‘The profile of this firm, Simon, its public image—’
‘Will depend on results. That’s what the investors want to see and that’s what I intend to give them.’ Blake loosened his tie. He was well aware that in comparison to Turnbull he looked scruffy. Turnbull was probably the sort of bloke who got a manicure.
Almost as though he’d read Blake’s mind, his tormentor’s lips formed a contemptuous sneer. ‘Image is important. You’re not a down-at-heel policeman any more, Simon. Investigations is a minor and very subsidiary part of this firm. We’re in the security business. That’s what makes money. Corporate clients and protecting high-net-worth individuals, their property and assets.’
‘Really? I’m glad you’ve clarified that for me, Alan. And you know what, I don’t think our business philosophies are gelling that well. Do you?’
‘Duncan and I—’
‘Can go fuck yourselves.’ Blake was on his feet. ‘Tell him I’m in discussions with a couple of new equity funds who’ll be happy to buy him out.’ He came round the desk and eye-balled Turnbull. ‘Now get out of my office, Alan. Because we’re done.’
Turnbull exhaled; he seemed no more than mildly put out. ‘You talk a good game, Blake. Lots of bluff and swagger. I wonder if you can follow through. I guess we’ll see.’
Blake watched the back of the elegantly cut suit as it disappeared out of the door. He took a breath and considered what he’d just done. It was impulsive, certainly, but what the hell? Sometimes when you were standing on the edge of a precipice the only thing left to do was leap – and it wasn’t nearly as scary as he’d expected.
97
It was just getting dark as Kaz approached the mansion block on the edge of Belgravia. She got out of the taxi at the end of the street and walked the last few hundred yards to make sure that she felt the part and could manage the shoes.
Irina had volunteered to be her stylist again. The outfit that they’d come up with was deliberately understated – a tight pencil skirt, not too short, a silk top and some discreet jewellery. Yevgeny and Tolya had given it their seal of approval.
Joey had stood in front of his sister holding both her hands. A wistful look came into his eye. The doctor had called earlier in the day – a Syrian refugee with poor English but plenty of experience treating the results of violence – he’d given Joey more antibiotics and signed him off.
His hair had been trimmed and the beard sculpted. With coloured contacts to turn his baby-blue eyes brown, the passport photos had been done. Heavy-rimmed spectacles made him look older and rather scholarly. He’d awarded himself a PhD and that completed his new identity as a travelling academic.
He grinned at his sister. ‘You gonna be back in time before I go?’
‘Yeah, I hope so.
Kaz’s feelings remained extremely mixed. It had crossed her mind that she might use Nicci Armstrong as a conduit to inform the police of Joey’s whereabouts. But that would have involved implicating Yevgeny, Tolya and Irina, and they weren’t just Joey’s people any more. She’d come to regard them as her friends, especially Irina.
Kaz was only too well aware that the lines had become dangerously blurred in her own mind as much as anywhere. Who was she now? What was she doing? The old Kaz Phelps was dead. But should the art student she’d been for the past two years really be strolling through one of the wealthiest parts of London, looking like a model with several thousand pounds’ worth of designer threads on her back?
She paused outside the mansion block. Most of the flats were dark. Simon Blake Associates had the security contract for the building. The owners were mainly from SouthEast Asia or China; their flats were rarely used. There was a Greek couple who lived on the second floor and two Chinese students, studying at the LSE, who occupied one of the top flats. The rest of the building was in effect empty.
Following instructions, Kaz walked confidently up to the front door. She didn’t need to ring the bell, the doorman saw her through the glass and sprang forward to open it.
Dressed in smart uniform and moving with a military bearing, he dipped his head as he held the door open for her. ‘Good evening, miss.’
Kaz smiled awkwardly, her stomach was becoming decidedly jumpy.
Waving her through with an outstretched palm, he informed her, ‘The lift is on your right, miss.’
She managed a more confident smile. ‘Thank you.’
Kaz took the lift to the third floor and walked down the softly carpeted corridor to number six. Taking the key she’d been given from her handbag, she unlocked the door.
