick enough. Cargill is on him before the man can aim the weapon, plunging the knife into his heart.
As Cargill turns, the bald-headed guard, though showering blood from his throat, has struggled to his feet and is coming for him. Cargill fells the man with nothing more than a flat-handed jab to the chest that sends him down where he remains motionless.
He picks up the gun that has fallen from the man’s grip and checks over its action. It feels familiar enough. He removes a second weapon from the shoulder holster of the first guard he’s felled. He has the feeling he will need them both.
Cargill does not know what to expect as he opens the door th
e men have been guarding.
There he sees Adam Stanley facing an attractive woman who he is interrogating. Beside him sits Raymond Wilsden, also concentrating on the woman. Nearby, another, younger man is tied to a dining chair. He looks like he’s been tortured and beaten. There are two armed guards standing beside him.
Cargill has a second or less to act before they turn and notice he is here.
CHAPTER 82
Stanley drums his fingers on the table as he waits for a reply. “It’s straightforward, Emma. Tell us what you know and what you have.”
I shake my head. “I know what you did. What you and your kind are capable of.” I shift my stare between Stanley and Wilsden. “You abused me. And all those other children. You’re vile. And then you framed an innocent man to cover your tracks when your sick activity went too far.”
Stanley gives a grin. “No one’s going to believe that.”
“If you’re so sure, why are you threatening me?” I glance over at Tony Galbraith. “Why did you do this to him? No, Mr. Stanley, you’re very afraid that after all these years the truth about your sordid life has come to light. And once that knowledge is out there, nothing’s to stop the world from knowing.”
He pounds his fist on the table. “One last chance, Emma. You need to tell us what you know and what evidence you’ve collected. Do that and we can find a way through this that might allow you to leave here with your life.”
So, this is it. The threat of death. I suspected all along this was coming. “Go to hell.”
Wilsden speaks for the first time. “As I told you, Adam. She’s never going to play ball. Time to take off the kid gloves.”
Stanley gives a resigned nod of the head. “I’m afraid you’re right, Ray.” He turns back towards me. “OK, young lady. This is what will happen. You will tell us what you know. You will reveal every last scrap of information you’ve obtained on me and my colleagues. How will this happen?” He answers his own question. “Just look at Mr. Galbraith. He started out like you, high and mighty, claiming he wouldn’t tell us a thing.” He points over towards Galbraith’s slumped body. “Take a close look at the fingernails on his right hand. Can you see he doesn’t have any? They say the pain of having a nail ripped out is worse than anything in childbirth. He told us everything.”
I try to stay strong. “I’ll take my chance.”
Stanley smiles again. “And don’t think that’s where this is going to end. You see, you and he have crossed a line. You’ve placed me and my colleagues, all good upstanding men admired in the community, in way of terrible harm. And we can’t allow it. So, after you’ve told us all you know and after you’ve led us to each and every source you’ve discovered, we’ll make sure we put an end to this whole problem, once and for all. A vehicle will be found, burned out in the East End. The two bodies inside only recognizable from dental records. But one thing will survive the flames. A metal box containing a kilo or two of high grade, uncut heroin. The kind of stuff that Galbraith has been peddling for years. No one will think twice if he’s finally been caught up in a gangland killing. There may be a moment’s surprise when a once respected journalist is found to be caught up in it, but most will say that’s no more than the slice of bad luck you get when you run with the wrong types.”
He pauses to lick his lips. “Now, for one last time, start talking. There may yet be some way out for you, but only if you’re completely honest with us.”
What do men like this care about honesty?
I have no time to blink at what happens next.
The sound of a gunshot splitting the air.
Stanley falling back.
A bullet-hole square between his eyes.
CHAPTER 83
Cargill takes aim at the bearded man at the center of the interrogation taking place in the room. Whatever happens next, he will take Stanley with him. One more will be removed from the list.
His military training serves him well. He shoots his man straight between the eyes. The man’s race is run.
Surprise is still on his side. The remaining three targets in the room are not quick to react.
He runs forward towards the large guard who stands nearest to the prisoner tied to the chair. Cargill fires twice, the first shot winging the man as he reaches for his weapon, the second catching him in the windpipe and bringing him down.
Yet Cargill is outnumbered.
Wilsden pulls out a gun and is aiming it Cargill’s way. Cargill feels a sickening burst of pain as the bullet tears into his side. He turns, fires and watches as Wilsden slumps forward, his weapon falling from his hand, skittering across the tabletop before coming to rest.
