“Go on.”
“… it was an elite establishment and only prosperous Indians and expatriate families sent their children there. Over time, Sunni became suspicious of Henderson's activities. He found out Henderson was abusing the children, which was something your grandfather found intolerable. These days, Henderson would be condemned but don't forget we're talking decades ago. Sunni was a lowly employee, a nothing, and Henderson was a wealthy, white man. Nevertheless, Sunni decided to confront Henderson, to warn him he knew what he was doing and tell him to stay away, but Henderson threatened your grandfather and ordered him to keep quiet. When I met Sunni some years later, he explained the whole affair to me and said he had no choice except to inform one of the school’s most influential, Indian families. Of course, your grandfather did so in full knowledge of the retribution the family would take. They sent an assassin and Henderson was killed.” Nannie swiped one finger across her throat. “In the middle of the night his throat was cut. That's how they did it in those days.”
Swift justice. Just like the Triad. “Wow.”
“Quite. And in defending those children Sunni always believed he did the right thing. He moved on and he met me and then a few years later England advertised its need for labour and we decided to move here. We made our lives here.”
“You’re right, Nannie, Grandfather did the right thing. Only if Henderson was killed, why make a link with the threats?”
“That's the part I can't completely explain except, you see, when the letters first started they were worded differently. The very first one mentioned the name of the school. We were foreigners here and for all we knew Henderson had powerful connections in England, so we couldn’t go to the police and risk being deported. When Sunni read that first letter he went straight out and got himself a knife. We realised it must have come from someone who either knew Henderson or knew about the assassination and wanted to harm us, maybe blackmail Sunni. We had many friends in the Indian community in London and they all had family back home. So we asked, and the word was passed around, and when people visited home they discreetly probed on our behalf, but no one knew a thing about those threats. In all the years there was not one single rumour, nothing, and Kal, we lived such a modest life there was no money to be made from us. No, the threats had to come from someone connected to Henderson.”
“I agree.”
“Someone held a vendetta against Sunni for Henderson's death, it's the only explanation.”
Nannie paused to catch her breath and Kal saw a shadow of sadness pass across her grandmother's face.
Nannie squeezed Kal’s hand, “Now, Kal, there's something I want you to tell me the truth about.”
“What’s that?”
“Did that Inspector of yours say anything about Sunni's death?”
Oh no. No way had she anticipated such a question, and she found herself unable to reply. The seconds hand on Nannie's watch jerked its way steadily from twenty-five minutes past up towards the hour. Despite Nannie's force of will, Kal felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. To lie. Then she thought of Nannie’s adventurous spirit passing through Alesha to her, and how Nannie had been so fed up of a lifetime of people treating her as lesser. It wouldn’t be fair to withhold the truth, would it? Nothing gave her that right. She dragged her eyes from the puckered skin on Nannie’s arm – a legacy from the house fire Nannie barely escaped alive.
“I’m sorry, it’s not good news. Inspector Spinks examined the notes made at the time of Grandad's death and he spoke to the Coroner in charge. Though Spinks concluded the original conclusion is still valid, his findings raised questions that we'll never be able to answer.”
“Meaning, Sunni may have been murdered?”
As Kal met the steadiness of Nannie's gaze, a lump formed in her throat. Partly sadness, partly pride.
“Oh, Nannie, you always wondered, didn't you?”
“Part of me suspected, you see, the Coroner was such a kind man, and I sensed he held something back, and our own doctor was astounded such a mild condition could lead to a fatal heart attack.”
A knock sounded and a nurse opened the door. She told them an exercise session was soon to start in the lounge. Nannie thanked the nurse and sagged back in her chair.
“How I wish I were your age and able to run the streets and chase down those criminals.” Nannie gave a deep sigh. “Though I hate to say it, your Inspector’s views about Sunni only increase the likelihood of a link between Henderson, the threats and Alesha's disappearance.”
“I think you’re right.”
“From fathers to sons and from mother to daughter,” Nannie said, “it looks like the search for the truth has passed to the current generation and, Kal my dear, no one more trustworthy to take on the task than you.”
Chapter Forty-three
The streets around the Training Centre were quiet as Kal pushed open the dragon doors. She clicked on her flashlight and headed for the changing area.
Standing proud outside the shower rooms and kept gleaming by a weekly polish, a trophy cupboard displayed the club’s successes. It held shining cups and photographs of club members celebrating their victories. The cupboard was much too small to house all the mementos and photographs spilled out onto the adjacent wall. Kal’s flashlight reflected from rows of glass and gilt frames.
She paused to scan for her favourite. It was a shot of her and Marty arm-in-arm, laughing their heads off. Marty clasped a gold medal from the area Championships and the runner-up medallion hung around Kal’s neck. They'd been fifteen and drunk on elation. They knew they were coming into their own and felt the promise and freedom of adulthood beckoning them on. She remembered their plans, imaging where they’d go and what they’d do with their lives, but in that picture it was Marty's joyous laugh, captured in the moment, which Kal loved the most. A wonderful moment never to be forgotten.
The brick wall had been repainted many times in its customary cream colour. She knelt, and took a chisel and a small hammer from her pocket.
