Perfect Kill

by Helen Fields

  The day had been spent engaged in a frustrating holding pattern. Briefing, text messages, reactions, preparation. Repeat. The incident room at police HQ in Paris wasn’t physically dissimilar to the one the Major Investigation Team used in Edinburgh, except there was an unfamiliar hush to the place. No one shouted loudly across the room, or took the piss out of each other. She’d felt a sudden longing for Sergeant Lively’s tendency to walk through the crowd, stuffing himself with a sugary offering and using homemade expletives unrepeatable in the outside world. A number of sharply dressed speakers, using English first then French in deference to her, had addressed the gathered force fast and with minimal interruptions. Ava had made a mental note to find out what training they’d undergone.

  By 9.30 a.m. a payment of thirty-five thousand euros, approximately thirty thousand in British pounds, had been made. A text acknowledging the payment had pinged back within minutes. At 11 a.m. Callanach had been sent another message with directions for his personal preparations later in the afternoon, including bathing, not eating after midday to prepare his stomach to receive the purportedly ‘life-giving cells’, and wearing clothes that were easy to take off as he would be given a new set to wear for the journey, excluding the possibility of sewing in a GPS unit. He was to have no electronic equipment with him whatsoever. A representative from Group 2029 would be left in the car park with his keys. Ava had felt then quickly resented a vague respect for the set-up. Directions for Callanach to attend at the pick-up site hadn’t been sent until 4 p.m., by which time it had become clear that following him wasn’t going to be possible by traditional means.

  Callanach had left the flat he’d given as his address alone and in good time. There was no guarantee that his journey wasn’t being watched. He was currently driving out of the city to the north-east of Paris. The rendezvous point was just outside Coubron, a small and relatively quiet town.

  By the time Ava had awoken that morning, Callanach was already up, showered, and setting breakfast on the writing desk in the hotel room. He’d loaned her a fresh shirt for the day, then given her the room as she changed. They’d hardly spoken during the journey into police HQ, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts. It occurred to Ava that she hadn’t told him to be careful. She couldn’t even remember saying thank you for the fact that he’d picked her up from the airport, housed and fed her. Not that there’d been any bad atmosphere, not even an element of awkwardness. Just polite professionalism, to an almost vacuous extent. She hadn’t wished him luck.

  ‘Is it ready?’ she asked the drone operator, pointing at the tiny four-rotor drone, and miming it going up and down. The operator nodded.

  It had been her idea, thanks to Finlay Wilson and the drones he’d used in the warehouse to relay footage of each woman’s personal nightmare back to the audience. Less obvious than a vehicle, safer than having police officers hiding in the ditches of all the possible routes out of town, the drone could track the van Callanach was in by simply hovering at a sufficient height and taking shortcuts over fields and buildings. It wasn’t easy, and it certainly wasn’t recommended to lose visual contact with a drone when you were operating it, but without GPS on Callanach it was the most surefire means of checking where he was taken.

  Before she’d left police headquarters, her limitations had been made very clear to her. She had no legal status in France. There was no way she was being given a weapon. Her French wasn’t good enough for her to follow orders quickly, so she hadn’t been included in the entry team that was to follow Callanach in. Ava was relegated to the sit-and-wait brigade. She was stuck in a vehicle, watching a van speed away with her detective inspector, with her friend, in circumstances and a jurisdiction entirely beyond her control. The fact that she was there at all, as someone had kindly translated for her, was a matter of international policing courtesy. Ava was not to overstep.

  It had been a cold experience, walking into the middle of a new team who couldn’t really see why she hadn’t simply phoned instead of turning up in the middle of the night. It had been her first experience of feeling like an outsider while surrounded by other police officers. Not dissimilar to Callanach’s first day with Police Scotland, she supposed. He’d been standoffish and aloof. Hard to like. Her first day within a foreign police squad had given her more insight as to why. Someday, she thought, she and Callanach ought to talk about it. The only substantial conversation they’d had the night before was about using logos to create a better impression of companies with less than pure purposes or products. She wished she’d arrived in Paris earlier and been able to … the thought stopped there.

