by N Williams
After a few moments, Holder began to talk. ‘I need some help if I’m to succeed. It looks like this Walker woman, and Zac Woods might be a problem. Woods is a resourceful man and I think I’ll need something to take him out - something that will make his death look like an accident.’ He listened for a moment before continuing. ‘I’m sure someone with your contacts and resources will find it a simple task. They say flying is one of the safest forms of transport, yet accidents sometimes happen.’ Holder hung up and stared at the photo of Woods he had lying on his desk.
CHAPTER 16
Within an hour of returning home, Zac had showered and dressed in a clean white T-shirt and jeans and a pair of deck shoes, and walked into the reception of Morgan’s Hotel.
The restored red brick and sandstone building was only a short walk from his Tower apartment.
He sank into a two-seat soft leather settee in the high-ceilinged four-star lounge.
With his back to the bar, Zac had a clear view of the main entrance doors. He sniffed the single fresh red rose in the centre of the low table and leaned back to admire the interior. The architect had managed to design the conversion from a nineteenth century shipping office into a tasteful hotel, whilst retaining many of the original architectural features. The place had class. He scanned the lunch menu. The fish cakes had been good the last time he visited, but the selection of sandwiches was also tempting.
The oak and glass entry doors swung inwards, accompanied by a brief but sudden blast of noise from the street outside. The old doors certainly had aesthetic appeal, but it was the medium-height woman walking through the doors that drew his attention.
Zac did a double take. Her red hair was cut into a shoulder length bob. The woman looked in her mid-thirties and was wearing a green sleeveless satin, knee-length dress over black tights and calf-length black leather boots. The woman looked nervous, as if on a blind date. She glanced self-consciously around the lounge, at the other guests; all except one were lost in their own conversations.
Zac stood and smiled a welcome. He extended his hand in greeting. ‘Hi, I’m Zac.’
The woman walked over to his table and took his hand. ‘Sally. Pleased to meet you, Zac! That’s an unusual name for someone from Swansea.’
Nodding, he directed her to the empty seat opposite. ‘Yeah, short for Zachariel,’ he grimaced. ‘When I was born, my mother thought I looked like a little angel and named me after the angel of healing.’
‘It’s lovely...it’s...different.’
‘You can say that again. Caused a few fights in the playground.’
Sally flopped down onto the settee and giggled as she sank further into the soft furnishings than she expected. ‘Oops. These are comfortable,’ she blushed.
Laughing, he caught the eye of the waiter and ordered water for Sally and a pint of Guinness for himself.
‘You say you worked with Rachel?’
‘Yes. She was my boss. I’ve worked with her for a few years. She’s been a massive help. I’m carrying out research for my PhD in Heritage Studies.’
‘That sounds interesting.’
Sally laughed. ‘Really? Most people tend to lose interest when I tell them about my job. My ex-husband did.’
‘Ex-husband? You don’t look old enough.’
The waiter brought the drinks to the table.
Sally took her drink. ‘Hope you don’t mind me bothering you like this? I honestly don’t know what to do.’
Zac drew a smiley face into the creamy white head of his Guinness with his little finger. ‘So, what’s this all about?’
‘Rachel was my best friend. We were very close.’ Sally began to choke up.
‘It’s come as a shock to us all,’ agreed Zac.
Sally nodded her head. ‘I just can’t believe she’s gone...that she’s dead.’ She sniffed. ‘Why would anyone want to kill Rachel? She was such a sweet woman. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
Zac handed Sally a paper tissue. ‘Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever owned any real hankies. Saves washing the bloody things.’
Sally smiled and took the tissue to pad at her eyes. ‘Thank you.’
Zac could see she was struggling to remain strong, but her emotions were still threatening to overwhelm her.
Sally took several deep breaths. Her hand trembled slightly as she sipped her water.
The double doors to the lounge swung open, and Zac noticed, in the corner of his eye, two men enter. They were difficult to miss; their enormous builds were a shining example of the work of Doctor Steroid. They stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the lounge, before sitting at a small table near the entrance.
Many years of experience had taught Zac that it was never a good idea to make eye contact with anyone, especially anyone considerably larger than himself. He took another discreet glance at the men. They sat alongside each other with their backs against the wall, and were facing out into the main area of the lounge, where Zac and Sally were sitting.
‘Have you had a chance to look at the disc?’
Zac nodded. ‘She plainly knew she was in trouble. The disc didn’t make a lot of sense, and I don’t understand why she would contact me after all these years.’
‘She talked about you once, a few years ago. Told me that you’d split up under difficult circumstances.’
‘You can say that again. Rachel wanted me to stay in Swansea and get a nine-to-five job. That wasn’t for me. I wanted to do something more exciting and told her I’d applied to join the Met'. That didn’t go down too well. She was very anti police in those days.’
‘That never changed,’ Sally sniggered.
‘I can’t imagine why she’d even think of me after all these years.’ He surreptitiously watched as the waiter approached the two burly men who dismissed him without making an order. Something wasn’t right.
‘Sally, I want you to dry your eyes and drink up. Don’t look around but I think we have company.’
