The Revenge Trail

by A A Abbott

  “It’s personal,” Shaun said. Adrenaline flowed through him, pent-up energy ready to be unleashed. He was so close to her now. In a calculated risk, he took off his dark glasses, making sure to smile as he did so. The image he presented bore no resemblance to the police mugshot that was almost certainly being used to frighten the public. Women loved his blue eyes: many had told him so, and he’d taken advantage of it. “You’re being most helpful, but I need to see her face to face. Can you tell me where she is?”

  Emily responded to his charm offensive. “I’ll ring through to Dee Saxton’s suite,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Shaun said. Fearful that Dee would somehow know it was not Marshall, and the lie would be uncovered, he nevertheless spoke with confidence. Realising his hands were trembling, he concentrated on steadying them.

  Emily removed a phone from an oversized cream clutch bag. “Dee, it’s Emily. How’s it going?” She paused. “I beg your pardon, Jackie. I have a gentleman to see Kat White. Can she speak on the phone?”

  “I’d like to see her personally,” Shaun said.

  “He wishes to see her personally,” Emily echoed. “It’s Mr Marshall Jenner. Will that be possible?” She waited for a reply. Evidently, it was affirmative, for she then said, “Thank you. I’ll send him up then.” She replaced the handset.

  “Good news,” she told Shaun. “The ladies are having their make-up done. They requested that you join them for a glass of champagne when they’re finished, but please don’t take photos of the bride’s dress. They don’t want the groom to see it before the wedding.”

  “No photos,” Shaun said. “Scout’s honour. I’ll go there now, shall I?” He kept his smile respectful rather than triumphant.

  “They need a while longer,” Emily said. “Have a coffee in the lounge.” She gestured to the velvet sofas. “My treat. Let’s give them ten minutes.”

  “Make it an Irish coffee, and you’re on,” Shaun said, replacing his sunglasses.

  Chapter 41.

  Kat

  Kat was admiring the stunning view of the London Eye when she heard the click of stilettos rising on the stairs. Finally, Dee was emerging from the bedroom of her split-level suite.

  “The big reveal,” Dee said, entering the living room. “What do you think, Kat?”

  “You look sensational,” Kat said, lounging on a velvet chair, a flute of champagne by her side. All that stopped her drinking it was the presence of a make-up artist adding scarlet gel nails to each finger.

  Kat meant every word. Dee and her bridesmaids could have starred in a Hollywood movie. Their skin looked air-brushed, their glossy hair tonged into romantic ringlets.

  The bride wore a dress of palest blush pink silk, sleeveless, slim-fitting and filmy. Sewn with pearls and butterflies in the same colour, it set off her shapely figure to perfection. Her bridesmaids’ gowns took the same simple shape, but in co-ordinating shades without any adornment. Jackie, Dee’s schoolfriend, was a blonde bombshell in a bubblegum colour. Auburn-haired Amy had chosen peach.

  “We’re all goddesses today,” Amy said.

  Jackie giggled. “And George is a god.”

  Dee’s young toddler, George, was optimistically clad in white shirt, cream waistcoat and bow tie. Jackie was feeding him Milky Bar buttons in the hope that the marks wouldn’t show.

  A photographer, suited and bearded, bounded up the steps behind Dee. “A few photos, ladies,” he demanded, snapping away.

  Chocolate finished, Dee’s little god smeared a hand over his black trousers. “Want Daddy,” he complained.

  Kat wondered if she was ready for motherhood. While the other women were cooing over George, she couldn’t understand how they found a small child so interesting.

  Dee sponged the little boy’s hand and clothes with a baby wipe. “Perhaps Chas would like to entertain him for a bit,” she said with a grin.

  “I’ll take him,” Amy said.

  “And I’ll come with you,” Jackie said. “We’ll check that the groom has turned up.”

  For a moment, the light in Dee’s eyes dimmed.

  “Just joking,” Jackie said. “Of course he’ll turn up. George doesn’t really need to see him before the wedding, anyway. Amy and I can take him for a walk around the hotel. There’s a lovely heated terrace downstairs.” She tickled the toddler under his armpits. “You want to explore, don’t you, Georgie?”

