I remember the strange scar above Raleigh’s eyebrow. So that’s how he got it.
‘I ran down the corridor. I remember being amazed that it was empty, but then, as I said, the whole business only took a couple of minutes and there probably wasn’t as much noise as perhaps I thought there was. I went down the service stairs and ended up near some bar on the ground floor. I don’t think anyone noticed that I didn’t have any shoes on, or if they did, they didn’t care. I still looked pretty smartly dressed.
‘There were two nerdy guys looking at me. I went straight up to one of them and asked him in my sexiest voice if he would mind coming out to the front of the hotel with me so that I could get a cab. I told him there was an ex-boyfriend lurking around that I didn’t want to bump into. He was very gallant and so was his friend, who insisted on accompanying us. It was stupid, but they believed it and it was the best I could come up with at the time.
‘As we were leaving, I saw Mr Coleman. He was out of breath. I think he was going to try and stop me, but when he saw the two guys, he stayed where he was, glowering at me. I think if it had been one guy he might have tried something, but two of them put him off. He watched me leave the hotel and I turned back to look at him and he gave me a look, a smirk, that said he was going to find me, you know? That he was going to kill me, that’s the impression I got. He didn’t have to say anything. Just that look was enough. Needless to say, I didn’t bother to ask him for the rest of my money.’
She laughs for the first time in what seems like ages. I think she’s relieved to have got all of this off her chest.
‘So I got a cab back here and I haven’t really been out since. I was frightened. I didn’t think it was safe to go anywhere or to do anything. I only realised this morning that I’d forgotten to dump the mobile and the SIM card that Mr Coleman gave me. I knew there was no way on earth that Abigail would give Mr Coleman my home address, but then I didn’t think he was going to ask her for it.’
‘Why not, darling?’ Sakura has recovered somewhat and is dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘Well think about it. If Mr Coleman went barging into Abigail’s house – even if he could find out where it was – and said to her that he wanted my address, then she’d want to know why. But, of course, he couldn’t possibly tell her, could he? So then she’d have no reason to give it to him.’
That sounds fairly logical, if a little bit foggy. Then it dawns on me. It’s so blindingly obvious that I feel like kicking myself. Raleigh had wrong-footed me right from the start. Both he and Fisher had always known that Viola was dead. My assignment wasn’t to find Viola, it was to find Eleanor, the only witness to Viola’s death, and like an idiot I’d led them straight to her.
The night at the Bolton after Viola had died, Raleigh and Fisher had to act fast. They’d made an attempt to keep Eleanor in the room with them, but it had failed and she’d escaped. That didn’t matter, though. They could deal with her later.
They probably assessed that there was a chance of her going straight to the police, but the likelihood was that she wouldn’t. They would be hoping that she would just take the money and run.
She would be frightened by what she had witnessed. She would be frightened of Fisher and what he might do to her. She would be frightened of going to the police in case she got into trouble. She was a prostitute; her instinct would have been to lie low and hope it all went away.
Their main priority was to cover up Viola’s death and remove her body from the hotel without anybody noticing.
The period immediately following Viola’s death would have been a stressful time for Raleigh, and for Fisher, too. Neither could be a hundred per cent sure how Eleanor had acted after she’d left the hotel. If she had gone to the authorities, then they could expect a knock on the door at any time.
Fisher had used a false name and Raleigh had never been identified at all, but if Eleanor spilled the beans, it wouldn’t be long before the police discovered that Bill Coleman was really James Fisher and that would lead them directly to Nathan Raleigh.
The Amelia Finch credit card would be a good place for the police to start, not to mention the PAYG mobile, which Eleanor didn’t get rid of. There could even be fingerprints on it if they were lucky, not to mention the fingerprints all over the hotel room. And if they acted quickly, they’d have the hotel’s CCTV footage of both Fisher and Raleigh from that night.
