Janine comes out wearing Ingrid’s robe and makes her way to the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Carleen. I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding.’
‘You should be,’ Janine says.
Janine opens the door. ‘What was that all about?’
‘I’m sorry. It’s a … well, I can’t explain. Mistaken identity is the closest I can come.’
‘Who were those thugs?’
‘It’s … an official matter,’ Carleen said.
‘Official? You think me some criminal or something? Just because I’m French?’
Through the crack in the door, Neva sees Carleen shake her head.
‘I can only say how sorry I am.’
‘I must go, my bath will run over.’
With that, she rudely closes the door on Carleen.
Janine and Neva exchange a look.
‘Double-checking?’ Janine says.
‘Scared of losing her position on the tenants’ board, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Neva answers.
Janine turns the light off in the kitchen and goes into the bathroom. While she’s in there, Neva changes. She places on her head a short dirty-blonde urchin-cut wig that frames her face. She slips on black jeans and a black polo-neck top, over which she pulls on a black denim jacket. When Janine returns from her bath, Neva no longer looks like Ingrid Rouille.
‘Stay until tomorrow,’ Neva says. ‘Then you know what to do. I’ve wired your money to the usual account.’
It’s not the first time Janine has doubled for Neva. She wonders now, with the large sum paid, if it will be the last.
Janine settles down in front of the television and switches it on. Neva takes her bag and leaves the flat via the fire escape. She moves silently out and down until she reaches the alley. No one comes out of the shadows to stop her.
As she reaches the front of the building, she sees Sharrick and the other two operatives clustered at the front door talking. She turns away from them and walks casually down the street, losing herself in a bustle of evening revellers pouring out of a nearby pub. She remains among them as they flow across the road, and then she turns into a side street and begins to put some real distance between herself and Sharrick.
It was a close call that has confirmed how far-reaching the Network is. No one can be trusted and it proves that some kind of alert about her has been sent out. Carleen was an informant; how many more ‘normal’ people are on their payroll?
Down the next street she spots a car parked in a disabled spot outside a hotel. She toys with the idea of stealing it, then changes her mind and walks past. Then she sees a tube station up ahead.
She glances at her watch. It’s 10pm. She needs to get out of the city and go somewhere there is less chance they will look for her. London is not as anonymous as it appears to be.
She pauses only to drop her burner phone, sim card and all, into a nearby bin after wiping it clean. If they find it, they can make of it what they will.
Chapter Twenty
BETH
Agent Beth Cane sifts through a pile of folders that Ray has placed on her desk. The series of murders that possibly link to Michael’s mystery woman aren’t the only things they’re looking at. Beth has a backlog of cases that need to be examined. She puts aside the top file after a brief flick through; it appears to be a series of vigilante murders and since all the victims were rapists, she doesn’t care to give this one more time. It crosses her mind that Ray would disapprove if he knew she thought this, saying that all investigations warranted their scrutiny. Beth can’t help thinking that the men in question had all deserved what they got. They were scum, even if they were brutally murdered. For that reason, she gives her attention to something more deserving.
She opens up the next folder and sees the faces of seven small children. There are four girls and three boys, aged between four and seven years old.
Beth reads the notes and realises this is a twenty-year-old cold case. All the children vanished within days of each other. Goosebumps come up on her arms. The room isn’t cold; it’s how she always reacts to a hunch. She doesn’t know why, but her gut tells her that this is worth pursuing.
She opens her computer and searches for similar examples in the database; she doesn’t find anything that’s been marked for their study and so she puts a wider search out onto the Web. It takes some time and she flicks through several unconnected links until she finds a newspaper report from thirty-five years ago; seven children disappeared in similar circumstances to the case she’s been given but fifteen years previously. These occurrences don’t appear to have been linked to each other, but Beth sees immediately that they are connected. It’s too much of a coincidence for them not to be.
She reads all the information she can find and compiles a report which she emails to Ray. This case, cold though it is, is somehow significant. She wants Ray to approve her wish to reopen it and begin to investigate what happened and where those kids ended up.
Beth has worked for MI5 for over ten years. Like Michael, she was recruited at university and since then her whole working life has been dedicated to her job. Four years ago, Ray Martin pulled Beth into Archive, saying she was wasted in her previous position. It was a move she’s yet to regret, even though her husband, Callum, often complains about her long hours.
As she waits for Ray’s reply, she tries to look through the other folders, but her mind goes back to the children. All of them were incredibly gifted. Their disappearance disturbs her a great deal. At first, she thinks it’s because she too is a mother, and the thought of one of her two boys going missing horrifies her, but Beth is a seasoned investigator and such things usually don’t affect her.
Besides, I’m not made that way, she thinks.
She loves her children, but Beth, as Callum often says, is more interested in solving mysteries than being part of their family. From time to time a row erupts between them for which Callum, invariably, blames her job. It’s been calm at home for months now, but Beth can feel another such argument brewing. It’s just a matter of time.
Trying to take her mind from her personal problems, Beth forces her concentration back to the task at hand. This child abduction case niggles at her; she has an intense feeling that it’s somehow connected to something else. This isn’t a case of paedophilia or some other sicko stealing kids; she’s sure of it.