  She grabbed the drone operator’s laptop.

  ‘Can I use?’ she said, pointing at it frantically.

  ‘Oui,’ he nodded.

  Opening a search engine, she rubbed her eyes, trying to gel the fractured pieces of thought flying around in her head. The logo. Covering up a real purpose. And what was found at the building site? What was it Callanach had said?

  ‘Damn it,’ she muttered, typing the name of the nearby town into the box on the screen.

  ‘Coubron. Company. Leaf logo.’ Ava hit the enter button. The options came back numerous but vague, with nothing that looked helpful.

  ‘Lanolin. It was lanolin,’ she muttered. ‘Lanolin from sheep. Farming. Too obvious. Cosmetics. Clothing. Factories.’ She stared at the screen. The drone operator had stopped what he was doing and was staring at her as if he might call for backup at any moment. ‘Animal products. Companies trying to cover up their real purpose.’

  ‘Coubron’, she typed again. ‘Animals. Products.’ She hit enter.

  The two seconds she had to wait for results felt like two hours. The top search result bore the legend. ‘Coubron animal testing facility closes.’ Ava clicked the link to bring up the full article from an online magazine.

  The Beaulieu Corporation has moved its centre of operations to an undisclosed location in Belgium following repeated protests that resulted in serious injuries to employees and millions of pounds of damage to property and increased security needs. The facility outside Coubron, near Paris, will be available for rental. Beaulieu handled a number of prominent international accounts, from government biological defence testing to cosmetics and medical products, but it was a whistleblower revealing details of animal testing that led to the mass protests that resulted in the closure. Beaulieu issued a statement in which they made clear that they complied with all EU regulations as far as the welfare of animals was concerned, and that animal rights groups had acted in an illegal manner, posing a risk of harm, even threat of loss of life, to their employees and contractors. Some 2,000 employees were asked to move with the Beaulieu Corporation to Belgium or face redundancy. The corporation reported a loss of almost 28% of its market value during the protests and subsequent move.

  ‘That’s it,’ Ava said. ‘I know where they’re going.’ The drone operator shrugged at her. ‘We have to go. Now! We might be able to stop what’s about to happen.’

  He babbled at her in French, pointing at his drone, then outside to the other units, then at his watch.

  ‘Oh, sod this.’ Ava climbed from the van and sprinted for the nearest unmarked police car, climbing into the front seat. The female officer in the driver seat stared at her.

  ‘Speak English?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Of course. Are you all right?’ the officer replied.

  ‘Thank fuck. Listen, I know where they’re going. I’ve found the logo and I know where the company is based. If we go now we can get there before Callanach, and maybe stop anyone from getting hurt. I’ll need wire cutters.’

  The officer shook her head at that one, so Ava checked the translation on her phone and held up the words in French.

  ‘Ah yes, in the boot of the car. But you cannot be sure. We are supposed to wait and follow the drone, no?’

  ‘You want to wait until people are dead? Because that’s the most likely outcome,’ Ava growled.

  The officer sigh
ed. ‘But I am supposed to close the road after the van has left.’

  ‘That’s it? That’s your only job? Move, right now.’

  ‘I should tell the operation coordinator …’

  ‘Wonderful, do that as we drive.’ The officer looked unconvinced. ‘What’s your name?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Jojo Berger.’

  ‘Good, now Jojo, I’m going to take full responsibility and we’ll call this in, but either you move straight away or I’m going to kick you out of this car and steal it from you.’

  Berger laughed.

  ‘The British are so dramatic.’ She turned over the engine, hitting a dial on the dashboard that operated the radio and speaking in rapid French as she pulled out of the parking place and sped away. A retort of bullet-like speech came back. Berger switched it off.

  ‘Did we get the go-ahead?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Depends how you want to translate it,’ Berger said.

  ‘Are they at least sending other vehicles there with us?’