The smell that assailed her was a mixture of wax polish from the honey-coloured oak floor and fresh flowers from the bouquet on the hall table. She slipped off her shoes and carrying them in one hand started to explore.
There were two bedrooms with en suite bathrooms, a sitting room with bay windows overlooking the street, which opened into the dining room and a gleaming white kitchen. All the rooms were high-ceilinged and generously proportioned, the whole apartment resembled something out of the pages of an interior design magazine. Polished wood, plush carpets, abstract paintings, low leather sofas.
However, the place had been carefully dressed to appear lived in – some books and magazines, box sets of DVDs, a bowl of fresh fruit on the table. In the kitchen there were glasses and an ice bucket; a saucer of olives and champagne in the fridge.
Kaz wandered round the sitting room and dining area, checked all the drawers and cupboards, rearranged the cushions on the sofa to create a little nest for herself. Taking her phone out of her bag, she placed it on the glass coffee table. Then she picked up the remote handset and clicked the television on. She went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water. Finally she settled down to wait.
Shortly after nine o’clock the doorbell rang. Kaz muted the television – she’d found a documentary on an obscure channel about kids growing up in Ramallah. It had turned out to be far more interesting than she’d expected.
She took her time answering the door. Robert Hollister stood on the threshold, tieless and with his jacket slung rakishly over one shoulder.
She gave him what she hoped was a mysterious smile. ‘I didn’t know whether you’d come.’
‘I never like to disappoint a lady.’ He was carrying a bottle wrapped in tissue paper. He offered it to her. ‘This might need chilling a little.’
‘Thank you. I’ll pop it in the fridge.’ She lowered her eyes coyly and he followed her into the flat.
‘Nice place.’
‘Make yourself at home.’
She took the bottle to the kitchen. It turned out to be a cheap Cava. She deposited it in the fridge and brought out the Dom Perignon that was already there.
Carrying the ice bucket, bottle and glasses on a tray she joined him in the sitting room.
He had the television remote in his hand, the sound was back on. ‘What are you watching?’
‘Oh, just a documentary. I like to keep abreast of what’s going on in the world.’
He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘I’ve been to Ramallah you know. Fact-finding trip.’
‘And did you find many interesting facts?’
He laughed. ‘Yeah, one or two.’
She indicated the bottle. ‘Perhaps you’d do the honours.’
He switched the television off, lifted the champagne from the ice bucket and cracked open the foil. ‘So does your boyfriend mind you entertaining guests? I presume he foots the bill for all this.’
She gave him a roguish look. ‘Why do you assume I have a boyfriend? I could be an independent woman.’
‘Are you?’ He looked her up and down. ‘I’m even more impressed.’
‘I was married briefly. My ex left me quite well off.’
Holding on to the bottle, he extracted the cork with a muffled pop.
She leant her head to one side and smiled. ‘Good technique.’
He poured the champagne into two flutes. ‘Oh, I think you’ll find I’m quite ex
pert at a lot of things.’ He handed her a glass. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Clever girls.’ He half closed his eyes and gazed at her. ‘I like clever girls.’
They clinked and drank. He took a large swallow of champagne, Kaz managed to barely wet her lips. She sat down on the sofa and he plonked himself beside her.
Two more mouthfuls and he’d emptied his glass; he flicked the ends of her hair with his fingers. ‘You’re an intriguing one, aren’t you?’
‘Am I? I’ve always thought of myself as pretty ordinary.’ She reached over and refilled his glass. ‘You look like you’ve had a busy day.’
He accepted the replenished glass. ‘Tell me about it! My life is a little complicated just at the moment.’
‘Complicated in what way?’
Taking another drink, he sighed. ‘Politics can be tedious at times. I wouldn’t want to bore you.’
‘You think I’m some sort of airhead who wouldn’t understand.’
He gave her a sidelong look. ‘Not at all. I told you, I prefer clever girls. I like my women feisty, someone who puts up a bit of a fight. If you know what I mean.’
‘What sort of fight?’
