Alik had diverted their payments through so many laundering rings that it would be impossible to unpick them before they disappeared again. And it was in his interest to help them disappear, until he needed them again. But he wouldn’t find them even then. This had been their last ever job, but neither Kaisa nor Alik knew that yet.
He would tell her it was all over when they were safely in Egypt, a country with no extradition treaty with the UK. He had bought a villa on the edge of the Dead Sea where they could sunbathe, go sightseeing, and she would put on weight.
He smiled down at her and kissed her hair softly, putting his arm around her thin shoulder. He had enough money now to care for her, and get her the help that she needed. And to live off for the rest of their lives. Alik had always paid well, and very soon, he would pay Stevan again.
***
The house looked innocent enough, just like any family detached. Set back off the Seven Mile Straight, in a sharp cul-de-sac. Its neat flower beds were newly weeded, and its shiny black gate was painted to match the front door. There were no red lights shining, no foaming Jacuzzis in the garden. Not even any half-dressed women sitting in the window displaying their wares, in an attempt to turn demure Antrim, into Amsterdam by the River Maine. Just a trio of gnomes, all clothed, fishing in an imaginary pond by the gate, and a neat set of net curtains, making the windows proud to be seen. Liam was disappointed. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of a rural brothel, but this certainly wasn’t it. He’d hoped for some jokes to tell about the visit at least. What an anti-climax.
Keith Ericson drove them sedately to the end of the cul-de-sac and parked, not at all put-out by the house’s boring aspect. He had been here before.
Liam undid his seat-belt and made to get out of the car, turning to grab the sketches from the back seat. Then he noticed Ericson putting his seat-back down and slowly closing his eyes, as if he was about to snooze.
“Here. What’re you doing, Keith? We’ve to go in with these. Come on.”
Ericson yawned, with a half-open mouth. “Look Liam, would you mind doing it yourself? I was up half the night with our John’s wee girl. She’s with us for a few days and she’s teething, so we didn’t get a wink of sleep. I’ve been in there loads of times, there’s nothing very exciting. I phoned Lilith to expect you.
He pulled his peaked cap down over his eyes and waved Liam away. “It’ll only take you five minutes.”
Liam looked at him annoyed, then shrugged and slammed the door hard behind him. He ambled towards the house waving his warrant-card ostentatiously, trying hard not to look like a punter, and reached the front door without seeing any neighbours watching.
There were no other cars parked on the short road. Still, it was only six-thirty, probably their quiet time. Liam laughed at the images in his head, searching the front door for a bell.
It was discretely hidden behind a hanging basket and he pressed it hard, half-expecting to hear a chorus of ‘Je t’aime’. A disappointingly weak ding-dong rang out instead. Another anti-climax.
After thirty seconds the door opened sharply inwards and a tall, slim brunette in her thirties was standing there, wearing a business suit and black Elvis Costello glasses. He sneaked a look past her down the short wainscoted hall. Still no naked women.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes.” He produced his I.D. and tried for gravitas. “I’m from the police. I’m here to meet Megan McHenry. She was contacted by Inspector Ericson, about a sketch we’d like her to look at.”
The brunette scanned him briefly and sceptically, and then led the way down the hall, into a small chintz sitting room. Liam grew more disappointed by the minute; it was just like his Mother-in-law’s. Leaving him there with a cup of tea and the promise of someone coming to help him, she dismissed him with a haughty look. Liam looked around the room while he waited, straining to see the polished china ornaments and over-plump velvet cushions as sex–aids, and failing badly.
A minute went by before the door re-opened, and a small red-haired twenty-something walked in, also wearing a suit. They all looked like accountants. She looked at him disapprovingly and then beckoned him to follow her.
“Where am I going now? I just need to get these sketches looked at.”
The young woman peered crossly at him over her glasses, admonishing him with a glance. “I’m taking you to your appointment. Have some patience.” He shut-up quickly. She reminded him of Annette in ‘head-girl’ mode.
