Blood Red City

by Rod Reynolds

  Dalton trained the gun on them. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Let me get her some milk,’ Abi said. ‘Please.’

  Dalton stared at her, then flicked the gun to say she could go. He swapped to Stringer. ‘You too.’

  Stringer didn’t move. ‘Just keep that pointed on me. Leave them out of this.’

  ‘Go.’

  ‘Mike, please, do what he says.’

  There was desperation in her voice. He took a few steps forward and stopped in the kitchen doorway, putting himself between the girls and Dalton.

  ‘Did he send you here to kill me?’ Dalton said.

  ‘You’re the one with the gun.’

  ‘He’s still using you. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘We’re all being used.’

  ‘Where is the wife? I know you got to her.’

  ‘What happens if I tell you?’

  ‘I walk out that door.’

  Stringer spread his hands, keeping them by his sides. ‘You can walk out right now, I’ll come with you. You get what you want when we’re downstairs.’

  ‘Mike…’ He could feel Abi’s eyes on his back.

  Dalton came two steps closer, their faces a metre apart. He spoke in a near-whisper. ‘I didn’t want to be here tonight. Don’t make me do this.’

  ‘Go out that door and we can talk. I don’t owe Alicia Tan anything.’

  Dalton stared at him, his bottom teeth showing, close enough that he could hear his breath catching on dry lips. He closed his eyes for an instant and opened them again. ‘I can’t.’ Then he swung his arm.

  Stringer was on the kitchen floor looking up before he knew what’d happened. A stabbing pain blasted through his head and he heard Abi cry out behind him. He reached up with his hand and felt blood where Dalton had smashed him with the gun butt, a knot already forming. He glanced over his shoulder, Abi shaking and pressing Ellie’s face to her chest.

  Dalton stood over him just inside the doorway. ‘This is the last time I’m going to ask: where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Stop fucking lying to me.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Stringer dipped his head, the movement making him feel sick. ‘On my life. I had her stashed and she disappeared.’

  ‘Mike, don’t—’

  Dalton flicked his eyes up. ‘Shut up.’

  ‘She’s gone. She could be anywhere in the whole fucking world.’

  Dalton stared at him, his breathing fast and shallow. Then he aimed the gun at Abi.

  She spun away from him, shielding Ellie again, her neck twisted to look at Dalton. ‘You’ll hit her if you do. Can you live with that?’

  His arm was dead still, but his eyes were glazed. Stringer saw a man afraid enough to do anything.

  He slipped his finger inside the trigger guard. ‘We all disappoint ourselves in the end.’

  A blur moved behind him and Dalton toppled forward to the floor. The shock froze Stringer for a heartbeat, then he dived for Dalton’s gun arm, grabbing the wrist with both hands and ramming it into the floor until the gun shook free. Dalton surged forward to ram him with the top of his head, and both men fell sideways. Dalton got his wrist free again. He snatched the gun up and put it to Stringer’s eye.

  Lydia Wright reared up behind him and brought the ornament down on his head with two hands.

  Lydia put the brass elephant on the kitchen counter, some manifestation of shock making her square its feet with the edge. She ran her fingers over it, feeling the dimples across its surface, her eyes on the floor. The man Michael had called Dalton was face down, unmoving. ‘Shit…’

  Abi swept past her, carrying the kid out of the room.

  Michael propped himself on his elbow, reaching for his head, blood matted in his hair.

  Lydia felt the trembles in her chest start to build. ‘Is he dead?’

  He stared at her like she’d walked out of a nightmare. ‘Where the hell did you come from?’

  ‘I sent you a message. I was looking for you.’

  He hauled himself around so he could prop his back against a cupboard.

  Looking now, she could see Dalton was still breathing. ‘Who is he?’

  Abi came back into the kitchen and reached across Lydia to snatch her phone from the charger cable.

  ‘You okay?’ Michael said to her.

  ‘Fine.’ She started back down the hall. ‘I’m calling the police.’

  Michael got his feet under him, swaying as he stood up. ‘Wait.’ He stepped over the body going after her. ‘Abi…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just wait.’

  ‘What for?’

  Lydia watched them, Stringer with his hand against the wall to steady himself as he picked his way along. ‘He’s part of something bigger. Just a second.’

  She saw Abi glaring at him, her phone in her hand. Then she turned and went into the living room, out of sight. Comforting the girl.

  ‘Who is he?’ Lydia called down to him.

  Michael came slowly back up the hall. He looked at her and away, reaching down to the body and pressing his fingers to the man’s neck. He put his foot on the gun and slid it away across the floor, then knelt down and patted the man’s pockets. He found something and reached inside to get it, producing his phone.

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘He’s Andriy Suslov’s man.’

  ‘So are you.’

  He stopped still.

  ‘You told him you met with Suslov earlier. I was in there, I heard what you said. He was your mysterious fucking client, wasn’t he?’

  ‘It’s not how it looks.’

  ‘Why don’t you want the police here?’

  ‘You want to do this right now?’

  ‘Yeah, before you can make up more lies.’

  ‘I swear to god I’ll tell you everything. But I need to know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Who sent him. He screwed Suslov.’ He took Dalton’s hand and pressed his thumb against the home button to unlock the phone. He got his own phone out and brought a number up on screen, then typed it into Dalton’s.

  ‘Who are you calling?’

  Michael said nothing and hit dial. Lydia stared at him, this wire of a man kneeling on the floor and gripping the phone like he was pleading for his own life.

  It sounded like someone answered and Michael jagged it away from his ear as if it was burning him, recognition on his face. He pressed the disconnect button and held the phone at arm’s length, staring at the ended call. ‘Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.’