Cargill has no chance of avoiding the next bullet. It comes from the fourth target in the room, the one who’s been granted enough time to draw his weapon, take aim and fire. It catches Cargill full on in the chest. He can feel the air deserting his lungs, the energy draining from his legs. An enormous weight dragging him down.
Yet he staggers towards his assassin, taking another hit in the chest as he approaches.
He is now close enough. Cargill fires and sees his man fall down, shot in the throat.
There is almost no time to turn.
His vision is clouding. There is Wilsden reaching forward, grasping for the gun that has come to rest on the tabletop. He just makes out Wilsden’s look of murderous intent as Cargill focuses all his remaining energy on the woman they’ve been interrogating. She has remained motionless, transfixed by the onslaught around her.
Cargill’s eyesight deserts him. As he slumps to the floor, he is left only with visions. His mother scolding him for stealing from school. The face of his torturer in the dungeon in Yemen. Brian Cooper, his friend. Marsha Kent, the only woman he’s ever loved.
And then the visions stop.
CHAPTER 84
When the call comes, it has a note of inevitability about it. One of the police searchers has discovered an unconscious man in an alley behind Berwick Street. He is lying at the foot of a large open fire escape that leads to the rear upper floors of a building that faces onto the street.
Ives looks down on the crumpled body. “He’s still breathing, but only just. Looks like he’s been taken out by someone with considerable strength.”
Lesley nods. “Cargill?”
“It’s a fair assumption.” He pauses. “So, he must be nearby. What do we know about the surrounding buildings?”
Lesley consults her screen. “There’s a restaurant, a tailor’s and a gentleman’s club. Take your pick.”
“Make it the club.”
Lesley calls an ambulance for the unconscious man.
At the entrance to the Montebanc, they are faced with an unhelpful manager. “We give priority to the privacy of our members, Inspector. Unless you have indication of threat to them, I’m afraid I’m going to insist on seeing a search warrant.”
Ives tries to remain calm. “But that’s just the point. Your members may be in direct danger.”
The manager gestures towards the two broad-shouldered flunkies standing beside him. “We have our own security. It’s very effective.”
“Then tell me why one of your men is lying unconscious in the alley at the back of the building?”
The manager’s expression doesn’t change. “I have no reports of any problems with internal security. But, just to be sure I’ll run a check.”
Ives tries one more time. “You’re really going to insist on a warrant when there could be a killer at loose here?”
“That’s right, Inspector.”
The standoff is broken by the sound of gunfire from an upper level in the building.
Ives pushes past the reception party at the entrance and makes his way up the stairs, Lesley and the SWAT team following.
CHAPTER 85
I’m transfixed by fear.
The room is exploding around me.
The shot that fells Stanley comes from the back of the room. I turn my head just far enough to see the huge bulk
of a man, gun in hand, coming towards me.
He must be the one who shot Stanley. Why? Is he going to kill everyone?
I try to stand but my legs won’t support my weight. I sink back onto the chair.
There are gunshots to my left. Eddy is hit in the throat and comes crashing to the floor.
As I turn my head back, I see Wilsden pulling out a gun. I think at first he is about to aim it at me but, instead, he fires at the bulky man who has started the killing.
Wilsden, hit in the chest by return fire, slumps forward, his weapon clattering onto the tabletop, just outside my reach.
There are more shots around me. The bulky attacker is going down but not before he’s taken out James who falls back into a river of blood.
Tony Galbraith remains tied to the chair, unharmed, oblivious to what is happening around him.
Then, the moment arrives when I realize there are just two conscious souls remaining. I’m unhurt, fighting to recover any semblance of composure, any possibility to act.
The other is Wilsden. Facing me. Reaching forward with bloodied hands for the gun on the tabletop between us.
If he reaches the weapon first, he’ll kill me. I’m certain of that. So, why can’t I respond? Why am I so paralyzed by fear? Surely, I can’t let it end this way?
His fingers are inching towards the gun. It will be within his grasp if I don’t reach it first.
My mind turns to what I discovered in the house at Morden, the terrible events that took place there. I see myself at the graveyard of Emma Chamberlain in Brompton cemetery and concentrate on the deviousness this man is capable of, the way he’s tried to make my life into one long lie. And I see myself as Jenny, hiding beneath the bedclothes, dreading the sound of his footsteps on the stair.
He does not deserve to live.