Perfect Death

by Helen Fields

  No she thought, she wasn’t imagining the danger. If Louis Jones’ killers were after the money, George Begbie’s house was the last place they had left to search. She phoned Glynis, telling her to pack a bag and get her daughter to pick her up. After that, Ava clock-watched until the bulk of her squad had left the office, then went home to pack. Half an hour later she was at the Chief’s house, waving Glynis goodbye.

  She unrolled her sleeping bag in the guest room, not that sleep seemed a likely outcome. Her head was buzzing and there was a battle, if not a war, raging in her conscience. Perhaps if she had talked to Chief Inspector Dimitri about her concerns for Jones he wouldn’t be lying on Ailsa’s table waiting to be cut apart now. If only she had shared her suspicions rather than trying to protect the Chief’s memory, and for what? But she knew the answer to that. The Chief would turn in his grave if he knew his widow would be left unable to pay the bills. As for the money secreted in the roof, that would require better information. It seemed likely that Begbie had killed himself rather than face up to what he’d done. The thought that she was covering up what might well have been criminal activity sat heavily with her, but what good would it do to start a formal investigation? Glynis Begbie would lose everything. George Begbie’s name would be ruined and perhaps he deserved that, but Ava couldn’t bear the thought of condemning him when he wasn’t around to explain what he’d done and why he’d done it.

  The nail through Jones’ lips had been the final nail in the coffin of Ava believing that there might be some innocent explanation for the cash in the attic. The gangland crime bosses Trescoe and McGill were undoubtedly involved, and that meant they believed something of theirs had been taken. How George Begbie had come by it was anyone’s guess, Ava thought, but it wasn’t a chance finding. Either the Chief and Louis Jones had banded together to steal the cash, or when Trescoe and McGill got sent down, Jones and Begbie had found a way to profit from the existing organised crime rackets. Either way, it had been a death sentence. You could never really clean dirty money, no matter how much time passed. The problem was that if Louis Jones had talked before he died, then Glynis’ house was the inevitable next stop for whoever had killed him. There was no way Ava was going to risk Glynis being there when they arrived. She understood how those men operated and it was brutal. They’d obviously been instructed to find Jones and make him talk. Whether he did or didn’t, he’d been a dead man walking. They wouldn’t stop until they found what they were looking for, and that, she had no doubt, was currently providing additional loft insulation above her head. Louis Jones’ killers wouldn’t want to go back to their boss empty handed. They would act as soon as they could, and that meant tonight. Ava heated up the curry she’d ordered from the takeaway, forcing herself to eat for energy in spite of her lack of appetite, then checked that all the doors were locked and made sure her taser was charged.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘It’s just a bug. Probably norovirus,’ Cordelia Muir told Jeremy as he fussed around her. ‘Honestly, don’t worry about me. Just don’t get too close. Wouldn’t want you catching anything!’

  Jeremy handed her a box of tissues and glared at busybody Liam Hood through the glass partition, as he nosed through the fridge. With a last reassuring pat on Cordelia’s shoulders, Jeremy went to confront him.

  ‘W-what are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘None of your business. Shouldn’t you be washing up or something?’ Liam said.

  ‘I’m not here to w-wash up. I help Cordelia now,’ Jeremy responded, checking on his boss through the glass. She was clutching her stomach, her head bent nearly to the desk. ‘W-was she like this yesterday?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re very interested. Worried it might be contagious, are you?’ Liam asked.

  ‘No, I w-was …’

  ‘Yeah, whatever, I was being sarcastic. There’s some filing on the side needs doing. Perhaps you should concern yourself more with volunteering and less with everyone else’s private lives,’ Liam said, slamming the fridge door shut and returning to his desk. Jeremy walked to the kettle, throwing the switch and waiting for it to boil. He didn’t like Liam. Liam talked about other people behind their backs and was disrespectful to Cordelia. He was mean.

  Jeremy took a cup of green tea to Cordelia and opened a window to let some fresh air in. There was an undercurrent of sweat and vomit that Cordelia would hate if she was aware of it.

  ‘You should go to the doctor,’ Jeremy said. ‘Liam said you’ve been ill all week.’

