Lethal Profit

by Alex Blackmore

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, as she took a final look at Sophie’s sad, shocked face. Then she quickly made her way to the end of the row, keeping as low as she could, thankful that the low light in the cathedral, and Sophie’s large hat, meant no one had yet noticed she had been shot. When she reached the end of the row, the desire to be outside had gone beyond urgent. As she pushed through the milling crowds of tourists, attracting angry curses and frowns for her haste, Eva tried to think through the situation.

  She looked up at the roof to try and locate where the shot could have come from. There was no mezzanine and apparently no upper floor. Unless the killer had found a hidden upper level then the shot must have come from someone in the church. Given that they had shot Sophie square between the eyes, they must have been standing right in front of them. In exactly the direction she was heading.

  But she could see no other way out of the circular building.

  Eva was near the doors now, the daylight was shining through and she could feel the cold of the air outside. The crush of people around her slowed her pace painfully but she was nearly there.

  Suddenly, a shrill scream filled the cathedral and echoed, bouncing off the ancient curved walls. They had found Sophie. She had to get out. Now.

  Waiting several seconds to try to avoid any connection with the scream, Eva began stealthily pushing her way more quickly through the crowd, many of whom had stopped and were looking back in the direction of the scream. A general muttering in the cathedral was turning into something more high-pitched and panicked as word of the grisly discovery spread through the building. Eva was only about ten people away from the door as she ducked and weaved, smiled apologetically and then forcefully pushed her way through, ignoring the exclamations and treading on feet that wouldn’t move. Only six people away. Four people. Two.

  Suddenly she was swept through the remaining crowds and into the watery sunshine outside by someone else. Eva attempted to wrench her arm free from the person dragging her. She was being propelled down the steps so fast she could hardly keep up and had to keep her eyes on her feet for fear of being dragged down the steps head first. They got to the bottom and Eva finally managed to look up.

  ‘Come,’ said Leon as he turned to her. ‘We have to go. Now.’

  Wiraj could have kicked himself. From his position standing on the seat behind the curtained lattice of an unused confessional he’d had a clear shot of Eva Scott when she’d been sitting down. His gun had jammed after he fired the first shot and, just as he’d pulled the trigger a second time, she’d ducked down and the bullet had embedded itself harmlessly in the wood of the tall chair behind. She’d remained crouched for several minutes next to the corpse and then suddenly she had moved down the line of chairs and, once again, the shot he’d squeezed off had missed, this time ineffectively grazing one of the religious icons at the back of the section of the church. He had to eliminate her, he thought grimly, as he dismantled the assault rifle which Joseph Smith had given him, and secreted the parts in the inside pocket of his small rucksack. Otherwise he would pay with his life. He pulled out a hand gun and tucked this into the back of the waistband of his trousers. Inside the confessional he drew a knife from the inside of his bag that had once belonged to his brother Nijam. He had retrieved it from his body at the petrol station where he had been murdered. It would be only fitting that he should use it to silence this woman, once and for all. An eye for an eye. The irony of the intense religious significance of the site was not lost on him, either – this building represented to him the religion Nijam had fallen into before his death, the religion that had weakened him. Wiraj firmly believed that Nijam would still be alive today if he had not allowed himself to be drawn into something so distracting, so direction-less, that was not part of his culture. He had lost all his fight. The fact that Wiraj had now committed murder in a building that was iconic of the religion he blamed for his brother’s loss was satisfying to him.

  Zipping up his rucksack, Wiraj secreted the knife on the opposite side of his body from the gun then pulled on a long coat, grabbed his bag and set out in pursuit of the fleeing girl. It was only once he was out of the confessional he realised he had left it too late. The throng of tourists kept him from getting closer than five people to Eva’s dark head, moving as quickly as she was towards the door. He had considered using his knife to hack people out of his way but that, of course, would draw far too much attention to him and the crowd was packed in so tightly that, if he were identified as the perpetrator, he would most certainly not be able to escape. Then he had glanced up at the doorway and seen that strange, intense man appear from nowhere, grab the girl and sweep her off her feet, down the steps and out of Wiraj’s range.

  FIFTEEN

  THE JOURNEY BACK TO THE CAR WAS a haze. Leon kept hold of Eva and continued dragging her forward at a blistering pace so that her arms felt as though they were being wrenched from their sockets. She allowed him to pull her along, not wanting to stop in the middle of the street because of the sniper from the cathedral, but it took all her self-control not to force him to let go of her. Finally, as they reached the car, she pulled her wrist free.

  He looked at her. ‘Get in.’

  She did as she was told, slamming the door and sitting rigidly in the passenger seat.

  ‘Put your seat belt on.’

  Silently, Eva obeyed.

  At first, Leon’s harsh tone and the violence of his actions had angered and confused her; he seemed constantly to change from friend to foe. But in the ten minutes it had taken for them to rush back to the car, a more sinister thought had occurred to Eva: Leon had disappeared minutes before Sophie had sat down next to her in the Sacré Coeur. He had not been standing where he had said he would be. She had looked for him just before Sophie had arrived and just after she had been shot and he had not been there, either time. Then he had suddenly appeared at the exit to the cathedral in precisely the area where she had worked out that the fatal shot would have come from. He had arrived exactly as Eva had been leaving and he seemed to know what had happened, even though no one else in that area of the cathedral had been aware of the murder. And he had lied to her earlier when she had asked him if he had a gun.

