Death Trap

by Mitchell, Dreda Say

  Now he watched the wheel turn and turn and turn. Stop. The ball rattled to rest on his number. Bang on! It was his first punt. The croupier pushed Samson’s winnings over to him. He’d already made more than he’d brought to Cyprus in the first place. A blonde sitting opposite – kitty-kats on display, golden tan from her hairline down to her aquamarine blue glitter painted toes – smiled at him with admiration.

  Roulette was easy.

  He pushed all his winnings and what was left of his other chips onto the number of his birthday, only on black this time.

  He sent the blonde a flirty-dirty smile while the wheel turned. She raised her hand. Crossed her fingers for him. To Samson’s disbelief, the ball came to rest on red and a completely different number. The blonde gave him a sympathetic shrug while his stake was raked away. Unsure what he was supposed to do next, Samson got out of his chair and went round to the other side of the table and took the blonde’s arm.

  ‘Come on, babe, this place is bent; let’s exit this dump and get a Sex On The Beach somewhere else.’

  The woman’s smile vanished as she pushed Samson away with alarm. Before Samson could react a man, who was standing at another table, came up and confronted Samson.

  ‘What you doing with my woman?’ the man growled.

  Fuck this shit.

  Samson threw a punch at the man who swerved to one side so Samson didn’t make contact. A second punch hit the man but not cleanly, so Samson tried again. But before he could do so, he was hit in the face by a fist, which felt like a bag full of nails, and he tumbled backwards onto the roulette table where the gamblers were running for cover, shouting and screaming. The boyfriend was standing over Samson. Unable to get to his feet, he grabbed the man’s leg and sank his teeth into his ankle, biting as deeply as he could. He held on hard while he was kicked repeatedly with the other leg, until finally, he was pulled off by two bow-tied security staff.

  As he was dragged to his feet, he screamed, ‘I’m a gangster, I’ve killed people; you’re all dead! You’re all fucking dead!’ But rather than take him away, the bouncers held him up straight. The boyfriend was right in front of his face and asked ‘Are you English?’

  Samson’s head was hanging slightly and he said nothing, so the man merely nodded and said, ‘I thought so.’

  Then he punched Samson senseless.

  thirty-one

  4:15 p.m.

  ‘If you were on the run, where would you go?’ Rio asked Calum.

  She stood propped against the wall in the main room of her mother’s house while Calum lounged back, mug of coffee warming his hands, on the russet coloured armchair that had been her mother’s throne. Nikki was in the bedroom getting herself ready for the trip to Foster’s office to hear the reading of her dead aunt and uncle’s will. Strong was waiting in her BMW outside as backup in case the hitman was hiding out, ready to strike, somewhere near Foster’s. If the hired gun tried anything, both she and Strong would be ready for him.

  Calum gazed back at her looking the most relaxed she’d seen him since re-entering his life. ‘Straight into your loving embrace,’ he answered with a chuckle.

  Rio’s mouth quirked into a ‘oh yeah’ smile. It felt so good to be laughing with Calum again. If only she could turn the clock back and make it right between them. God, how many criminals had she heard say that exact same thing?

  ‘There are rumours that you got married,’ she informed him softly, ‘to the wrong woman.’

  He hesitated before he answered, ‘Is there ever a right woman to marry?’

  Rio let go of that line of questioning and got back on to the first. ‘So where would you hide out?’

  ‘Are you talking domestic or international?’

  ‘Not sure, but I suspect it’s abroad.’

  Calum leaned forwards and placed the cup on the small side table. ‘It all depends on who I am and what I’ve done? And, of course, who or what I’m running from?’

  Rio pulled off the wall and folded her arms. ‘I am eighteen, violent and don’t want the cops to find me.’

  Calum studied her, his green eyes becoming thoughtful and ever so slightly dark. ‘Who are we talking about here?’

  Rio clammed up. Calum might be helping her, and he’d kept to his side of the bargain letting her know that Nikki was safe every hour, but she was still keeping all information given to him on a need-to-know basis. And did he need to know Samson Larkin’s name?