No sooner had he mouthed the warning, than Sally began to look around.
‘I told you not to look around.’
Sally looked scared. ‘Sorry!’
‘I think we should get going.’
They finished their drinks and walked out of the hotel. Once outside, Zac took hold of Sally’s elbow. ‘Do you have a car?’
‘Yes. I parked it across the road in the hotel car park.’
Sally led Zac to her rusty Ford Ka. Zac squashed himself into the small front passenger seat.
Following his directions, she drove along the seafront road.
‘Okay, Sally, if you trust me, I’d like you to pull into the road on the left before the council office ahead.’
Sally nodded and did as she was told.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To my place.’
‘But I hardly know you.’ The joke failed to ease her tension.
Moments later they pulled into the allocated car park of the Meridian Tower.
‘Wow, do you live here?’
‘Yeah,’ said Zac, ‘I’ve got a little pad near the top.’
As Sally parked and locked the small car, Zac watched the traffic drive past the hotel along the former dockside as Sally walked around to join him. He led her up the steps into the main foyer and waited by the door.
Less than a minute later a black Porsche Cayenne drove slowly past the Tower. Zac ducked into the shadows as he saw the smaller of the two men he had seen in Morgan’s, behind the wheel. Both the driver and his larger companion were looking for something and Zac was now sure that they were looking for him and Sally.
CHAPTER 17
Sally was stunned by Zac’s apartment. ‘Wow, this is something else,’ she said. ‘I thought Rachel told me you were a copper?’
‘I was. I retired this week.’
‘You weren’t on the drugs squad were you... keeping some of the seized goods back for your own benefit, per chance?’ she laughed.
‘Nothing quite so exciting. My dad taught me how to in
vest and make a bit of cash to supplement my monthly pay cheques.’
Clearly impressed by the collection of paintings, Sally smiled. ‘Well you must be remarkably good at it. You’ve got art here that’s better than some of the stuff I’ve seen in some national galleries. He’s some dad.’
‘Thanks. Actually, my dad’s an arsehole,’ smiled Zac. ‘But art is a passion of mine. I collect Welsh art mainly, although I’ll take anything offered at the right price. You haven’t got any old Monets in the museum you’re tired of?’
Sally grinned. ‘Sorry, I’ve not got much to do with the art collection. If you wanted some priceless Byzantine artefacts though…’ she winked. ‘I love your taste, especially that life-sized bronze sculpture. Very curvaceous woman; classic Grecian pose.’ The sculpture was tucked into a corner near the large glass patio doors. ‘Anyone I know?’ she joked.
‘Sally Walker, I’d like you to meet my flat-mate, Beyonce Knowles.’
Sally laughed.
‘So why did you get me to come up to your place, was it to see your etchings?’ she teased.
Zac smiled. ‘We were being followed. Did you notice the two beefy bastards who came into the hotel?’
Sally looked puzzled. ‘I’m not sure. I think so.’
‘Well, you should have. They were difficult to miss. If their employer knew how crap they are at staking us out I don’t think they’d be in a job for much longer.’
‘So, who do you think they’re working for?’
‘I have no idea. I was going to ask you.’
Sally was shocked. ‘Me? I don’t know anything. I only came to see you because Rachel had left her disc with me and asked me to promise to get it to you.’
‘Did you bring the disc with you?’
‘I’ve got the disc, but I have no idea what’s on it.’ Sally opened up her shoulder bag and took out the DVD.
‘If it’s okay with you, I’d like to give this to a friend of mine. He’s a bit of a computer geek. I’m going to drop off my copy tomorrow and I’ll take yours along too. They might contain the same information, but we won’t know unless we crack the encryption.’
‘If you think it’ll be safe?’ Sally gently touched Zac’s arm. ‘Rachel wanted me to contact you, so she obviously thought you could help.’
‘I don’t know if that’s true. I think I was the only one she could think of at the time. Anyway, our priority has to be to crack the encryption codes.’
*
The two men parked the Cayenne in a side street. They had lost sight of the Ka on the marina but knew Zac’s address at the tower. It would be difficult to get to them now. Bourse wasn’t bothered. It was an ideal opportunity to turn over the woman’s flat whilst she was being entertained.
It took less than fifty minutes for the Cayenne to make the fifty miles to Cardiff. The small flat was in a converted warehouse block overlooking the redeveloped docks near the city centre.
The door to the lift was open, ready and waiting. Bourse checked the address on the slip of paper he had copied from the dead woman’s bag and pressed the top floor button. The doors refused to close; the strange whirring and clunking didn't sound good. 'Best if we take the stairs.'
It took no more than a couple of minutes to locate the correct flat and to force their way inside.
The top floor studio apartment in Mount Stuart Square was open plan; a large white pillar took centre place in the living-cum-dining-sitting area.
The honey-coloured, highly polished wood floor reflected the black leather suite that occupied the left corner of the apartment, a small dining table was to the right. The large leather-framed bed was on the other side of the white pillar in the middle of the far wall.
Files and papers were arranged neatly on the dining table, and a small netbook computer sat alongside.
