by Roger Hurn
Borzov stroked his chin and continued to stare at Carly. ‘And talking of friends, one of my very closest and dearest associates is, like Mr Kyd, a great admirer of women with both brains and beauty. I’m sure he would be delighted to make your acquaintance.’ He steepled his hands and sat back in his chair. ‘In fact, I am hosting an event tonight in the City at which he will be one of the guests of honour. Why don’t you come along as my guest and meet him?’ His smile grew even more insidious. ‘Who knows, he may even offer you a position that would be worthy of your undoubted talents.’ He turned his rictus grin in my direction. ‘I’m sure you pay Miss Bloom handsomely, Mr Kyd, but I feel she is destined for greater things than merely being your associate.’
‘Thank you, Yuri, but I’m more than happy with my present position.’ The acid had vanished from Carly’s voice and been replaced by pure enthusiasm. ‘I feel I’m on the fast track to becoming Ryan’s business partner rather than his just associate. The agency’s thriving and I’m enjoying being a part of its success.’ She reached out and gave my hand a squeeze. ‘Aren’t I darling?’
My heart skipped a beat but I didn’t. I put my hand on top of hers and gave her a syrupy smile. ‘You certainly are.’
A look of mild distain passed over Borzov’s face. ‘Ah, I see how things stand here. Very well then, my friend will have to look elsewhere for the woman he seeks.’
I shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry, Mr Borzov, that’s just the way it is.’
He gave a small flick of his hand like a man waving away a fly that has buzzed a little too close for comfort. Then he was brisk and business-like again.
‘As it happens, I’ve brought you here because I’m in need of a private investigator I can trust to do a job for a friend of mine and, from our previous dealings; I believe that you are that man, Mr Kyd.’
The thought of our previous dealing made me want to shudder, but I suppressed the urge.
‘Yes, but if you remember, Mr Borzov, I did say at our previous meeting that although I was flattered by your offer of potential employment, I felt working for your friends would be too rich for my blood. And I haven’t changed my mind.’
‘Yes, yes, I remember,’ snapped Borzov impatiently. ‘But this job is straightforward and you will not be expected to do anything illegal. My friend’s daughter has run off with a most unsuitable young man. I believe the fellow is a musician in a band that plays the kind of music only the deaf can enjoy. The girl’s father wants to know where they are so he can fetch her home. He’s certain that the boy can be persuaded to give her up if he is suitably recompensed. So, all you have to do, Mr Kyd, is find them, pay the boy off and bring the girl home safe and sound. Surely that’s not a task that’s too rich for your blood is it?’
My track record of bringing girls home safe and sound was pretty hopeless, but this one sounded easy enough and, as we needed to get out of Borzov’s office and back to the museum while there was still a chance of Susan being there, I agreed to take it on.
‘Excellent, excellent.’ Borzov beamed at me. ‘Now name your fee, Mr Kyd.’
I gave him a figure that was ten times my usual fee. I thought I may have been pushing my luck but he agreed without giving it a second thought.
‘I’ll have the details sent over to your office first thing tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘I will expect the case resolved without delay so make it your number one priority.’ It was an order not a request.
We all shook hands and Carly and I walked out of the building like we hadn’t a care in the world. Though as soon as we crossed over into London Bridge tube station my legs started shaking and I thought for a second I was going to throw up. Maybe I’m allergic to Russian gangsters. Carly, on the other hand, was totally focussed on the job in hand.
‘Pull yourself together, Ry, we’ve gotta find Sue and we don’t have much time left.’
‘Hey, I’m not shaken up by the meeting with Borzov and his goons,’ I said. ‘It’s the thought of you being my partner that’s terrifying me – darling.’
She grinned and punched me on my arm. ‘You should be so lucky,’ was all she said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to find someone in the Natural History Museum, but it’s like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. It’s not just the size of the place, it’s the thousands of tourists who come elbowing and shoving into every nook and cranny trying to see whatever there is to see. Well, the long and the short of it was we couldn’t find Susan anywhere. Then, at ten to six, which was closing time, I waited outside the main exit while Carly went and covered one of the others, but it was hopeless. There are five exits all told and we had no guarantee that Susan would come out of either of the two we’d chosen. And, needless to say, she didn’t.
