“Understood,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
“Ready?” For a moment a touch of kindness entered his otherwise officious tone.
“Yes,” she said, and smiled weakly.
He opened the door and she stepped inside the ten-by-eight room. Barely aware of the door shutting behind her, she sat in the chair and stared at the door through the glass partition. Her hands were slick with sweat.
The opposite door handle moved. The door opened outwards and a guard looked in as if checking the room. He stepped forward. Behind him, a second officer helped a man in a white straightjacket into the room.
Kate stared. Her chest constricted and her vision blurred. She pushed herself to her feet and swivelled, waved to signal the officious guard.
Quickly in the room, the man placed a hand under her elbow, providing support.
“Got to get out,” she said quietly.
The guard guided her into the corridor.
“Miss? Are you all right, Miss?”
The clamp around her chest eased and she sucked in air. The guard held her and looked into her eyes, concern etched on his face. “Miss?”
“It’s not him,” Kate spluttered. “It’s not Joe!”
TWENTY-NINE
Snapping out of her trance, Kate said, “Can I go back in?”
The guard opened the door and waved to the other room. The prisoner had been rising out of the chair but now sat down.
Kate re-entered the room, sat in the chair by the dividing panel and picked up the phone. The man opposite grinned wolfishly at her.
“Pick up the phone!” she mouthed.
He complied.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Who are you?” he asked, voice slurred.
“I’m Kate Blakemore. Who are you?”
Confusion played in a wave across his brow. “Do I know you, Kate Blakemore?”
“No, you don’t,” she said, gaining in confidence and frustration. “Who are you?”
This time her tone compelled the man to answer. “Greg Towers,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, Kate Blakemore.” Each time he said her name he appeared to taste it.
She forced herself to stay calm, sound collected. “Do you know anyone called Joe Rossini?” She thought about the British passport she’d found. “Or maybe Joe Ranieri?”
He tapped his forehead rapidly with a finger then said, “I don’t think I know either of them.” He turned briefly to the guard, “Do I know anyone called Joe, Dave?” The guard ignored the question. Towers didn’t seem to notice, his eyes swinging back to Kate’s. “But I would like to know you better… Kate Blakemore.”
She stood and signalled that the interview was over.
Towers called into the handset, “Will you come and visit me again, Kate Blakemore?” But Kate had left hers on the table.
In the corridor she waited for the guard to lock the door behind her and together they walked to the waiting area. She handed in her ID pass and exited the prison-hospital, reversing the process through the double security gate.
When she got into her car she sat for a moment composing herself. She took her phone out of her handbag and called Inspector Mather.
When Mather answered, Kate said, “The deal’s off. I’m not going to Prague tomorrow.”
Mather sounded surprised. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s happened.”
“You know what happened,” Kate said belligerently. “I’ve just come out of Broadmoor and the man I’ve seen is not my boyfriend.”
“What? They didn’t let you see Greg Towers?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I saw Mr Towers all right, but he is not my boyfriend.”
At the other end of the phone there was a long silence. Eventually Mather said, “I don’t understand. The file says that Greg Towers was arrested twelve months ago for identity fraud and wanted for other potential US federal offences. He was retained at Broadmoor because of his mental health. The Feds dropped a request for extradition. The file lists Joe Rossini as one of his aliases. It must be him.”
Kate sighed. “And I’m telling you it’s not. I know what my boyfriend looks like.”
“There must have been a mistake somewhere. I can’t believe it’s a deliberate attempt to deceive. Frankly, it would be too big and too likely to fail.”
“Well it worked for twelve months. Perhaps no one expected me to find him—or gain access.”
“All right, I’ll look into it, find out what really happened.” He sounded convincing. “Meanwhile, I do want you to go to Prague. Remember you’re also doing this for your friend.”
“Am I?”
“Yes!”
She looked at herself in the rear-view mirror. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
Amir walked past the entrance to Broadmoor and headed for the woods opposite. He spotted Kate walking towards a building with a red door within the walls. When the siren sounded, Amir shrank further back into the woods, wondering what had happened. About a minute later an air raid-type “All-Clear” told him that it had probably been a test. There was no one around. Six cars in the car park. He walked to the red Mazda and, within seconds, had the door open using a device which found the frequency of her remote. Her handbag and phone were hidden from view behind her seat. He quickly went through her bag then took out the phone. When he had finished he replaced everything, relocked the car and slipped back to the vantage point in the woods.
After thirty-nine minutes, Kate reappeared at the door and headed for the double security gates. Amir couldn’t quite make out the expression on her face but something about her demeanour suggested anger.
He slipped back to the wall and crossed in front of the barrier. Kate climbed into her car and sat immobile for a few minutes. Amir took out what looked like a mobile phone with an aerial. He listened. The girl was talking. He’d inserted a bug into her iPhone. Although there was interference, it was clear enough for Amir to understand.
Joe Rossini was not Greg Towers. The man in prison was not who she expected to meet.
Amir smiled. He’d read the encrypted document. There was no way on Earth that the girl’s boyfriend had been arrested and interred in a prison for the criminally insane. But it was good to have it confirmed. He was pleased he had learned something else. The girl was supposed to go to Prague. It could only mean the police wanted her to go to the funeral.