They walked through another door and down two flights of stairs, into a long straight corridor with rooms on either side. The place was like a Tardis. Finally, she knocked on a door at the end of the corridor and was answered by a muffled. “Come in.”
She pointed him forward and turned on her heel, walking away briskly. Liam walked into the room cautiously. It was totally dark and his fight or flight instincts reared, until a low red light flickered on, accompanied by dark music with a heavy baseline.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the sight of the brunette and a blonde sitting at a table in front of him, clad in identical suits. It was like an accountant’s cult.
“Here now. This is very interesting and all that, but which one of you two ladies is Lilith?”
Without warning a key turned in the lock behind him, and they answered him in unison by standing up. Then he noticed that the dim light was masking walls of ceiling to floor leather with an assortment of cuffs and manacles built into the fabric. And that the ceiling above him was completely covered in mirrors.
The women reached for the necks of their jackets and with one tug, their whole outfits came off, revealing stockings and black satin basques. The brunette lifted a whip from behind the desk, while the blonde reached over and grabbed Liam firmly by the lapel.
“Inspector Ericson said that you have to be punished severely, for being a very naughty boy.”
The next sound heard by Keith Ericson, standing outside the door, and probably by half of Antrim, was. “Keith, I’m bloody well going to kill you, get me out of here...” He only hoped that his new camera had caught it all.
***
Annette was still in the office when the phone rang, and Liam’s deep voice boomed hoarsely down the line, informing her that he wouldn’t be back for a while.
“What’s happened at Lilith’s? And when are you coming back, you skiver? I’m buried under paper here.”
“Oh, Lilith’s. Aye well, I’m sure Keith will fill you in. Sorry about the paper but I’ve got to head to St Mary’s, Cutty. Danni’s gone into labour.”
She felt immediately guilty for giving him a hard time. “But she’s not due for weeks yet, is she?”
“No. The baby’s coming early. The same thing happened with Erin. Sure, it’ll be fine, but she’s up to High Do, so I really need to be there. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll keep on with things here. I’ll call the chief or Dr Winter if I need help. You forget everything and just go and see Danni. And tell her good-luck. Let me know how it goes, will you?”
“Aye, I will. But it’ll come out kicking and screaming like they all do, deciding it doesn’t like the view already. Give the Doc a call for me and say sorry. I said I’d drop down.”
She dropped the phone softly, then thought for a minute and picked it up again, dialling the lab. John Winter answered in three rings.
“Hello, Dr Winter.”
John looked at the receiver, puzzled. Annette never rang him direct, although she always could. “Hello Annette, anything wrong?”
“Liam says that he can’t make your meeting, Danni’s gone into early labour.”
“How early?”
“About three weeks I think, so not too bad. She may settle, and if not the baby should be ok anyway, shouldn’t it?”
“The dates might be wrong. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“It happened with Erin too, so he’s not too worried.”
“He might not be worried, but if he’s got any tact he’ll try to look as i
f he is. Looking casual while Danni’s in labour won’t score him any points.”
“And we all know Liam’s got zero tact, so it’ll be ‘null points’ for him.”
***
Craig lay back on the bed in his small hotel room and looked at his watch; 7pm. They’d made good headway today, and he was certain they would catch a real break tomorrow. It was still light outside and he wondered what to do with his evening. He had a few options. There was a standing invitation to Yemi’s; Trevor Merton was in town, and...
He looked reluctantly at the theatre-ticket sitting beside his suitcase, instantly feeling less relaxed. It lay there as if it was expecting him to use it, and he knew that he should. He felt like a coward for even thinking about not going, but he was.
He didn’t need any more pain in his life. He’d finally reached a place where Camille could only hurt him when he accidentally opened an old photo-album. And Lucia had managed to hide most of those away. And he didn’t think about her every day now, just once in a while, when certain music was played, by someone else’s choice. Or when it was a special day; an anniversary, Christmas, birthdays, holidays. He smiled to himself ruefully. OK, there were still a lot of special days.
