IN THE SHADOW OF STRANGERS: A wealthy man is about to change her destiny …but it’s a secret.

by Wendy Reakes

  “No, I realise that. Poor Ben!” Then she remembered something. “Jack! Was that you I telephoned that day, when we had a wine delivery at Kathy’s?”

  “Yes, that was me! I wanted evidence that you weren’t involved in the scam,” Jack said.

  “So much has happened around me and I didn’t know it was going on.” Katherine looked at Gordon, his head bowed and his arms folded over his chest. “I must have been going around with my eyes shut all my life.”

  “No!” Gordon said. “You were the only one with your eyes open, Katherine. It’s the rest of us that messed everything up, not you. Your ambition is what kept you going while the rest of us ran around like chicken’s-with-no-heads. You’ve got nothing to admonish yourself for.” Gordon looked at Jack. “I want to say, I’m sorry. To both of you! If it wasn’t for me, a lot of this stuff wouldn’t have happened.”

  “But if it wasn’t for you, Jack and I would never have met.” She gazed at Jack, still with his arms around her.

  “Actually, you probably would have met anyway, despite me. It looks like you were meant for each other.” Gordon watched them from the doorway. “So what are you two little love birds going to do now?”

  “Well, we can’t go back to Bristol yet. Not while Warner’s still hanging about,” Jack said.

  “Let’s go to London, then. I’ve got a house there. Come and live with me, Jack. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

  “Okay let’s do it. I used to do a lot of work from London before I moved to Bristol. I can do that again. We can come back to Bristol together when we’re both working there.” He grabbed her and inhaled the scent of her hair, nuzzling her neck.

  A voice in the corner muttered, “Don’t mind me!”

  Jack looked up. “Close the door on your way out.”

  Chapter 80

  It’s the eve of the millennium, the 31st of December 1999 and Katherine was anxious to leave for the day. Outside her office, in a building on The Strand, four giant oaks lined the pavement. Most of the year they shielded her office from the afternoon sun, but today, bare of all their leaves, blinding rays shot through the branches and hit me right between the eyes.

  She pressed the buzzer and spoke into the intercom. “Bridget, can we do something about this damn sun?”

  Frank Warner waits in his car, parked amid others in the Four Oaks car park at the rear of the office building, where Katherine Killa’s office was.

  Staring out of the windscreen, he bit into the crust of his sandwich and went over his plan again. He’d been lying low for a month now, escaping the mystery surrounding Eva Long’s death. The Evening Standard, the only newspaper who’d ran the story, was still rolled up in the glove compartment of his new car. It said she had been murdered, that it was made to look like suicide. It said she had a man in her life, but they were unable to name him at that time. It said he, Frank Warner, was wanted for questioning, to help the police with their enquiries.

  He smiled to himself when he thought about the police trying to locate him. They’d gone to his home, of course. They’d pulled everything out and made a right mess of the place…But they didn’t know he had several other residences dotted around the country. Tossers!

  He’d already moved his money, filtered away into off-shore accounts long before Eva had been tragically killed, and ever since the police had tried to nail him on that wine run five-years ago. He’d offloaded his cafés, selling them to private bidders at an elevated cost, just so they could get their hands on multi prime locations.

  As he chewed bread, Katherine Killa appeared through the glass door at the back of the building.

  He threw the remnants of his sandwich on the seat at the side and watched her get into her car. He waited for her to start the engine. The sound of Frank Sinatra’s New York comes on the radio when he started up his car and as the Killa girl reversed, Frank drove past the back of her, forcing her to slam on her brakes. He laughed. He loved to stir ‘em up. He waited for her to drive past so that he could follow her home. New York, New York...he sang badly.

  He saw her glance in the rear view mirror so he put his hand across his face. She wouldn’t have recognised the car. It was new. He’d bought it for cash under his new name; Benjamin Corner. All original ID provided; passport, driving licence, you name it, he had it. No problem! That had been the easy part, getting Ben’s ID before his man wired up the device to the Corner’s alarm system. Losing the restaurant had been the hard part!