A teasing smile played round his mouth. ‘Oh, come, don’t play the ingénue.’
She got up from the sofa and wandered round to the other side of the coffee table, glass still in hand. ‘Is that what you liked about Helen? She was a clever girl and she put up a fight?’
He stared at her blankly for a moment. ‘Helen who?’
Kaz fixed him with a glacial stare. ‘Helen Warner. She was a friend of mine.’
Hollister’s jaw literally dropped.
Kaz put her glass down, walked over to the sideboard, opened the drawer and brought out an iPad. ‘I’ve got something here I’d like to show you.’ She clicked through the functions rapidly. ‘This is just a clip. A little taster.’
She held the tablet up directly in front of him.
He glared at her. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘I told you, a friend of Helen Warner.’ She pressed play and an image from the video footage of Helen and Hollister appeared on the screen.
He jumped to his feet and grabbed the device from her. The clip lasted no more than thirty seconds.
Kaz took a step back; she could feel the rage pulsing off him. ‘Helen made more than one copy and she sent one to me. You didn’t know that, did you?’
His eyes scoped the room and alighted on her phone on the coffee table. ‘What the fuck do you want? A pay-off?’
‘I’d prefer an explanation.’
With a hollow laugh he plucked the phone off the table. He clicked it on and the icon for recording sound popped up.
He chuckled. ‘You’re recording this on your phone! I think I’m going to have to revise my opinion. You’re not a very clever girl at all, are you?’
He strode out of the room and into the bathroom. She heard a splash as the phone hit the toilet bowl, followed by water flushing.
Returning, he paused on the threshold, hands on hips. ‘Any other little tricks up your sleeve?’ He scanned the room, made a circuit, opening drawers, peering in corners, looking under the lampshades. Once he was satisfied, he came round the coffee table to face her. ‘No, not very bright. Now, I think you and I need to have a serious conversation.’
Kaz edged backwards towards the corner; she picked up a heavy ceramic vase. ‘Don’t come any closer.’
He laughed. ‘You stupid bitch. You really think you can set me up?’
‘I’ll scream.’
‘Will you now? Where’s the rest of the film?’
Kaz took another step back. ‘Somewhere safe.’
‘Okay, let’s have a little reality check here. You’re going to get it and return it to me.’
‘It’s not yours, it’s Helen’s. Proof you raped her.’
Shaking his head wearily, he put his hands in his pockets. ‘Rape? That’s a loaded word.’
‘It’s also a crime.’
‘I never raped Helen Warner. I just gave her what she really wanted.’
Kaz could feel the bile rising in her throat. ‘You’re not what she wanted.’
‘Oh, I get it.’ He grinned. ‘You were one of her little sweethearts, were you? You think she wanted you? Sexuality is a complex thing. But nature doesn’t change. Girls don’t always know what they want, they need guidance.’
‘She wasn’t a girl, she was a woman.’
He laughed again, his tone was peevish yet proud. ‘She was a girl when I first found her. I was her education.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Her father was my tutor at Oxford. She was fourteen. Quite the little Lolita. She tried to tease me, but I had her in the end.’
‘When she was fourteen?’
‘Oh yes. Sadly we’ve become very puritanical about these matters in recent years. Some countries girls are married at fourteen. So you will give me that film.’ His eyes were bright and hard, he took a step towards her.
As she edged sideways to try and put the sofa between them she felt the constraint of her tight skirt.
Dressing up like this had been stupid, it gave her no room for manoeuvre. ‘What if I refuse?’
‘What if you refuse? Let’s think about that, shall we?’
He didn’t look particularly athletic, but when he moved he was fast, crossing the room to her in a couple of strides. His right hand few at her throat and grasped her by the windpipe. She felt the full force of his fury as he slammed her against the wall.
The impact knocked the wind out of her.
She gasped for breath. ‘You’re . . . choking . . . me.’
His tone was detached and matter-of-fact. ‘You’re choking yourself. By resisting. Try to relax.’ With his left hand he ripped open the front of her silk blouse. ‘You just need to be a good girl. Let it happen. Then you won’t be hurt.’