No one else had stood a chance since her, he knew that. He’d been too badly burnt. It wasn’t that he hadn’t met women he liked, or even liked to date over the past five years. It was that, when it got beyond the liking, to them caring for him, or to when he started to care about them, he guillotined every relationship. Kindly he hoped, but quickly.
There was no point. He’d invested everything once, for nine years, and she had shredded his heart, putting her acting career above everything. He relented slightly, remembering her pretty smile and soft blue eyes, stepping back slightly from his harsh judgement of her. OK, she hadn’t just shredded his heart; he’d done the same to hers. His career in The Met had pulled him away just as hard as hers had.
His next thought stung hard and he closed his eyes, trying to push the pain down but failing. She hadn’t just left him, she’d left him for another man, and the pain had nearly killed him, attacking him on every level.
Craig tried to close out the images of a stranger’s hands on her soft skin, his mouth on her body, and more, worse... But he couldn’t. He’d tried for years and he still couldn’t. What did that make him? Chauvinistic? Neanderthal? Insanely jealous? Male? Or just so in love that he couldn’t bear the thoughts or the images of her with someone else.
She’d said that the man could help her career, as if that was any excuse. And, although she’d never say it, he knew that he couldn’t. He felt as if he couldn’t look after her on any level: in her career or in bed. Shred, shred, shred, Camille. Now he had no heart left to shred.
Except maybe he did, or he’d be able to go along tonight, watch her acting and enjoy it. Applaud, maybe even have a drink with her afterwards, and then leave the bar alone.
His mobile phone rang noisily, jerking him out of 2007. ‘Annette’. It wasn’t like her to call him twice in one day. “Hi Annette, good to hear from you. Is everything ok?”
“Yes.”
She was slightly breathless. Not the running type of breathless, the excited type.
“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you, I hope I didn’t...” came tumbling out, as she went on without waiting for his reply. “Danni’s gone into labour, so Liam’s had to go.”
“Is she OK?”
“Yes, fine. Although I’m sure Liam will manage to make things worse.”
Craig laughed and she hurried on. “Did Liam tell you that Watson, Bob Leighton and both the Greers were on the Strategic Finance Foundation?”
“Yes, he mentioned that you’d found a link there. He said you were working it up, what did you find?”
“Lots. One of the main projects the S.F.F. is working on is called Horizon. It’s a huge capital-building programme with millions invested already. A joint initiative with some developer called Derek Tucker based down in Waterford. Anyway, the minutes of the last meeting showed that Joe Watson - he’d only been on the board for nine months since the outgoing Minster Ron Burgess left. Anyway, it shows that although the programme approval and some major investment had already occurred, Watson was talking about pulling the public funds out of it.” Craig was sitting up now, this was something, he was sure of it.
“He’d commissioned a separate report looking at the ‘Return on Investment’ for the project and it came through two weeks ago. It basically said that Horizon wasn’t good value. The word was that Watson intended to shut the whole project down. The decision has to be announced formally at the next board meeting for it to be valid, and the board’s due to meet next week, on the 18th.
Watson has the final veto on all projects involving public money and he was definitely going to pull the plug on it next week, I’ve just confirmed it with both him and with Mrs Watson. He told her.”
“Right.” Craig knew that she was onto something but he had to play devil’s advocate. “Surely they stop projects all the time, Annette?”
“Yes. That’s why I did a bit more digging. Tucker told me that a lot of the contracts and money for the build had already been awarded to companies. They weren’t his, but he gave me the names of three and I chased them up. It turns out they’re all dummies, set up very recently, out in the Cayman Islands.
I haven’t got behind the names yet, but I bet you that someone on the Foundation’s board was going to make money out of this whole Horizon thing. And they wanted Joe Watson stopped before he gave the veto.
My first thought was that Declan Greer had something to do with it, but everyone Davy has spoken to about him says that he’s a nice man. Bit of a gambling habit but honest. They also said that he wouldn’t dare make a move without his wife’s say-so. So I dug a bit deeper on Joanne Greer.”