  When the Killa girl’s car turned into her drive, he pulled over on the opposite side of the road and waited for her to go inside. Frank stepped out and flicked on the central locking before he crossed the road towards her house. Two kids -thirteen or so- were standing on the pavement. They looked up as Frank walked past and slipped an envelope into one of their hands. Then they moved off down the road.

  Frank stepped over the low wrought-iron fence bordering the small garden and with long strides he went to the gate at the side of the house. The lock was already broken; the kids saw to that. He glided through and closed it quietly behind him, following the path to the fire escape stretching down from the roof-garden above. The kids had already released it from its permanent hold halfway up the wall.

  Frank climbed up the ladder and crossed the concrete terrace, where he pulled gently on the fire door leading directly into the top of the house. The crash bar had been broken from the inside and hung from one of the hinges. He was careful not to rattle it or make any noise when he walked straight into the Killa girl’s house.

  From the galleried landing on the first floor, he could see down into the kitchen where Katherine Killa was pouring herself a glass of wine. He waited in darkened recess until she went into the room next to the kitchen. He heard her talking to a man…Jack Taylor! Frank smiled.

  “Have a shower with me?”

  Franks chuckles to himself. He’d love to watch that.

  “Give me a couple of minutes and then come up.”

  Frank quickly re-calculated his moves and went quickly into the bedroom at the far side of the landing. He stood behind the door and waited with his gloved hand holding a mobile phone, one finger on the send button.

  He heard her walk up the stairs, cross the landing and come into the room. Then, as she stopped just inside the door, he quickly moved up behind her and wrapped his arm over her chest and around her neck. “Don’t make a sound,” he spat. He can feel her body shaking when he loosened his grip. “I’m not going to hurt you as long as you stay quiet. Understand?”

  She nodded and he let her go. “What are you doing?” she said. The look of fear in her eyes was justified. Frank was feeling in the mood to do some damage.

  “I’ve come for him,” he answered, nodding his head towards the door. “Gordon Bentley’s boy has poked his nose into my business too many times and nobody screws with ol’ Frank Warner.”

  Her voice was a half-whisper as her eyes followed his to the door. “What are you going to do?”

  “You’ll see.” He pulled a knife from his jacket pocket. “It’s payback time,” he said as he pressed the call button on his phone.

  Thirty-seconds later the front door bell rang long and hard, drowning out the noise of Katherine Killa’s scream as he ran the blade of his knife smoothly and sharply across her wrist, tearing the skin.

  “Jaaack…” she whimpered as she fell to the floor.

  The sound of the bell drowned out her voice as the blood from her severed vein stained the sleeve of her blouse.

  Finally, he dug the tip of the bloodied blade into the wooden dresser at the side of the door, and then he left as quietly as he’d arrived.

  “Jaaack!” the Killa girl screamed again.

  Chapter 81

  Jack wentalong the hallway towards the front door, vexed by whoever it was keeping their finger on the bell for so long. He swung it open and saw two young boys -thirteen or so. One of them held out a note. “Message from Mr. Warner,” the boy said, before they both ran a
way laughing.

  With the note in his hand Jack watched them disappear around the corner before he shut the door and walked down the hall towards the kitchen. He tore at the envelope as he went, screwing it into a ball as he read the scrawled handwriting on the page.

  Jack boy, meet me at Warren Street tube station. Seven-thirty tonight. Not a good idea to involve your mate Watts. This is between you and me. Don’t be late. Frank.

  Then he heard her scream. “Jaaack!”

  He ran, striding the stairs two at a time. When he turned the corner of the galleried landing, he heard the fire escape door close, before he entered the bedroom and saw Katherine lying on the floor.

