Denial (Sam Keddie Thriller Book 2)

by Paddy Magrane

  The two men were shaking hands, Thorpe beaming, Tapper managing a wan smile, his eyes dimmed and empty.

  Thorpe could see his partner in crime was not well, and disengaged from the handshake to let Tapper sit down.

  He invited questions from the assembled press.

  ‘I see a familiar face,’ Thorpe said, pointing into the pack with a flirty look on his face. ‘How can I help, Penny?’

  The screen now showed a slim, pretty woman with long, flowing blonde locks. She gave Thorpe a coy smile.

  ‘Tasty,’ muttered the nose-picking man, who’d clearly selected this particular shot.

  ‘Our readers will love this initiative,’ said the blonde journalist. ‘But what’s it going to cost the taxpayer?’

  ‘A lot less than the cost of detaining those who might arrive here and have no case for staying, I can assure you. But remember, we are funding this jointly with the French, so it’s a shared cost.’

  No doubt this new contract ensured Tapper Security was still quids in, even if the number of immigrants that needed detaining in their centres began to drop. Sam’s fist clenched in fury, even as his stomach pitched with apprehension.

  Hands clutching pens shot back into the air. Thorpe smiled again, pointing into the audience. ‘Ahh, the Guardian.’

  The camera remained focused on Thorpe, while a man’s voice spoke up: ‘Do you really think immigrants pose as great a threat as Napoleon’s troops or the forces of the Third Reich?’

  Thorpe tilted his head to one side and looked at the hack like a mother might at a toddler who’s just tipped their food on to the floor.

  ‘I can see the headline now,’ he groaned. ‘For the record, those were not my exact words. If you’d been listening, you would have heard me say that we are not at war. We are, nonetheless, facing a threat to our way of life. Listen,’ he said, his voice morphing from mild irritation to conciliatory, ‘immigration, as politicians from across the political spectrum agree, needs better management. And of course tighter border control goes hand in hand with the work of the Foreign Office and the Department for International Development, as they seek to stabilise the countries these immigrants are fleeing.’

  The questions were wound up ten minutes later and the audience began to file out of the room, leaving Thorpe’s coterie behind.

  It was Sam’s turn now.

  He stood, felt his head pound with tension, and walked towards the door.

  Chapter 76

  Dover, UK

  Sam waited as the audience filed out. Then, when the room was all but empty, he moved forward. The woman with the clipboard nodded at him, and Sam pulled off his coat and handed it to one of the police officers. As it glided through the scanner, the other officer ran his hands over Sam.

  He wondered whether these men were trained to spot stress. If so, he’d be pulled to one side any minute. His body was rigid with it.

  But the officer gave Sam the nod and the woman began escorting him to the front of the room.

  Thorpe was chatting to a small group as he approached. The Minister noticed him immediately, and knew exactly who he was. He fixed Sam with a glacial smile, peeling away from his conversation and extending his hand. Sam, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, shook it. The MP’s hand was dry, firm, super-confident. Fingers dug into Sam’s flesh.

  Thorpe turned to another man. ‘Dominic, I need ten minutes with this gentleman. Sir Harry will be joining us.’

  Sam looked down at Tapper, who was still sitting in the front row, his face glazed, as people moved around him.

  Dominic nodded and Thorpe led Sam into a side room. It was a smaller conference area, and a pile of bags and some coats suggested that this was where Thorpe had got ready. At the head of the room was a table with three delegate chairs and a tray laid with some glasses and a jug of water. The table faced about ten rows of seats.

  ‘Come on, Harry,’ said Thorpe, chivvying Tapper, who was moving sluggishly, like a crushed man.

  Tapper entered the room and Sam noticed his eyes, which were clouded and dreamy, suddenly spark with interest when he saw him. He’d wondered whether Tapper was tranquilised, but now he suspected not. Which was just as well. He needed the man awake for what was coming.

  Thorpe closed the door behind them. He then gestured for both men to move away from the door, which had a window of glass in its upper half. They made their way to the end of the room. Tapper perched on the table while Thorpe and Sam stood facing each other to his side. They were now out of sight to anyone looking through the door.

  ‘You know Sam Keddie, Harry.’