  George’s laughter bubbled like a waterfall. “Yes,” he lisped.

  “I’ll come with you,” the photographer said. “I’ve got to set up in the River Room.”

  “We’ll be back in twenty,” Amy called, as they descended the staircase to the front door of the suite. Carved out of a tower at the top of the building, it was like a separate, upside-down flat. There was a sumptuous ensuite bedroom downstairs, where Dee had made herself ready, and a circular living room with views all over London on the top floor.

  “Amy’s usually so self-conscious,” Kat said. “I’m surprised she’s letting the public see her in that dress.”

  “Doesn’t she look amazing?” Dee said. “You’ve done a great job on all of us, Tiffany.”

  The young make-up artist, a slim black girl with Afro hair, ripped jeans and velvet T-shirt, beamed. “Glad you like it, Dee.” She gently removed Kat’s hands from the UV lamp that dried the nails. “There. Finishing touches done.”

  “You can drink your fizz now, Kat,” Dee said.

  Kat shuddered. “I can’t face it, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “I poured it without thinking. Old habits die hard.”

  “I’ll take it,” Tiffany said.

  “Why not?” Dee said. “Your work is done for the day. In fact, go home with one of those.” She pointed to the coffee table, where a vast chrome bowl was filled with ice and bottles of Taittinger. “Are you all right, Kat?”

  A telephone rang just as Tiffany left, and Kat was on the point of explaining she was pregnant.

  “Hello?” Dee said, taking a call on the desk phone that sat on a polished black console table. “Yes, send him up.” She turned to Kat. “Marshall Jenner wants to see us before the wedding, according to the concierge. Jackie mentioned it about an hour ago. I can’t think what he wants.”

  “He’s the MP, isn’t he?” Kat was digging deep into her memory banks now. There had been a scandal. She could hardly recall any details. Coming from Bazakistan, she expected all politicians to be corrupt.

  “An ex-MP. He’s married to one of my dear friends, Jeannie.” Dee frowned. “Between you and me, she’s getting fed up with him, and rightly so. He’s been flaunting his toy boys all over London.”

  “He’s gay?” Kat was starting to remember. Marshall Jenner’s downfall had involved both love and money, making his disgrace especially newsworthy.

  “Yes,” Dee said. “Jeannie deserves better. She’s a charming lady.” She whispered. “He’s ugly, unemployed, and just wants her money. I bet he wants to tell me she’s feeling stressed and isn’t coming to the wedding, after all. That would be a shame.”

  Kat did her best to look sympathetic. “Why doesn’t she kick him out?” she asked.

  “You’ve hit the nail on the head,” Dee said. “That’s exactly what she should do. I was hoping to introduce her to my brother today. He’s been single since his marriage broke up, and he’s down on his luck. Jeannie would be good for him. She’s got both beauty and banknotes.”

  “And brains?” Kat asked.

  “I doubt it,” Dee said. “Her marriage speaks for itself. But Davey wouldn’t expect brains, because no one’s as clever as him. I always struggled at school, while he came top at everything. He was more intelligent than me and all our friends.”

  Ross was too, Kat thought. Her former fiancé was arrogant with it, but perhaps Dee’s brother wasn’t.

  “I just thought,” Dee mused, “it would be fun to do some matchmaking today. I’d like to start off a romance or two, otherwise the party will end up being all about business networking.”
<
br />   “I thought guests came to a wedding for a good time,” Kat said.

  “Of course. But for some of my friends, that’s their idea of a good time. I often organise networking events, and I’m sure a few deals will be done after the ceremony. As you say, old habits die hard. So I’d like them to meet interesting people. It was why I invited your boss, Marty.”

  “He’s not my boss,” Kat interjected. “He’s my business partner.” It might be an unequal relationship, but she didn’t defer to Marty if she could avoid it.

  “He’s Amy’s boss, though, isn’t he?” Dee said. “Anyway, Chas insisted I invite you, so I decided it would be nice for you if Marty was there as well.”

  How little Dee knew of her, Kat reflected. “So Charles insisted, did he?”

  “He felt you brought us together,” Dee said. “For that reason alone, he didn’t need to insist. You’ve always been top of my guest list.” She gave Kat a warm hug.