  ‘I know. The truth is that I’m too busy. You know how full the diary is. There’s nothing they can do for stomach bugs anyway. I’ll just end up spreading it to other patients who already have weakened immune systems. I swear doctors’ offices are the most unhealthy places in the modern world.’

  ‘I could phone for you. Make an appointment. I’m sorry to sound rude but you really don’t look w-well,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Cordelia said. ‘The number’s on my phone. Could you do that?’ She picked up a handful of tissues and ran for the toilet again. Jeremy picked up her mobile, wrote down the number for her general practitioner and went to his desk with Liam still glaring.

  ‘I told you to get on with the filing,’ Liam said.

  ‘I’m phoning the doctor for Cordelia,’ Jeremy replied.

  ‘Maybe you should let me do that.’ Liam bent over to grab the paper from Jeremy’s hand. He ducked, swivelled on his chair, and moved away.

  ‘I need to make sure she gets an appointment,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’ll do it from her desk.’ He shut the partition door to keep Liam away and called the surgery. By the time Cordelia returned, grey in the face and shivering through a sheen of perspiration, he was writing down a time and date. ‘They were busy until Monday, that’s five days away but there’s some virus going around and the receptionist said they’re swamped. I’ve made you an appointment with Dr Marylewski and put it in your diary. You mustn’t forget to go.’

  ‘Probably the same virus I’ve caught, which is rather reassuring if it’s doing the rounds. I won’t forget and Monday is fine. Chances are I’ll be right as rain by then. Thanks for doing that,’ Cordelia said sliding down into her chair. ‘Are you okay? You look worried about something?’

  ‘It’s not important. It’s just that Liam …’ Jeremy muttered.

  ‘Liam what? You can tell me, Jeremy. Don’t be nervous,’ Cordelia said, taking a tentative sip of the green tea and putting it straight back down.

  ‘I don’t think he w-wants me here,’ Jeremy said. ‘I must have done something wrong.’

  ‘You haven’t, I promise,’ Cordelia said. ‘Sometimes people get used to a working environment and a new face throws things out. Give it time. He’ll come around.’

  Callanach finally arrived home at 11.30pm. The artist’s impression of the man seen at the pub with Lily Eustis was useless. Not only would no one ever recognise a suspect by it, but Amelia had declared it looked nothing like the man only she couldn’t say why. On top of that, it turned out that the car Louis Jones was driving had already been crushed. It was uninsured, untaxed, and Chief Inspector Dimitri’s team had no way of knowing a murder was about to happen. As a result, the car had been shipped off to the wreckers and turned into a cube of mangled metal the day before. So much for Ailsa being able to compare Jones’ injuries with the damage to the car. He decided to wait until the next morning to break that one to Ava.

  After a long shower he climbed into bed with his laptop trying to shed the images of the day. He could still feel Louis Jones’ brains on his fingertips and that was as good a repellant for sleep as he could imagine. He picked up his mobile, wondering if Ava was still awake, too aware of the stress between them to allow himself to dial her number. Instead, he opted for an entry on his contacts list he’d been intending to call for weeks, work and time never allowing, and dialled the only journalist he’d ever completely trusted.

  ‘Lance,’ he said, when the mobile was answered. �
��It’s Callanach.’

  ‘I’m going to skip the part where I tell you it’s midnight and that I haven’t heard from you for three months. Instead I’m going to explain for, I don’t know, maybe the tenth time, that whilst you may be a police officer you do have a first name. Traditionally when people become friends that’s how they address one another. Are you phoning to tell me how much you’ve missed me, or to give me the scoop of the year? Preferably both,’ Lance said.

  Callanach smiled. ‘You want me to start again and introduce myself properly?’ he asked.

