Which was a mistake.
Men will act in very different ways when they’re waiting to die. Most will beg; some will accept their fate in stoic, dignified silence; very few will overcome the torpor of fear and fight back. I didn’t think Tomboy would be one of the latter group, but unfortunately he was. And his desperation made him fast.
He launched himself at me with a ferocious bellow and was on me in a second, punching and kicking, his weight and momentum sending me crashing to the floor. The suppressor flew out of my hand, but I kept hold of the gun, my finger tense on the trigger, and it went off with a deafening retort.
Tomboy wasn’t hit, though, and he launched a punch into my face before scrambling over me and running for the French windows, with very little coordination but plenty of speed.
I knew I had to move fast. Ignoring the pain from where he’d hit me – the second time I’d been laid into in little more than twenty-four hours – I jumped up and ran after him.
As he crossed the patio, making for the low wall at the end, he snatched a look behind him, saw me coming, and let out a little yelp of fear. He jumped the wall, caught his foot and rolled over, then scrambled to his feet again.
But I was gaining, and we both knew it.
He raced through the trees, but suddenly they opened up into a rocky clearing with a single bench on it looking out to sea, and beyond that, the edge of the cliff. It was the end of the line, and this time he realized it.
He stopped and turned round to face me, the breeze whipping up his thin, straggly hair.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke, each lost in his own thoughts. I was thinking about the old days when we were friends; the drinks we’d shared together; the laughs we’d had. I think he was hoping that was what I was thinking, so that I might finally let my emotions get the better of me, and not pull the trigger.
But he was wrong. He deserved to die far more than many other people I’d killed.
I raised the gun, and he took a step backwards, coming perilously close to the cliff edge.
Then his expression changed. It became calmer. As if he was accepting the inevitable.
‘Are you going after Heed?’ he asked.
I nodded. ‘And Wise. I’m not going to stop until they’re all dead.’
‘Make sure you get them.’
‘I will.’
‘I picked up a package for Heed the other night and delivered it to the Juicy Peach. It was a big briefcase hidden in a box that came from Manila docks, and it was bloody heavy. I have no idea what was in it, but I know it was valuable. Very valuable. And illegal. Heed was taking delivery of it on behalf of someone else.’
‘Wise?’
‘I don’t know. But I’d ask Heed about it before you kill him. And tell him that it was me who gave you the information, and that I did it willingly.’
‘I will. Thanks.’
He sighed. ‘It’s not enough to save me, is it?’
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to.
‘Please, Mick. Come on. I’ve given you something here. Something that you can use. I won’t say a word to any of them, I promise. For old times’ sake. Please.’
Again, I didn’t speak. Keeping the gun steady.
He swallowed. ‘I wasn’t always a low-life, you know.’
‘I know. Neither was I.’
‘What happened to us, Mick?’
‘We made the easy choices, Tomboy. Now it’s time to make the hard ones.’
He just had time to see the tears in my eyes, and then I pulled the trigger, sending him hurtling over the edge and into oblivion.
Thirty-five
Tina was watching a group of a dozen or so backpackers – young, tanned, and sporting new tattoos – chatting and drinking together on the beach. Their easy laughter carried across the sand to where she sat smoking and sipping from her second glass of Coke as the late afternoon sun began its slow descent towards the headland.
Her mood was bleak. All day she’d been finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that she’d effectively teamed up with a mass murderer in an attempt to bring another mass murderer to justice. It felt utterly wrong to her, not only for moral reasons but also because she had no real control over the situation. For all his protestations to the contrary, Dennis Milne was unpredictable and extremely violent. When they’d been stopped and questioned by the two local uniforms earlier, she’d seen the cold look in Milne’s eyes, and knew that if it had come to it he would have killed them.