  ‘All too well,’ said Tapper, with a voice that had a lot more life than his languid body movements. There was venom there too and again Sam felt a wave of terror at the thought of being alone in a room with two killers, men who had every reason to hate him.

  ‘I wonder if you could do me a favour, Mr Keddie?’ said Thorpe. ‘Could you remove your phone from your pocket?’

  Sam pulled the phone out.

  ‘Please remove the battery.’

  Sam opened the back and took out the battery.

  ‘Now empty your pockets.’

  Sam did as he was asked. He laid a pen and his wallet on the table by Tapper. Thorpe fanned out the wallet and then pulled the contents from it. A handful of notes dropped to the table, then a photo of Eleanor. Sam wanted to slam a fist into Thorpe’s smug face.

  ‘Do you realise who that is?’ said Sam.

  Thorpe ignored him as he examined the pen. It was a biro that Sam had picked up in the hotel he and Reni had stayed in. The MP undid the pen, pulling it apart, then dropped the pieces to the ground and brought the heel of his shoe down on them, crushing and splintering them.

  Thorpe turned to Sam. ‘Arms up, please.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Sam, raising his arms. ‘They’ve already done this outside.’

  Thorpe ignored him. He ran his hands over the coat then down the length of his arms. He then slipped them inside the coat, tracing his fingers in and around Sam’s torso, before moving on to his buttocks, inside thighs and finally, legs.

  He stepped away, looking him hard in the eye. ‘Got to be on the safe side,’ he said. ‘Even rank amateurs like you can buy listening devices. So, what do you want?’

  Sam edged back a little himself, keen for some distance from the man. There was something decidedly chilly about Thorpe, the way he’d coolly conducted the search just minutes after giving a Ministerial speech.

  ‘A frank discussion about where we all stand,’ said Sam, swallowing hard to stop his mouth drying out. ‘I think we’d all benefit from that.’

  It was a deliberately vague opener, suggesting that Sam wanted something, when in fact the point of this meeting was to drive an irreparable wedge between the two men before he attempted to scare the shit out of them.

  ‘Then fire away,’ said Thorpe casually. ‘But bear in mind I only have ten minutes, fifteen max. So you’ll need to spell out your demands sooner or later.’

  ‘First, a question. I just need to ask Tapper something.’

  Thorpe shrugged, as if he couldn’t have cared less.

  ‘Just out of interest, at what point did you decide Zahra Idris was trouble?’

  ‘You don’t need to talk about this, Harry,’ said Thorpe. ‘You’re not under oath. This prick is just being nosey.’ Thorpe was examining his nails, going out of his way to seem as nonchalant as possible.

  Tapper looked at Sam, weighing him up. ‘When I saw her at Creech Hill.’ His voice was spiked with a trace of tension. ‘I knew she’d recognised me.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sam. ‘So on that basis, you thought it wise to threaten her. To set in motion a chain of events that had you running across Europe –’

  ‘– Harry was right to act,’ interrupted Thorpe.

  ‘But all he did was enflame everything,’ Sam said, his body now coursing with adrenaline, his voice gaining strength as the speech he’d prepared began to flow.
‘If they’d never acted, Zahra would have been ignored. At that point, she had partial amnesia. She sensed Tapper was bad news, but couldn’t remember what happened. She was vulnerable, and would have lost her grip on reality. Probably been hospitalised. A flaky immigrant with mental health problems. Hardly the ideal witness in an investigation.’

  Thorpe shot Tapper a questioning look.

  ‘And you would never have lost Pat Wallace,’ slipped in Sam, almost as an aside.

  ‘Sad though his death is,’ sneered Thorpe, too quickly, ‘I think Harry will survive.’

  ‘You say that,’ said Sam, ‘but he’s in a bad way.’

  Tapper’s eyes glassed. ‘Because you’ve been bloody tormenting me, you little shit.’

  ‘I admit my methods are a little crude, but I’ve simply been pointing out the truth.’

  Thorpe looked rattled. ‘The truth?’

  ‘That your friend Harry Tapper loved Pat Wallace.’

  Thorpe laughed mirthlessly. ‘Don’t be fucking ridiculous.’

  ‘Tell him,’ said Sam, looking at Tapper.

