‘He must’ve been proud when he saw you on the telly, especially when The Wilcotts became such a success.’
Ophelia removed her Ray-Bans. Her eyes were bright and glassy. ‘I like to think he was. He belonged to a generation that didn’t really open up about their feelings.’ She shrugged, a small one that was more continental than British. ‘He did pat me on the back last year when I was nominated for the National Television Awards. He didn’t say anything, just touched his palm to my back.’
Ophelia shivered and Rio knew she was feeling that loving touch on her back all over again. She placed her glasses back on her face in an action that was more a fumble than a sure move.
‘In the last few days, did your parents mention seeing anyone out of the ordinary near where they lived?’ Rio then took her first bite of the bar. It tasted just as it always did – like wood shavings mashed together with glue – but it kept her energy levels going.
Ophelia ruffled the front of her hair with her fingers. ‘The last time I spoke to them was a few days ago. It was Mum’s birthday and I was meant to go over, but then a rehearsal came up.’ She shook her head. ‘They didn’t mention seeing anything strange. Mind you there were always weird goings-on at the home nearest to them: that pop star living with his wife, mistress and two adopted kids from Cambodia.’
‘And what about your brother? Cornelius? We haven’t been able to locate him because we don’t have any contact details.’
‘I don’t have a clue where he is or a number for him. Nor do I want one. He doesn’t appear to understand the concept of work but fully understands the role of a full-time parasite. The last time I saw him he looked like he needed a good hose-down to clean up his life.’
‘Would your parents’ lawyer, Stephen Foster, know where he is?’
Ophelia face screwed up fiercely. ‘Foster?’
Rio remembered the repulsion the other woman had displayed earlier when his name was thrown into the conversation in her dressing room. ‘You don’t like him?’
‘I hate that man.’
‘Why?’
Ophelia pulled her neck long. ‘I don’t have time to talk about Stephen Foster when I’ve got to think about burying my parents.’
She twisted around, walking hurriedly away, leaving Rio alone among the smell of smoke and trash. Rio gazed up at Ophelia Bell on the ‘Love Yourself’ poster.
‘The parents still inside?’ Rio asked the protection officer when she arrived back on the ward.
He quickly explained that Nikki’s parents had gone to the canteen while a partner from Stephen Foster’s law firm had just arrived to speak to Nikki and didn’t want to be disturbed. Rio scoffed when he told her Foster’s associate had said that the lawyer was indisposed for the next few hours. She couldn’t believe that he had a vulnerable client, who’d witnessed a woman being murdered, and he was off doing God knew what for the day. Probably glad-handing some of his celeb clients.
‘What was it like speaking to Lady Clarissa?’ the officer quietly asked her.
‘You a fan?’
‘Me and the missus watch it every Sunday.’
Rio remembered the man abusing Ophelia outside. ‘I think that it’s one tough business.’
‘She should try arresting drunks on a Saturday night. Now, that’s what I call a rough business – not dressing up and reading autocues.’
Rio looked over at Nikki’s hospital door. ‘Did you double-check the identity of the guy from Foster’s?’
‘Sure.’
‘You’re certain about that?’
The guard appeared slightly put out. ‘I rang Foster’s office. He’s OK.’
Just as Rio raised her hand to lightly tap on the door, her mobile rang. She checked the caller ID.
Calum Burns.
Rio froze, like she wasn’t in the hospital ward anymore but being dragged back into the past. What did he want? They hadn’t crossed words with each other in three years. Maybe DSI Newman had given him a bell and told him to contact her? The saliva in her mouth started drying up. The phone kept ringing.
Rio took the call. ‘Don’t phone me again.’
She cut the call. That was easy. Then why was her heart pumping like it had just learned to beat for the first time?
‘Detective Inspector Wray.’
Rio looked up to find Stephen Foster striding towards her.
‘I thought you were indisposed?’
‘Indisposed?’ He gazed at her confused.
‘Yes, that’s what the associate you sent over to speak to Nicola Bell told our protection officer.’