She paused for breath and Craig smiled to himself. She was becoming as good at the deskwork as Liam was on the street. They made a great team, even if they didn’t always realise it.
“Anyway, I went digging and got more on her, so D.C.I. Cantor and I are going to interview her tomorrow. But my bet is that Declan Greer wasn’t the one involved here, and...”
Craig inhaled as if to interrupt, Annette sensed it and kept talking, very quickly.
“I think that maybe he’s innocent, and expendable. And that it wasn’t only Watson and Bob Leighton who were in the way.”
She paused then to allow Craig to contradict her, but he wasn’t going to. This was leading somewhere. He stayed quiet and she went on again.
“There’s a bit more too, sir. I looked up Joanne Greer; well to be honest she’s the only one I suspect now. She’s the only one on S.F.F. who hasn’t been threatened or killed, apart from a couple of retired execs who live in Guernsey. And they don’t get involved in the day-to-day work; they just seem to be on the board to make up the numbers. So I looked into her background.
The Greers lived in London for seventeen years, until thirteen years ago in fact. She trained as a barrister over there and practiced criminal law, always as a defence barrister. And she defended some nasty buggers too. They make our lots’ worst efforts look like bloody ASBOs.”
Craig could see why she was agitated. Enough to swear, always a no-no for Annette. He decided to interrupt her now for real, partly to calm her down.
“Annette...”
“Sir...but.”
He insisted, gently. “I need to say something. Firstly, this is brilliant work, really excellent. And secondly, do you have a list of the criminal clients that Joanne Greer defended in London?”
“Yes, sir. Here in front of me, that’s what I really rang about. But I haven’t had a chance to check them all yet.”
“You can fax the list over to me tomorrow, but at the moment just look carefully. Is there an Alik Ershov on there?”
They descended into silence. The only sound audible was her quiet breathing, as she searched the list. Craig willed her intensely to say ‘yes’. Then she an
swered him excitedly.
“Yes, yes, sir. He’s here! He’s here. She successfully defended him on three occasions between 1992 and 1999. She got him off a fraud charge, a living-off immoral earnings ...and a murder! Sir, she got him off the murder of a man who worked for him. Lev Chopiak.”
Yes! They had a link between Joanne Greer and Alik Ershov. But there was something else that he wanted.
“Annette, this is great stuff. Go home now, or Pete will think that you’ve left him. But I want you in early tomorrow morning to follow-up that connection. The money trail will take a while to come through - Davy can dig a bit deeper on that. And Nicky’s already pulling airplane passenger lists and CCTV to run through. She’ll tell you about all that. But what I want you to do tomorrow morning is find anything that links Joanne Greer and Ershov recently, over the past twelve months, and particularly since Watson joined S.F.F.
That means any money changing hands, or any big withdrawals from Joanne Greer’s accounts. She’ll have separate accounts from her husband; I’m certain she will, so check them all.
Get her phone records, home, mobile, office, everything. Go to Judge Standish for any warrants that you need, he’s quick and he’ll see you anytime, 24/7. Do your interview with Derek in the afternoon, please; I need those connections by lunchtime. Tell Davy to drop everything else and help you with it. We’ve got Ershov coming in about 10.30 tomorrow morning and I want to have something up my sleeve for leverage.”
“I’ll be on it at seven, sir. There’s one last thing. Did Dr Winter call you again?”
“No. What about?”
“He got a match on the D.N.A. from Bob Leighton and the lipstick officer Sinclair got, and it’s been backed up by the prints.”
“That’s great; Kaisa’s in the system then. What was the crime?”
“That’s the thing, sir. She wasn’t a criminal, she was a victim.”
She paused, speaking more slowly. “She was a war crimes victim, sir. She was only seven when her fingerprints were taken. I don’t know any more about it, Dr Winter has everything.”
The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 26