‘There’s something more to this,’ she murmurs. ‘I just have to learn what it is.’
Chapter Twenty-One
MICHAEL
I stare at the screen; the face before me is taking shape but it still doesn’t completely resemble Anna. The eyes are too close together, the nose is too wide. I tweak the settings, wishing I’d committed her face more to memory but for some reason I can’t get her image, in this flat, two-dimensional re-creation, quite right. This is my second attempt in as many days. The first I abandoned as a complete disaster. I add hair, long, thick, with a slight wave on the ends. Then I search through the colour selections to try and match up the shade I remember. Once I find the strawberry-blonde shade, the picture begins to look more like her, though I know the features aren’t quite right.
‘How’s it going?’ Beth asks from the doorway.
‘I’m not sure. It’s harder to do this than it seems. How we expect normal people to identify someone like this, when they aren’t trained to observe like we are, I don’t know.’
‘No easy task for sure,’ Beth says. ‘Let’s see what you have so far.’
I turn the monitor so Beth can see the picture.
‘She’s pretty.’
‘I suppose so,’ I say.
Beth glances at me.
‘The hair is striking and memorable. Email me this and I’ll run it through our databases and see if we get any matches.’
I nod. Beth goes away and I finalise the image as best as I can and then send it on to her. After that I open my emails and begin to read the documents for a new case I’ve been sent
but my mind drifts away from it and I continue to try and reconcile the photo-fit image I’ve devised with the real woman I’ve met. It frustrates me that it isn’t close enough.
‘Michael?’ Beth is at my door once more and I’m surprised that I was unaware of her. ‘Can you come and see this?’
I follow Beth into the outer office. There is an image on the large screen of a woman in her fifties.
‘The photo-fit pulled up similarities with your woman.’
I draw a breath. ‘The hair—’
‘Yes. Very close in shade and thickness.’
‘She’s not the right age,’ I say.
‘Not to be our perp. But…’
‘But what?’
‘This is Simone Arquette. Her husband is Stefan Arquette, the French Ambassador. Their child vanished some twenty years ago.’
‘Vanished?’
‘Yes. Disappeared. A little girl with hair the colour of her mother’s. She was only five at the time.’
‘Where are you going with this, Beth?’ I ask.
‘The woman you met… If you’re right, and she is the assassin who killed Aidan Bright, then she’s a ghost. She has no real history or identity. But she came from somewhere,’ she says.
‘You think she could be Simone and Stefan’s daughter? But how did she become … a killer?’
‘She wasn’t the only missing child during that time. It’s a case I’ve been looking at. It’s a bit of a coincidence, but now I’ve made this link and I believe they’re connected.’
‘Usually, missing children are never found; they’re more likely dead,’ I say.
‘I know. But there’s something about this one. It’s different.’
She explains her findings and the connection they appear to have to the other two cases she’s found.
‘All the children were mysteriously taken during the day from their schools. No witnesses. They just disappeared. But each of them was a savant in some way. Highly intelligent. Talented. Different and unique, and scoring way above their age.’
‘All of them?’ I ask.
‘Without exception,’ Beth says.
‘Do you have a photograph of the Arquette girl?’
Beth nods. ‘I’m running it through software to see what she’d look like now. It’ll take a while. To be honest, I was surprised when we got this match so quickly. These things usually take days.’
I’m shocked by her possible lead too. Could Anna be the daughter of the Arquettes?
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Though it does seem a little unlikely that she’d turn up now… Where has she been the last twenty years?’
‘Stranger things have happened.’
‘Beth. We aren’t this lucky. It’s … too easy,’ I say.
Beth shrugs. ‘Sometimes we deserve a break. Otherwise it’s just all a hard slog. And let’s be honest, what we do is generally very difficult.’
I go back to my office and try to concentrate on profiling for another case, but my mind keeps going back to Beth’s possible discovery and I can’t get my head in the right place. A few minutes later I receive an email from Beth with the child’s photograph attached. The Arquettes’ daughter was called Amelie. I stare at the photograph on the screen, looking for Anna in the childish smile. The eyes hold an innocence that I find difficult to reconcile with the woman I’ve met, but that isn’t surprising. I recall hearing somewhere that even as a child grows to adulthood, the eyes never really change in size and shape. I take a snip copy of Amelie’s eyes and place them over Anna’s photo-fit. The difference is astounding. Already this looks more like Anna.
‘Let me see that aged picture as soon as you have it,’ I call through to Beth. ‘I think you’ve stumbled onto something.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
NEVA
For a time, she doesn’t know where to go. She checks into a cheap hotel as a place to rest and regroup. Though the room is comfortable, she barely sleeps. She is sure that any moment Sharrick and his men will find her. The fear is not unreasonable, except that she has been trained to disappear. Even so, Sharrick and the Network have skills that help them find those in hiding. That’s their job, just as hers is to kill. She’s aware how easy it was for them to find her first hideaway, even though she and Janine have temporarily thwarted them. She knows it’s only a matter of time before they locate her if she stays in England.