‘Hang on a minute, I was going to send a colleague, but I decided to come myself. I never told him—’
But Rio was gone, racing over to Nikki’s door. The blind was down, the door locked. Rio didn’t hesitate; she kicked in the flimsy door. A man, sporting a black Kagoul coat, hood up, stood over Nikki holding a syringe.
twelve
3:08 p.m.
The man jerked to face Rio, the raincoat zipped to his nose, hood low down on his forehead. The only part of his face on display were light brown eyes and a touch of white skin.
‘Put it down,’ Rio shouted.
She stayed where she was, just inside the doorway, knowing that any move could force him to plunge the syringe into the teenager’s neck. Nikki’s head was still, her eyes wide with terror.
‘Back. Off,’ Rio continued yelling, stretching her arms wide and frantically waving her palms behind her to keep the protection officer and Foster outside.
The man’s hands moved quickly; one flipped the syringe around so he now held it like a dagger while the other pulled out a slim pistol fitted with a silencer. He jammed the silencer against Nikki’s temple. A strained, protesting noise came from the back of the sixteen-year-old’s throat, but she still didn’t move.
Shit.
Rio took a step forwards. ‘Put the gun and the syringe down.’ She kept her voice calm. Even.
But he ignored her, instead shouting, ‘You two gentlemen behind her, please join us inside.’
Confident, professional, and polite: that’s what Rio noticed about his voice and tone; all he was missing was the briefcase, suit and tie. Another policeman in the room would work to Rio’s advantage, but another civilian? No. That was going to make things messier. But she could do nothing as the protection officer – Officer Drake (his name was suddenly really important to her if anything happened) – and Stephen Foster followed the gunman’s instruction. Rio felt the body heat of both men as they stood close behind her right side.
The gunman addressed Officer Drake. ‘Drop any weapons on the floor.’
Rio could feel her colleague’s gaze shift sharply to her for guidance what to do, but she couldn’t look back, couldn’t take her eyes off the gunman and Nikki.
‘Do. It,’ she ordered.
While the officer dropped his taser and CS gas, Rio mentally jammed as many facts in her mind about the gunman’s physical characteristics.
White-olive skin.
Skin only visible around the eyes.
Five ten to eleven
Light brown eyes. Can’t see if they had another colour mixed in with them.
Defo English accent, but a slight roll in some words. West Country?
Black Kagoul. Black tracksuit bottoms. No distinguishing marks on tracksuit. Black trainers, no marks on those either.
Right-handed from the gun in his hand, but using his left hand with equal confidence.
‘You next, lady cop,’ the gunman continued his instructions.
Rio eased her taser out and let it drop on the floor.
‘And the gas,’ the gunman’s voice held heat in it for the first time.
Rio shook her head. ‘No CS. Search me if you doubt my word.’ She said the last deliberately, hoping he would take the bait to come into her personal space, which would give her the opportunity to attack. The material of the raincoat under his eyes moved and Rio realised that he was smiling. No, this man was
n’t fool enough to fall for that trick.
‘You.’ He now addressed Foster. ‘Lock the door.’
But instead of following the instruction, Stephen Foster started running his mouth like the overpaid shark he was. ‘You’ll get at least ten years for threatening behaviour, five more for carrying a firearm . . .’
‘Shut the fuck up.’ It wasn’t the gunman but Rio who spoke. ‘Do what he said. Shut. The. Door.’
‘The lock is broken—’
Rio just did it because she was frightened what might happen next if this legal prick kept sounding off; swiftly she twisted right and belted Foster a stinging open palm across his cheek. As his head rocked back in shock, Rio faced the gunman again, her palms in the air.
‘We’re OK,’ she offered quickly. ‘The door.’
Foster finally did what he was told.
‘Both you men sit down and face the wall near the bathroom. Hands flat on the floor behind you.’
As Foster and Drake faced the white wall Nikki let out a tiny moan. The paleness of her face worried Rio.