They could also visit Abigail Gastrell, who would have a record of Fisher’s initial hiring of Eleanor for that evening when they set everything up. Fisher would have paid for Eleanor by credit card and he’d have paid for his room at the Bolton in the same way. But they didn’t have to worry; Eleanor had no intention of going to the police.
Then something happened that would have caused Raleigh and Fisher to breathe a collective sigh of relief: Sakura reported Viola as a missing person. When Olivia Bream telephoned Raleigh, he must have thought the game was up. But it was a courtesy call, to let him know that his daughter had been reported missing yet again. There was no mention of Eleanor Wallis and no mention of Viola’s death.
So far, so good. But they weren’t in the clear yet. Eleanor was still out there with all that information in her head. She had to be tracked down and eliminated.
This was not a job that Fisher could take on. His hands would be tied. If he attempted to locate Eleanor through Abigail Gastrell, he’d be implicating himself and Raleigh if the circumstances surrounding Viola’s death ever came to light.
Abigail could refuse to give him any info regarding Eleanor. She could call Eleanor to warn her and Eleanor might decide to go to the police. Abigail could go to the police herself. Anything could happen.
Then they hatched a plan. Raleigh could use Viola’s renewed missing status as an excuse to hire someone to find her. His story would sound completely plausible and the police could even confirm it. No one need know that it was really Eleanor he was looking for, and, of course, no one would know that Viola was dead. With a bit of luck, they could have Eleanor in their clutches as a side effect of the futile search for Viola. Then, three weeks later, I walk in through the door.
It would explain all the surveillance and Fisher’s matey phone call checking on my progress. I have no idea if Sakura and I were followed here, but I think it’s pretty likely. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and feel angry at being taken for such an idiot. As the enormity of the whole situation starts to dawn on me, I hear a car door being slammed shut outside, and then another.
22
BLUE TIE, ORANGE SHIRT
‘Eleanor. Is there a lock on your bathroom door?’
‘Yes there is. Why?’
‘Sakura. Take Eleanor upstairs and lock both of yourselves in the bathroom. I think we’ve got visitors.’
‘Do you want me to stay with you, Daniel?’ says Sakura. ‘I mean, I can help if…’
‘Thanks but no. Just wait in there until I come and get both of you. Don’t make any noise. Sakura – if anyone tries to come inside and it’s not me, let them have it. Be merciless.’
Both women look uneasy as they leave the room and head upstairs, particularly Eleanor, who’s gone as white as a sheet. I run up the stairs after them and go into Eleanor’s bedroom, which has a view of the street and, more importantly, has lace curtains so I can look out of the window without being seen.
There’s a silver BMW 5 Series parked across the road and two big guys in suits have just got out and have already started heading across the road. One of them is Blue Tie from Raleigh’s office. The other one I don’t recognise, but he’s cut from the same ex-military cloth. Blue Tie is hiding something underneath his suit jacket.
I try to work out what they’re going to do. Presumably, they’re not going to offer Eleanor a few thousand pounds, a luxury cruise and a fur coat to go away and forget everything. They may not even know what happened in the hotel. They’re probably just under instructions to lift Eleanor and take her to Raleigh and Fisher, who w
ill then dispose of her.
Their thinking probably goes like this: Eleanor (or Celia as they must still know her) is a prostitute, someone that no one will miss if she is made to vanish. She just doesn’t matter and she barely exists as a human being. She wasn’t even staying at the hotel under her real name or her professional name. It was a bit of moonlighting that even her madam didn’t know about.
What happened to Viola cannot be allowed to leak out. Raleigh would be in deep shit just for what he did in the hotel and if all the details came out in court, everything he’s ever worked for would be in ruins. I doubt whether he’d have a very good time in prison, either, all things considered. Neither Raleigh nor Fisher could have foreseen what happened in the hotel, so Eleanor was an unexpected hassle that had to be sorted out as soon as possible.
