Instead he whispered to Reuben, ‘I thought something big was happening so I took the precaution of getting a different phone. Here’s the number.’
After he’d passed on the details to the Russian, Reuben abruptly raised his arms and shouted, ‘Everyone, it’s time to gather round.’
People started moving from the house into the garden. Some of the children ran, others held on to the hands of the adults they’d arrived with. Milos cuddled into his father’s side. A table had been set centrally, with what looked like an enormous pie-cum-cake in the middle. There was a solitary candle and words iced on it: Live long and free.
Reuben gently pushed his son towards his birthday pie.
‘Close your eyes. Make a wish,’ Reuben whispered.
But Mac was long gone by the time Milos reopened his eyes. He was back on the street. The Luger and bullets were where he’d left them under the wheelie bin. Once he had them, Mac doubled back and hid in a front garden from where he could observe the gates to Reuben’s house. Now all he had to do was to wait for that back-stabbing slime ball Calum to come out.
thirty-four
‘I didn’t come over for a shag,’ Rio said, as she finished doing up the last button on her blouse while Phil buckled his belt.
They’d met at some tedious police conference, a weekender, where they’d spent their free time getting to know each other within the four walls of Rio’s hotel room. Phil didn’t feel guilty that he was betraying his wife; if he’d had a guilt complex, he’d never have gone into undercover work. And Rio – well, she wasn’t looking for a long-term anything except for her career.
‘We’ve talked about Mac . . .’
She took a step towards him. ‘I’m working on this case. A murder in a hotel. A female found with her face shot off her in a bath. Not a pretty scene. But I’m working some DNA that was found there, not the victim’s. The problem is there’s a match on the computer, but I can’t get access to it.’
‘Now why do I feel that the remainder of your sentence has got something to do with me?’ Phil moved away from her and sat down at his desk. He kept his gaze on her.
‘The reason I can’t get access is because there’s a code. The one used for one of ours undercover.’
Phil’s body tightened. ‘And you want me to turn the code into a face? You know it’s a general code, so I’d never be able to do that anyway – not that I would.’
‘But there’s something different about this. It’s the usual 1402 code,’ Rio hit back. ‘But this one ends with a C.’
Phil went rigid and, for just a few seconds, emotion stood stark on his face. Shock? Confusion? Rio couldn’t tell what it was, but he soon covered it over with the calm shadows that he usually wore.
He leaned back in the chair and laced his fingers in his lap. ‘Even if I did know who it was—’
‘Don’t shit me around, Phil.’ Her face glowed a hot brown with her fury. ‘A young woman’s time on this earth was brutally severed today. Tell me who it is.’
His tone remained calm. ‘I don’t know who every undercover cop is. There are other undercover teams, as you well know. We use the same 1402 code like all the other units. We don’t put letters, love hearts or smiley faces at the end of it.’
‘Well, someone put a C there for a reason. So, who can I talk to and find out?’
Phil stood up again. Moved round the table. Took the few steps towards her. Ended up back in her space. ‘No one’s going to give you that information. If there was – and that’s a big “if” – an operative in that hotel room, it will be case sensitive. My advice to you –’ his hand touched her wrist near her pulse – ‘is to leave it alone. Get on with your investigation and work around this DNA glitch.’
‘Glitch?’ she stormed in his face. ‘You should’ve seen what was left of her. The inside of her head scattered all over the walls like she was nothing. Nothing.’
‘Rio.’ His palm swept up her arm. ‘If you want to be in the type of places I think you want to get to in the police force, you’ve got to be able to leave the emotion behind.’
‘Yeah, I’ll think about leaving the emotion behind the next time you’re screwing me.’ She snatched her arm away. ‘I’ll find out who it is, Phil, with or without your—’
Her mobile went off. She slammed out of Phil’s office, not noticing the surprised expressions on the faces of Phil’s team. She pulled out her mobile as she took the stairs.
Furiously, she answered the call.
‘She was pregnant.’
Rio froze at the top of the stairs on hearing DC Martin’s words.