‘Why don’t you let the girl go?’
But he wouldn’t play her game; the only game he wanted to play was his own. ‘If you stay rational, we can avoid any bloodshed.’
‘Why are you after the girl? Are you a member of the gang? If you—’
‘Come here.’
Rio held her ground for a few seconds. Then approached him. As soon as she reached him, in one swift move, he pressed the gun to her forehead. Nikki slumped even further into the softness of the bed. He put the syringe in his pocket and then ran his spare hand up and down her suit like a nightclub bouncer. Satisfied that she was clean his next words chilled her.
‘Down on your knees facing the other way.’
Nikki’s soft sobs tore through the air.
Maybe Rio was the one who needed bitch slapping now because she refused to move. He increased the pressure of the barrel firmly against her skin.
‘I mean it and you know that.’
Yes she did, so she started to move.
‘What the hell’s going on? Where are the police? Where’s my daughter?’ Patsy Bell hysterically yelled outside.
That’s when he made his mistake. His eyes jumped to the closed door. Rio grabbed his gun arm the same time Nikki scrambled off and under the bed. He fought back just as Officer Drake leapt to his feet. The gunman kneed Rio in the stomach as he slammed his arm back down. Rio swallowed the pain as she drew every ounce of strength she had to try to bring his arm up. Taking Rio by surprise he abruptly relaxed his arm. What the heck . . .? No, Rio’s mind screamed when she realised what he was doing – lining the aim of the gun directly with Drake.
Pop. A bullet slammed into the other officer’s shoulder toppling him backwards. Rio took advantage of the gunman’s diverted attention – bent her knees and yanked him across her shoulders before throwing him to the other side. The gun clattered and skidded along the floor. Rio flung herself on top of the gunman’s body, letting loose a one-two combination of punches to his head.
She twisted her head to Foster, who still remained on the floor, but was now crouched by the groaning, fallen policeman. ‘Get help,’ she yelled.
A powerful jab smashed into the side of Rio’s head. Stunned, she hit the ground. Dazed, pumping oxygen madly to her lungs, she saw the gunman heave himself to his feet. Something fell from his pocket as he rushed for the gun. Rio tried to get up, but the heaviness in her head kept her pinned down.
Get up. Get up. Get the fuck up.
But she couldn’t. Her position on the floor gave her an excellent view of Nikki, lying in a protective ball under the bed and what had tumbled out of his pocket – an odd shaped, lethal looking knife. Her gaze jacked back up when she realised that the man was back. This time standing over her with the gun pointed at her head.
3:14 p.m.
‘Help! Help!’ Foster finally shouted.
The gunman looked over at the lawyer, then twisted around and headed for the open window. As Rio finally managed to sit up, two things happened at the same time: the gunman disappeared through the window and the door slammed open. Detective Jack Strong rushed over to Rio. His hands touched her, but furiously she shook him off.
‘He’s escaped out of the window. Get to your car and see if you can head him off from the ground. I’m going after him on foot.’
Rio stood up, gave herself a few seconds to control the spinning in her head. As she belted for the window she heard sobs coming from Nikki’s bed; at least the girl was still alive. Outside of the window Rio saw the gunman about a metre below, fleeing from the rooftop he’d obviously dropped onto. Without hesitation Rio scrambled out of the window and made the drop.
The roof was flat but scattered with gravel like stones that were evenly spread. Where the stones had been disturbed it was possible to see where her gunman had fled. She ran to the edge and placed her hands on the waist-level rail that skirted the edge of the roof. Rio instinctively tilted backwards when she saw how far down it was – four or five floors. No, he hadn’t escaped that way. She heard squealing wheels below and saw Strong come round a corner on a service road in an unmarked saloon. He slowed and leaned out of the window, looking upwards. Rio shouted, ‘Cover all the exits . . .’
Strong cupped his hand over his ear indicating he couldn’t hear her, so Rio pointed down the roof in the direction the assassin had fled. Far below, Strong raised his thumb to show he understood and set off slowly, scanning the roof.