We had to make a decision on what to do and where to go next. Carly wanted to take the tube to Mansion House but I knew that Bank was the better choice.
‘Listen, Carly, if we go to Bank junction there are nine roads that all converge on it so if we stand there she’ll have to walk by us.’ I sounded way more confident than I felt but the truth was we were running out of options. The fund raiser was due to start at 8pm and the VIPs would be arriving from 7.30 onwards. We had just over an hour to get there and stake out our positions. It should just about have been enough time. But it wasn’t.
It’s only a twenty minute trip on the District Line from South Ken but there was a massive delay when a train failed somewhere miles away but still managed to bring half the tube lines in London grinding to a halt. Carly seemed to hold me personally responsible for TFL’s screw up but, as we were both wound up tighter than a Sumo wrestler’s scrotum, I let it go.
She was at screaming pitch with me when she realised that the District Line ends at Monument and we were going to have to make a mad sprint from there to Bank. Running flat out was a killer but at least it shut her up.
When we finally hit Bank Junction it was nearly half past seven. My best laid plan about staking it out was now a non starter so we cut our losses and headed straight to where the action was.
The limos bringing the VIPs were coming into the short one way system at Bucklersbury and round into Walbrook where they were dropping the crème of the capitalist crop right outside the front door of the Mansion House. The two little streets were packed with people hoping to catch a glimpse of the high rollers coming to the Dinner. The press was out in force too, along with a couple of TV crews.
Smart Alec was using this gig as a showcase for self promotion. His public image was that of the hard headed no nonsense guy who was giving the economy the kick up the backside it needed. But tonight’s bash was all about portraying himself as a big hearted philanthropist who knew that it wasn’t all about money; it was also about compassion. The Financiers for Freedom was Carmichael’s big idea to get the mega rich heads of corporations to publicly pledge millions to give ordinary folk the freedom to start up their own businesses. And he wanted them to do it on camera with him at centre stage. He couldn’t lose.
We used our elbows ruthlessly as we shouldered our way through to the front of the crowd. I was scanning all the faces but I couldn’t see Susan. Then a limo pulled up and “Smart Alec” Carmichael stepped out accompanied by his partner in crime, Yuri Borzov. They stopped and waved to the throng, the cameras clicked and rolled, the crowd cheered and “Smart Alec” lapped it up. Borzov whispered something in his ear and they both laughed. Then, as they turned to go into Mansion House, a dumpy middle aged white woman suddenly appeared from out of nowhere. Nobody reacted. Susan didn’t fit anyone’s terrorist profile. She took two quick strides towards them and someone screamed. They’d seen the gun in her hand. Borzov stepped towards her with his arms outstretched and she blew a hole in his chest. Blood splattered everywhere and he spun around and collapsed.
Carmichael stood there like a man frozen in time. His mouth gaped open and he stared at Susan. She yelled something. I couldn’t be sure in a
ll the uproar but I think she called out Angie’s name. Then she shot him in the face. His head exploded and suddenly time was back running at its normal speed – though it had stopped forever for “Smart Alec” Carmichael.
There was pandemonium everywhere. I saw Rick Bradshaw pull out his Glock and take aim at Susan. I exploded out of the crowd and bashed against him before he could fire.
‘What the fuck?’ he yelled as I sped past him to grab Susan before anyone else could take her down. But I was too late. As I reached out to her she put the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. Her body fell backwards but she was already gone. The whole thing was over in less than 20 seconds.
Carly came charging out of the crowd and tried to get to Susan, but I grabbed her and held her tight against me while she wept. I knew I’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do before the night was over, but I was an ex DPG man working for Mr Borzov. We were there at his invitation. I’d seen what was happening and my instincts had taken over and I’d gone into action. It was an automatic response. All Carly and I had done was to try and save our client from a maniac. I was only sorry we’d failed. It was thin, but it would do as a cover story until Crispian came along to get us off the hook. Or at least I hoped it would.
