I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1)

by Murray Bailey

  I DARE YOU

  Also by Murray Bailey

  Singapore 52

  Map of the Dead

  I DARE YOU

  Murray Bailey

  Heritage Books

  First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Heritage Books

  1

  copyright © Murray Bailey 2016

  The moral right of Murray Bailey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  e-bookISBN978-0-9955108-1-4

  Cover design by James Deacon

  Author photograph by Arthur Yeung

  Heritage Books, Truro, Cornwall

  For my wife, Kerry.

  You are my North Star.

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THITY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  SIXTY-NINE

  SEVENTY

  SEVENTY-ONE

  SEVENTY-TWO

  SEVENTY-THREE

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  SEVENTY-SIX

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s note

  ONE

  With the sea air in his nostrils and the sunrise turning the ocean to liquid gold, he considered it one of those good-to-be-alive days. Which he found ironic considering his old job.

  The humidity was always a problem. Except for this morning. An unusual cool breeze aided his daily run along the coast. He vaulted the wall into his garden and began his routine of press-ups and burpees. Three sets of a hundred. He stretched and dived into the pool.

  When he emerged, his careworn housekeeper was waving at him. He’d learned a while back that it was too dangerous to have an attractive maid. There were plenty of pretty young women in the city. Easy to pick up. Easy to leave.

  “Señor que es urgente!”

  He snatched up a towel and followed the housekeeper into the air-conditioned villa. She pointed at the study.

  He could already hear the beep, and the signal was confirmed by a blinking red light on the console.

  “Gracias, Cristina.” He flicked the response switch that meant he was ready to take a call and asked Cristina for an espresso.

  Five minutes later, dressed and espresso consumed, the phone rang. There were no introductions but he knew the voice. Codename Mustang. He would never use that name even though they both knew the line was scrambled and untraceable.

  “I may need you for a cleaning job.”

  “May?”

  “Depends how the dice fall,” Mustang said, trying to draw him in no doubt.

  “I’m retired.”

  “Or in exile?”

  Cristina bustled past the patio window and he realized he was looking out at the palms, the beach and blue ocean beyond. Yes, Panama had its downsides, which was mainly the humidity. But better hot than the cold. He didn’t like cold weather. Nightly electrical storms provided an amazing light show which he figured was down to the humidity. And since the canal had been widened, Panama City had become Central America’s version of Dubai. Maybe it wasn’t nirvana, but as an escape it was pretty damn good.

  Mustang continued: “Just this one and you’ll have enough money to retire properly. I presume you have the same account?”

  “Yes.”

  “Check it while I send you the details.” The line abruptly ended.

  The advance in his bank account was more than he was usually paid in total. The reference code was relevant. Intrigued, he connected to a secure site and used the code to download a file.

  Cristina showed no surprise at his request for a pack of gum. He popped a stick in his mouth and unconsciously played with the paper, folding and refolding. It helped him think and at other times it filled long hours of waiting.

  He read the file. Remove the guy now; that would seem the easiest option. Mustang didn’t explain. There was no why, just the who. The guy was part of Mustang’s plan, and once over, the best case was it’d clean itself up. No need for his services. But plan for the worst. That was why Mustang needed someone. Someone he could trust to do it thoroughly.

  The file had scenarios. The job: to get people to make the best case happen. And if it didn’t then any witnesses had to be dealt with.

  The final payment didn’t depend on the scenario. He could buy a small island plus change for that. No more living in Panama. Maybe he’d have a host of pretty girls around the place.

  He would never speak directly to Mustang again. Unless something went wrong. But nothing would.

  He sat by the pool and re-read the file. Swallows darted across the water and their dips for flies caused a myriad of small ripples. He looked at the papers he’d been unconsciously folding and saw that he’d made a horse.

  Why was Mustang so concerned? What had triggered the actions? The main guy was already in play, but which scenario would occur?

  A young bird misjudged and hit the water. It flapped and paddled frantically before taking to the air again. He kept his eye on it, watched it swoop around, dipping perfectly the next time. There would be no second shot for him. It had to be right first time, whichever scenario played out. That meant being in control. He needed someone in the States and, he realized, someone else. In that moment his plan began to form. Watch, track and, if necessary, take control. He knew who to use: an ex-lover. She’d be attracted by the money and intrigue and maybe the promise. He needed her in England. In Windsor. That wouldn’t be a problem.

