by Chris Ewan
‘A ladder?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Sure you can handle all a hundred and twenty pounds of me?’
‘I apologise. It felt more like one-fifteen a moment ago.’
Kate punched him on the arm.
‘Supposing this even works, how are you intending to get in? Are you secretly a burglar, Miller? Do you have some lock picks hidden in that backpack of yours?’
‘Better. I chose this place for Clive. We rent it for him. I have spare keys.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Miller could tell immediately that the living room was where the attack on Clive had taken place. Stepping in through the French doors from the balcony, he didn’t need his torch to see the bloody residue on the laminate flooring. He flicked the torch beam upwards and spotted a patch of bare plaster and four drill holes in the ceiling directly above. It looked like a metal plate had been fixed in place with a bolt gun. Must have been where Clive’s attacker had suspended him from.
He flashed his torch quickly around the rest of the room. The apartment was small – little more than a studio flat – and it was sparsely furnished. The sofabed and television stand had already been here when Miller had signed off on the rental agreement. So had the shelving unit along the opposite wall. Clive hadn’t added to the place with any of his own decorative touches, unless you included the materials the police forensics team had left behind.
There were numerical tabs next to the blood spills on the floor, the holes in the ceiling, a missing door handle and the switch for the main light. Maybe the German forensics team had found fingerprints belonging to Clive’s attacker, though Miller thought it unlikely.
He stepped out into the hallway, ducked his head into the bathroom, then went to assess the locks on the front door. There was no sign of tampering. Carefully now, he rotated the only lock the German police had secured behind them and peeked out. There was no evidence of scarring or scraping. Two lengths of yellow police tape criss-crossed the door frame.
Miller closed the door, turned the lock and walked back through the apartment to the balcony.
‘You can come in now. It’s safe.’
Kate stepped inside, her hands tucked up beneath her armpits in her socks.
Miller could still feel the sensation of her touch from when she’d climbed him to reach the balcony. It had been more intimate than he’d intended. He’d smelt the hotel shampoo she’d used and had felt the contours of her body pressing into his own. An image had flashed through his mind – one he’d fought hard to forget – of her standing before him in the dismal apartment in Weston-super-Mare, wearing only a T-shirt and panties.
‘This is where he lived? It’s tiny.’
‘It had everything he needed. Nothing he didn’t.’
But even Miller had to admit that it was pretty bleak, and it certainly wasn’t as luxurious as the place where Kate had been living on the Isle of Man.
‘What do we do now? What are we looking for?’
‘Anything the police may have missed. Anything that could tell us what the people who did this were after.’
He wasn’t about to tell Kate that he had a pretty reasonable idea already. Miller guessed it was Connor Lane’s way of applying pressure to him. It was his way of signalling that he wanted Miller to give Kate up. Just possibly, it was also something more than that.
‘Where do I start?’
‘You take the bathroom. I’ll begin in here.’
He showed Kate the way with his torch, pulling on the light cord when she entered the room. There was no window and no extractor fan. The walls were damp-stained and furred with mildew.
‘Take your time. Call me if you find anything.’
He returned to the living room and gazed back up at the ceiling. Clive was a big guy, at least two hundred pounds based on the records Becca had taken when he’d first joined the programme. He’d spent close to nineteen months on his own since then, eating takeaway food. Chances were he was heavier now. And even allowing for a pulley system, it would have taken someone strong to hoist him. Maybe more than one man.
Miller let his eyes wander, following the torch beam around, and after a few seconds they settled on an empty charging cradle for a cordless phone. Which was something Clive was not supposed to have.
Staring at the charging cradle, trying to quell his anger, Miller was reminded of how he’d hidden Kate’s phone in a kitchen drawer when he’d first broken into her place. Maybe Clive’s attacker or attackers had done the same thing. Maybe they’d been lying in wait for him when he got home.
But ten minutes later, Miller decided that scenario didn’t fit. Clive’s locks had shown no sign of having been forced, which suggested he’d invited his attacker inside his home, or had been obliged to. Miller also couldn’t find the missing handset, no matter how hard he looked, and he reasoned that was because it had probably been taken by the German police for forensics analysis.
But the most compelling reason of all was that Miller had found a second handset in a second charging cradle in Clive’s bedroom, half concealed by a pile of dirty laundry. The phone had a digital screen and Miller was able to scroll through the information it contained until he discovered that the last call placed from the phone had been to a UK number the day before yesterday.
‘Miller, I think I’ve found something.’
He spun to find Kate standing behind him, wrinkling her nose as she took in the funky grey sheets twisted on the bed and the discarded Y-fronts and socks down on the floor.
She was holding a small piece of white card in the mouth of the sock puppet on her right hand.
‘Where did you find this?’
‘He had a paperback next to the toilet. This was keeping his place.’
The card was a ticket stub in Clive’s assumed name for an AlItalia flight to Rome Ciampino, date stamped just over three weeks ago. He’d occupied seat 14A.
‘Is it important?’
Miller’s chest contracted painfully. His mouth had gone dry.