  Leon had both means and opportunity to have been Sophie’s killer. But what could be his motive? Had he just been using Eva to get to Sophie?

  She glanced up as she felt Leon’s gaze on her in the rear-view mirror. He looked away again as he took the Citroën up another gear and tore through some back streets, scattering pigeons and tourists. Eva felt an urgent need to get away from him. Leon left too much chaos in his wake and she never felt in control when he was around.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Did you see where the shot came from?’

  ‘No. Did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did she give you?’

  If Leon had seen Sophie take the memory stick from her bag then he had been watching them only seconds before the shot was fired. And yet Eva hadn’t seen him anywhere.

  ‘She didn’t give me anything,’ Eva lied.

  Once again, she caught him looking at her in the mirror. She met his gaze evenly, and then looked away.

  They were driving back down through the centre of Paris and Eva was beginning to recognise some of the streets and the Métro stops. She sat tensely in the passenger seat, wondering how she could best remove herself from Leon’s company, when suddenly a situation presented itself. As they waited at a set of traffic lights, a large fat man with very red cheeks, brandishing a map, began knocking on Leon’s window. The street was so narrow that he could reach the car from where he was standing on the pavement. Leon ignored him but the man kept knocking.

  Eva saw a muscle in Leon’s jaw start to twitch and she knew it was only a matter of time before he would respond. She sat still and waited.

  The man knocked again and Leon glanced impatiently at the lights, evidently willing them to change.
Eva prayed that they wouldn’t.

  Once again the tourist, obviously now just persisting for the sheer hell of it, banged on the window, three short sharp raps. All at once, Leon exhaled violently, reached over, wound down the window and began shouting at the tourist in French. In the same instant, Eva threw open the passenger door and launched herself out into the street, running for the corner at the end of the road where she could hopefully lose herself in the connected streets. Turning briefly, she saw Leon’s shocked face wearing almost the same expression as the fat tourist, then in an instant it turned to anger as the lights changed and the cars behind began impatiently sounding their horns.

  Eva turned again and ran. When she reached the end of the street she took a hard left, hearing the slam of a car door in the distance as she did so. She took the corner tightly and began running along a wide, flat pavement, her legs pumping as fast as they could go, adrenaline surging through her veins. Two blocks ahead she could see the yellow, circled ‘M’ of a Métro station. She ran faster. She was travelling down a broad road and realised that at any minute Leon, having the advantage of the car, would be able to catch her. She briefly considered turning off and trying to lose him in the side streets but she didn’t know her way around them and the Métro would provide a far more efficient escape route.

  Alert for the sound of a speeding car behind her, Eva pushed herself through pain barrier after pain barrier until finally she was within spitting distance of the Métro. Breathlessly, she turned her head again and looked behind, expecting to see Leon chasing after her, but there was only one car, a red Peugeot. Odd, she thought, but continued running until she reached the Métro where she extracted a single carnet ticket from her purse, threw herself down the stairs onto the platform and jumped on the waiting train.

  The train left the station and Eva tried to catch her breath. As she sat down and fought to take in great gasps of air, she glanced back at the platform, once again expecting to see Leon in pursuit. He was nowhere to be seen.

  Given the efficiency with which he moved, Leon would have had no problem slamming the passenger door shut and tailing her around the corner to the Métro before she had managed to run down the steps to the safety of the train. With his athlete’s physique and agility he probably could have chased her down the road on foot and still caught her. But he had been nowhere in the vicinity when she had turned round and now there was no sign of him at all. His lack of reaction went against everything she had learned about him and that made Eva very uneasy.

  She brushed aside the shiver of fear and focused her mind on what had just happened. Sophie had been about to tell her something back at the Sacré Coeur, something that Jackson had died for and that Sophie had now also paid for with her life. Something that was on the memory stick now in Eva’s possession. She felt in her pocket for the small stick and was relieved to find its tiny bulk still there. She pulled it out and looked at it and then realised she had no laptop. It was still at the hotel. Damn.

  Eva sat and thought as the train pulled into another station, slowly pushing west underneath the city, towards the Champs Elysées and, further on, the business district. She had to get to a computer where she could open this memory stick without the risk of anyone interrupting her. She couldn’t return to the hotel and risk Leon catching up with her there but a public internet café would be too risky. There was only one other person she knew in Paris. She checked her watch: 11.35am. The whole drama at the Sacré Coeur had taken less than two hours. Eva pulled out her phone and accessed the phone’s memory. She put the slim device to her ear and then waited as it rang three times and was answered.

  ‘Valerie.’

  SIXTEEN

  VALERIE OPENED THE DOOR TO HER flat in a pair of black jeans and a tight white T-shirt that clung to every curve. ‘Eva, come in,’ she said and opened the door wide. Immediately, Eva was struck by the change in her demeanour since the last time they had met; she seemed confident and self-possessed, rather than haunted and uncomfortable. The way she was standing made her appear several inches taller.