  ‘No, the accent was enough of a giveaway. How are you doing?’ Lance continued without waiting for a reply. ‘And thank you for asking. I’ve fully recovered from the police brutality last time you dragged me into one of your cases.’ Six months earlier Lance had provided some off-the-record assistance to MIT in tracking down two psychopathic killers. It was an unfortunate coincidence that another investigation had overlapped, leaving Callanach and Lance Proudfoot operating at the far edges of the law. Lance had been the one caught in the crossfire.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re still moaning about that. So a senior officer from Scotland Yard dislocated your ankle. Big deal. You’re a journalist. You’re supposed to be prepared to put yourself in harm’s way to get a story. I’d have thought the knowledge that you were morally in the right would have been enough reward in itself. Did you want me to send flowers?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘A bottle of single malt might have been nice. Even journalists have feelings, you know. I couldn’t ride my motorbike for weeks. Maybe I should have sued. Is that why you’re phoning? Am I being offered some compensation?’ Lance laughed.

  ‘Actually I need some help,’ Callanach said.

  ‘The sort of help that might lead to something I can print or …’

  ‘The sort of help that if you printed it, it would get us both arrested, or alternatively badly beaten, maybe worse. It’s best you know the reality up front,’ Callanach said.

  ‘Did your mother never teach you to talk to a girl nicely before asking if she fancied parking up?’ Lance laughed. The silence on Callanach’s end of the line was enough to stop his joviality in its tracks. ‘All right, spill the beans. What is it this time?’

  ‘Local knowledge,’ Callanach said. ‘The sort the police don’t often hear when people are too scared to chat. A man called Louis Jones is dead. He ran an underground car hire business for customers who might not want to leave a paper trail for one reason or another. Have you heard anything about him?’

  ‘Not a mention. I’ll ask around though, see what I can dig up,’ Lance said.

  ‘No, listen, don’t do that. If Edinburgh’s most well-informed journalist hasn’t heard anything, then there’s a good reason. Forget I asked, Lance. This one’s too hot at the moment.’

  ‘If you’re sure, it’s not as if I have people knocking down my door to give me exclusives. How about that dinner we never got around to organising instead? It’d be good to catch up.’

  ‘It would,’ Callanach agreed. ‘Can I call you another time to set a date? Things at work are … you know.’

  ‘I get the picture. Don’t be a stranger, though, you hear? I may moan about the ankle, but the truth is I haven’t had that much fun since, well, I can’t remember when.’

  Callanach rang off. He was short of friends in Edinburgh, and Lance – journalist or not – was one of the kindest, most genuine people he’d met since his arrival. That was exactly why he’d changed his mind mid-call. Whatever Louis Jones had been mixed up in was too risky for anyone he cared about. That went for Ava, too, only Callanach had the feeling there was an awful lot she wasn’t telling him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was 3.30am when Ava heard noises from the kitchen. The metallic clunking and squealing was the unmistakable hallmark of a lock being worked. She’d deliberately left the key in the door to make life harder for them. They couldn’t break the double-glazed panel above the handle without alerting the entire neighbourhood so they had to come up with something more impressive than that. It was the first indication that she was dealing with professionals. Ava stood, glad she’d remained fully dressed, sliding her feet quickly into trainers and stepping behind the curtains she’d left half drawn.

  There were whispered voices, soft enough that the sound wouldn’t have woken her from deep sleep, but it confirmed that there were at least two of them. She knew this was the point when she should be phoning for backup, but the same arguments that had stopped her from reporting the bundles of cash stopped her again now. They weren’t expecting her, which was one thing in her favour. More problematic was the fact that if these were the men who had shot Louis Jones earlier, then they were likely armed with guns. She stayed where she was, pressing back against the window, keeping her breathing calm and quiet.

  They weren’t ransacking the place, but they were searching. Louis Jones might have told them that Begbie had the cash, but they obviously didn’t know precisely where it was stashed if that was what they were looking for. It took several minutes before the men were ready to try upstairs but soon enough their footsteps murmured over the carpet.

  The door squeaked slightly as it opened. Ava held her breath. She was more used to entering other people’s properties at night than being the one practising avoidance. She felt out of control, and the adrenalin was making it hard to stay still.

  Someone went through the drawers, the wardrobe, pulled the bed away from the wall and slid their hands under the mattress before moving on to the next bedroom. All Ava wanted was a glance at their faces, preferably without being seen. She sneaked forward through the room towards the doorway, keeping low.