‘Take the papers and the laptop,’ said Bourse.
Tourrain nodded and began to stuff the items into a large canvas bag.
Bourse strutted about the apartment. He loved the thought that he was able to enter anywhere he wanted. He got a real kick from knowing there was no one or nothing to stop him.
He checked the wardrobes and drawers, there was nowhere else to search - where was the bathroom? He opened another wardrobe door and found the en-suite hidden behind. Neat! The bathroom was small, no bigger than a large closet. There was nowhere anything could be hidden. The woman had kept the bathroom sparse but functional.
He shouted through the open door, ‘Anything else?’
‘No, nothing I can see,’ Tourrain replied. ‘I don’t think these papers have anything to do with what we are looking for. It might be on the laptop though. I think we should take it and go.’
There was one thing left to do.
Tourrain cracked open a couple of beers from the fridge. They'd wait for the woman to return. Bourse switched on the television and flicked through the channels to the wrestling. If Zac Woods had got lucky with the girl it could be a long wait.
After nearly three hours of wrestling, Tourrain could take no more. Both men began throwing things around the room. Anything that could be smashed was thrown against the walls or the wooden floor. A switchblade knife quickly finished off the suite cushions, and red lipstick from the en-suite made a handy graffiti instrument. The big bald man was in the process of drawing a very large penis on the wall when he heard the echo of footsteps in the hallway outside.
Bourse put the lipstick down on to the bedside table and waited. Nothing. The footsteps had stopped. Someone was outside the front door. It wouldn’t be the police, he thought; they’d have just burst in and hoped for the element of surprise. It could be the woman. He was just about to rush across the room to the door when the lipstick he had dropped on the bedside table rolled off the top and landed with a click on the wooden floor.
CHAPTER 18
Sally had parked her Ka in the reserved space and climbed the stairs to her apartment. The building had an elevator but it had broken down twice in the last couple of months.
She smiled as she trotted up the stairs. She had enjoyed spending time with Zac. Rachel was right; he did have magnetism.
Her apartment was to the right. The open lift was the only doorway on the other side of the stairwell. As she walked down the few paces of the corridor, she stopped. Her front door was slightly open.
Rigid, afraid to move, Sally didn’t know what to do. What if burglars were inside?
She carefully and quietly tiptoed to the open door and put her head to the frame, listening for any movement.
Satisfied that the place must be empty, Sally was about to open the door when she heard a noise, a click, something falling onto the wooden floor.
Sally bolted away from the door just as a big bald-headed man came bounding through it.
The big man lost some ground on her as he had to open the door in towards himself before he could get through. This gave Sally a head start, but not much. She knew she’d never outrun him down the stairs, but that was her only hope.
Then she heard the lift door begin to slide close.
If she could just get make the lift before the door shut she’d have a chance. It was a heap of shit, but at least the alarm worked.
Sally switched direction and ran into the lift, squeezing through the door as it closed.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the big man bang on the metal door.
‘There’s nowhere to go. You can’t escape, bitch,’ he screamed as he pressed the lift button repeatedly.
Sally leaned against the lift wall. She had pressed two buttons, the up and down at the same time in the hope that the lift would jam. Sure enough, it had. The lift was stuck between floors. She had been in this position before. The door wouldn’t open again until the emergency crew came to free her and she knew that might take some time. For now, she was safe.
CHAPTER 19
A good beer-sleep was always accompanied by a splitting headache, this one being the result of the Guinness and Jameso
n’s from the night before. At least the alcohol had subdued the nightmares.
A pair of bright yellow post-its had been stuck on the bronze Beyonce in strategic places. “Thanks for being good company. See you soon? Call me on my mobile. Sally. X.”
Zac smiled. He hadn’t seen Sally post the notes. He left the notes preserving Beyonce’s modesty, grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around his neck.
The night had been strange, mixed with conflicting emotions. They had laughed at each other’s attempts at humour, and Sally had occasionally cried. Zac had felt emotional too, much to his surprise; not at the loss of Rachel, too much water had passed under the bridge for that, but at Sally’s obvious distress.
She had stuck with water whilst Zac had cracked open more cans of Guinness than was healthy as they talked for an hour or so before Sally left for her own apartment in Cardiff.
Zac was surprised at how easy he felt with her. Perhaps it was their connection to Rachel, something in common that broke the ice and bound them together, however tenuously.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he turned on the shower. He had to make the trip to Shobdon to see Handel Fenwick as a matter of urgency.
A quick call to the airport confirmed the availability of the Ikarus. Portable GPS and map of Wales and the Midlands in hand, he grabbed his lightweight padded jacket, slipped on his Nikes and a pair of loose fitting shorts and set off for the airport.
*
Fairwood Airport in Swansea had long since seen better days. It was a surprisingly busy place at certain times of certain days, but the business wasn’t consistent enough for the airport to thrive and become a base for scheduled airlines. The years of neglect were clear to see, from the pitted entrance lane and damp and crumbling control tower to the weeds finding inappropriate beds within the two active concrete runways.