‘Keep it safe,’ David Khan had told her, ‘and always be ready.’
The third brick from the door frame, floor level. At twelve years old, this was the safest place she could think of and she’d stuck with that first choice. Chink. Chink. The sound of the hammer striking the chisel rang out in the empty space.
It only took a few taps to dislodge it. It had once been a ventilation brick and she'd replaced it with a normal one, hollowed out at the back. Kal yanked the brick free. A neat package nestled behind - a wad of fabric wrapped around an object. She unwound the protection, then balanced the cold metal in her hand, before curling her fingers around the grip, feeling its compact form, designed for a woman. Her father had left strict instructions which gun range to practice at in the UK and which one in the USA - those ranges and only those ranges, and Kal had kept her promise to perfect her skills. Both ranges were strange places full of people she didn’t want to know about. The one in the USA even kept a weapon exclusively for her use, left for Kal by her father. Kal felt the weight of the gun one more time.
‘…always be ready,’ said her father’s voice.
Yes - she was. She put the gun in her pocket.
Chapter Forty-four
Kal prepared herself with care for the evening. Scott had accepted her suggestion of dinner without hesitation, proposing they dine at his Greenwich residence. Now, three days after Amita's abduction, she took a taxi from 701 and headed east across London.
The darkened streets rushed by, until they passed Canary Wharf where an abundance of glass and steel architecture created a striking skyline - its silhouette a close contender with that of Manhattan. The driver carried on east until, on the bend of the Thames, the O2 dome came into view. Originally home of the Olympic games, and now an elaborate entertainment venue, the O2’s futuristic, purple spikes pointed skywards from its green dome. The cab entered the London Borough of Greenwich and soon after they came to a privileged, commuter neighbourhood. They pull
ed up outside a smart, two-storey house with private drive, a wooden surround fence and a lawn running the perimeter.
Scott greeted her at the door and Kal accepted his kiss on the cheek. Her glamourous outer-shell must give nothing away. She must use what Scott wanted against him. Over her shoulder, she heard the taxi tyres gritty on the road as the driver turned and headed back. The street fell silent and she followed Scott inside.
As Scott pushed the front door closed, Kal heard a secure click, indicating the door had an automatic deadbolt system. Presumably Scott kept the control in his pocket.
She smiled. “I know I called at short notice and I’m so glad you were available.”
Scott appraised her appearance. For tonight, she’d chosen a dark red dress, long to the floor, the velvet material tight all over her body right down to knee level, where it fanned out in an elegant fishtail.
“You look as lovely as ever,” he said.
“Thank you.” The house seemed quiet. She could hear no music or low, electronic hum to show an appliance on standby. Strange. Most places had some kind of background noise. Her high heels tic-tacked on the parquet as she followed Scott down the hallway and into the lounge. He was a picture of composure and confidence, as was she.
“It was such a wonderful idea of yours, Kal, to meet for the evening, and I took the liberty of giving my staff the night off, so we won't be interrupted. My chef has left us a full menu and I do so enjoy entertaining guests at home, it's tends to be so much more… interesting.”
The light twist on Scott’s last word sent a tingle down Kal’s back. Her whole body was on high alert. She smoothed the sleeves of her dress, waiting for her nervous system to calm. Spinks and Marty had wanted her to wear a hidden microphone, which she’d refused. If Scott got any indication she wasn’t on his side, it would put Amita in immediate danger.
They arrived at the lounge door. In the hallway, there were three doors in addition to the one they now entered.
“Perfect,” she said, puckering her ruby-coated lips.
She'd dedicated several hours to a lengthy meditation and execution of the Form, but something new gave her a sharpness. A daring swirled in her belly, as if she could do anything and be impervious. Recent events had pushed her beyond a mental limit she'd not known existed, pushed her more towards being like her father than she’d ever been. The game had changed and now she walked the narrow edge of a netherworld. A sinister place where the rule was dare and challenge and kill or be killed, and it was time to make her next move. Perhaps she understood the attraction her father had for living close to the edge after all.
“Without taking risks, wouldn't life be so dull?” she said.
Scott laughed and for the first time since she’d known him, Kal sensed he genuinely agreed. So, she’d been correct. Sadism, abuse, courting danger - it was the excitement which gave Scott a high. It made him feel like a god and without that, his life would be nothing. Scott didn’t live for riches, he lived for pushing beyond the limits with his perversions and getting away with it.
She slung her coat over a lounge chair. A split-level salon opened to a dining area and a rear, open-plan kitchen. Scott walked across to the granite-surfaced worktops of the kitchen. There, after a few tugs at a corkscrew, Scott pulled the stopper from a bottle of wine.
“You’ve a nice house and this fireplace is a wonderful feature,” she said.
“It’s nothing much. I bought it years ago when I first started out and I only keep it because it's so convenient for the City.”
It appeared top-of-the-range, show-room perfect - tasteful flooring and decor, designer furniture complete with muted lighting and abstract prints on the wall, all chosen, she was sure, by a professional decorator. Just like in his office, the whole place was sterile and nowhere did she see a sign of Scott's personality. No, Scott sequestered who he really was somewhere else. In the place where he abused the children or watched others in the act.