  He fell to his knees and cradled her. He clutched the top of her arm tightly and she yelped at the strength of his hand wrapped about her reddening flesh. His gaze swept the room. Still holding her, he leaned over to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. He knew his belt was there, he just had to feel for it. He pulled it out and wrapped it around Katherine’s arm, glancing sideward at the knife protruding from the top of the dresser. “What happened?”

  Katherine grimaced with pain. “It was Frank Warner, Jack,” she said, her eyes wide with fright. “He said he’d come for you, and then he slashed my wrist with his knife.”

  Jack held onto her as he pulled his mobile phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “Ambulance.” He looked down at Katherine resting in his lap “Don’t worry, darling,” he soothed. “They’ll be here in a minute. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Jack. Who was at the door? It was something to do with him wasn’t it?”

  He nodded, gazing once more at the knife protruding from the dresser. “Frank Warner left his calling card.”

  Chapter 82

  It wassix-thirty when they got back to the house. “I don’t understand you discharging yourself like that, Katherine,” Jack said. He was angry at her for not listening to him, for not staying at the hospital overnight.

  “They said it was okay and you know I’ve got the party tonight, Jack. Anyway, I don’t want to spend my first day of the millennium away from you, in a hospital for god’s sake!”

  “You’re not still going to the party tonight?” Jack was incredulous.

  “Of course I am. I didn’t lose that much blood and I feel okay now.” She brushd her hair away from her face. “That’s the part I don’t get, Jack. Frank Warner could have done a lot worse than this. Why did he do it, if he didn’t want to kill me?”

  “A warning, I think. Who knows what that crazy bastard was thinking? But I still don’t think you should go out tonight.”

  “I’m not going to let Frank Warner frighten me.” She stood in front of him, blocking his way. “Come on, Jack. I’m fine, I promise. Be friends!”

  He takes her face in his hands and kissed her without lingering. “I’m going upstairs to change. I’ll meet you at the party later.”

  “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  Jack took the tube from Sloane Square to Warren Street station. When he got there he leaned up against a wall, watching the entrance to the station above the turnstiles. He glanced at his watch. It was still only seven-fifteen.

  Chapter 83

  She hada shower after she’d awkwardly wrapped a plastic bag over her hand to keep the bandage on her wrist dry. She vigorously rubbed a towel over her hair and applied her make-up as it dried. Her wrist was hurting and she was struggling with every movement. The doctor had told her not to move it around too much, but that was easier said than done. Bridget had offered to go over and help her dress. But Katherine told her she could manage just fine.

  The incident had hit the news almost immediately. She hadn’t had so much publicity since Ben had been killed. Jack had phoned Rose from the hospital. She’d been frantic, of course, but he’d assured her she was okay. She rang her on the way home and told her not to worry and that she would see her tomorrow when she and Jack drove over to Wales for the new year. Before that, in the morning, she had to go to the police station to make a statement. Happy new year!

  She stepped into a black Alexander McQueen empire-cut gown, with beads sewn into the bodice, pushing up her bosom. Long tight chiffon sleeves served to hide the gauze on her wrist. She tied her hair up with a beaded band, letting the natural curls drape down her neck at the back, then she threaded two silver hoops through her ears. She put on the watch Jack had bought her, the bracelet Gordon had bought he all those years ago, and the cluster of rings she wore on one finger. The earrings were also a gift from Jack. He’d seen her admiring them in a department store and bought them. “An early birthday present,” he’d said.

  Apart from the ache on her wrist and the threat of Frank Warner, she had never felt so good. She had found her soul-mate and she was happier than she’d ever been in her life.

  She took one more look at herself in the mirror. She looked okay apart from the bandage protruding from her sleeve. She placed two aspirins on her tongue and swilled them down with the glass of water. She felt lightheaded. She shouldn’t be going out tonight but she couldn’t not. She reached over and picked up the fax paper with her printed speech and read it one more time. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. She screwed it up and threw it in the wastepaper basket. She would definitely be ad-libbing tonight.

