‘I could have done it another way that might have been more satisfying in the moment, pulling the trigger, slipping the blade in. But I liked this way too. It had the feel of a plan, and if it came out who she was, and anyone put me together with her, then there was no way Dmitry could turn round and accuse me of being behind her death. It was all up there on the screen.
‘It would have worked like a dream but for the fact that men will always behave like men, and your husband had to have his tantrum.’ She lapsed into silence, seeming to think.
Susie prompted her: ‘So that’s what happened? She did it herself ?’
Karen nodded. ‘She used the gun I gave her. Dad would make sure there were people who could say she bought the gun herself.
‘And then, when the deed was done and all the girls had stopped screaming and Jason had stopped puking, I got Jason to ring Sergei, who came down, and that was it. Think I told Jason not to breathe a word to anyone that I’d even been there, and good old Jason, he didn’t. He didn’t ask any questions. Just did as he was asked: rang Sergei, calmed the girls down. I rewarded him for his help by slitting his throat.’
‘You can add that to your tally,’ said Susie through clenched teeth.
‘Oh, Mrs Drake,’ said Karen, cocking her head. ‘It makes you angry to hear about this, doesn’t it? How angry does it make you?’
And suddenly it struck Susie. She realised Karen had been clever, but not nearly so clever as she thought. She had over-played her hand. The gun had been left there to tempt Susie. That’s exactly what Karen wanted. Under the gaze of the CCTV camera, she wanted Susie to make a move.
Susie had been sitting forward in the deckchair, perhaps unconsciously readying herself to leap for the gun. She saw now that Karen was adapting her own body language to seem as relaxed and as casual as possible, practically inviting Susie to make her move.
She would have a knife hidden in those sleeves. Maybe the gun wasn’t even loaded.
‘And what about me?’ said Susie. Very deliberately, she sat back in the deckchair, almost reclining, noticing a vexed look pass across Karen’s face. They had both known that Susie was about to go for the gun. They both knew that Susie had changed her mind.
‘What about you?’ said Karen, her mouth set, knowing how close she’d come to executing her plan.
‘Well, I was in the car, too,’ said Susie. ‘Don’t you look at me and wish me dead?’
‘You didn’t bite me,’ said Karen unconvincingly.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Susie. ‘I think that if you had your way you’d kill me just as you killed Emma, and maybe’ – her eyes went to the gun so that Karen could see – ‘just as cleverly.’
Karen was practically snarling.
‘And of course, your husband … Dmitry, is it?’ continued Susie. ‘He’ll want to go through with the ransom demand and deliver me safely back in return for the money. Depriving you of the opportunity for futher retribution.’
And now Susie knew that she had to be careful not to antagonise the other woman too much. There was every possibility that Karen might simply lose her temper and attack. Be careful now. Tread carefully. ‘Perhaps you’ve made a mistake,’ she said softly, trying to be assertive but not overtly threatening. Thinking, If I can just play this right … ‘Because now I know, don’t I? I mean, you’ve told me everything. And I in turn could tell Dmitry, perhaps? Or one of my guards.’
Breathing heavily, nostrils flared, Karen said, ‘They’d never believe you.’
‘Oh really? Wouldn’t they? Maybe not straight away, but I’d be sowing the seeds of doubt, wouldn’t I? They might be wondering what was said back there in the car. Why things didn’t go according to plan at the spa. Maybe I’ll tell them that things went south because I recognised you. And why I recognised you.’
‘You say a word and I’ll slit your fucking throat.’
Susie smiled. ‘But you can’t do that, remember? You can’t give yourself away.’ She raised her chin, indicating the CCTV camera that watched over them, and for a moment or so the two women simply stared at one another. God knows what Karen was thinking, but she’d played her hand and now her cards lay on the table.
As for Susie? Well, she was hardly in a position of strength. But maybe, just maybe …
‘I’ve got a proposal for you,’ she said.
Karen looked at her carefully. ‘Go on.’
‘I won’t say anything—’
‘Like I say, you better fucking not.’
‘I won’t say anything if you let me go,’ Susie finished.