As I held Carly I couldn’t help thinking that in a way that piece of shit Sullivan had been right. We had looked into the abyss and the darkness we found there had reached out its hand and touched us all. And, now it had, I knew it was never going to let us go.
Dead of Winter
Chapter 1
Christmas was coming and the geese may well have been getting fat, but I wasn’t. This was a worry because normally you can count on the season of peace and goodwill toward men to work its magic. The stark reality of people cooped up together for several days with rubbish telly, their feuding family, and too much booze can have even the most mild-mannered person reaching for the carving knife – and not to slice the turkey either. But, for some reason, it wasn’t happening. I was expecting the usual rush of vengeful partners wanting me to go into overdrive during the office party period but it seemed so far that everybody was making a concerted effort to keep it in their pants. Maybe it was the recession, but whatever the reason, the Ryan Kyd Private Investigations Agency was feeling the pinch.
I was trying to think up a tactful way of telling my associate Carly that her Christmas bonus was about as likely to arrive in her pay packet as Santa Claus was to come down the chimney when I heard a huge kerfuffle on the stairs outside. Carly was barking orders at some poor schmucks and it sounded like they were dragging something large and cumbersome up to the office. My heart sank. I had a shrewd idea what it was. I’m not a detective for nothing.
I decided to pre-empt matters and opened the door. I wish I hadn’t. Carly was wearing a bright red Santa hat and directing Jason and Ravi, two right herberts who ran a stall in the street market outside, in their attempts to haul a large Christmas tree up the stairs. OK, Carly looked cute as hell, but then Carly is the kind of girl who’d have looked cute even if she was wearing a bin bag and a sou’wester. She is bright as a button, but sees it as her life’s mission to point out my failings both as a boss and as a human being. I’m always on the point of firing her, but somehow I haven’t yet managed to find the right moment. I’ve got an awful feeling that I never will. It’s that kind of a relationship.
Carly flashed me her megawatt smile. ‘Hey, Ryan, don’t just stand there, give the guys a hand with the tree.’
I didn’t move. Instead I loomed over them as grim faced as the ghost of Christmas yet to come. ‘Forget it, Carly. We need a flaming Christmas tree like an extra hole in the head.’ I looked past her at Jason and Ravi. ‘Sorry, guys, there’s been a mistake. We don’t need one of your hookey trees. You can take it back to the lorry you nicked it from right now.’
Jason and Ravi stopped and stared up at me. Then they switched their gaze to Carly. Their stone-hard little eyes melted when she grinned at them. She tends to have that effect on even the toughest of villains. It’s a useful skill.
‘Ignore Scrooge and bring the tree on up.’
‘Gotcha Carls,’ said Ravi. ‘C’mon Jase, mate. We ain’t got all day.’
I tried to stand my ground, but I was no match for one very determined female associate and two market traders with a large Scot’s pine in hot pursuit of a sale. They swept me aside and I could only watch in horror as Jason and Ravi proceeded to set it up in a bucket in the corner of the office while Carly directed operations. When it was done, all three of them stood there admiring it.
‘Thanks guys. It looks brill.’ Carly gave them both a hug.
‘No probs, Carls. Now that’ll be twenty quid to you.’
Carly winked at them. ‘Take it up with Scrooge over there. He’s Mister Money Bags.’
Jason and Ravi advanced on me. I knew I was stuck with the tree but I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. I do have some pride.
‘You’re having a laugh aren’t you fellas? No way is that tree worth more than a tenner.’
‘Leave it out, man!’ Ravi sounded aggrieved. ‘You only got it for a score ‘cos it’s Carly, innit. And we gave her the Santa hat for free.’
Jason nodded. ‘That’s right, Ryan. Everyone else is forking out forty quid and those hats are a fiver a pop.’
Carly narrowed her eyes, folded her arms and tapped her foot ominously. I recognised the danger signs and caved in before I got a tongue lashing. Ravi trousered the dosh and wished us both a cheery Merry Christmas before he and Jason legged it off back down the stairs. I knew that as soon as they hit the street the story would be all over Deptford market of how the delectable Carly, the girl all the traders – and not only the male ones – lusted after, had a right killjoy for a boss. It’s a cross I have to bear.
