by Val McDermid
Probably the only thing they could do now was to keep Mann under surveillance until he targeted his next victim. It was time for Marijke to put ambition to one side and whistle up the cavalry. He’d better call her, he realized. First, however, he had to finish making his stroll round the marina look innocent. Tony turned away from the Wilhelmina Rosen and walked on along the quayside, occasionally pausing to study one or other of the barges. It was boring, but necessary. Like so much in the profiler’s life, he thought with a smile. But what was a dose of tedium compared to the high of saving lives?
Krasic swung the big Mercedes into the marina and cruised slowly along the perimeter. ‘I know this place,’ Krasic said. ‘We’ve kept barges here before.’ Suddenly, he pointed over to the side of the quay where a man with a camera was pottering along studying the boats. There he is. ‘That fucking bastard Hill,’ he said.
‘That’s him?’ Tadeusz sounded incredulous. ‘The little guy in the stupid tweed jacket?’
‘That’s him, I swear.’
‘Give me your gun.’
‘What?’ Krasic was wrong-footed. He was the enforcer, not Tadzio.
‘Give me your gun.’ Tadeusz held out his hand impatiently.
‘You’re not going to shoot him in broad daylight?’ Krasic asked. The mood his boss was in, anything was possible.
‘Of course I’m not going to shoot him. Just give me the gun. When I get next to him, bring the car alongside.’
Krasic reached round to the small of his back where a subcompact Glock G27 nestled in a padded leather holster. He drew the gun and handed it to Tadeusz. ‘Nine in the magazine,’ he said abruptly.
‘I don’t plan on using it. At least, not yet,’ Tadeusz said coldly, putting the gun in his raincoat pocket. He got out of the car and walked briskly over to the man Krasic had pointed out. As he came up behind Tony, he closed his hand round the comforting grip of the pistol. Drawing level, he jammed the muzzle of the gun into Tony’s ribs. ‘Don’t move, Dr Hill,’ he said, his voice brutal, his free hand gripping Tony’s arm. To a distant observer, it would have looked like two friends meeting and greeting. ‘That’s a gun.’
Tony froze. ‘Who are you?’ he croaked, unable to see his assailant.
‘My name is Tadeusz Radecki.’
Tony couldn’t help the spasm of shock that gripped his muscles. He twitched violently in Tadeusz’s grip. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’
Tadeusz jabbed the gun viciously against Tony’s ribcage. ‘Don’t act stupid.’ He heard the purr of the Mercedes engine as it came up behind him. The car stopped and Krasic got out. ‘Get the back door, Darko.’
Krasic opened the door and Tadeusz pushed Tony inside, taking the gun out of his pocket as he did so. He climbed in beside him, holding the gun pointed at his stomach. ‘A gut shot is the worst way to die,’ he said conversationally.
‘Look, there’s been some mistake,’ Tony protested feebly. ‘I have no idea who you guys are and you’re obviously mistaking me for someone else. Just let me go and we can forget all about this.’ Pathetic, he thought. Where’s your training now? Where’s that famous empathy now?
‘Bullshit,’ Tadeusz said, his tone curt. ‘You’re not only fucking Carol Jordan, you’re working with her. Darko, find us somewhere we can talk.’
Tony’s brain raced into overdrive. They knew who Carol was. Her cover was blown. They knew who he was, and they wrongly assumed he was here because of them. What were they doing here though? How could someone have followed him? He must surely have noticed, so haphazard had his travels been. But then, he hadn’t been looking for a tail.
He pushed that thought to one side. Nothing could be more irrelevant than how Radecki came to be here. What mattered now was finding a way to protect Carol. He was under no illusions about what he was dealing with here. These men were killers. If he had to buy Carol’s life at the expense of his own, so be it. Saving her was what mattered. If ever he had needed all his ingenuity, he needed it now. He made himself hold Radecki’s stare without flinching.