‘Two months gone,’ he continued. ‘The ME says that her system was filled with a sedative, something like Rohypnol . . .’
‘So that’s how the killer got her into the bath – he drugged her,’ Rio uttered softly.
‘There was no sign of a puncture wound on her skin, so it wasn’t injected.’
‘Were there any other marks or abrasions on her skin, like around her wrists?’
‘None. No sign either that she put up a struggle.’
‘Which means someone slipped the drug into her drink. And you know what that likely means . . . ?’
Silence on the other end of the line.
Rio answered her own question. ‘Our vic probably knew her killer.’
She pulled the mobile from her face but didn’t cut the call. Instead she stabbed a finger against the mobile’s screen until she found the files containing her notes and information about the case. Stopped at the photo showing the close-up of the tattoo on the victim’s arm.
Red star, yellow border.
С волка?ми жить
по-во?лчьи выть
‘Martin?’ she said into the phone. ‘Let’s see what we can find out about this tattoo.’
1402. C.
Phil ran his hand over his mouth. Damn. Mac. He’d personally changed Mac’s coding to distinguish him from the other members of his team in the field because he’d wanted to keep an eye on him after he’d returned to work following his son’s death. Mac hadn’t mentioned any hotel room to him when they’d met earlier. But then Mac hadn’t been returning his calls. What the fuck was Mac involved in? A murder?
Phil quickly went back to his desk, ready to pick the phone up to give Mac a call. And that’s when he saw the images on the laptop.
‘Bastard.’ He thumped the desk. ‘Bastard.’ He banged the desk again.
He shook his head, almost in disbelief, as he saw a still of Mac standing in front of Reuben Volk’s door. He picked the phone up. Dialled.
‘Why didn’t you call me?’ Phil spoke quickly to the same person he’d contacted outside Mac’s home. ‘Yes, I know what I said earlier, but things have obviously changed . . . There’s no need to worry about Mac, he won’t be on the street for long.’
He was already standing up when he ended the call. He pulled the door open and called to his PA.
‘Give the surveillance team a call and tell them to send a live feed through to you. Then patch it through to me.’
He picked up his laptop. Didn’t take his coat as he headed for the door. As soon as he got into his car, he used his laptop to patch into a live feed with his team watching Reuben Volk’s house.
‘Sir,’ he was urgently told. ‘He’s left the house.’
Phil ignited the engine. Took the road. Said, ‘Don’t lose him.’
He looked ahead of him and cursed some more when he saw that he was caught up in roadworks. He thumped his horn three times, but nothing moved. He didn’t have a choice now; he was going to have to use his blues and twos. He hit the button that activated the flashing siren. Wheels squealed as cars moved out of his way, some mounting the pavement. The twisting vehicles only made the already narrow gap even narrower. He flipped the steering wheel one way, then the other, as he moved through the space. Finally through, he belted forward. Checked the GPS. He’d be there in another five minutes if he kept this speed up. And then Mac woul
d be off the case for good.
thirty-five
Calum was putting his mobile phone away as he finally left the Russian’s home. Hunched in the front garden, Mac kept his eye on him all the way. As he strolled past the guards. As the remote-controlled gate opened for him. As he pulled the tip of his baseball cap low. As he walked unevenly down the street. Mac dipped lower as Calum walked past on the side opposite his hiding place. He twisted his body slightly to the rhythm of the other man’s steps as Calum carried on down the street. Mac gave it five seconds, then stood. Didn’t look left, didn’t look right, as he quickly followed his target.
Seeing a gap in the road, to what looked like a side street, he made his move. He rushed Calum, grabbed him by the arm and jacked him sideways between a row of gardening sheds.
Calum was unresisting and didn’t seem surprised. ‘I thought you might be loitering around somewhere . . .’
Mac blocked the path back to the road. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Reuben and his travelling circus?’
Calum looked down to where Mac’s hand was hovering by his waistband. ‘You’re not going to start waving Lady L around at me, are you? That would be really stupid, especially on a road like this. In fact, you might want to consider the possibility that Reuben’s des res is almost certainly under surveillance by the law.’