  ‘No, they say it’s too late and too dangerous to deviate from the plan. The more vehicles, the greater the chance that we’ll alert whatever security Group 2029 has in place. Also, they think you’re probably wrong and a bit crazy at this stage. They told me to just keep you out of the way.’ She grinned. ‘Now give me directions because I have no idea where we’re going.’

  The roads were empty. No other police unit tried to stop them – presumably, Ava thought, for fear of being seen. They went from a main road to side roads to what was little more than a track, as Ava navigated to avoid the main entrance and skirted the compound via what must have been an emergency vehicles access road.

  ‘God, it’s massive,’ Ava said, sliding down in her seat. A female driver alone if spotted on CCTV in an unmarked car could be taken for someone lost. No threat. Given what Ava suspected they were doing inside the buildings, seeing a lone woman bumping up the track wasn’t going to be a priority. ‘Those are all heavy industrial buildings,’ she said as they passed a complex of warehouses, garages and chimneyed factories. ‘We’re looking for a building that shows signs of inhabitation. Do you have binoculars?’

  ‘In the glove compartment,’ Berger said. ‘How do you know this is the place?’

  ‘The company had a logo, a leaf, that a witness saw. It matches the company who used to own this place.’

  ‘Really? A leaf? This and a million other companies.’ Berger shook her head.

  ‘But the set-up’s perfect. The original company left, so the place was available to rent. It’s got great security, no reason for anyone to attempt to enter without invitation, a double-perimeter fence, and, best of all, endless laboratories, meeting rooms, offices, all of which also means they’ll have kitchens, bathrooms, and full medical facilities. The fact that they would have been originally intended for veterinary purposes makes no difference at all. It’s ideal.’

  Berger stared at her.

  ‘Okay, not so crazy,’ she said.

  ‘How about that?’ Ava pointed.

  Berger pulled the car up smoothly under a stretch of trees, and squinted at a low-level building a short distance from a larger, newer complex, joined to it by a covered corridor.

  ‘Why that one?’

  ‘Because the windows are boarded up, and they haven’t boarded any other buildings on the site,’ Ava explained.

  ‘Could be just to stop vandalism. Not many of the other buildings have ground-floor windows.’

  ‘I’d agree,’ Ava said, ‘but take a look.’ She handed Berger the binoculars. ‘The boarding is secured over the outside. A determined vandal or burglar could take it down.’

  ‘But if anyone is on the inside, there’s nothing they can do about it.’ Berger smiled at Ava. ‘All right. What is it you need?’

  ‘You’ll keep me safest by staying here and watching through the binoculars to make sure I don’t get in trouble. If you come in with me, there won’t be anyone to report a problem.’

  ‘It’s a risk,’ Berger said.

  ‘I know, but you’re just a minute away if I need you, and backup can be here in minutes. The risk is minimal.’ Ava wasn’t sure she believed that herself, but it sounded reassuring enough. ‘I’m cutting through both sections of fence. If you see anyone coming, hit the car horn. I’ll use the wire cutters to take a window board down and get inside the building. Give me your phone.’ Berger handed it over and Ava punched her number in, then sent a text. ‘I’ll send a message once I’m in and safe. 999 if I’m in danger. If I’m not back out or you don’t hear from me in ten minutes then call for backup anyway.’

  ‘Okay,’ Berger said. ‘Are all Scottish police officers like you?’

  ‘I’m one of the tame ones,’ Ava smiled at her. ‘You should visit. I think you’d fit in.’

  Exiting the vehicle, she kept low, moving away from the car so as not to draw attention to it if she was seen. Then she went for the fence. It was thick, rigid wire. Every time she snapped the cutters through a section it pinged wildly as the tension was released. Her hands were aching within sixty seconds, and her breath was noisy in her ears. She scanned the compound for security. Once she’d cut through three sides, she sat back and pushed a makeshift doorway into the fence, crawling through on her stomach then pulling the wire shut behind her. Between the two fences she had no cover at all, but the second fence was made of slightly less high-grade wire. She clipped away at it, falling backwards as a section of wire flew towards her face, cutting into her cheek. Warm blood flowed down into the corner of her mouth. She spat it out as she continued to cut, more conscious of her eyes, and just how close a call the accident had been.