And if he had, Tina would have been an accessory to murder. It was as simple as that. In her conflict with Paul Wise, the stakes had always been high, but now with Milne on the scene they’d reached almost intolerable levels. It was why she’d been keeping a distance from him all day, and why ever since he’d left to find Tomboy she’d been thinking about making a break for it, and striking out on her own.
But an hour after he’d gone, she was still sitting in the same spot, because in the end she knew she needed him if she was ever going to bring Paul Wise to justice. In truth, she knew too that she was using him. Because Wise was going to have to die. Gathering enough evidence to haul him before the courts was no longer a viable option, if it ever had been. Tina had killed once before. She had deliberately run down a suspect. But that suspect had been a brutal killer who’d kidnapped and tortured her, and the killing had happened in the heat of the moment while the suspect was brandishing a gun and trying to escape, having just shot a young mother. Cold blood was different. If it came to it, she didn’t think she had the necessary brutality to pull the trigger. But she knew Milne had.
From the beach came a peal of laughter. A pretty blonde girl, no more than twenty, jumped to her feet, pulling up a young, un-feasibly good-looking Italian guy with her, and they kissed passionately, much to the delight of the rest of the group of backpackers, before saying their goodbyes and striding up on to the path hand in hand, laughing and whispering together.
They walked past Tina, not giving her even the slightest of glances. They were only interested in each other. Two kids on the cusp of life, with no fears or responsibilities, enjoying everything that life had to offer.
Their happiness made Tina jealous, and she hated herself for it. She’d been like them once. Backpacking round South East Asia; drifting from one beach to the next; soaking herself in the pleasures of the moment. She’d even had her own romances. There was Morgan the muscular Kiwi, whom she’d met in Bali. They’d watched the movie The Beach together on an outside screen under the stars, then, drunk and laughing, had made love back at his beach hut to the sounds of the sea. Tina could still recall how good it had been. It had been a short and intense relationship, two weeks only, while they travelled first to Lombok then to Cairns, where they’d said their goodbyes. It hadn’t been love. It hadn’t even been infatuation. They’d known they were never going to see each other again. It had simply been seizing the moment. Living for the day. Something that Tina had almost forgotten. Since then her life had been torn and twisted, and she’d seen so many things she wished she hadn’t.
As she watched the couple disappear down the beach, she hoped that they never had to suffer like she had. She hoped they continued to have fun, got fun jobs, married other fun people like themselves, had lots of beautiful little kids and lived happily ever after.
She heard a movement beside her and looked up. It was Milne. He was carrying his jacket over one arm, and he looked tired. Sweat-stains had formed on his shirt round the armpits, and his nose and cheek were red and puffy. With a sigh, he sat down beside her, a bottle of San Miguel in his hand.
Tina eyed the bottle hungrily, but only for a moment. For some reason she had no desire for a drink.
‘Did you see him?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I saw him. He works for a guy in Manila called Heed. It seems Heed’s the one who has direct contact with Wise.’ Milne didn’t look at her as he spoke but stared out to sea, his shoulders slumped, the lines on his face looking mor
e pronounced than usual.
Tina knew what had happened. It was written all over him. But for once she didn’t feel like judging him. Instead, as she watched him, she felt a wave of sorrow wash over her. He looked broken, and her hand moved towards his shoulder in a comforting gesture. But at the last second, she brought it back.
‘That girl who was abducted in Manila,’ he said quietly, ‘Lene Haagen. Tomboy took part in the abduction. He delivered her to Heed. I’m assuming it was on behalf of Wise.’
‘Jesus. And he was your friend?’
‘I still can’t believe he could do something like that.’ He looked at her then, and his eyes were full of pain. ‘I guess I just didn’t know him.’
They were both silent for a while, then Milne spoke again. ‘I killed him,’ he said, ‘but before I did, he told me that the other night he delivered a briefcase to this guy Heed. He didn’t know what was inside, but he was sure it was valuable. Now, I haven’t got a clue what it could be, but it does coincide with Wise’s arrival in Manila, so it’s got to be connected in some way.’