He also liked the feisty way she’d spoken to the person on the other end of the line. She was tougher than he had first thought. The red sports car appeared at the barrier. Amir turned his back to the car, heard the barrier raise and the car drive away. He turned and ran to his own wheels, parked just before the turning into the prison. He turned on his satnav and a blue blip began to pulse on the screen. The girl’s car.
As he drove down the hill he thought about her soft white skin. He pictured her jogging, her body not fat, not too hard. His loins stirred. Yes, he would have some fun with this girl before she died.
THIRTY
Kate got out of her Mazda as someone said, “Hello dear.”
“Oh… hello, Ann.” Kate shook distracted thoughts from her head. Worryingly, she realized she couldn’t remember the drive back from Crowthorne.
“Are you feeling all right, dear?”
Kate smiled weakly. “Mind on other things I’m afraid.”
Ann stepped carefully up the kerb and began to walk the short distance to her door. Kate walked in step.
“Come in for a cuppa,” Ann said. It wasn’t a question.
Kate chuckled. “You sound so very English. How can I refuse?” Then, recalling Ann’s weak coffee, she added, “Do you have any Earl Grey tea?”
Ann opened the door and waved at the sofa for Kate to sit. There was a long delay before she said anything as she busied herself with the kettle. “I’ve been in England for so long, I do like to make an effort, dear,” she eventually said. Noises of rooting in a cupboard, then: “I have Lady Grey. Will that be al
l right?”
“Yes, please.”
“Slice of lemon?”
“Perfect.”
Kate waited on the sofa and studied the photographs again. She was about to say something when Ann appeared with a tray: a mug of coffee for her and a fine bone china cup of black tea with lemon for Kate.
“I’ve been meaning to say something,” Ann began. “There was a strange man around last week. He seemed to be outside your apartment.”
“Yes, he was a bit odd. Some satellite company connecting Sky to the block.”
“Good, good,” Ann said, thoughtfully. “Only, I was a little concerned because I heard you go out.” She smiled at the recollection. “Seemed in a bit of a rush, I would say. Anyway, straight afterwards I then thought I heard you go up your stairs. But then I heard you come in again a short time later. It couldn’t have been you, could it?”
Kate frowned. “No, I went out for fifteen minutes or so. Perhaps Simon let him in.” Simon lived in number seven, the mirror of Kate’s apartment. “You probably heard the man in Simon’s flat.”
Ann didn’t look convinced, but she said, “Yes, that must have been it. Simon wasn’t home that day, but he will have arranged for access. Yes, that will be right.”
Kate looked back at the photographs. She was still thinking about them. “Your husband was in the army—US Army, I mean.”
“Yes, he was. Reached the heady heights of colonel. He was a good man, and I miss his company.” Ann said this without a hint of sadness. “It was interesting to travel with him all over the world, and a colonel’s wife is a full-time job, you know. I had duties to perform and there were certain expectations. Many of the wives find it difficult, but I enjoyed being an officer’s wife. After all, I had plenty of time to study my art history, and the free travel was a bonus.”
“You remember my boyfriend, Joe?”
“Of course, dear.”
“He has a friend in the US Army—Danny Guice. I need to contact Danny. I don’t really know where to start. How would I locate him?”
“Well, let’s see…” Ann tapped her bottom lip in thought. “Do you know his rank and which unit he’s in?”
“No, I’ve not been able to find anything that’s less than about six years old. I think he was in some sort of secret unit. Does that make sense?”
“Not to me, dear,” Ann smiled, “but I know someone who may be able to help. Let me make some telephone calls and see what I can find.”
Before Kate left, she wrote Danny’s name on a piece of paper and thanked Ann for the tea. She returned to her apartment exhausted from a rollercoaster of emotions: Joe’s encrypted message to her; losing it and finding Andrew had a copy; getting nowhere with a search for Boomer; being told Joe was close by; then discovering it wasn’t Joe in Broadmoor; and now a kind of hope again from Ann.
Realizing how exhausted she was, Kate closed her bedroom curtains and lay on her bed.
She must have fallen asleep because she was roused by her mobile phone ringing beside her head.
“Hello?” Her voice was just-woken-up rough.
“Can I come over?”
“Andrew! Hi—sorry, I was just having a nap. Still half asleep. You’re back from Italy? Great. Of course you can come over.”
“Be there within half an hour.”
It dawned on her that he sounded sad, but he’d clicked off before she could question him.
Dying to ask about the Trust Me document, Kate held back, waiting for Andrew to speak. Her friend’s eyes were red-rimmed from what she was sure were tears.
“I’m ruined,” he eventually sighed. “More than ten years of work and it’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“My PC with all my software has been stolen.”
Kate’s jaw dropped open. “Stolen?”
“While I was away, someone broke into my house and took the computer.” Kate shook her head in disbelief. Andrew continued, guessing her next question. “And my backup. The police say it was a professional job. Came in through the least secure access and only stole the computer and drives. It can only mean one thing.”