But if I thought this was shaping up to be a quiet Christmas then I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Chapter 2
It was Christmas Eve and I was sitting in The Harp of Erin. There was a boisterous crowd in, but I was drinking on my own. There was no point in going home. My missus had gone to her sister’s in Manchester for Christmas and yours truly hadn’t been invited. Not that I was bothered of course. Her sister’s tongue is so sharp you could use it to cut through the rock hard icing on a Christmas cake, so I figured I was better off not going.
Yes, all right, I had been hoping that Carly might have fancied draping herself in tinsel and climbing into the Christmas stocking at the foot of my bed all ready for me to unwrap on Christmas morning. I’d even bought a bunch of mistletoe from Jason and Ravi’s stall to show her I could get into the Christmas spirit as well as the next man. Sadly for me, the next man turned out to be Tyrone, a guy she’d known since primary school, who she’d agreed to meet for Christmas drinks. I’d bumped into Tyrone once on a case we’d been working on and he’d turned out to be seriously bad news, but Carly had a soft spot for him. I suspected the spot Tyrone had for Carly was anything but soft... Anyway, my already wafer thin chances of persuading Carly to come over to my place to pull on the wishbone vanished when she told me that after she and Tyrone had finished celebrating she was going to stay at her nan’s.
She’d ignored the sprig of mistletoe I’d been clutching and said, ‘Sorry, Ry, but I reckoned you’d be doing something with your wife over Christmas and anyway, I’ve been having Christmas at my nan’s since I was little ‘cos my mum’s such a waste of space.’
‘Yeah, I get that,’ I said, ‘but you’re a big girl now.’ I’d grinned at her in a way that even I had to admit reeked of cheese.
But Carly just shook her head and said, ‘Nah, she’d be heartbroken if I didn’t go.’
I must’ve had a face like a bag of spanners because she said, ‘Hey cheer up. I’ve got you a pressie even though you didn’t give me a Christmas bonus.’
She opened up her desk draw and handed me a parcel wrapped up in gaudy red paper covered in what somebody in China fondly imagined were reindeer. I cou
ld see that Ravi and Jason’s stall had been doing a roaring trade with Carly. I forced a smile onto my mug and ripped open the wrapping. It was a copy of a book called The Glory of Spurs. My smile vanished quicker than a rat up a drainpipe. I’m a die-hard Arsenal fan.
Carly giggled. ‘Gotcha!’ Then she pulled out a second parcel. ‘Actually, skinflint, here’s your real present – even though you don’t deserve one.’
It was a Nike Arsenal Home Replica jersey. I was made up. I was even more made up to see that Nike was spelled correctly. Carly definitely hadn’t bought this from Ravi and Jason. I grinned at her for real this time. ‘Thanks kid,’ I mumbled.
‘Come here, you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been waving that mistletoe around all day so I guess we’d better not let it go to waste.’
Then, for a glorious 30 seconds, she gave me a kiss that, given what it did to my anatomy, should have come with a government health warning. But, just as I was about to have a cardiac arrest, she broke it off and said, ‘Look I gotta go, but maybe we could hook up for drinks on New Year’s Eve, yeah?’
It was all I could do to nod as I had no blood left in my head. It had all rushed elsewhere.
She gave me one of her enigmatic grins. Sometimes I think she could play the part of Mona Lisa without rehearsal. ‘Good. I’ll text you.’
Then she was gone before I could give her the present I’d bought her. It was a silver chain with a star on it. I didn’t rush after her – though I could have caught up with her easily enough. I didn’t want to risk her showing it to Tyrone and them having a laugh at my expense. Maybe I was being paranoid, but Christmas’ll do that to you when the girl you’ve got a thing for is off with a guy who’s nuts about her and who thinks you’re a complete git. I felt the same way about Tyrone, but he was bigger and considerably tougher than me so I decided to shut up shop and go and get bladdered.