But Mac wasn’t listening, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here? If you breathed fuck about what I told you this morning . . .’
Lost for words, the anger burst from Mac and he lunged at Calum. Grabbed the lapels of his coat and shook him violently.
Calum almost lost his footing as his weak leg slid to the side, but managed to stay upright. He made no attempt to resist, but he looked at his former friend with contempt and warned, ‘Get your hands off me, mate, or there’s going to be trouble. I’m serious – you’ve got enough enemies as it is, don’t make another one out of me, because I’ll be worse than the lot of them put together.’
They remained like that for a while, breathing heavily, the peaks of their twin baseball caps almost touching. Abruptly, Mac loosened his grip. Cursing, he let go. Calum looked up and down the road before saying, ‘Look, it’s none of your business, but Reuben just wanted a sit-down to offer me a job, which I’ve agreed to take on for a substantial fee.’
Mac scoffed. ‘It’s always money with you, isn’t it? Is that why they booted your arse out of the door at The Met, because your paws came up dirty from the wrong cookie jar?’
Calum’s green eyes glittered bright and hard. The blood rose in his face. ‘Fuck you, Mac. If you’d really wanted to know what happened back then, you’d have given me a bell. But you didn’t.’ His finger stabbed out at his former friend. ‘So you don’t have the right to expect anything from me. I do what I need to do to put bread on the table. So I was at Casa Reuben for my business not yours, so there was no need for me to mention your name or what you told me this morning. I’ve got a whole new circle of friends now that don’t include you.’
‘And do you know what your new best buddy did before you arrived? He had a live human being chopped into pieces as a new party trick at his son’s birthday.’
Calum gave a grim smile. ‘I’m glad I turned down the hamburgers then.’
‘Did you sleep with Donna?’ Mac had been holding back on asking Calum about his ex-wife, but now it burst free.
Calum swore softly. ‘If you think I’m the type of man who would’ve been carrying on with my best friend’s old lady, you didn’t know me at all.’
Mac’s dimmed eyes came alive with hatred and suspicion, ‘But that’s the trouble, Calum, I don’t know you. Not any more. So is the job you’re doing for him connected to this delivery tonight?’
Calum sighed. ‘Have you no idea what “commercial confidentiality” means? Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ He pulled the rim of his cap lower. ‘I’ve got work to do. But let me give you a bit of advice that doesn’t come with my usual consultation fee. Leave this one alone. What did you really know about this woman, Elena? Go home, get some rest. Look at the state of you, Mac – you’re cracking up. If you carry on down this road, you’ll either end up dead or on the funny farm.’ His tone softened slightly. ‘You’re not the father my godson would’ve remembered.’
And leaving the memory of Mac’s dead son between them, Calum walked in uneven steps away. Feeling like he’d been repeatedly hitting his head against a brick wall, Mac reached for the pill bottle he’d found at Doctor Mo’s. All he needed was a hit, one hit to get his brain back into gear. He couldn’t remember which pocket he’d placed them in, so shoved his hand into his inside pocket. That didn’t contain the pill bottle, though, but the stuff he’d taken from Elena’s place. He pulled the pieces out and looked at each one again.
Post-it note from Reuben.
Scorched photo of two men in military get-up.
Card for some club.
He rested them in his hand for a while, like he was hanging on to Elena’s life. He was so weary, so bone-tired. But he had to keep going. He owed it to Elena like he’d owed it to Stevie to keep him safe. But he hadn’t kept him safe. Determination flooded back into him. He started pushing the items back into his pocket. Suddenly his hand stopped around the club card. He raised it closer to his face. Read.
Club Zee.
What had Reuben called his brother’s girlfriend? Oh yeah, one of those Club Zee bitches. Mac’s mind shot into cop investigation mode. Two women. One dead, the other missing. And what connects them both? A place called Club Zee.
‘Sir, he’s on the move again . . .’