She waited, unclear what the one thing would be.
He put his head in his hands. “It was stolen to order! And it is too much of a coincidence that the Italians wanted me to stay for a few more days.”
Kate shook her head again. “Surely not?”
He nodded. “It’s all they needed. I probably told them too much as it was. You know me! With the software they can save themselves months, maybe years, of development.”
She felt terrible raising it but had to. “And Joe’s document… has that gone too?”
Andrew dropped his head. “I’m sorry…”
She put her arms around him and his tears flowed freely. She said, “It’s all right. It’s all right. I’m more worried about your work than the document.” And it was true.
Later, she brought Andrew up to date regarding her investigations and the police interview.
He said, “I don’t like the sound of the sergeant. What’s her name—Littlewood?” Andrew smiled for the first time that day. “Little wood, big chip on the shoulder! That’s what I say.”
“Clever.” Kate laughed. “Maybe she does have a bit of a chip on her shoulder. Must be tough being a woman detective. It seems such a man’s world.”
“So, are you going to the funeral?”
“Yes. I’ve nothing to lose while I’m waiting for Ann to come up with something.”
Andrew looked awkward but then said what was on his mind. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“Of course.”
“Only I’ll be uncomfortable in my house… and I need to get the window fixed and the security alarm sorted out.”
“Stay a few nights. You can feed Tolkien while I’m in Prague.”
He grinned. “Thanks, kiddo.”
THIRTY-ONE
Littlewood was waiting at Heathrow Terminal 3.
Kate showed no surprise. “So you’re the plain-clothed policeman Inspector Mather said was coming with me?”
Littlewood nodded without a smile. Her red hair was still tied back. She was dressed in what Kate assumed were her usual work clothes: blue trousers, jacket, flat sensible shoes.
Kate said, “You still look like a copper.”
Littlewood ignored her. “Let’s go,” she said, and directed Kate to BA’s check-in.
On the flight, Kate attempted to make conversation and learned Littlewood’s first name was Sam. However, Sam’s terse replies to any questions soon stopped Kate making an effort at friendship. So they travelled most of the way in silence, except for when necessary.
When they arrived at Prague airport, Kate expected they would get a taxi. Instead, a policeman met them. He too said very few words apart from introducing himself. His English was difficult to follow, but Kate surmised he told them they would be staying at the Hilton hotel in Prague’s Old Town.
At the hotel, Kate declined Littlewood’s dinner invitation with the excuse of a headache and chose from the limited room service menu. While she waited for the food, she called Andrew.
“How are you?” she said.
“Much better, thanks.” He sounded his usual, optimistic self once more. “Techion emailed me the agreement. They want to proceed because it looks like Rialto will buy!”
“But your software was stolen.”
“I can rebuild it more quickly than I thought. I forgot I had copies of old versions. Those discs weren’t taken and, to be honest, I’ve only been tinkering these past few years. The fundamental mechanics are all there.”
“That is good news. How’s Tolkien?”
“Missing you, of course, but he’s on my lap now and seems happy enough. Oh, and Lisa from the club is coming round later for a chinwag and a glass of vino. You know how she likes to talk.”
“Sounds like you really are settled in! Are you still OK to feed Tolkien tomorrow and Thursday morning?”
“I’m not ch
ecking out from your place just yet, if that’s all right,” he said. “My house still has to be sorted—and I have my laptop, so I can work from anywhere.”
Kate’s food arrived and she ended the call, promising to provide an update about the funeral tomorrow. After dinner she chatted with her mother and then Darcy. She soaked for over an hour in the bath, regularly topping up the heat. When she climbed into bed, she expected to fall asleep immediately. Instead, she lay awake listening to the late-night street noise. Something was troubling her. Something about Andrew, or what he’d said. She eventually gave up, switched on a light and found a documentary in English on the History Channel.
Almost six thousand miles west, the Janator sat by his pool, chewing gum and reading the latest status reports. A critical juncture approached.
When he had finished he realised he’d made an origami cat from the paper wrapper. He scrunched it up. His subconscious mind gave away too much. It was a good job no one else would guess the meaning.
Kate had no idea what time she fell asleep, but the sun streamed through gaping curtains when she awoke and the TV burbled quietly with a grainy history programme from the 1960s—British prime minister Harold Macmillan giving his “winds of change” speech about South Africa.
After a simple breakfast of tea, toast and fresh fruit, Kate strolled outside. Bright sunshine filled the sky with the illusion of warmth, while a chill breeze tugged at the spaces in her coat and bit at exposed skin.
She wandered around the centre looking at the old buildings and sensing their character almost as though it were her first time in Prague. The city never ceased to impress her with its unique personality. Eventually, cold and thirsty, she crossed the Charles Bridge and, on the other side, dropped down stone steps to the island. Here she walked along the cobbled street and found an old pub where she’d come with Joe. This was where they had met on her first visit after the engagement party.
As she had eighteen months earlier, she ordered a small beer and sat in silence on a wooden bench that could have been a hundred years old. The room was poorly lit and clearly not really a daytime venue.
I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1) Page 12