  Rio made her decision. ‘Have you heard of a South London crime family called the Larkins?’

  Calum frowned as he rubbed his forefinger and thumb against his jaw. ‘Only Larkins I know are three brothers – Martin, Terry—’

  ‘And Gary,’ Rio finished. ‘I didn’t know there was a third brother.’

  ‘Martin, the oldest, was the one who managed to get away. Last I heard he was some well-known academic specialising in – get this – criminology.’

  Rio let out a little puff of surprise. ‘You’re not talking about Professor Martin Larkin?’

  ‘One and the same. The way I hear it he stays well away from South London. Not many people know about his blood connections and the only reason I know is because of my dealings with the family. Plus he’s a friend of my mother’s—’

  ‘The Dame?’

  Calum rolled his eyes heavenward at the name everyone called his mother. She knew it needled him so shouldn’t have said it, but she was too shocked to hold it back. Dame Maggie Burns was the high profile and very vocal CEO of a leading campaign group that advocated on behalf of women who had suffered domestic abuse. People listened to her, even the government. Some men called her – behind her back – a ball breaker, while others hung a halo over her head. Whatever, she scared Rio shitless. She’d only met her once, that third time she’d turned up to see Calum at the hospital three years ago.

  ‘Stay away from my son.’ Five words uttered so softly but with such an electric edge of retribution that Rio hadn’t even argued, had just turned and walked away.

  ‘How did she end up hooking up with Martin Larkin?’

  He shrugged. ‘He was a trustee for years on one of her charities.’

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me you knew the Larkins?’

  ‘Because you never asked. And you know why? You still don’t trust me.’

  The momentary peace between them shattered. Rio felt angry: at herself and because Calum was right, despite what she’d told Strong earlier about trusting him. He had knowledge of the dirty goings-on across this city, so should have been one of the first people she drew on for Intel. And what had she done? Let all her personal baggage get in the way. She had such strong feelings for this man. Was it love? Hell, she didn’t even know. But what she was sure about was it was time to trust him.

  ‘I picked up Gary Larkin as a potential suspect in the Greenbelt case . . .’

  Rio told him the whole of it. After she finished, Calum said, ‘The drug deal makes sense, but I never pegged Gary as a violent criminal. He’s the baby of the Larkin brood – Terry’s junior I think by ten or eleven years. He’s low level, an opportunist really. And if they need money to get an in on a drug deal where would they get half a mill to pay a hitman?’

  ‘That has been on my mind as well. But you know what the underworld is like. There are all kind of deals going on. Maybe Gary and Terry Larkin agreed to pay their killer once the deal comes through and they have access to a steady stream of cash.’

  Calum thought for a few seconds. ‘Maybe. But it’s not the usual way these bounty hunters set their terms and conditions. Once the job’s done it’s cash-in-hand.’

  ‘The eighteen year old is Samson Larkin, Terry’s son. Did you know him?’

  Calum shook his head. ‘He was a kid when I knew the family, so he wouldn’t have been on my radar.’

  ‘He hightailed it out of town while on probation. Family claim he’s in Spain working like any decent man. But there’s no trace of him there. So where do you think he might have gone?’
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  Calum thought about it. ‘Well, obviously, it would have to be somewhere with no extradition treaty, so that’s most of Europe out. Then it would have to be somewhere that an eighteen-year-old Brit would feel reasonably at home, so that’s most of the rest of the world out. So it’s likely to be somewhere comfy and cosy; either the family or a friend has to stash the kid so he won’t have to start filling in forms for accommodation or registering with the local cops.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’

  ‘The Turkish Republic of North Cyprus—’

  ‘Hold up a minute.’ Rio quickly took out her phone. Clicked on the file containing the Intel about the Larkin family Strong had gathered. Rapidly scrolled down. ‘There’s a cousin who has a place in Cyprus, but it doesn’t say whether it’s the north or south. Doesn’t say what the cousin’s name is either.’