  The suite’s doorbell sounded.

  “That’ll be Marshall,” Dee said. She put a finger to her lips. “Not a word, please, Kat.”

  “You can rely on me,” Kat said. “I’ll open the door.”

  She went downstairs to do so. Whatever she expected, it wasn’t the man who stood before her – the killer who had followed her to Birmingham three years before, believing wrongly that she’d stolen twenty thousand pounds from his casino.

  “Hello, Kat,” Shaun Halloran said, his blue eyes brimming with hatred and devoid of reason.

  She opened her mouth to scream.

  “I’ll give you something to shout about,” Shaun said. He punched the side of her head, hard, sending her reeling.

  Chapter 42.

  Shaun

  Power coursed through Shaun’s body as Kat staggered backwards. He must press home his advantage while she was still in shock. “Don’t make a sound, or there will be more of that,” he threatened her.

  Kat was as beautiful as he remembered. Everything about her oozed class: her blonde hair, curled for the wedding, her creamy skin, the glossy nails that matched her red cocktail dress.

  He closed the door behind him, then slowly ran his gaze over that hourglass figure, taking in his surroundings at the same time. They were inside a small, square lobby, with another door ahead of him and stairs leading upwards.

  “Let’s talk privately. Just you and me,” he said. “Where’s the bedroom?”

  He saw fear rise like a flame in her eyes. It fed his energy. For the first time, he understood how rapists took such pleasure in their crimes. It wasn’t so much the act itself, enjoyable though it was, but the total control over their victim’s mind and body. As Shaun’s libido rose, his resolve hardened. Whatever the temptation, she wasn’t going to turn him into a nonce. They were beneath contempt. He didn’t see why he shouldn’t frighten her before pulling the trigger, though.

  A woman yelled from the top of the stairs. “What’s happening, Kat? Send him up.” He recognised Dee’s voice.

  The plum returned to Shaun’s mouth. “In a second, darling,” he called. He hissed at Kat, “Who else is here?”

  “The photographer and his assistant. They’re kickboxers,” she said.

  She was bluffing, surely? “Hellooo,” he called, in those stupidly cultured tones.

  “Hello,” Dee echoed.

  “Just you and delicious Dee,” Shaun said. “Why is it with you that I always get two birds for the price of one? First, your friend Amy protects you when you lead me a merry dance through the middle of England. Now it’s the luscious bride-to-be.” He leered, all the better to terrify her. “Where’s the bedroom? Upstairs?” He gripped her arm.

  Kat twisted from his grasp. Flipping from sullen compliance to vengeful fury, she launched a knee at his groin. Her hands clawed at his eyes.

  Taken by surprise, Shaun dodged her red talons, which simply raked his cheeks. He wasn’t so lucky with the knee. Recoiling at the explosion of pain within him, he fought back, thumping her savagely. All his weight was channelled into his fists as he landed blows to Kat’s stomach and the soft tissues below.

  It was an instinctive reaction. He’d never hit his wife, or other females among his family, friends and employees. The taboo didn’t apply to Kat, the woman whose evidence had sent him inside. He dragged the gun from his pocket. “Now, do as you’re told.”

  Doubled up in pain, Kat still wouldn’t surrender. “No way,” she said, spitting out the words even as tears flowed from her green eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Dee, her tone inquisitive but still polite and confident, descended the staircase in her bridal gown. She was even more stunning than she’d appeared on television.

  Shaun froze, recalling Meg on their wedding day, slim and beautiful. He blinked the thought away.

  Dee stopped halfway down the stairs, her enquiring expression faltering at the sight before her. “You’re not Marshall,” she said.

  “You don’t say,” Shaun replied. He pointed the pistol at Dee. “Kat, you wouldn’t ruin the party, would you? All those shiny, happy people are waiting for the bride. She won’t be there if she’s dead.”

  Dee clung to the banister. She appeared on the verge of fainting.

  “I’ll kill Dee if you don’t behave, Kat.” Shaun glared at his adversary. “Understand?”

  Kat nodded. She was pale, her face tear-streaked and seemingly in agony.