  The door swung open smacking her in the face, not hard but the shock was enough to make her cry out. Scrabbling backwards she noticed the torch forgotten by one of the searchers on the floor. She had time, as a man rugby-tackled her legs, to think what a rookie mistake she’d made. He must have been as shaken as her, coming back for his torch, finding some woman sneaking up on him.

  Her reaction was instantaneous and instinctive. She rolled to the left raising her right elbow to smash it into her assailant’s face, at the same time as drawing her right knee to her chest then kicking hard downwards, connecting with his upper thigh. His gloved hands reached for her neck as she tried to sit up. Ava let him come, one hand exploring behind her for a weapon, extending her free hand to thrust her fingertips into the soft area at the base of his throat. He backed off fast, breaking the pressure of her fingers. As he moved away, her hand closed on the only loose object beneath the bed, and she swung a shoe viciously towards his eyes.

  A booted foot stamped on her arm, pinning her to the floor. She felt the bones in her forearm grind against one another as the second man kicked her head like a football. It had bounced off the floorboards before she could control it. By then the second man was standing over the top of her, one foot still on her forearm, the other pressing into her shoulder.

  ‘What’s this then? That’s not very ladylike, fighting dirty like that,’ he said.

  ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ Ava whispered, making her upper body go limp, playing nice.

  ‘Ah, you see, that’s not going to work. It might have worked had you been in your pjs or a wee nightie, but you’re fully dressed. That’s a sleeping bag, I see. Who exactly were you waiting for?’ he said. Ava stared up at him. He was at least 6’4”, big built, with shoulders that could have passed as padding on an American football player.

  ‘I’m house-sitting for my friend,’ she said. ‘She’s in hospital for an operation and has to stay overnight. I didn’t want to put her out washing bedding so I brought a sleeping bag. Fell asleep reading,’ Ava said. ‘Take anything you want. I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Yet you fight as if trouble was your middle name.’ He reached a huge hand down and gripped her cheeks, pushing them together, making her teeth ache. ‘I’m going to need you to answer some questions. You should be aware be
fore I ask them that my friend here has a knife. You’re quite pretty at the moment. Do you like being pretty?’

  Ava nodded her head, no acting required for tears to form in her eyes as she fought the rising pressure in her head.

  ‘That’s good. Now, we have reason to believe there’s some money in this house. Money that doesn’t belong here. It needs to be given back. I think you can help show me where that money is. Don’t try to speak. Either nod or shake.’ Ava shook her head and the hand gripping her face began to tighten further. ‘I’m going to let you have that one. We’ll pretend you misunderstood me. Last chance. Are you going to show us where the fuckin’ cash is?’ Ava began drumming her feet on the floor, struggling to speak but emitting only gargling sounds. The big man leaned down close into her face. ‘Well, I’m disappointed but my friend is probably getting quite excited right now. He’s known as something of an artist in face-carving circles. What do you think, Knuckles, can you turn this face into a living nightmare to make sure she never forgets us?’ He stood up, releasing Ava’s face, keeping his legs either side of her body, her left arm still pinned to the floor. He faced his mate who was still catching his breath in the doorway.

  ‘How much time do we have?’ the smaller man asked laughing.

  ‘Oh, I’d say we’re good for an hour or …’

  Ava pulled the taser from her hoodie pocket with her right hand, finally able to stop the drumming with her feet she’d used to mask the noise of switching it on. Aiming as best she could, Ava shot up the big man’s legs towards his testicles. He had time to looked horrified before his entire body flew backwards and smashed into the wall. Ava had never heard a man scream quite that high or that loudly, and she’d seen men get shot. Then again, tasering a man in the testicles at half a metre away was not approved police procedure. The big man was down and still screaming, but Knuckles was lumbering over. Ava dropped the taser and jumped up. It was no lie about the blade. Knuckles brought it down towards Ava’s face with clumsy force. She made a cross with her lower arms several inches in front of her chest, catching his striking arm in the junction of her two wrists. Grabbing his wrist with her right hand and twisting it hard, she brought Knuckles’ upper body down to where she could smash her knee into his nose. The sound it made was all the confirmation she needed that it was broken.