  ‘Tell him what?’ snapped Tapper. His face had creased up with disquiet.

  ‘That you’ve lost a lot more than your henchman,’ said Sam softly.

  Tapper was momentarily disoriented, the concern in Sam’s voice throwing him. He looked to his feet, as if deliberately avoiding Thorpe’s face. ‘Pat was bloody loyal.’

  Thorpe snorted with derision. ‘You can buy loyalty anywhere.’

  Tapper’s face lifted in a jolt, eyes zeroing in on Tapper with contempt. ‘Pat saved my life at Ipswich, I’ll have you know. Fended off some particularly vicious boys who’d targeted me. Who would have finished me off.’ His mouth curled into a gentle smile. Sam might have had some sympathy for him at this point, were he not the man responsible for Eleanor’s comatose state.

  ‘We became lovers,’ added Tapper.

  ‘For God’s sake, Harry,’ said Thorpe. ‘This is not the moment.’

  Tapper would not be silenced. ‘We went our separate ways after Ipswich. Until I got him a job at Creech Hill. And then he began helping me out with this, and I realised I still had strong feelings for him.’

  ‘But he’s a –’

  ‘A what, Adam?’

  ‘He’s a no one. Just some guard at a detention centre.’

  ‘I trusted him, Adam. He made me feel safe.’

  Sam noticed that Thorpe’s face had paled and was glowing with sweat.

  ‘But what about us?’

  It was Tapper’s turn to sneer now. ‘Us? We just had sex when it suited you, Adam. And we helped each other out politically.’

  Tapper was getting stronger. Sam needed to take him back to his loss.

  ‘Except it’s him who’s got all the advantage now, isn’t it Harry?’ said Sam. ‘Adam Thorpe who’s won. Who’s about to become Home Secretary. Whereas you’ve lost the man you loved. And I suspect all the money you have will never compensate you for that loss.’

  Tapper looked down and Sam wondered whether he hadn’t gone too far. Made a false assumption. But when Tapper looked up, Sam saw he’d been absolutely right.

  ‘Pat Wallace wasn’t just my lover,’ said Tapper, voice trembling but full of conviction. ‘Being with him after all that time was fucking liberating. After years of denial, of sacrificing my true self to career and the front that Yvonne demanded of me, it felt like real freedom at last. I would have gone back to prison with him, if only to feel free.’

  ‘You’re mad, Harry,’ railed Thorpe. ‘Think of our project. Think of the money it’s going to make. Think of the next stage. I’ll be PM. You know I will. I’ll elevate you to the Lords.’

  ‘You don’t get it do you, Adam? I don’t want that crap any more. I don’t want any of it.’

  ‘Well you’re a fool then, aren’t you?’ mocked Thorpe. ‘Because this is the world you live in. You’re not a vulnerable Essex boy in a young offenders’ institute. You’re the CEO of a massive bloody organisation. Wallace is gone. He’s dead. And you made that happen. I never asked you to threaten that bloody woman. Or do the other things.’

  Tapper looked Thorpe hard in the eye. ‘No Adam. You made it all happen. You made it all happen by stabbing that man. By –’

  ‘Enough!’ snapped Thorpe, his face red with anger. ‘Don’t you ever repeat that again, you fucking idiot.’

  ‘And why did you stab that man?’ Sam piped up. ‘Was it shame? Was it because he caught you out? Exposed you for what you really are, rather than the married man you pretend to be? Do you really think anyone cares these days?’

  ‘Time’s running out,’ snapped Thorpe. ‘I need your demands.’

  ‘Then I need my phone,’ said Sam. Behind the Minister, Tapper had begun pacing up and down in a state of high agitation.

  ‘Why?’ snapped Thorpe.

  ‘I need to talk to someone,’ said Sam. ‘A Sicilian policeman called Guido Reni. He’s here in the hotel. He has some evidence you might find interesting.’

  Chapter 77

  Dover, UK

  The words drained the last trace of colour from Thorpe’s face. He froze, eyes wide.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will. And you’ll need to tell the policemen at the door to let him in.’

  Thorpe stared Sam hard in the face, trying to front it out.

  ‘Why should I let you and your Italian friend waste my time with this charade?’

  ‘Believe me, it’s better this way.’