‘Where?’ Phil said, turning into a sharp right.
‘He’s turned a corner, boss – I’ve lost him.’
‘Which corner?’
‘End of the road – Willowfield Crescent.’
Phil hit Reuben’s neighbourhood. All he wanted to do was to slam his foot to the pedal, but he couldn’t afford to do that, not near the house under surveillance. So he eased back slightly. Cruised. Kept moving. And moving. Killed the engine just before hitting Willowfield Crescent. His phone pulsed on.
‘Yes?’
‘Sir.’ Shazia, his PA. ‘Doctor Warren says she can only meet you this evening . . .’
‘I don’t think I’ll be needing her again,’ Phil mumbled, almost to himself.
As soon as he cut the call, he pulled something out of his glove compartment. Jumped out of the car, not bothering to close the door. He ran forward. Stopped just before the entrance to the crescent. Took a breath, and then stepped into it. He saw a man up ahead straight away, sporting a baseball cap. Striding firmly, Phil took the pavement quickly, gaining on the figure with each step. His fingers tightened on what was in his hand as he extended his strides. Gained ground. Got closer. And closer. He reached him.
‘Mac,’ he called out.
Philip shoved the stun gun in his hand against the side of Mac’s torso. Mac shook as the stun gun shot a thousand volts through his body, the force of it spinning him round. As he fell, Phil was finally able to see Mac’s face. Phil swore viciously.
It wasn’t Mac.
thirty-six
Stars, skulls, angels, wings . . . more bloody wings. Rio was sick to the back teeth of seeing tattoos as she and Martin entered the umpteenth local tattoo parlour for the day. Why oh why hadn’t she delegated the job to a couple of the other officers in her team? This tat house was unoriginally called The Needle, but it could’ve been named The Dark House because it was painted all over black. No colourful and fanciful designs. Just black.
‘Been thinking about getting a warrant card tattoo after my performance review comes through – that’s if it’s good,’ Martin suddenly said.
Rio heard the eagerness in his voice and sort of felt proud that she’d helped pull him from a shy rookie detective to the outstanding cop he was today. But she made no reply, just pushed into the shop. The inside was anything but dark. Powder-blue walls offset the many designs mounted on them. The
sound of a needle hissed as a man with a sleek ponytail engraved what to Rio looked like a gargoyle on a woman’s arm.
The man didn’t look round as he said, ‘Take a seat; I’ll be with you in five.’
He had an accent – to Rio’s ears it sounded Russian.
‘We need to have a word,’ Rio said as she moved forward, pulling out her badge.
The man finally looked round as she reached him and flashed her ID in his face.
He looked irritated as he cut off the needle, but there was the slight hum of another needle coming from somewhere in the back of the shop, behind the lilac beaded curtain. He briskly nodded at the woman in the chair, who got up and went to sit on one of the seats near the door.
‘What do you want?’ His tone was unfriendly.
Martin held out his mobile, which displayed a photo of the star tattoo on the arm of their victim.
‘Have you done or seen this tattoo before?’ Rio asked.
The man gave it a quick look, but he also flicked his gaze towards the back of the shop. ‘No,’ he uttered curtly.
‘Look a bit harder this time,’ Rio responded, grabbing the phone from Martin and shoving it into the man’s face.
Reluctantly he looked more closely this time. ‘No, no. And no.’
‘I’m investigating the murder of a young woman . . .’
‘And I’ve got a customer waiting.’
The humming in the back of the shop stopped, replaced by giggles. Without any warning, Rio marched towards the back.
‘Hey, you can’t just go in there . . .’ the tattoo artist protested.
But Rio kept on going. Flipped her hand up to move the beaded curtain out of the way. Small corridor with two rooms to the side. The door to the room on the left was open. The sound of voices – excited, girlish voices – spilled out.
Rio reached it and stopped in the doorway. ‘Well, well, well,’ she said as she took in the scene. Two teenage girls, wearing school uniforms, were inside with an older woman. One girl was admiring a tattoo that had just been designed around her friend’s belly button.
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