The next morning, she makes her way to Euston Station. She stares at the departure boards, wondering where to go. She needs to be near London; she hasn’t finished her investigation into Michael Kensington. But the city feels like a prison and Neva’s paranoia spikes. In the centre of this busy station, she feels even more vulnerable. The Network has eyes everywhere; yesterday proved that. She’s tried to hide in plain sight under a new identity, but after this failure, she fears that nowhere is safe. She lets fate choose where she will end up, deciding that the next announcement will tell her where she’s heading. Then she will decide what to do next.
‘The next train to Manchester Piccadilly is now boarding at platform nine.’
Neva walks towards the platform, but her head turns left and right as her eyes scan her surroundings with practised ease; she’s looking for anyone who might be taking too much interest in her. The station is full of commuters, all of whom appear to be focused on their own journeys. Despite her heightened adrenaline, she is reassured that she’s not being observed.
She reaches the platform and gets on the train, going into the first-class cabin where she knows it’ll be quiet and she’ll be guaranteed a seat. She sits down and waits for the train to leave the station. Half an hour into the journey the ticket attendant accepts her cash payment for the seat. Neva is offered drinks and a light supper. She takes them and watches the world pass by through the window. She avoids eye contact with everyone she sees and does not engage with other passengers. She does not want to be remembered, even if she is noticed.
Two hours and forty-five minutes later, Neva leaves Piccadilly station in Manchester. She walks down the hill and finds herself on Market Street, the main high street of the city. The centre is bustling and it’s easy for her to feel anonymous again. She doesn’t take this for granted, reminding herself that this is a large city and the Network’s spies can be anywhere. This is a temporary reprieve.
She heads into a branch of CEX and emerges with a second-hand phone. A visit to a Tesco Express furnishes a sim card with data. She then checks on the phone for a hotel and finds one not far away. Using one of her fake IDs, she books a room for the night. Then she goes into a newsagent and purchases the Manchester Evening News. In the back she finds properties to let.
She checks in at the hotel and then changes her disguise as soon as she’s in her room. The urchin-cut wig is packed away and Neva becomes a brunette with long flowing locks. She has very limited clothing with her so she goes out and walks back to Market Street. She’s been to Manchester before, but the place is not that familiar. Even so, she remembers the Arndale Centre and makes her way there, knowing there is an abundance of clothing shops from which she can stock her new disguise.
She shops for an hour, making cash payments, and then returns to the hotel with her new wardrobe and an extra suitcase to carry everything in.
She orders room service while she looks through the newspaper, searching for a more permanent, less conspicuous place to stay. When the food arrives, she hides in the bathroom, instructing the waiter to leave it on the dressing table.
‘There’s a tip for you there,’ she says. She doesn’t wish to be seen up close by anyone who could be in the payroll of her enemies.
When the door closes, Neva comes out of the bathroom and sets the secure lock on the door. She sits and eats her simple pasta dish as she looks again for somewhere to hide. In the paper she finds a small advert: a couple looking for a lodger. The location is out in the suburbs. It will be ideal. She calls the number and arranges a viewing for the next day.
Chapter Twenty-Three
&
nbsp; MICHAEL
‘It’s probably her,’ Beth says.
‘It’s not exact but it’s close,’ I agree. ‘But then, this is computer software and nothing is perfect.’
‘Yeah. She could have had surgery to change her appearance as well,’ Ray says.
The picture has been manipulated to age Amelie to how she might look at twenty-five years old. It’s taken two days for the computer to complete.
‘I agree with Beth. It’s her,’ I say.
‘If you’re right, we’ve found her former identity. Not who she is or where she is right now,’ Leon says. ‘Even so, we can use our resources to search cameras for any possible sightings.’
‘If this is our girl then she’s already changed her appearance. We know that’s her MO. But it’s normally just disguises. To be honest, the hair is so easy to cut or colour, but she doesn’t choose to do that,’ I point out.
‘I wonder what that says about her,’ Ray says.
‘Her personal, real identity is important to her, especially as she spends most of her time in disguise,’ I say. ‘Yet I wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow denies this to herself.’
‘In what way?’ asks Beth.
‘I’ve been thinking about our perp and, assuming she is the woman I met, she’s a highly trained assassin, capable of remaining invisible. Looking back at the history of her suspected kills, I can’t help but notice that she does not act at all like others in her trade. Yes, there’s a coldness in the kill that’s almost clinical. Then we get the furtive burial of the mystery woman we’ve still to identify. The marked respect for the grave. Summarising what else we know about the killer: there is no obvious enjoyment of killing, which is a trait that all too frequently drops in over time. We’ve placed this killer in several locations over the last five years. In all that time we’ve seen no major change in how she operates.’ I pause.
‘So?’ Ray prompts.
‘If she’s the woman from outside the tube station, then she may be breaking down in a different way. Not falling into the pattern that others have by turning narcissistic and getting off on death. If anything, it’s making her sick. Remorseful, maybe. Or…’ I stop again. The team waits while I gather my thoughts. ‘I’m not sure yet. But if she is – was once – Amelie Arquette, then maybe she’s having flashbacks.’
The House of Killers Page 11