‘I let you go and I’m dead.’
‘Oh come on, you’re clever. You can do this. You can work something out.’ She paused. ‘Look, just think about it. Decide what do you want to do. I won’t say anything just yet.’
Karen looked at her, breathing hard. ‘You think you’ve got the upper hand here, do you?’ she said at last.
‘Karen, you and I are about as different as two people could be. I’m talking to the woman who killed my daughter. Believe me when I say that I have nothing but hatred and contempt for you. I’d rather make a pact with the Devil himself than with you.
‘But what I’m suggesting is for our mutual benefit. Believe me, I wouldn’t be suggesting it otherwise. Let me go, and you can deal with your demons here, I’ll deal with mine, and we’ll both go to our graves knowing that with all this shit going on, at least we did one thing right.’
Karen stood. Smiled. She reached for the gun on the table and for a moment Susie thought she might simply put a bullet in her there and then. Instead she tucked it into the waistband of her trousers.
‘There is no deal,’ said Karen. ‘You tell Dmitry all you want. I’ll take my chances. And you and your daughter can both burn in hell.’
She spat on the sandwich, turned on the heel of her black boot and left.
CHAPTER 50
SHELLEY HAD FOLLOWED Claridge back to the Drakes’ home, Shelley in his Saab, Claridge in an agency Lexus.
‘What if the media get hold of all this?’ Shelley had asked before they left the hospital. ‘Back in the day Drake was what you’d call a celebrity.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much,’ Claridge had said.
‘Really? Some inquisitive journalist—’
‘“Inquisitive journalist”?’ Claridge had scoffed. ‘They don’t exist any more. Journalists get all their news from Twitter and Facebook, and people like us telling them things we want them to hear. Fortunately, like you say, Guy Drake’s day was before the advent of social media. He might as well not exist as far as the new world is concerned. A few lines about his daughter’s death is pretty much where the interest in the Drakes starts and stops. The media are far more interested in Kim Kardashian unveiling her new bottom.’
As for the crash at the Drakes’ gates and the ongoing investigation, the police had managed to impose a media blackout. The road was closed off, supposedly with works, although Shelley knew that the men in hi-vis jackets were in fact cops.
Driving up to the gates Shelley saw that Johnson’s BMW had been removed, though there were a couple of scene of crime officers still in attendance. Wearing white Tyvek suits, they were gathering the last of the evidence. The SOCOs looked up briefly but without much interest as Claridge and then Shelley passed through the twisted gates and onto the driveway, where their two cars joined what was a veritable fleet of police cars and other vehicles.
Inside the house was a hive of industry. Guy’s home was in the unique position of being the centre of two major crimes: the gruesome mutilation and murder of ex-Para Johnson as well as the kidnap of Susie Drake. There were so many cops there, all getting under each other’s feet, that as officer in charge DI Phillips was ordering men to leave.
Also unique: the cops knew – or at least were 99 per cent certain – exactly who were the perpetrators of both crimes. They even thought they knew why, despite the fact that Drake, Bennett, Gurney and Shelley were all staying tigh
t-lipped about the raid on Foxy Kittenz.
Needless to say, all of this was business that would need attending to in due course, when the dust had settled and it was time to make a forensic analysis of how the situation had advanced from point A, the suicide of Emma Drake, to point Z, the kidnap of her mother, Susie. But for the time being all such considerations were prioritised down. The cops, despite their suspicions, prejudices and in some cases outright hostility towards Drake’s crew, had one priority and that was to see Susie Drake returned safely.
Back in London they’d knocked on doors, of course. Detectives had been laughed at by Chechens who provided them with cast-iron alibis.
In one corner of Drake’s vast lounge were Drake, Shelley, Bennett, DI Phillips and Claridge. In other parts of the room were the members of the Met’s tech support team, ready to intercept and triangulate any call, even though, as they were constantly reminding the others in the room, there were ways for the bad guys to work around it.
Claridge had opened up his laptop to show Drake pictures of the perpetrators. Which was where the cracks that had already begun to appear developed into much more severe fissures.