  Gett
ing her close to the girl may prove more of a challenge.

  Time for the Janitor to come out of retirement.

  TWO

  There are days when a moment, an action, a decision, can determine the course of the rest of our lives. Sometimes we have a premonition or we can look back and recognize a warning sign. For Kate, the change was heralded by a thought, a random thought, as she stood at the rear bedroom window: how much of another person can we really know? Do we only see what they want us to see?

  After six months, she was pretty certain the guy who had just left her Windsor apartment was the one for her. Mr Right, as her sister would tease. Sure, Kate didn’t know everything, but didn’t she know enough? A lifetime together would provide plenty of time for all the little facts and details.

  Joe appeared at the corner and walked past the garages to his old silver Audi parked along by the fence. Even though he called himself just a salesman for a mobile phone company, anyone could see he was much more than that: the way he held himself, the way he walked with strong, confident strides.

  He glanced up as he opened the car door and flashed his perfect Hollywood smile.

  “Get a new car,” she mouthed, and he laughed.

  Joe was generous with many things, although never to himself. He would happily treat her, but when it came to something for himself, he would make do. “Need versus want,” he would say. “The auto works fine and I don’t need a new one.”

  “What about wanting something?”

  “How about: I want you—and you are all I need?”

  She smiled at the memory of the conversation. It was a good line, a little corny perhaps, but it worked, just like the line he used when they first met. She checked her watch as the Audi pulled away: 8:05. Whenever she was working part-time as a physio at the private tennis and health club, she used the late start to prepare breakfast for them both. But Joe’s schedule always seemed so precise, and there he was again driving off at the same time. That side of him confused her slightly. On the one hand he was relaxed and fun but on the other he liked his routine. A mild case of OCD, perhaps? She could live with his tidiness—so long as the tins in the cupboard weren’t lined up with their labels facing the same way.

  The thought of tidiness prompted Kate into action. It was her morning to clean the bathroom and she also needed to pop into town.

  She was crouching by the bath when the home phone rang. Turning quickly made her heel knock into the bath panel. The panel popped out along part of the top edge. She tried to push it back but it immediately sprang away, only wider this time. Now she could see the dusty floor beneath the bath. In her opinion, no one should ever see the fragility of their home. Builders should make houses into secure cocoons, where bricks and dirt and spiders were on the outside. The thought of a giant house spider lurking under the bath made her neck prickle.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  Kate knelt beside the bath and, trying not to look into the dark space, gave the panel a solid push. It didn’t go back. There was no escaping it: she had to look at what she was doing. After a moment’s consideration, she decided the top and bottom would have to be manoeuvred into place. It would have to start with the whole panel coming away. Carefully, as though slow movement would be less likely to result in spiders running out, Kate pulled the panel free from the bath.

  She took a breath and looked at the strip along the floor where the bottom edge slotted in. Something caught her eye. A blue bag, the size of a small handbag, nestled under the tub. Gritting her teeth she reached for the bag, pinched a corner between finger and thumb, and pulled it free. She stood, took a step backwards and stared at it.

  The shrill ring of the phone snapped her attention away. The only people who rang the home number were cold callers and Kate’s mother. A second attempt was sure to be her mother. Perhaps something was wrong. Kate scuttled to the nearest phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Kate, it’s your mother.” She always started like that although there was an edge of stress to her voice this morning.

  “What’s wrong, Mumsie?”

  “I can’t connect to the internet this morning.”

  Great! Kate the PC support person. “Check the lights on the router—you know, the black box that connects to the phone line?”

  There was a scuffling sound and then: “The lights are all green.”

  “Yes, but look at the symbol that’s like the world. Is that light on?”

  “No. Oh God, what do I do?”

  “It’s all right. Nothing’s wrong. Remember, you’ve had this problem before. All you need to do is reboot—switch the black box off at the wall. Wait a minute and then switch it on again.” While Kate listened to silence she stared in the direction of the bathroom. What was in the bag? Had it been left there by mistake? Possibly plumber’s tools?

  “Are you there, love?”

  “I’m still here, Mumsie.”

  “The internet light blinked for a while and is now lit.”

  “Great, that should have fixed it.”

  Kate’s mother said she was on the PC, and after a few seconds she reported that her web page had opened. Immediately, she started to chat about other things.