Rio followed the marks in the stones, but the roof was complicated. Blocks of hospital rooms seemed to have been added on top, along with chimneys and small brick buildings. All served as access routes, which meant plenty of cover and a variety of escape routes.
Rio twisted around when she heard a swishing of stones and footsteps. She moved close to the blind side of a chimney. With teeth gritted and clenched fists, she took some deep breaths and then swung round the chimney to confront the would-be killer. He was gripping a pole and looked up in alarm as Rio raced forwards. She landed a solid right full in his face. Only as he fell backwards did she realise that he was wearing overalls and the pole in his hand was in fact a rake and he’d been running it over the stones. Not her target.
Shit.
She leaned over the prone man and shouted, ‘I’m a police officer, have you seen a man up here, running?’
Only when the bewildered workman began refocusing his eyes did Rio realise what a hopeless question it was to ask. She set off in pursuit again. But then she stopped, doubled back and picked up the man’s rake, ‘I need to borrow this . . .’
Rio began to prowl the roof, unclear where she was going. There were too many windows and doors butting onto the roof to plug. She went over to the edge again and looked down. Strong’s car was crawling on the service road below in a low gear. That’s when she heard it: a knock, like a blunted hammer. A second knock, then a third. Gripping the rake Rio rushed off in the direction of the noise.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
She turned a corner. The gunman was in plain sight.
He was using the butt of his pistol to try to knock off a padlock on an access door.
She raised her rake like an axe at the same time the padlock hit the roof floor. Rio charged as he wrenched the heavy door open. The sound of her feet on the gravel alerted him; he swung around in her direction. The rake swung towards him and caught him a glancing blow on his arm. He toppled backwards, banging his back against the open door, slamming it shut again. His gun spun a few yards away. Rio flung down the rake and raced over to where the gun lay, bent over to swipe it up.
The sound of a gun’s hammer made her freeze.
‘Leave it . . .’
Slowly Rio straightened up and turned around. The man had a second gun – a smaller one, but no less deadly. Rio knew she had made a mistake by not beating him unconscious when she’d had the chance.
‘Back off,’ he growled.
Rio eased back as he mo
ved forwards. She watched as he picked up the fallen gun. He waved it, indicating that she was to back off. He picked up the other weapon, did the same to the rake. Rio quickly swung her body into a defensive position, but he was already on her. The wooden pole struck her head. The force and pain made her fall to her knees. She tumbled sideways.
Another blow had her crying out as she instinctively folded her body into the foetal position. Then she was moving and realised that the man was dragging her by the collar. Blackness started to swallow her vision.
Don’t black out.
Don’t black out.
She fought it, head swimming, body bursting with pain. But the blackness wouldn’t go away.
DON’T BLACK OUT.
Rio forced her eyes wide.
The rail at the edge of the roof was above her and a pair of light brown eyes that seemed to be floating in a sea of material that obscured the rest of the man’s features.
In a demonic whisper he said, ‘You’re not afraid of flying are you?’
What? Only when he grasped Rio under the shoulders did she understand; he was going to push her under the rail and over the edge, five floors down to her death.
Desperately she tried to fight back, but her muscles refused to work. Her body was sliding closer. Closer . . .
‘Help!’
A man’s screeching voice lit up the air.
‘Murder! Help!’
Strong? No.
Rio almost blacked out again.
Her vision came back and Rio’s gut clenched wildly as all she saw above her was endless grey sky. The world was the wrong way around. Her neck hurt. Her breathing collapsed inside her as she realised that her head was hanging over the edge. All he’d have to do was one more push.
‘Murder! Murder! Murder!’
No, it wasn’t Strong, but the workman. Rio never knew where she got the strength from but she raised a foot and kicked the gun in the shin. It pushed him back. She heard feet crunching in the gravel.
‘DI Wray? Rio?’
Strong. Jack bloody Strong.
Death Trap Page 7