Tina frowned. ‘And it’s got to be connected with the meeting O’Riordan was going to have with Omar Salic. I’m guessing Salic had some information he was going to give to O’Riordan. Perhaps he was involved in the abduction of Lene Haagen as well, and wanted to come clean.’
‘But why incriminate himself? And if Wise’s people knew O’Riordan was meeting with Salic, then Salic is probably dead as well.’
‘I checked yesterday’s papers. His name wasn’t mentioned.’
‘Which leaves us back with Heed. He’s the man we’ve got to get answers from. He may still have that briefcase. I’ve got an address for him in Manila. We’ll pay him a visit tonight.’ Milne sat back in his seat, looking out to sea. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here. I’ve missed it. And now I’m going to miss it all over again.’
Tina looked at him, realizing with a sense of shock that she was beginning to sympathize with his predicament. She tried to picture him coldly executing Patrick O’Riordan and his lover – two entirely innocent men – and yet she couldn’t manage it. Nor could she work up any anger towards him. He looked like he was carrying enough of a burden as it was.
She felt a vibration in the pocket of her shorts. It was her mobile and she didn’t recognize the number, although it was local.
‘Is that Detective Boyd?’ asked the voice at the other end in heavily accented English.
‘Yes it is, Mrs O’Riordan,’ said Tina, experiencing a stab of excitement.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said today, and I need to see you. I have some information about my husband’s death that might help you. It’s very important.’
‘Can you tell me what it is?’
‘Not on the telephone. Can you come here? Jean-Paul is out for the evening. He wouldn’t want to hear what I have to say. It’s not nice.’
Tina was tempted to probe for further details but the nervousness in the other woman’s voice stopped her. She glanced across at Milne, who was listening avidly. ‘OK, Mrs O’Riordan. But we’re some way from you at the moment.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We could be with you by about seven thirty. Is that OK?’
‘Yes. That is fine. I’ll see you then.’
Tina replaced the mobile in her pocket, and gave Milne the details of the conversation.
‘It could be a trap,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘Personally, I think it’s a little bit too convenient that she’s suddenly decided to cooperate.’
‘So what do you think we should do?’
He thought about it for a few seconds. ‘I think we ought to go.’
‘I do, too. But we need to work out what to do if it is a trap.’
‘Do you know how to use a gun?’
Tina nodded. She’d taken the firearms course in her early days in Islington CID, although she’d never had to fire one in anger. ‘I’m rusty, but I know what I’m doing.’
‘I took this from Tomboy’s place,’ he said, pressing something cold and metallic against her leg under the table. ‘If we’re going into what could be a hostile environment, I’d be happier if you had the means to defend yourself.’
Tina should have made him take it back, but she didn’t. Instead she slipped the .22 pistol into her handbag, knowing that by taking the gun of a dead man she was taking matters to a whole new level.
Thirty-six
Nargen removed the gun from Mrs O’Riordan’s head, and took the phone from her free hand. ‘You did well. They are coming, yes?’
She nodded her head vigorously, the terror in her eyes obvious. ‘Yes. She said they would be here by half past seven. Please, can you let us go now? I have done everything you told me to, and my brother is very badly hurt.’
He was hurt too. In these kinds of situations it was always good to establish dominance early, which was why Tumanov had gone to work on the brother hard while he’d been strapped to the chair next to his sister, blindfolded and helpless. He’d been brave, there was no doubt about that. When Tumanov had snapped two of his fingers, one after the other, he’d refused to scream. His breathing had quickened and his face had gone red, but the stubborn ox hadn’t made a sound. But Tumanov was highly experienced in causing terrible damage to the human body. He knew every pressure point, every sensitive nerve, every soft place, and within minutes he’d had him howling for mercy. Now the brother sat quietly in the chair, his eyes wet with tears, his face flecked with saliva and blood where he’d bitten right through his lip, still conscious, but only just.