  The inference hung in the air. Unless Thorpe dealt with Sam and Reni, the evidence would be handed over to the authorities.

  ‘Well go on then,’ Thorpe said, the nonchalance he was trying to affect deeply unconvincing.

  Sam began piecing together his phone to call Reni. If the news had petrified Thorpe, it seemed to have had little effect on Tapper, who remained wrapped up in his own thoughts as he continued to pace up and down.

  Sam switched his phone on and called Reni. It rang once.

  ‘Hello,’ said the Ispettore.

  ‘He’ll see you now.’

  Anticipating Thorpe, Sam dismantled the phone again.

  Thorpe moved to the door. Sam heard him calling to Dominic, his voice unsteady. ‘There’s someone else due at this meeting. A chap called Reni. Make sure he’s allowed in.’

  He returned to the table. ‘You’re playing with fire, Keddie. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  Tapper continued marching up and down a narrow path of carpet.

  There was a knock on the door and Reni, without waiting for an answer, entered the room.

  At last, thought Sam. An ally.

  Reni went straight to Thorpe and, without bothering to shake hands, got straight to business.

  ‘I am Ispettore Guido Reni, Provincia di Ragusa. I would like to discuss your involvement in an event that took place last August off the coast of the island.’

  ‘Not so fucking fast,’ said Thorpe.

  ‘You’re going to have to empty your pockets,’ said Sam, pre-empting the Minister. ‘And dismantle your phone.’

  ‘You realise I’m a policeman?’ Reni said to Thorpe.

  ‘Don’t come over all high-and-mighty with me. We all know what’s going on.’

  Reni shrugged his assent. He emptied his pockets, dismantled his phone, and let Thorpe conduct a search. Once the MP was satisfied, he said: ‘Get to the point.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Reni. ‘Last August, you entered Sicily on the same British Airways flight as Sir Harry Tapper. You then accompanied him on a brief trip on his superyacht. While at sea, you encountered a boat full of immigrants. You killed one. We have a witness.’

  Thorpe stared coldly at Reni. Sam noticed his upper lip was sweating. ‘The girl,’ scoffed the Minister. ‘Hardly a pillar of the community.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw that Tapper had stopped pacing and was now looking in Reni’s direction, as if listening intently.

  ‘We also h
ave evidence. A trace of the victim’s blood on a section of deck timber.’

  Thorpe’s voice quivered as he spoke. ‘You’re lying. The yacht was destroyed.’

  ‘Not all of it.’

  ‘So what does that prove?’

  ‘That a murder took place.’

  ‘But your witness will soon be on a plane to Eritrea. Your people have sent her back here. I’ll bloody see to it myself.’

  ‘She’s still in Sicily.’

  Thorpe laughed nervously. Sam noticed that Tapper, standing to Thorpe’s side, was now clawing at the surface of the table.

  ‘She’s an illegal immigrant who’s escaped detention. No one will take her seriously.’

  ‘We still have the fragment of deck,’ said Sam.

  ‘All that will prove is that a man died on his yacht,’ said Thorpe, jabbing a finger in Tapper’s direction. ‘But not that I had anything to do with it.’

  What happened next was something Sam would replay for weeks after.

  Tapper grabbed the jug of water and brought it down hard on the table. The jug shattered. Glass fragments went everywhere and water spilt across the table and on to the floor. In Tapper’s hand was what remained of the jug, the handle attached to a jagged point of glass. Sam stepped back, convinced that Tapper was coming for him. To his right, Reni had done the same.

  Thorpe, meanwhile, was still rooted to the spot, as if contemplating the noose that Reni and Sam had dangled in front of him. It took him a second longer to react. When he turned, it was too late.

  Tapper moved with surprising speed. He thrust out, the handle still tight in his hand, plunging the point of glass deep into Thorpe’s neck just below his left ear, before wrenching his makeshift weapon out.

  Thorpe’s face registered disbelief, and then utter horror, as blood began to pour from the wound Tapper had made. Tapper stood before his old political ally and occasional lover, as if marvelling at his handiwork.

  The Minister grabbed at his neck with both hands. Dark rivulets of blood began to flow between his fingers, gushing down his pale blue tie and white shirtfront, a crimson flower in rapid blossom.