  A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and Ava flattened herself on the ground, hoping Berger had her back and was watching carefully. No movement. She started cutting again, creating an entry point and shoving the wire aside before creeping through, then replacing the wire section as best she could once more to avoid detection. Her mobile buzzed in her pocket. She grabbed it to read the message.

  Callanach is in a van and headed in this direction. Expect activity soon.

  Ava hit the thumbs-up icon in the messages app, put the phone away, took a deep breath and began to sprint the distance between the inner fence and the boarded building. It was longer than it had looked from the car. As she drew nearer, it was clear that a series of cameras were cleverly mounted in the shade of the roof, almost impossible to see from outside the fence. There was no way to avoid them completely, and no way to know if they were active or manned, but the risk was unavoidable. It was time to take a chance or retreat. She put her head down, and continued.

  By the time she reached the wall, she was out of breath and shaking. Sprinting while carrying heavy-duty wire cutters wasn’t like being on the treadmill at the gym, and she didn’t do that often enough for it to count. Great time for resolutions, she thought, as she stood up and tested the boarding on the nearest window. Sturdy hooks had been fitted into the fabric of the brickwork at each corner of the window and they weren’t going to budge, but she could just about shove the point of the wire cutter blades into the gap. Hammering on the handles, she shoved the cutters into the space between the wall and the boarding, jiggling them until she had them in position around the metal clip that fixed the boards to the hooks. Ava squeezed, rested, applied more pressure, and eventually the first clip gave way. The boards didn’t budge. She moved the wire cutters and repeated the manoeuvre on the second clip. That took less time, with more flexibility since the first corner had given way. It was only with the third clip gone that she was able to pull the boarding away and see inside.

  It was disappointing. There really wasn’t anything there. A disused office with an abandoned plastic chair to one side and a dirty-looking green jacket slung over the back of it. Ava checked the perimeter again. Still no activity, and she couldn’t hear any vehicles approaching, although the site was at least a mile long so that wasn’t entirely surprising. If there were guards inside the
building though, they were inevitably going to be disturbed when she broke the glass. Raising the alarm prematurely might blow the whole police operation, and if Skye and Bart were already at risk their lives might be put in even more jeopardy if she acted without backup in place. She took another look inside as she weighed the options, trying to peer beyond the small pane of glass in the office door to the corridor beyond, but she was kidding herself. There was nothing to see, and no basis for risking carefully made plans.

  Lowering herself to the floor, back to the wall, she prepared for the run back to the fence and the waiting car. She set off then skidded to a halt, freezing cartoon-like mid-run, catching her breath. The jacket. Throwing herself back towards the building, she hit the ground once more and took out her mobile. It took a while before she could access the right file, but she found what she was looking for. A still shot of Malcolm Reilly leaving the gym the night he disappeared. Green jacket over a T-shirt and jeans. Standing once more, she pressed her face against the glass. No collar, zip front, a pocket on either side. It was possible that the jacket had belonged to someone else. Anything was possible. But Ava had long since stopped believing in coincidences. She checked the landscape one last time for security patrols, satisfied herself that the area was clear, then stood to one side of the window to avoid the worst of the shrapnel and smashed the glass with the wire cutters. If anyone walked past now, the damage would be obvious, but it was too late for caution. It took three blows to get through the double glazing then Ava leapt into action, sliding the cutters along the sill to get rid of the remaining shards, and pulling herself up and inside, moving straight to the glass pane in the door and peering out, expecting raised voices at any moment.

  There was a resounding silence. The hairs on Ava’s arms stood up. She wasn’t superstitious. The limits of the supernatural for her was someone cleaning the Major Investigation Team kitchen without being ordered to, yet she turned around in the small office space fully expecting Malcolm Reilly, or what little remained of him, to be standing behind her, eyeless, lost in the pain of his death, and looking for someone to blame.