Nargen gave her a reassuring smile. ‘We won’t hurt him any more, I promise you. I’m sorry that we had to do it in the first place, but it was very important that you take us seriously. And very important that you were convincing on the telephone. You understand why we had to do it, don’t you?’
Again she nodded her head vigorously.
‘You and your brother are going to be fine, Mrs O’Riordan,’ Nargen continued in a soothing voice, re-tying her free hand as he spoke.
He could tell she trusted him. The reality was, she had little choice. Right now, she was so desperate for her life that she would cling to any scrap of hope, however small, and the fact was, unlike Tumanov, who wore his bleak savagery like a badge, Nargen looked just like any other ordinary middle-aged western man, the type you feel can’t be all bad.
‘Can you let me help him, please?’ pleaded Mrs O’Riordan. ‘He’s a good man. He won’t say anything.’
‘Soon,’ said Nargen, standing back up behind Mrs O’Riordan’s chair, taking a step backwards and raising the gun so it was pointed at the back of her head. He signalled with a nod to Tumanov, who slipped a knife from his pocket. ‘Very soon.’
Thirty-seven
It was nearly eight o’clock when we arrived at the house where we’d interviewed Mrs O’Riordan earlier that day. We drove past the tree-lined avenue it sat on, and carried on along the main road for another hundred yards until Tina found a sheltered spot to park up a track beneath a scraggy-looking palm tree, where the rental car was hidden from view.
The night was silent, bar the gentle chirping of the cicadas and the distant hum of traffic from the coast road, as we slipped quietly from the car and made our way cautiously back in the direction of the house. On the way up here, I’d thought about Tomboy and what I’d had to do to him – not regretting my actions exactly, but wishing that they hadn’t been necessary. Now, though, I pushed all thoughts of him from my mind. I needed to be alert.
There was no street lighting on the avenue, but two lanterns on either side of the open front gate burned brightly. Behind the gate, the top floor of the house loomed, but its windows were unlit.
We kept close to the trees as we walked, watching for any signs of an ambush, but there was nothing. No cars, and no people.
Back in the car, I’d offered to go in alone and check the place out to make sure it was safe, but it hadn’t surprised me when Tina had poured scorn on that idea. ‘I
don’t need mollycoddling,’ she’d said with a glare, and I’d left it at that, but as we stopped at the border wall of the house listening to the silence, I began to get an uneasy feeling. I drew my gun and screwed on the suppressor.
Tina gave me a look.
‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ I whispered, meeting her gaze.
Instead of going in the front entrance, we followed the border wall, round to the rear of the property. The going wasn’t easy. The house sat on land that had once been marshes, and there were narrow dried-out channels, some several feet deep, criss-crossing our path, disguised by the thick foliage that had probably been left to grow wild and high as a security measure. Swarms of insects assaulted us as we moved slowly like amateur explorers, and it was a good ten minutes before we made it round to the rear wall.
The wall was about ten feet high but, unlike a lot of the properties further north in Manila, it didn’t have barbed wire running across the top, which made life a lot easier. I handed my gun to Tina, and half jumped, half scrambled up, until I was straddling the top. A line of trees obscured my view of the back garden, but I could make out the lights beyond.
Tina gave me back the gun, and I helped her up with my free hand.
Without speaking, we slid as quietly as possible down the other side of the wall, then poked our heads out from behind the trees.
A large, well-manicured lawn with a swimming pool in the middle stretched out in front of us, and beyond it lay the house. The curtains on both floors were drawn, but there were several lights on the right-hand side of the ground floor, suggesting someone was inside. Further to our left was a pool house, and next to it a compact two-storey outbuilding, set back behind a hedge. Both were unlit.
We kept our position for a few moments, watching and listening. If this was an ambush, then any assailant would be expecting an approach from the front, which meant he – or more likely they – would be concealed round the front of the main house, or inside it.
The Payback Page 18