‘I didn’t think you allowed people to travel. I thought it was one of your rules.’
‘I don’t,’ he muttered. ‘And it is.’
‘But this Clive – he went anyway?’
‘Seems that way.’
‘Why do you look so freaked out? Miller? I know you like your rules, but maybe he just needed a holiday.’
‘I don’t think so.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, as if he had a sudden pain in his sinuses.
‘Oh, you have a client in Rome, don’t you?’
Miller knew he should be contacting Hanson and instigating some kind of emergency response. But he felt leaden. This couldn’t be real. There was no way this was real.
Clive had travelled three weeks ago and he was only learning of this now.
‘Who’s in Rome?’ Kate asked him.
‘Client number two.’
‘Are they in danger?’
‘I think we all are.’
*
Outside on the street, a few hundred metres back from the plainclothes officers in the grey VW Transporter, Aaron Wade lay across the darkened rear bench of a black Renault Clio, his knees bent, legs folded, his neck crushed and contorted. Wade’s hand was cupped to the side of his face, shielding a radio earpiece. He was listening to the feedback from the transmitter he’d stashed behind the light switch in Clive Benson’s living room as Nick Adams ended the phone call he’d just placed.
Once Wade had heard enough, he raised his mobile and made a call of his own.
‘They’re in the apartment,’ Wade said, when Renner picked up. ‘Both of them. They know Benson was in Rome.’
Silence.
‘Adams is talking about flying there. She doesn’t use his real name, by the way. She keeps calling him Miller.’
‘I’ll have someone look into it. What else?’
‘He’s figured out that Benson telephoned someone in the UK before he
was attacked. I missed a second phone. He’s getting his crew to put a trace on the call. He knows the number is unlisted and he’s guessing Benson contacted Mr Lane. It won’t take them long to know it for sure.’
‘No names. Jesus.’
Wade supposed he should apologise for the slip, but he didn’t much feel like it. He’d been cramped up in the car for hours now. He was hungry and dehydrated. He wanted to stand on the street and stretch, find some place where he could get a late meal and some good German beer. Maybe even a girl.
There was no way he was going to mention the part before the phone call, where Adams had told Kate that they could link the style of his assault on Clive Benson with the murder of that Patrick kid back in Manchester. Renner was already pissed off with him. He wasn’t going to make it worse.
‘What do you want me to do? They went in around the back. They’ll come out the same way.’
‘Follow them. But keep your distance.’
‘And then?’
‘Call me when you know more.’
It was Wade’s turn not to saying anything. He hated this softly-softly stuff.
‘How about you?’ he asked. ‘Anything new?’
‘Not much,’ Renner told him. ‘It’s raining in Rome.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Becca was right. Miller did end up in Kate’s hotel room. But only while she grabbed her belongings. She was lifting her carry-on suitcase off the bed and turning towards him when his phone chirped in his hand. It was Hanson.
‘You’re booked together on the first available flight out of Hamburg. Seven-forty a.m. departure to Rome Fiumicino. Promise me you won’t miss it.’
‘Why? Are you worried about cash?’
‘I’m worried about Kate. There’s a border-control flag against her ID. The police know she flew into Hamburg and they’ll be watching for any Kate Ryan on a flight out of the city. I’ve hacked in and deleted the flag for now. But if you face any kind of delay, best let me know.’
‘What about Rome?’
‘They’ll track her there. Eventually. But Rome’s a big place. And you won’t be staying long. Right?’
Miller shook his head, trying not to be thrown by the glitch. He had no choice but to trust in Hanson’s temporary fix.
‘How about the telephone number?’
A pause. ‘You were right. Clive called Connor Lane, or someone at Lane’s Windermere house, at least.’
‘He gave us up.’
‘Looks that way. Seems he applied for the phone using the details of the guy in the flat above. Maybe he paid him off. The line was installed three months ago.’
‘And client two?’
‘She’s safe. Becca just spoke to her. She’s on her way to the back-up location.’
‘Did she say how Clive contacted her?’
‘In part. But you’re not going to like it.’
And he didn’t. When Hanson explained what had happened, Miller began to see just how complacent they’d been. How foolish.
‘Look at it this way,’ Hanson told him. ‘Every system has a bug in it. At least now we’ve identified ours.’
‘That’s your silver lining?’
‘Best I can do.’
‘I’m going to need you and Becca in Hamburg. If Clive shows any improvement, you have to be ready to step in. Who knows what he’ll remember or say?’
‘Already booked our flights. Becca’s packing as we speak. But don’t worry, his alias is sound. I’ll make sure it stays that way.’
Miller ended the call and hit himself on the side of the head with the heel of his hand. He did it again. And again.
‘You know,’ Kate told him, ‘you’re not going to be a whole lot of help to me if you beat yourself senseless.’
She was staring at him with big doleful eyes, holding the suitcase double-handed in front of her waist. She was faring pretty well, considering. He hadn’t liked telling her that Connor Lane was behind the attack on Clive and on his system. He hadn’t liked watching what it had done to her. First, she’d been angry. Then she’d been scared. The worst part had been seeing the guilt and self-blame grip hold of her. He was experiencing it himself and it was affecting his thinking. He needed to stay calm, be detached, but visions of what had been done to Clive kept filling his mind.