He was surprised when the car suddenly came to a stop again. He hadn’t been paying attention to anything other than the man in front of him. Now, he glanced over Radecki’s shoulder through the window. They were in a more remote part of the marina, a much smaller dock with room for only half a dozen vessels. There wasn’t another person in sight. The Mercedes had stopped alongside a steel barge painted battleship grey. ‘Give me a minute, boss,’ Krasic said, climbing out of the car. The boot lid rose, and Krasic disappeared behind it. He re-emerged, tucking a crowbar inside his jacket.
Tony watched with mounting anxiety as Krasic looked around him, then ran nimbly up the gangplank to the barge. He climbed on to the hatch cover and swiftly popped the hasp of the padlock holding it shut. He slid it open and peered inside. Then he hurried back to the car, giving Tadeusz the thumbs-up signal.
‘We’re going to get out of the car and we’re going to board this barge. If you try to run, I will shoot you in the legs. I am a very good shot, Dr Hill,’ Tadeusz said calmly. ‘There’s no point in shouting either. This place is deserted.’
Krasic opened the door and Tadeusz backed out, never taking his eyes off Tony, who slid across the seat and out of the car. Krasic grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him around. The gun was in his back again. He stumbled forward, almost tripping over the edge of the gangplank.
Once on board, he was marched up to the open hatch. Krasic clambered on to the ladder with surprising ease for so bulky a man. He descended into the gloom below. There was the hollow sound of footsteps on metal in an empty space, then a dim glow appeared in the hold.
‘Get down there,’ Tadeusz ordered him.
Gingerly, Tony turned to face him and negotiated his way on to the ladder. He was a couple of rungs down when he felt an excruciating pain in his hand, so sudden and severe he had to let go. His feet went from under him, scrabbling in mid-air for purchase, and for a terrifying moment he swung by one hand. He looked up in panic, seeing Tadeusz’s hand swinging the gun butt towards his clenched fingers. Sweating with fear, he threw his injured arm round the ladder and managed to get one foot on a rung, pulling his undamaged hand out of the way at the last instant. He would never know how he managed it, but somehow he swarmed down the ladder fast enough to avoid any further attrition from above.
His shaking legs had barely reached solid ground when Krasic was on him, delivering a punch to the solar plexus that doubled him over in agony, his lungs screaming for breath, his muscles in spasm. Tony lay curled on the cold steel floor of the hold, a trickle of vomit escaping from the corner of his mouth. When he was next aware of anything outside his body, he saw Radecki towering above him in a distorted perspective that made him look huge and terrifying.
Krasic yanked him up by the collar of his jacket, practically throttling him. He threw Tony on to a pile of folded tarpaulins. ‘Sit up, you useless twat,’ he growled. Tony managed to prop himself up against the cold bulkhead. ‘Now, strip off,’ Krasic shouted.
Numbed with fear, Tony struggled to undress. It was made more difficult by the pain in his left hand. He thought at least two of his fingers were broken. The two men circled him like wolves tormenting their prey as his clumsy fingers worked his clothes off. Finally, he sat naked on the tarpaulins, breathing as hard as if he’d just run a mile. They’re doing this to humiliate you, to make you feel vulnerable. Don’t let them take control of your head. Keep thinking, keep your brain moving. The voice in his head seemed ridiculously reassuring, given the extremity of his situation. But it was all he had.
‘You’re working with that bitch against us, aren’t you?’ Tadeusz demanded.
‘No, you’ve got it wrong. I’m working on a serial killer case for Europol. That’s what I do, I profile serial killers.’ Tony said, steeling himself for whatever was coming next. Krasic delivered a brutal kick to his shins that made him whimper in spite of himself.
‘Wrong answer.’ Tadeusz
shifted his grip on the gun, holding it by the barrel. ‘She’s a cop and you’re working with her to bring me down.’
Tony wiped a drizzle of spit from his chin and shook his head. ‘Please, listen to me. I’m telling you the truth. Carol used to be a cop, it’s true. But she’s not any more. She went rogue. She changed sides. I knew her when she was a cop, I’ve been trying to talk her out of what she’s doing now.’