  Eva smiled warily and stepped into the flat, hearing the door click shut behind her.

  The space inside was modest; a tiny hallway leading down to several smaller rooms, a bedroom, bathroom and a second, larger bedroom. At the other end, Eva could see a kitchen with a small dining-table and to the left of that, a huge open living-room with floor-to-ceiling French windows framed on either side by heavy, dark drapes. The flat had beautiful wooden floors, and a pleasant, airy feel, with the sounds from the streets of the expensive and well-to-do 16th arrondissement drifting in through an open window. Eva couldn’t help wondering how Valerie could afford a flat like this on a receptionist’s salary, now that she didn’t have Jackson to support her.

  Valerie led her into the light of the living-room, to a huge peach-coloured sofa positioned opposite a widescreen TV that was attached to the opposite wall.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ Valerie said hospitably.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  Suspicion began to seep into Eva’s bones. This woman was nothing like the Valerie she had met at the café, who had seemed fragile and almost broken. Whilst Eva had never met Valerie before that day, so knew very little about her, she now felt like she was meeting her brother’s ex-girlfriend for the first time. Which one was the real woman?

  ‘Can I get you some food? You look very tired.’

  ‘No, thanks, I’m not hungry.’ Almost as soon as she said the word ‘hungry’ her stomach let out an almighty growl that seemed to echo around the room.

  ‘I’ll get you a sandwich,’ said Valerie, smiling and heading out of the room.

  ‘Valerie,’ said Eva at the retreating back, ‘where is your computer?’

  Without even checking her pace Valerie said, ‘In the bedroom.’

  Eva turned and walked out of the living room, choosing the first of the two bedroom doors, which opened to reveal a small bedroom with a low bed, polished wooden chest of drawers and more dark antique drapes. As she walked in she caught sight of herself in a large oval mirror; her cheeks were flushed but underneath her skin looked pale against the dark leather of her jacket. In the corner of the room sat a brand-new iMac complete with printer, huge speakers and a second monitor to the right of the first. Again, Eva experienced surprise. It was a very professional looking set-up. Why did Valerie need two screens? Eva remembered Leon insisting Valerie was at the heart of everything that had happened to Jackson. It gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. For a second, she stopped and considered what she was doing. Was this a stupid move? She thought about the risk she might be taking coming here – there was a chance that Valerie wasn’t who she seemed, but it was Leon who had obsessed on that and the fact that Eva didn’t trust his judgement made her dismiss what he had said. If the worst did happen, Valerie was a woman so at least she and Eva were relatively evenly matched physically. Eva drove the confusion of thoughts from her head and flicked a button on the back of the slim, white machine before it sprang into life. She was minutes away from unlocking the contents of the memory stick. The rest she could figure out afterwards.

  Five minutes later, Eva was reading a news website, unwilling to open the memory stick before she could be sure there would be no interruptions. She soon heard footsteps coming down the hall and then Valerie appeared around the door, balancing a tray of food and a can of drink. ‘Here, eat.’ She set the tray down on the bed and left without another word, closing the door with a click. Her unquestioning response to Eva’s phone call asking to use her computer was extremely unnerving and Eva couldn’t help feeling that she had just wandered into a lioness’s den. Nevertheless, she had to press on. Press on or go back – although where she could safely retreat to now she had no idea.

  At first, Eva tried to ignore the sandwich but the howls in her stomach were stopping her from thinking straight so she reached for the baguette and took a huge bite as she pulled the USB stick out of her pocket. The san
dwich was delicious – creamy cheese, rich ham and some kind of slightly tart sauce, probably mustard. She took another bite, then a long drink from the open can and waited for the USB stick’s folder to open up on the screen. The computer was fast and it took less than a couple of seconds before she was looking at the contents of ‘Mfiles’, Sophie’s name for the stick on which she had loaded all the information.

  Eva stared at the folder names and four jumped out at her: ‘briefing’, ‘forecast’, ‘test results’ and ‘read me.’

  She opened ‘briefing’ first and found it was a folder of collated newspaper articles and web research on a new type of health supplement that it was claimed could regenerate human cells. It was being launched by the company that Sophie had worked for. Eva skimmed through the commentators’ conclusions, which seemed first to challenge the idea that this was possible and then – six months later according to the dates on the clippings – to accept it.

  Eva was inclined to dismiss the idea as fantasy, a way for big business to make money by milking the human obsession with being young. However, when she came to the paragraphs on the make up of the algae, she was surprised to discover that it had been genetically engineered. That made it a whole different ballgame, as who knew what was possible in a plant that wasn’t cultivated from nature? She took a slow drink from the can and then opened an internet window on Valerie’s computer and typed the name of the supplement into the search box. Immediately hundreds of hits sprang up on most of the major news networks, indicating that a marketing campaign for the supplement was already under way. It was due to go on sale in the UK in just a week and commentators were predicting the first batches would sell out in hours. As one said, ‘in the quest for youth and health that most pharmaceutical companies peddle, Bioavancement S.a.r.l. seems to have found the Holy Grail.’