Then, of course, there’s his big Oman deal next week that he so wanted to have a clear head for. Was that a lie? The whole thing? No, it can’t be. Anjukka knew about it. But could they have made it up and told her about it to make it seem so convincing? Perhaps I’m seeing too much conspiracy here. Perhaps all my speculation is bullshit. Perhaps there’ll be a happy ending to all of this, but I won’t order the champagne and caviar just yet.
I try the toilet door to make sure it’s locked properly. It’s OK. You could kick it open, but hopefully it won’t come to that. As far as I’m concerned, those two heavies will not be coming up here. Not if I can help it.
As I go down the stairs to face them, I realise that Sakura and I will also have to be dealt with by Raleigh. Quite apart from the Eleanor situation, Raleigh and Fisher will have to assume that we know the whole story and will have to be silenced.
Would Raleigh resort to murdering everyone who could harm him with the information about Viola? I have no idea. But I can think about all of that later. I’m having enough trouble keeping the horror of the whole thing out of my head as it is.
By the time I get downstairs, I can see two besuited shapes right outside the front door. If I was in their position, I’d want to get in here as quickly and as inconspicuously as possible, deal with the three of us and leave, though I can’t see how they’d get us out into the car without someone noticing. This is not a particularly busy road at this time of day, but if you were driving past and saw three people being manhandled into a big BMW by a couple of gorillas like that, you might consider calling the authorities.
Of course, they can circumvent all of that by killing us right here. That’s what I would do, and sort out the problem of the bodies another time.
I don’t want them to have to smash the door down; I want them in here, with me. I wonder what I’m going to say when I let them in, and try to think of a witty one-liner that’ll slay them.
I walk up to the front door and open it. Blue Tie sees me and smirks. He’s going to have his revenge for those bouncer remarks I made the other day, I can see it in his eyes.
‘Hi, girls,’ I say, brightly. ‘She’s in the back room.’
They walk in as if I’m not there. Then Blue Tie grabs the front of my shirt and slams me into the wall. He’s very strong indeed. If I wore false teeth, they’d be on the floor by now. Little white stars dance about in front of my eyes. I feel nauseous and faint. He turns to his pal, who I must call Orange Shirt.
‘Keep this fucker here. Close the door.’
Orange Shirt doesn’t speak, but he certainly obeys. I take a good look at him for the first time. He’s bald (aren’t they all?), grim-faced, and has a grey moustache. Quite old for this game, I think, but he looks wiry and muscular underneath the suit. Something tells me you don’t give a guy like this any chances. If you don’t get him effectively the first time, he’ll kill you. He closes the door quietly, turns, and punches me hard in the stomach. I groan and bend double with the pain. I’m not acting; that was a bastard of a punch. I’m aware that I’m not as fit as I might be after my bout with Sakura and I have to keep taking that into account.
I catch sight of Blue Tie, who’s now about five feet away. He’s moving slowly and with deliberation. There are three possibilities that the term ‘back room’ could cover and he’s cautiously looking from left to right. I’m glad he’s thick; it’ll give me the time I need to deal with him. For a second, I think he’s carrying some sort of truncheon, then I realise it’s a telescopic stun baton. So that’s what he was hiding under his jacket. I’m familiar with these things. They carry about eight hundred thousand volts and it’s best not to touch the business end.
I start to straighten up and Orange Shirt is about to give me a second helping, but I turn to the side and ram my shoulder into his solar plexus with as much ki as I can manage. He looks shocked and staggers back. Before he can make his next decision I bring a hammer fist down hard on his collarbone, breaking it. His shoulder sags on that side and his face goes grey to match his moustache.
I head-butt him to give him something to think about, hit him hard on the same spot again and push down with my thumb. I can hear the broken halves of his clavicle grind against each other. I’m aware that one of those halves could rupture his subclavian artery and he could die, but there’s no time for sentimentality.
Just as Blue Tie is turning around to see what just happened, I’m running towards him down the corridor as fast as I can. He’s about twelve feet away and I have to judge this perfectly or I’m screwed. In the brief moment that he still has most of his back to me, I give him a flying kick just beneath his shoulder blades. This knocks him forwards onto the floor, but he’s still holding the stun baton.