Drake shook slightly, Shelley noticed. And his breath stank of Scotch. He was a man at the mercy of his demons, internal and external. Shelley found his heart going out to him. He wished he’d done more, been more emphatic, put his foot down. He wished he’d picked up the phone to Emma. He wished that he hadn’t left in such a hurry all those years ago. He wished that he and Susie Drake had never shared that kiss.
‘So these are the Russians, are they?’ said Drake. And it wasn’t just his hands that shook.
Claridge peered over the top of his glasses at Drake with concern. They could all smell the booze. ‘They’re Chechens, Mr Drake. They don’t like being called Russians.’
‘Then I’ll call them Russians if it’s all the same to you,’ snapped Drake, and Claridge nodded, the way you do when a man at the end of his tether says something patently ridiculous.
Shelley tried to catch Drake’s eye, telepathically tell him to calm the fuck down, but failed. The bigwig smiling on page four of the Daily Mirror – that geezer was unrecognisable now.
The MI5 man continued flicking through the pictures until they got to Karen. Here, Shelley took over.
‘You remember the kidnap attempt, of course,’ he said to Drake. Once more he tried to bring him to a place where they could have a reasonable conversation, one untainted by anger and resentment and all the shitty emotions bobbling around them like escaped party balloons.
Drake nodded.
‘There was a woman, remember?’ pressed Shelley. ‘I broke her arm.’
‘I’ve not lost my marbles. I remember, Shelley,’ barked the older man defensively.
‘Right, well. This is her. This is that woman.’ He told Drake about her involvement with the Chechens, the union of the two families, adding, ‘Now, it’s possible … well, look, what I’m thinking is that she crossed paths with Emma somehow. Say the two of them recognised one another. Maybe that’s why Emma killed herself, out of fear. Or maybe she was compelled to do it somehow, I don’t know. I can’t speculate about that right now. Just that there’s this connection. Just as she—’
‘She killed Emma?’
All eyes were on Drake. He was breathing heavily through his nose.
‘I’m saying it’s possible, yes,’ replied Shelley carefully.
‘Now she’s kidnapped Susie,’ stated Drake.
‘That much is beyond doubt,’ said Claridge. ‘Positive IDs from Lucy, and from the women at the spa. Unfortunately, we also have thirty Chechen women who will say that she was at a charity function the exact moment the kidnap was taking place, meaning that right now, we haven’t got a thing on her.’
Drake turned a scornful gaze on Claridge. ‘So you’re just sitting on your arse waiting for her to call the shots?’
Claridge met Drake’s fierce stare. Perhaps he was thinking that Drake only had himself to blame for his current predicament. But ever the diplomat, the good civil servant, he held his tongue on that score and said, ‘It’s the only avenue open to us, Mr Drake.’
Shelley jumped in, thinking this would be a good time to speak to Drake alone. ‘Listen, let’s call a break, shall we? I want to have a word with Guy, if that’s all right with you.’
Judging by the relief written all over the faces of the men around the table, it was a popular decision.
CHAPTER 51
‘GUY, YOU HAVE to calm down, mate. You’re losing control. And you’ve been drinking. Why the fuck did you think your wife being kidnapped was a good time to start knocking back the booze in the middle of the day?’ He spoke loudly and in a way that he doubted Drake had been spoken to in a long, long time. If Shelley didn’t need him to stay calm and focused for Dmitry’s impending phone call, he would have been happy to keep him out of the game altogether – send him to bed with a big glass of Scotch and a couple of happy pills. Perfect. ‘I need you to stay strong,’ he told Drake.
Drake spluttered, ‘What the fuck do you mean, you need me? Why are you even here? Your fucking wife didn’t help Susie—’
In the next second Shelley had Drake’s shirt bunched in his fist and was shoving him backwards, the older man’s heels skidding on the kitchen floor before he thumped heavily into the refrigerator, the kind with huge double doors in brushed steel, one of which was now dented.