  ‘It’s the ideal criminal des res. No extradition treaty with Britain and not too far away. Unlike the Greek side of the island, which does have an extradition agreement.’ He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Now trusting me wasn’t too hard, was it?’ His eyebrow dropped as one side of his mouth lifted into a sleepy smile. ‘We used to be such a great team – me, you and Mac. Taking on the world. Thinking we could spin bad into good.’

  Rio couldn’t help the feeling of nostalgia that swept her. Memories of the three of them, heads close together, in their favourite café, batting and dissecting information on a case. God they were so young, so foolishly idealistic.

  ‘I know you’re also here to dig up anything you can on this gang for Foster,’ Rio said, easing her mind away from the past, ‘but I’ve been upfront with you about the Larkins, so I think it only fair you tell me anything you find out about them too.’ Rio ran her brown eyes across his face and held out her palm. ‘He might be able to offer you money, but I’m offering a priceless friendship.’

  Shiiiit. That made her sound like some bloody, floppy-haired poet.

  ‘No touching, babe. Don’t forget I might be a married man.’

  Their gazes fixed together. Then they started laughing – really laughing – filling the room with human music that was catchy in-drawn breaths, gasps and air that waved in and out of their throats. And then they stopped. Quiet. Their eyes remained meshed together.

  Calum broke the silence, voice barely audible. ‘Last time I heard that sound coming out of you, Ray Gun, was when you wore that cream dress.’

  Her face fell like he’d reached across and scratched and dragged down her skin. She stood up, ran her palms down her thighs. ‘I threw that dress away. Gave it to the local charity shop. Did you get Nikki to draw what she thought she saw the gunmen wearing?’

  Rio kept her tone sorta icy, as usual not quite pulling it off; she had way too many hot emotions swimming just below her surface to stray into cold waters.

  Calum reached for a piece of paper near his laptop and handed it to Rio. The drawn image put her in mind of the Elephant Man. That she couldn’t break the chain of what this was was really starting to mess with her head. Damn loose ends.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  Both Rio and Calum turned when they heard Nikki’s voice in the doorway. They both reacted with surprise and spoke at the same time when they saw it.

  ‘What the heck?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  It was Nikki’s homemade haircut. Her shoulder cut was gone, replaced with a brutal short style that hugged her head.

  Nikki self-consciously flicked a few stray strands sideways onto her forehead at the same time modelling Lady Clarissa’s long, lacy, fingerless gloves her cousin had given her.

  ‘Do you think Lia will like it?’

  That’s when Rio realised that the teen had tried to replicate her cousin’s hairstyle.

  ‘It looks . . . good.’ Rio’s response was slow; there was something troubling about the girl’s appearance that she couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t just the new hairdo, there was something else . . . As Nikki turned to the side, displaying her profile, the truth gripped Rio. Or at least what she thought might be the truth. Rio saw Nikki’s adoption papers in her mind, still tucked and folded safely away in her bag.

  Not your business. Nuthin’ to do with the case. Let the might-be-truth drop.

  As soon as Nikki was in the back of the car Rio got back on with her job and whispered to Strong, ‘When we reach Foster’s I want you to make contact with the High Commission in the Turkish part of North Cyprus. Give them Samson Larkin’s description and find out if they’ve heard of him. The one thing we know about Samson Larkin is that he can’t stay out of trouble.’

  thirty-two

  5:04 p.m.

  Foster’s office wasn’t in the City where many of the top legal firms were based, but in a beautiful town house in Kensington. It gleamed a stunning white that looked like it had been painted the day before, with a glossy black door with accompanying large, bold brass knocker and a simple plaque that read ‘Foster’. No associates, which didn’t surprise Rio; Foster had always portrayed himself as a man who didn’t appreciate sharing the limelight with anyone else.

  ‘You OK?’ she asked Nikki, who stood beside her. Rio still couldn’t get over the haircut.

  ‘I still don’t get why I need to be here. Why can’t Mr Foster just let you know and you can tell me?’ The teenager’s expression was confused and frustrated – probably just wanted to spend the day doing virtual chat on the Internet; well that’s if she had an Internet to access, which Rio made sure she didn’t.

  ‘Your aunt and uncle probably left you a little gift or something,’ Rio explained.