As I’m now on the floor as well, I spring up onto my feet before he can do anything else, but he must be tougher than I anticipated, as he gets up with an unexpected nimbleness, turning towards me and brandishing the baton. He looks pissed, but I’ve made him lose his temper, which is a good thing.
He’s such an idiot. He’s got all that voltage and all he needs to do is to prod me with it, but instead he’s slashing away as if he’s holding a broadsword. Despite this poor technique, I can still do without that thing touching me and taking it off him will be a risky endeavour.
I crouch low and take in his entire body, watching for any slight twitch that might indicate what he’s going to do next. He’s giving himself away with his gaze, though knowing where he’s going to strike doesn’t necessarily mean I can avoid it.
He’s grinning as he makes the baton whistle through the air, assured of victory. I’m half hoping that he’s so stupid that he couldn’t work out how to turn it on, but I can see a little green light and hear a humming noise which tells me otherwise.
‘Is this how you deal with people wearing flip-flops?’
For this I get a fast couple of swipes that just miss my head.
‘You’re fucking dead.’
Another swipe, another miss. Can’t place his accent. Not Israeli as I’d first thought.
‘You’re wasting time. Your fiancé needs an ambulance.’
His eyes flicker with the tiniest bit of concern over to where Orange Shirt is lying on the floor. I can hear him moaning softly, so the end hasn’t come quite yet.
‘You’d better go and sort him out or the wedding’s off.’
‘I’m going to sort you out, you fucker.’
‘Are all your comebacks that snappy?’
‘Fuck you.’
He’s very angry now and his slashing technique gets more frantic and naturally sloppier. He telegraphs all his movements like an amateur, so I’m able to dodge them all, which makes him even angrier. But I can’t keep this up indefinitely and I don’t know what other guests may soon be arriving. Orange Shirt moans a little more. Blue Tie uselessly attempts to cut my head off with the baton but this time I catch his wrist and twist it the wrong way while turning my body in the opposite direction.
Despite his weight, the pain gets him off his feet, flicks him through the air and throws him into the wall. He grunts and drops the baton, which I kick out of the way. A throw like that would have finished mo
st people, but this chump is strong. When he tries to get up I kick him hard in the side of the head, and then do it again with greater force. The second kick splits his cheek open and draws blood. I bend down to check him, jamming my thumb into his fresh wound to discourage any valiant resistance.
He’s incapacitated but breathing hard, so he’s not out cold. I grab his collar, pull him up to a good position (for me) and punch him several times in the face. Then I pick up the baton, work out how to operate it and give him a ten-second burst in the chest. He jiggles about just like they do in cartoons. I slap him on the face a few times, but there’s no response. Blood pours from the side of his mouth.
I try to remember which side of their vehicle these two fuckers were getting out of. Orange Shirt was on the pavement side, I think, so he must have been the driver. I go over to him and check all of his pockets until I find the car keys. I take the keys, his wallet and his mobile, slip them in my pocket, run upstairs and tap on the toilet door.
‘It’s me. You can unlock the door. You two have got to get out of here.’
Sakura pops her head out and looks from left to right to see whether I’m lying or not, and I can’t blame her. Anything could have been going on out here.
‘Eleanor. Can you gather up an overnight bag’s worth of stuff? Take any valuables, credit cards etc. Hopefully you can come back here tomorrow. Go and get dressed and grab whatever you need. Quick as you can.’
She nods her head and disappears into her bedroom. She looks ill again. I take Sakura’s hand and drag her down the stairs after me. ‘Have you got anywhere you can go? You can’t go back to your place and Abigail’s is out of the question, too.’
She thinks for a second and nods her head. ‘Yes. Yes, I know where I can go.’
‘You’d better take Eleanor with you. Is that OK?’
Sakura stops when she sees the two groaning heaps on the floor. ‘What happened to them?’
Kiss Me When I'm Dead Page 31