‘Don’t you dare,’ hissed Shelley, ‘don’t you fucking dare. Lucy – my fucking wife – almost died trying to keep Susie out of their hands. She winged one of them. Got descriptions of the rest. It’s because of her that we know exactly who we’re dealing with here. And you can count yourself lucky that I need you in one piece to keep Susie alive, or God help me I’d knock your block off right now.’
‘The problem being that I wouldn’t let you do that, Shelley,’ came a voice from behind.
It was Bennett, voice calm with the kind of authority you get when you’re holding a gun on someone.
Shelley relaxed his hands on Drake’s shirt. ‘Did you hear what he said?’
‘It wouldn’t make any difference, my friend. I’m paid to provide security, and I’m pretty sure that not allowing my boss to get beaten up falls within my remit. Are you all right, sir?’ he added, directing his question to Drake.
Drake pulled himself out of the dent in his fridge, shrugging off Shelley, who stepped away. ‘I’m all right.’
‘Would you like me to ask Mr Shelley to leave?’
‘No, Mr Shelley can stay for the time being,’ said Drake, glaring at Shelley.
‘Then perhaps we should all relax,’ said Bennett.
Shelley turned as Bennett holstered his weapon. ‘The kidnapper’s been in touch,’ he told Bennett, which was what he’d planned to tell Drake in the first place.
‘What?’ blasted Drake. ‘You never told me that—’
‘You never gave me the chance,’ Shelley clapped back. ‘But that’s why I need you calm. He’s ringing back with his demands later.’
Bennett nodded thoughtfully. He pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘And I take it you want to keep this between us?’
‘There’s no way they could have bugged this place, is there?’ asked Shelley.
‘They haven’t had the chance,’ Bennett assured him.
‘Well, look, ultimately the decision about whether or not we tell the cops lies with Guy. It’s his wife whose life is in danger; it’s his money the kidnappers will be asking for. Guy, do you think you’re in any fit state to make that decision?’
‘Oh, go fuck yourself, Shelley.’
‘Grow up, Guy,’ Shelley shot back.
They glowered at one another. For a second, Shelley thought Drake might blow, but perhaps there was a semblance of the old Guy beneath all that scar tissue, for he seemed to take stock for a second. And perhaps he realised how childish he’d sounded.
‘I am,’ he said, chastened. ‘Of course I am.’
Shelley breathed an inner sigh of relief. ‘Well, in that case it’s a decision you need to make sooner rather than later,’ he explained. ‘I’ve been involved in hostage situations, and so has Bennett here,’ he looked across and received an affirmative nod in return, ‘and I expect he’s going to agree with me that things very quickly go tits-up when the police get involved. You get the cops on board and they’ll tell you that their main priority is to keep the victim safe, and it is – kind of – but only if it doesn’t conflict with their next priority, which is to capture the kidnappers.
‘On the other hand, if you decide not to tell the cops, then you’re also agreeing to giving in to the ransom demands. And it may well be that they choose not to play by the book.’
Drake nodded as he processed the information. ‘What are your impressions of this guy Kraviz?’ he asked.
‘First of all, he’s a Chechen, not a Russian. You need to get your head around that. Second, he’s pissed off with us. He thinks that we’ve damaged his business and insulted him, and we’ve got every right to expect him to want some pretty brutal payback. If you were ordinary Joe Public then that’s what you’d get.
‘The advantage you’ve got is that you’re rich, so he’s got the chance to make a lot of money quickly. He’s tasted blood, thanks to poor old Johnson. But from the way he’s conducted himself after that, I’d say he’s going down the route of wanting the cash in lieu of any more reprisals.’
‘So what now?’ asked Drake.
‘Now? Now we wait.’
‘Sir,’ said Bennett, ‘not long ago you were telling us about your kidnapper money. Is that still available?’
Shelley gave a start. ‘Wait a second. What’s this? What “kidnapper money”?’
Bennett deferred to Drake to explain, and Drake shot Shelley a look of distaste, still harbouring a grudge, before he said, ‘A year or so ago, when I suspected Emma was in trouble, I put some money aside in case something like this happened. Money in an offshore account, that can be transferred quickly and without alerting my bank or the authorities.’
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