‘I have a question.’ Kate said.
‘Only one this time?’
She set the suitcase down, somehow managing a broken smile.
‘Your theory is that Clive saw the police appeal and gave you up in return for a big pay-out from Lane.’
‘That’s not a question, Kate.’
‘I’m getting to it. You also believe Lane sent some kind of heavy to meet Clive.’
‘Lane has a right-hand thug called Mike Renner. He’s more than capable of putting together a small team for something like this. He’s the guy who hired the hitman Lane sent to kill you. Did you ever meet him?’
‘Once. I think.’
‘Be grateful it wasn’t more than that.’
‘So here’s my question: why did this Renner, or whoever it was he sent to Hamburg, beat Clive like they did? They had a deal. Why not just pay Clive and wait for you to arrive?’
‘Cost-saving.’
‘I don’t think so. That’s pretty much the definition of false economy. Because while they didn’t pay Clive any money, they didn’t get you, either. Or me. Which suggests they had another priority. A whole other objective.’
‘They did.’ Miller nodded. ‘And they do. Because they’re not primarily interested in me. At least, not exclusively. And the same goes for you.’
‘Should I be insulted by that?’
‘You should be grateful.’
‘So who are they primarily interested in?’
‘A girl.’
‘A girl in your system?’
Miller held her gaze. ‘Yes.’
‘In Rome?’
‘Not in Rome. The client we have there isn’t someone Lane would ordinarily be concerned with.’
‘So why are you worried about her?’
‘Because she could be a link to the girl Lane is interested in. It all depends.’
‘On?’
‘I don’t know for sure. We built the system so our clients couldn’t communicate with one another. But there was a flaw. We didn’t allow for human error. We didn’t anticipate how incredibly able and incredibly self-destructive our clients could be.’
‘You’d better explain.’
So Miller did. He reminded Kate that the username she’d been given for the message board where she’d been supposed to check in each week was made up of a short word and a long, random collection of digits. In her case the word was ‘royal’ and it was bookended by thirteen numbers.
He said, ‘Remember Tuesday evening, watching all those Green Flags pop up?’
‘It’s a hard thing to forget.’
‘How many were there?’
‘Four. A total of five messages altogether, if you include the Red Flag that Clive sent.’
‘Can you remember any of the usernames?’
‘I was watching for the messages, not the senders. There was one called Solo-something, I think?’
‘Not bad. But that’s the point. The names are there to snag your attention. They’re simple enough to remember. Your eyes go to them. You ignore the numbers. Because of that, you can’t recall the full username.’
‘So?’
‘Clive was our third client. When we demonstrated the system to him, he only had two Green Flags to watch for.’
‘But still. Those are very long numbers.’
‘For most people, sure. Maybe even for 99.9 per cent of the population.’
‘So what’s special about Clive?’
‘Numbers. They were always his thing. I should have thought of that. I should have known what he was capable of.’
‘You really think he memorised the usernames? In such a short space of time?’
‘It’s the best expla
nation we have. But he didn’t contact our client in Rome on the Dungeon Creeper message board. Hanson monitors its use. He would have known.’
‘So how, then?’
‘We don’t know exactly. That’s what we’re going to Rome to find out. I have to know if Clive has contacted anyone else.’
‘What about Lane’s men? Do you think they’re in Rome too? Do you think that’s the information they beat out of Clive?’
‘I think that’s what we have to assume. In which case, they’re twenty-four hours ahead of us. And we have a lot of catching up to do.’
Miller grabbed the door handle, holding the door open with his arm raised so that Kate could pass through underneath. But Kate didn’t move right away.
‘And the girl? The one you think Lane is really interested in? Who is she, Miller?’
‘Later.’ He reached over for her suitcase. ‘First, we have a plane to catch.’
Part IV
Rome, Italy
Chapter Thirty
Christine closed the door to Nicoli’s bathroom and fumbled for the light switch. The bulb stuttered on and settled into a rapid, migraine-inducing flicker. One day the filament would finally give out. But not today, probably. The light had been like this for weeks already. It was entirely possible it had been blinking away for years, since Nicoli lived like a slob and a faulty bulb wasn’t the type of thing he would fix in a hurry, but Christine had no way of knowing because it was only in the past couple of months that she’d become a regular guest in his home.
She was a little embarrassed to be sleeping with the guy across the hall from her apartment. It was such a cliché. But it was also safe and uncomplicated and it gave her a degree of comfort, a connection, in this hot and alien city.
Besides, she wasn’t looking for a serious relationship in Rome with Nicoli, who she was pretty sure was a lot younger than he claimed. Not that Christine could tell for certain. Nicoli’s English was patchy, her Italian wasn’t even basic, and there were a lot of things he hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about. Like his girlfriend, for instance. All of which was fine with Christine, since she was keeping secrets of her own.