Without loosening the hold on her throat, his other hand reached down to pull up her skirt. It was the opportunity she needed. Once the skirt was halfway up her thighs she jerked her leg sharply upwards and kneed him in the balls. As the hand on her throat slackened, her forehead shot forwards and cracked into his nose.
He staggered backwards. ‘Aargh! Fuck! You are one vicious bitch!’
Spinning round to the sideboard drawer, she yanked it open, reached into the canteen of cutlery and pulled out a steak knife. ‘Yeah, I am. That’s exactly what I am. Now get the fuck out of here!’
Blood trickled from his nose over his top lip; he wiped it with his hand. ‘This isn’t over. Some friends of mine are going to be keeping an eye on you. So don’t think of doing anything stupid. They’ll be round to collect the film.’
She brandished the knife. ‘You think I’m frightened of them? Who the fuck are they anyway?’
He drew a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed his nose. ‘Oh you should be.’ Picking up his jacket, he headed for the door. Then he turned. ‘Think about what happened to Helen. Believe me, it was no accident.’
Kaz waited until he was gone then sank down on the sofa. She put the knife on the table and gingerly fingered her bruised neck. It was sore.
A figure appeared in the doorway.
Nicci Armstrong frowned. ‘Are you okay? I think maybe we let that run on a bit too far.’
Kaz glanced up at her. ‘Yeah but did you get it all?’
‘Oh yes. Sound and vision. You sure you’re all right?’
Kaz slapped the coffee table. ‘No. I fucked it up. I didn’t get him to name Pudovkin.’
The ex-cop came and sat beside her. ‘You did brilliantly, Kaz. Believe me, Robert Hollister is going down.’
98
The early morning sun leached through the blinds, crept across the wooden floor, up and across Kaz’s face, finally waking her. She was curled up on Nicci’s wide brown sofa. Rolling over, she dozed for a bit longer until she heard Nicci pad into the kitchen, fil
l the kettle at the tap and put it to boil.
She sat up slowly and rubbed her face.
Nicci was standing there in her dressing gown. ‘Sleep okay?’
‘Yeah, it’s pretty comfortable.’
‘How’s the neck?’
‘Feels a bit bruised.’
Nicci came and perched on the arm of the vast sofa, her brow knit with concern. ‘What you did was, well, extremely brave. Do you know that?’
Kaz gave her a thin smile. ‘You lot were in the flat next door, so it wasn’t that brave.’
‘I’ve worked undercover. I was always shit scared. When you’re trying to hook a violent offender you can never really tell which way they’ll jump.’
Sitting up, Kaz wrapped the duvet round herself. ‘Have we really got enough to nail him?’
Nicci shrugged. ‘I talked to Blake. He’s been in touch with the Met. They’re coming to the office at nine to see the footage. They’ll take Hollister in for questioning, they’ll have to.’
‘You don’t sound as confident as you did last night.’
‘It’ll be down to the police and the CPS to make the case. Once Hollister gets lawyered up, they’ll tell him to say nothing and argue inadmissibility. But we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeve.’
‘What about Pudovkin?’
‘Well, as Hollister left the flat, he made a call. We got the number, but we couldn’t trace it. The police will though. Half an hour later two thugs turned up.’
‘Looking for me?’
‘Oh yeah. They trashed the flat. Rory still had all the surveillance gear in place, so he filmed them doing it. It’s circumstantial in terms of Hollister. But it’ll add to the pressure that can be put on him.’
Kaz sank back into the soft folds of the sofa. ‘Still too many ways that bastard can wriggle out of this, aren’t there?’
‘We’re in the hands of the legal process now. You’ve been on the other side of the fence, Karen. You know how the game’s played.’
Kaz smiled wryly. ‘Yeah.’
Nicci got up. ‘I need to take a shower and get going. Do you want to make some tea? Or there’s coffee, if you’d prefer.’ She frowned. ‘I think there’s some instant somewhere.’
The Mourner Page 39