  “Mumsie, I’m sorry. I haven’t time right now. I’ll call you tonight or maybe tomorrow evening. I’ve things to do.”

  Kate ended the call abruptly, with her mother still talking, and returned to the bathroom. She stared at the bag. Navy blue, two leather-looking handles, a clasp on top. The material was thick, maybe canvass. There was no dust.

  This hadn’t been left by a plumber. The apartment was over ten years old and, as far as Kate knew, no plumbing work had been done since construction. No, this bag had been put there deliberately. It had been hidden and only one person could have done it.

  The bag dominated the centre of the table. Kate sat, her hands together, her fingers pressed against her lips as though she were praying but preventing the words from coming out.

  Her long-haired, chocolate-coloured Siamese cat jumped onto her lap. She pushed him away. “Not now, Tolkien.”

  Tolkien wound himself around the chair and her legs until she placed a hand out. He stopped and pushed his head against her fingers.

  “OK, let’s do it.” She stood, reached for the clasp, flicked it apart and withdrew her hands. The bag didn’t open. She reached forward again, gritted her teeth and pulled at the clasps. It opened like a doctor’s bag with a hinged metal frame. Inside was something wrapped in black plastic.

  Tip it out or take it out? She opted for tipping. The plastic-wrapped item clunked onto the table, followed by a bundle of money, a British passport and a mobile phone.

  Kate sat down again, her hands trembling. Through the plastic it looked like a gun.

  THREE

  Joe came into the lounge and said, “You’re home earlier than I expected.” He bent down to kiss her as she lay sprawled on the sofa.

  Kate held up a hand to stop him. “Better not—I’m not feeling well.” She couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact.

  “Anything I can get you?”

  Kate pulled Tolkien closer to her chest, felt her heartbeat against him. “Nothing at the moment.”

  “Let me get changed and I’ll attend to your every wish, your every whim.”

  She listened to his footsteps on the stairs. This was the final scene she’d played over and over in her head after calling in sick for work. Her first thought was to leave the house and stay with her sister until he moved out. Then she had decided to stuff all his clothes in a bag and leave them outside. She had started by pulling his clothes from the wardrobe and then stopped. His favourite shirt—the one he had worn on the day they met—had brought the memories flooding back.

  At Sarah and Peter’s engagement party, she found herself watching from the sidelines. Sarah had once been Kate’s best friend but she hardly knew anyone else there.

  And then the man with the enigmatic eyes and perfect white smile leaned cl
ose and whispered, “I dare you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I dare you to cut in and ask that guy for a dance.”

  Kate realized she’d been watching a mismatched couple—the guy tall and thin, the girl’s head only coming up to his sternum. Both were dressed in browns and black—dowdy and almost severe—out of place at the party.

  Joe said, “I reckon they’re from opposing Mafia families and their union was supposed to bring the two together.”

  Oddly, she’d had a similar thought. “That would explain it,” she said with a smile.

  “So, I dare you to break it up—and see what happens.”

  She rose to the challenge, and when she returned, Joe introduced himself.

  As they shook hands, he said, “So, what do you think?”

  “That while I was watching them, Joe, you were watching me.”

  “Guilty as charged.” His lovely teeth flashed in a smile. “But I meant, what do you think about the odd couple now?”

  She stole a glance at the skinny man who was again dancing with his short partner. “He’s a Russian spy,” she said, “keeping an eye on American expats.” Then, before he could respond: “OK, now it’s my turn: I dare you to eat one of those disgusting pickled herrings—with a dollop of chocolate sauce.”

  The childish game of dare continued for over an hour. Between horror and stitches from laughter she learned that Joe was an Italian-American working with Peter at Oskar, a mobile phone company.

  “How do you know Sarah?” he asked.

  “My best friend from school.” While Kate had gone on to study physiotherapy, Sarah had read Business Studies at university then travelled the world before finding she had a penchant for selling foreign houses and settled in the Czech Republic. However, Kate knew that Peter was largely the reason for choosing Prague.

  Before the party was over, Joe called for a taxi. They slipped away and were driven out to the countryside to join a Witches’ Night celebration. Bonfires pushed flames into the dark sky and the crackle of wood accompanied the cackle of people dressed as witches. Effigies burned on the fires to great cheers and howls of glee and, if not for the food and beer stalls, Kate would have believed they’d been transported back to the Middle Ages.