  Shaun felt smug. At last, she knew who was boss. “Come downstairs,” he told Dee, “and into that room.” He pointed to the door behind Kat. “Kat is going to tie you up. Because you won’t die if she behaves. This is between her and me.”

  He licked his lips. “I was going to give you a quick death,” he said, “but you’ve spoiled it for yourself. I’ll be taking my time.”

  An old-fashioned Nokia ringtone suddenly cut through the air. It took Shaun a few seconds to realise it was his phone. He ignored it. His prize was within his grasp. Everything else could wait.

  Chapter 43.

  Ben

  Successful gaming was all about strategic thinking. You had to be in control, staying at least two steps ahead of your opponents. This time, everything had changed. The enemy was Ben’s father, and he was out of control.

  Ben’s face was strained as he parked in front of the hotel. He should have known better. Having seen the old man’s sanity crumble a little further at every visit, he’d persuaded himself to rescue his father from prison. He’d never expected murder to form part of the package. What had he unleashed?

  At least, as Vince had said, it hadn’t taken Ben long to discover where his father had gone. Kat was attending a society wedding in a swish hotel by the Thames. It was three stops from Fitzrovia on the tube, by far the quickest means of travel.

  Once he reached the surface at Embankment tube station, Ben checked both his mobiles. Vince and Shaun were only supposed to call the cheap, disposable phone, but he knew his father, for one, had the other number. There were no messages for him. He tried to ring Shaun for the third time in an hour. As before, the call went straight to voicemail. Ben scuttled out of the station and found a deserted corner under a railway arch. He spoke briefly, saying a passport in the name of Colin Shanahan was available and the flight had been rearranged. However, if anyone was killed, he was cancelling the plane and calling the police.

  Ben followed this with a text message to the same effect. His patience was about to snap. He told himself there could be an alternative explanation. His father might have lost his phone or been recaptured. It was still the old man’s own fault: as usual, Shaun was doing exactly what he wanted and leaving everyone else to sweep up the mess.

  He found the building, and hesitated before entering. Until now, his actions in helping Shaun escape had been untraceable. By looking for his father in the hotel, he risked detection. He wondered if Shaun’s freedom, or Kat’s life, were worth it. Tempted to turn around, he noticed muffled banging and whimpering noises from the boot of a car parked nearby. What was in there
? It sounded like a dog. A pang of sympathy overwhelmed him, propelling him forward. A stranger’s life, or an animal’s well-being, meant nothing within the fantasy of a video game. In the real world, they were worth fighting for.

  “Will you call the RSPCA, please? There’s a dog locked in that Merc’s boot,” he said to the hotel doorman.

  The man didn’t open the door for him. “Good morning, Sir. Can I help you?” he asked.

  Ben guessed it was his jeans and parka that were causing concern. While he hadn’t been here before, he’d stayed in other five-star hotels for gaming conventions, or had drinks with journalists. Perhaps this one didn’t see many gamers; they tended to be more casually dressed than other guests.

  “I’m meeting a journalist,” he lied. “Like I said, please can you call the RSPCA?”

  Inside the hotel, a dozen men in suits had arrived at the concierge’s desk before him. Wearing prominent name-badges, they were obviously delegates at a business conference. Ben listened casually to their conversation, then tuned out as he realised it related to new accountancy rules.

  Of more interest were a trio standing nearby. It was the pretty young redhead who first caught his eye. At first, he thought she was a guest at the wedding, the daughter of the middle-aged couple with her.

  He adjusted his thoughts on closer scrutiny. The girl was in business attire, a crimson trouser suit, while her elders were more flamboyant: a black suit and brocade waistcoat for him, a fuchsia satin dress for her.

  “You’ve come for Charles Satterthwaite and Dee Saxton’s wedding, I assume?” the girl said.

  “That’s right,” the man said. “Marshall and Jeannie Jenner.”

  “Hi, I’m Alice,” the girl said, shaking each of their hands in turn. She looked at an iPad. “This says you’re already here. Did you see my colleague, Emily?”

  “We’ve only just come down from our room,” the man said. “You wouldn’t believe how long it takes Jeannie to get ready.”