  The car was waiting for her when she went downstairs. Her regular driver from the agency stood at its side holding the door open for her. He silently moved away, down the street towards Sloane square, then to Victoria, to the Grosvenor House Hotel.

  Yvonne Warner’s car followed Katherine’s through the London streets. She felt as if she was in a daze, while being driven by the anger she felt in the pit of her belly. The police had called today, looking for Frank, again. She was sick of it, sick of hearing that man’s name every day of her life. He’d attacked Katherine Killa in her home that afternoon, they’d said. Slashed her with a knife and threatened her life. “Where is he?” they’d asked for the hundredth time. She didn’t know. She wished she did and then she’d kill him.

  She hadn’t seen or heard from Frank for five-years. He’d ripped her off for one-hundred-fifty grand on the transfer of the house, plus he’d taken off with a container full of boxes filled with all her merchandise. She’d lost two hundred and twenty-four-thousand pounds worth of stock, all lovingly collected in her little flat above the salon in Didsbury. Bastard!

  She watched Katherine Killa’s car turn towards Victoria.

  Yvonne was one step ahead of him now. She knew him well enough to be absolutely sure this wasn’t over. He could have killed that girl today, but he didn’t. There was more to come and when he showed up she was going to be there, waiting for him, to make sure he was out of her life for good. “Bastard!” she muttered as she followed the car in front.

  Chapter 84

  It wasseven-forty-five and Frank Warner still hadn’t shown up. Jack pulled his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket. He dialed the number.

  “Watts,” Detective Inspector Brian Watts said abruptly.

  “It’s Jack. He still hasn’t shown.”

  “Not here, either.”

  “Christ, what’s he playing at? I told you this doesn’t make sense.”

  “Calm down, Jack. We’ll give it till eight and then we’ll re-group.”

  “Re-group!” Jack raised his voice out of sheer frustration. “Look, Brian, I’m standing in Warren Street tube station wearing a dinner suit. I already look like James Bond on a mission, so don’t go using your detective speak on me. If Frank Warner doesn’t show in the next fifteen minutes, I’m getting on the next tube to Victoria. I’ve got a party to go to.” Jack turned to look at the large underground map on the wall behind him. He stepped back a pace to get a view of the route from Warren Street to Victoria Station.

  “Okay, Jack,” D.I Watts said. “I hear you. But we agreed we’d wait at each other’s locations until he showed.”

  Earlier, D.I Watts had been left a
note in his pigeon-hole. It was from Frank Warner, telling him to meet him at Paddington station at seven-thirty, exactly the same time that Warner had arranged to meet Jack. When Jack reported the assault on the Killa girl that afternoon, they’d both agreed to keep the rendezvous, with plain-clothes police back-up at each site, ready to make the long overdue arrest of Frank Warner.

  “Tell me again where you are.” Jack said slowly.

  “What?”

  “Tell me again where you are, Brian.” Jack said louder this time.

  “Paddington.”

  Jack ran his finger over the underground map in a straight line from Victoria to Paddington. He paused for a moment before he said, “Call me paranoid, mate, but if you look at the tube map on the wall there…if you look at your location, and mine, and where Katherine is right now…it looks like a V sign.”

  “So what?”

  “So, I think this might be Frank Warner’s way of sticking two fingers up at us, mate.” Jack gasped as he realised there was another calling card from Frank. “We’ve been had!” He almost commended the irony of Frank Warner’s warped sense of humour. “Warren’ as in ‘Warren Street,’ was an anagram of Warner.” Jack felt the tension between the two men on the phone deepen. “Katherine!” he whispered, as he hung up the phone and rushed for the next tube.

  Chapter 85

  Three hundred people attended the Don Banks Brewers millennium party. The men all dressed in black dinner suits, some hired, some not, and the ladies in long gowns, some hired and some not. Katherine was hosting one of the top tables near the stage. The other two tables were hosted by Steven Banks and Benson Hart, Katherine’s counterpart on the brewing side.