He saw the gun butt coming but he was powerless to do anything more than swerve helplessly. It still caught him, and he heard as well as felt the splintering as his cheekbone shattered. This time, he threw up properly, a stream of hot vomit pouring over his thighs.
‘Stop lying,’ Tadeusz said, his voice gentle and sad. ‘I know the truth. What is it they call it? A black operation. The sort of devious shit that never becomes public. I know what you people did. You killed the woman I loved because she looked like Carol Jordan. And then Carol Jordan moved in on me. Advised, no doubt, by your psychological expertise.’
Fuck, Tony thought. If that’s what they believe, there’s no way out of this. But he had to keep trying. ‘No, please. That’s not how it was. Look, Carol isn’t a cop any more, but she still has friends who are. One of them showed her a photograph of Katerina, after she died, not before. Because he thought it was amazing how alike they were.’ He paused to draw breath. The fact that nobody had hit him again gave him hope. ‘She decided off her own bat to take advantage of that. She decided she was going to get into bed with you. Literally and metaphorically.’ Big words for a battered man, he couldn’t help thinking irrelevantly. ‘I had to come to Germany for this murder investigation. The killer who’s targeting psychologists. You must have seen it on the news?’
Tadeusz and Krasic exchanged a quick look. Tony thought he saw a trace of uncertainty in their eyes. ‘I’m telling the truth,’ he said, almost sobbing. ‘I thought I could talk Carol out of what she was doing, get her back on track somehow. I love her. I don’t want her to be on the opposite side of the fence.’ He forced himself to cry, racking sobs that made his ribs scream in pain.
‘So what were you doing here, checking out the barges?’ Krasic demanded, his fist crashing into Tony’s ribs, smashing his opposite shoulder into the cold steel bulkhead.
Tony screamed with the pain, folding his arms across his chest. This time, the tears were real. ‘We’ve got a suspect,’ he gasped. ‘For the murders. We think he’s a bargee. His boat’s here. The Wilhelmina Rosen. Please, you’ve got to believe me,’ Tony begged. He wiped the strings of snot from his nose, trying not to think about the blood streaking them.
‘It’s a good story,’ Tadeusz said. Krasic looked at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘It’s a really good story. It’s almost good enough to be true.’
‘Boss,’ Krasic protested.
Tadeusz raised one finger. ‘It’s OK, Darko. There’s a very simple way to prove whether it’s true or not. We’re going to take our good friend Dr Hill back to Berlin with us. We’ve got a warehouse we can store him in temporarily. And then we run our little test.’
‘What test?’ Krasic said suspiciously.
‘If he’s telling the truth, then Carol Jordan won’t have any compunction about fucking me, will she?’
The cold hand of panic constricted Tony’s heart. What had he done?
36
Marijke put the phone down, struggling with mixed feelings. When Tony hadn’t called her back, she hadn’t known whether to be worried or pissed off. Either way, it left her hanging in mid-air, not knowing what was happening to her one semi-solid lead after weeks of chasing dead ends on the de Groot case. She also found, to her surprise, that she was feeling guilty about keeping her ideas from her colleagues. Reluctantly, she had to admit to herself that she was neither ruthless nor self-confident enough to put her own ambition ahead of the need to put a stop to these killings.
She’d pushed her paperwork to one side and drawn up a brief report of her reasons for suspecting Wilhelm Albert Mann. Of course, without being able to attach Tony’s name to the theory, it didn’t have the advantage of the weight of expertise, but she considered she’d done a good job of making it sound convincing. She’d concluded with the suggestion that, in the absence of any hard evidence, Mann should be put under surveillance.
Then she’d gone in search of Maartens, eventually tracking him down in the bar across the street where he’d stopped for a quick beer on his way home. ‘I want to send this to the cops in Köln,’ she’d said, thrusting it under his nose.