Logs blazed in the hearth and the dancing flames tried, and were powerless, to throw gaiety into the room. The very air seemed devoid of life. Scott handed her a full glass. Kal swirled it, the full-bodied red wine leaving its waxy patina on the sides, like blood, she thought. Perching on the edge of the sofa, she raised her arm to make a toast.
“Here's to ambition.”
“Ambition,” Scott repeated.
He took a leisurely sip. Wearing a freshly-pressed, white shirt and grey, pin-stripe trousers, Scott's appearance was as flawless as ever. The firelight reflected in his gleaming, black shoes.
“I've been considering our conversation at Judge Greeves' house,” she said.
“Very sensible.”
“I liked your offer, only the thing is... I want more.”
She stated it boldly, liking the ring of authority in her words.
“I'm sure we can come to an arrangement.”
With a crackle and spit in the grate, a burning log disintegrated, revealing a glowing interior.
“What did you have in mind?” Scott asked.
“Everything Judge Greeves offered, plus half a million pounds sterling.”
Scott gave a sardonic chuckle. “What would make it worth our while to part with that sort of money?”
Made of several layers of alternating glass and mosaic, an attractive coffee table, much like the one in the City, lay between them. Scott placed down his glass and took an armchair directly facing her. The fire crackled as Scott steepled his fingers, regarding her full-face. Just like in a poker game, she thought, he wants to capture all the subtleties of my behaviour so he can read me to the maximum.
So she reclined, draping one leg over the other, lightly jiggling her top foot.
“First of all, you took me by surprise with your revelations about David Khan. I don't want to go into details, although I suspected my father had an unpleasant history - always travelling, never talking about what he did, keeping things hidden and secret. He was a strange man. He had no friends, never mentioned his past. So I was a little surprised, perhaps not that much, to hear his real story. He always terrified me,” she lied, “and I can’t say I was sorry when he died.” She assessed Scott as he weighed her words. “Richard, I know you’re curious about the nature of the information my mother left, so I've decided to be straight with you.”
Positive anticipation was always more difficult to control. Scott concealed his expectancy well, nevertheless Kal noticed the tiny signs - the salivation of a Pavlov’s dog can never be truly hidden.
“Mum was in the middle of investigating a child abuse ring and she left me photographs of a room used for torture and abuse. One set of photographs shows Farouk Assad with a child and the other set shows Alistair Kealy. Two such well-known, influential men.” She shook her head. “And the evidence is damning. Once they’re taken into custody I presume the trail will lead straight to ScottBioTec?”
Scott remained still as a monolith.
“If the evidence is so clear, why didn't Alesha go to the police?”
She shrugged. “Until I know the reason for Mum's disappearance, I can't answer that.”
His sapphire cufflinks glittered as he observed her. “And why not go to the police yourself?”
Of course he needed to check she wasn’t bluffing. He had no way of knowing what she’d collected at ScottBioTec, or even if it had really been her. Most likely, he continued to misinterpret her true nature - his assessment falling far short of her capacities for scheming and manipulation. First impressions were so powerful, and the persona she’d been displaying since their first meeting was so winningly feeble.
“There were too many unanswered questions and Mum going missing worried me. Though it never materialised, I expected a ransom demand, only now, I have a better opportunity.”
As Kal turned her attention to the fireplace, somewhere inside her chest came a light feeling like the fluttering of wings. It took her by surprise. She imagined the fluttering as the pale blue wings of a butterfly. It made her pa
use and hold herself still to concentrate, because she knew it signalled the faint hope she still kept for her mother's safety, a hope both fragile and beautiful. She reached to enhance the feeling, recalling the moment that she and her mother shared on top of the Brighton Downs, where, on a walk across the rolling hills they’d come across a pair of rare, Chalkhill blue butterflies.
Scott kept his hands motionless, fingertips lightly touching. “Did Alesha reveal the location of the room you’re talking about?”
Even as it faded, she tried to give the butterfly more life, knowing she couldn’t afford to split her attention. She must keep focused on Scott. Then the pale blue wings were gone and she felt the hollow they left behind. She took a sip of wine to bring herself back to Scott’s question. What did he mean? Could more than one suite exist?
“No, the photographs are of the inside of the room and that's all I have - so I've no clue as to where they were taken.”
“I'd like to see them.”
“I hoped you might say that and I'm sure we can come to an arrangement, though, of course, I've copied the evidence and placed it in more than one secure location, and, should anything happen to me, I've given instructions to a friend to mail it directly to Inspector Spinks.”
“Most prudent,” Scott said.
Kal smiled. “Thank you.”
Like the master he was, she watched as Scott considered his hand of cards and compared it to hers. He scrutinised her demeanour - calculating, assessing - she could see his processes in action and she feigned nonchalance, sipping her wine until Scott reached his decision.
“We shall need time to consider your request,” he said, “so meanwhile, let's not allow my chef's wonderful preparation to go to waste.”
Scott invited her to move to the dining area and she picked up her glass to follow him.
“Besides, I make it my business to get to know my associates,” Scott said.
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