  She pressed the intercom button. A woman’s voice came on, efficient and clipped. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘It’s Detective Inspector Rio—’

  But she didn’t finish as a long buzzing sound unlocked the door. Rio and Nikki stepped inside a world that was as gleaming and sterile as the brickwork. Chequered black-and-white floor tiles, lawn-green, carpeted staircase, with a deep curved, wooden bannister and pure white walls. The only thing out of place was the shade housing the light in the ceiling: an ugly imitation-chandelier made of folds upon folds of blue paper.

  ‘That gets people every time,’ a voice said from the top of the stairs.

  Both Rio and Nikki looked up to find Stephen Foster standing there, relaxed in a sombre, navy suit and spit-polished leather shoes. Rio couldn’t help how her mouth tightened; she just was never going to click with this man.

  ‘It was a gift from my first celebrity client. A long-forgotten actress from the 1950s who didn’t have quite enough for the fee so she gave me the light fitting to make it up.’

  ‘Didn’t think you did charity work,’ Rio said.

  He just lifted the corner of one side of his mouth in a smile that put Rio more on edge.

  His smile bloomed as he switched his attention to Nikki. ‘Good evening, Nicola, it’s good to see you again. I hope they’re treating you well in the place you’re staying.’

  ‘I’m staying at—’

  Rio grabbed the girl’s hand and squeezed. The teen closed her mouth.

  ‘Let’s get on with this shall we?’ Rio said tightly.

  He waved them both upstairs where they walked through a slim corridor and into a large room that was obviously Foster’s office. Inside were Nikki’s older cousins, Ophelia and Cornelius. Rio saw Ophelia draw in a stiff breath when she saw her young cousin’s hair, but Nikki did not notice. Rio suspected she knew what was going through the actress’s head.

  Not your business; stay well away.

  Nikki ran across the room and threw herself into cousin’s embrace.

  Her cousin held her tight as she said, ‘I’ve missed you.’ Ophelia ran her hand over Nikki’s hair. ‘Hey, like the cutie hairdo.’

  Nikki giggled self-consciously.

  Rio noticed that Cornelius stayed tight to his seat. He’d obviously tried to make an effort for the meeting, dressing in loose, black linen trousers and a jacket that was a siz
e too big. The man-bun was gone with his hair neatly combed to his shoulders, but the red blotches on his cheeks showed he wasn’t comfortable being here. In contrast, his sister had all the poise of the actress the public had come to adore, but if it were possible she appeared even thinner to Rio.

  ‘Let’s all take a seat.’ Foster waved at the two chairs, waiting for Rio and Nikki.

  Once they were seated he began. ‘These are always sad occasions because it means that one of our loved ones has passed away and unfortunately in this case it’s two people who I had come to know very well and admire over the years—’

  Ophelia let out a scoff. ‘Skip the homily because frankly I don’t need to be in your presence any longer than I have to.’

  Foster didn’t even look at her, instead he opened the leather-bound black folder in front of him and took out an envelope. ‘Maurice and Linda Bell asked me to make sure that their will remained sealed until it was time for it to be read.’

  He opened the envelope, pulled out a single piece of paper and started reading. ‘This is the last will and testament of Maurice and Linda Bell, March the fourth, 2009, who resided at Number Three, The Lanes. We revoke any wills and codicils previously made by us. We bequeath our home, its contents, our shares and businesses to our niece Nicola Bell—’

  Cornelius slammed out of his seat. The back of the chair hit the floor. ‘You’ve got to be kidding, man. No bloody way—’

  ‘Connie,’ Ophelia cut in sternly, remaining calm and seated.

  Nikki’s gaze swung between her two cousins. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Ophelia responded, her voice cool, but slightly detached. ‘Your uncle and auntie left everything to you. You must not feel bad about it. This is a good thing because they loved you—’

  ‘Screw that,’ her brother raged. ‘I’m their blood, while she’s—’ He pointed his finger at Nikki making her shrink back in her chair. Tears gleamed in his eyes. ‘Fuck. This.’

  He slammed out of the room leaving behind a smothered, electric tension.