He’d read it carefully, sipping at his Oranjeboom with an expression of vague distrust. ‘Nice work, Marijke,’ he said when he got to the end of it. ‘I’m impressed with your knowledge of nautical knots.’
‘The internet,’ she said. ‘Great research tool. What do you think? Should I send it to them, or is it going to make me look like a crazy woman running on intuition rather than evidence?’
Maartens spluttered a mouthful of beer over his hand. ‘Marijke, if the guys in Köln are looking at as little as we are, they’re going to give you the keys to the city. If nothing else, it gives them something to do that feels like action. Sure, it might just be coincidence, but what you’re saying looks a lot like sense to me. It’s not as if this guy has any legitimate professional reason for being here in Leiden, since we don’t have commercial traffic on our canals. If this landed on my desk tonight, I’d have a team on the bugger by midnight. And I’d keep them on him till either he made a move or somebody else got killed at the other end of the country. Come on, let me buy you a drink to celebrate the first bit of forward movement we’ve had since de Groot got killed.’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, boss, but I’ll take one in the pump for later. I want to get this on the fax to Köln right away.’
Hartmut Karpf in Köln hadn’t wasted any time. Within fifteen minutes of her sending the fax, he’d called her back. ‘This is really interesting material,’ he’d said enthusiastically. ‘Look, I want to move on this fast. But it’s going to take a lot of manpower to do it properly. Is there any chance that you can come to Köln tomorrow? It would help me to convince my boss that it’s worth doing if you were here to make the case in person.’
‘I need to clear it with my commander, but I don’t think he’ll have any objection. Let me get back to you on that, OK?’
Half an hour later, she had made the arrangements. She needed to be in Köln by noon the following day. Which offered some interesting possibilities. Marijke checked her watch. Before she made any decisions, she had to check out flights.
It was turning into a very good day indeed. If only Tony would call, then it could get close to perfect.
The lane that ran past Matic’s farm was as black as an underground cavern. High hedges cut out any light from the farmhouse, and cloud obscured the thin sliver of the crescent moon. It was hard to believe they were only a couple of miles from the edge of town, so still and dark was the spring evening. Petra peered at a green and black world through night-vision goggles, courtesy of the Special Ops commander. She felt as if she were underwater, men swimming in and out of her field of sight like strange aquatic creatures, their faces obscured with goggles and masks to protect against the smoke and tear gas they’d be using when they stormed the place.
The laconic tough guys who had been strutting their stuff all afternoon, crowding out her office, lolling in chairs and sprawling on the floor, had been transformed as night had fallen. They’d become a disciplined team, economic of movement and stealthy as shades. As soon as it had grown dark, a couple of them had flitted across the yard, silently planting microphones in the walls of the farmhouse and diverting the phone line via their own communications system. No incoming calls would be able to get through, and if Matic or his wife tried to make a call, all they would hear would be an unanswered ringing tone.
Now the team had the farmhouse encircled. When the word was given, they would rush the place, breaking the door down with a hydraulic ram. Petra had the pl
an off by heart. First the smoke, then the tear gas, then the men would pour in. The primary objective was to secure the child, the secondary objective to capture Arkady Matic and his wife. Petra was to wait in the lane with the commander of the unit, only approaching once those objectives had been secured.
The commander was standing over his communications specialist. ‘Where are we up to?’ he asked.
‘They’re talking in the kitchen. One adult male, one adult female. The child is there too. The woman just told her to sit at the table. They’re about to eat dinner.’
‘Good. We’ll wait till they’re sitting down, then we’ll move in.’ He turned to Petra. ‘We want the minimum of fuss, so we’ll go in when they’re occupied with their food.’
She nodded agreement. ‘The last thing we want is a hostage situation.’
‘Quite,’ he said briskly, the fingers of one hand beating a tattoo against his thigh. ‘God, I hate the waiting game.’
They stood in tense silence for a long couple of minutes, then the comms specialist gave the thumbs-up sign. ‘The woman’s dishing up dinner … She’s sitting down and joining them. Yes, they’re all there.’