  Stringer stepped over Dalton and went into the sitting room. Abi was cradling Ellie across her lap, the girl staring up at her with hollow eyes.

  ‘So what now?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He came closer, reaching out to stroke Ellie’s hair.

  ‘You don’t know? Well then you’ve got five seconds to make your mind up or I’m making the call.’

  ‘We can’t do that.’

  ‘Why the f—’ She bit her lip, stopping herself, glancing down at Ellie. ‘Why not?’

  ‘The people he works for … they’re connected.’

  ‘What do you mean? Connected to who?’

  ‘Establishment.’

  ‘Establishment?’ She slipped one hand over Ellie’s ear. ‘If you’re thinking about protecting him to run an angle…’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I know how your mind works. Don’t lie to me – if you put money over her safety, we’re through.’

  ‘Never.’ He bent down to one knee, unsteady, to be at her eye level. ‘Never. But we need to be smart.’

  ‘I can’t handle this.’

  ‘I’ll get him out of here.’

  ‘Yeah? And what happens when these people come looking for him?’

  ‘I’ll put you in a hotel for a few days. Just while I take care of them.’

  ‘You’re telling me the police can’t deal with this but you can?’ She pushed his hand away fro
m Ellie. ‘You’re off your head, Mike. Whatever you’re thinking, do it now. I want all of you gone.’

  ‘I’m sorry. If I’d known…’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  Her anger was like a house fire, the heat driving him back.

  ‘Michael…’ He wheeled around, Lydia leaning out of the kitchen doorway to call him. ‘He just moved.’

  He went back to where she stood, flitting from one line of thought to the next. As he got there Dalton made a grunting sound. His face creased and then his fingers twitched.

  Stringer pulled the sleeve of his coat over his hand and crouched down to pick up the gun. He pocketed it and looked up at Lydia, watching him. ‘Can you drive?’

  CHAPTER 52

  Lydia left the engine running and buzzed Abi’s flat. Michael answered straightaway. ‘Coming now.’

  It’d been a thirty-minute round trip to his place in Holloway, a smart development rising up just behind the Tube station. A cab took her there in a daze, her head a raging froth that wouldn’t settle, but by the time she found his car in the garage under his flats, she was starting to think straight. And the thought it coalesced around was this: she’d never know what might’ve been said between him and Dalton in the time she was gone.

  Now she got back in the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel, waiting for Michael to appear. She concentrated on her hands, something real and known, a comfort when she was so far past normality’s vanishing point.

  Dalton came out of the communal door first with Michael behind him, checking both ways. Michael bundled him into the back seat and pushed him across so he could get in the same side. Lydia saw he’d tied his hands with a length of cord.

  She watched them in the mirror. ‘What now?’

  ‘Head north.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I’m working on it.’

  She turned around. Dalton was listing in his seat, head slumped against the window. ‘Is your niece alright?’ she said.

  ‘They’re gone, I put them in a cab. They’re safe.’ He broke off from her stare. ‘They’ll be okay.’

  She pulled away and steered the car through the narrow entranceway. She stopped at the junction with the main road, the indicator ticking in the quiet. ‘Before we go anywhere, I want to know who he is.’

  ‘He’s Suslov’s man. He fucked him over.’

  ‘You said that already. What does it mean?’

  ‘Keep driving.’

  ‘I’ll drive when you start talking.’

  She heard him take a breath, steeling himself. ‘Suslov was the one hired me to compromise Tan.’

  ‘I worked that out.’

  ‘Everything else I told you was true.’

  ‘Except you never fucking mentioned you were working for the number-one suspect.’

  ‘Because I knew how it looked.’

  She pressed the accelerator and turned into the road. ‘And?’

  ‘I went after Suslov tonight, but he had no idea about the link to Withshaw.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘He needed Tan alive. Tan was supposed to funnel the mirror-trade proceeds into Suslov’s hedge funds. Make himself the go-to investment house for the Russians once their money was laundered. That’s why he hired me in the first place – so he could force Tan to convince them to push the clean cash his way.’ She saw Michael look along the passenger seat to Dalton. ‘Now fill in the rest,’ he told him.

  Dalton brought his hands up, cupped together, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

  ‘Why did you kill Tan?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Dalton said. ‘You saw the video.’

  The last word jolted her.

  ‘You arranged it,’ Michael said.

  Dalton turned his gaze to the window, dark houses passing by outside.

  Lydia gripped the wheel tighter, every word in high clarity now. She tried to keep her eyes on the road, but she kept flicking to the rearview, looking at him.

  ‘Tell me,’ Michael said.

  The buzz in her head got louder, one question repeating over and over…

  She swerved to the kerb and jammed the brakes, whipping off her seatbelt. ‘What happened to the woman who took the video?’

  Dalton kept his eyes down.

  She turned around and surged between the seats, slapping his leg to make him look. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is she dead?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about her.’

  ‘Tell me. Fucking tell me.’

  Michael got in front of her. ‘Easy.’

  She struggled against him a second, finally letting herself fall back onto the seat, shaking. ‘I’m taking this piece of shit to the police.’

  Michael pulled himself forward on the passenger seat so she could see his face. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘I just need twelve hours.’

  CHAPTER 53

  Stringer adjusted his shirt cuffs on the ride up, the air in the lift warm and stale like he was the morning’s first passenger.

  The receptionist flashed a smile at him as he came over, looking uncertain.

  ‘I’m here to see Sir Oliver.’

  She looked down as if she was checking his diary on the screen, but already starting to speak. ‘I’m afraid Sir Oliver has appointments all morning…’

  ‘Tell him Michael Stringer is here about Dalton. He’ll squeeze me in.’

  Kent met him by the door to his office with a smile and a handshake. Stringer took up a position in front of the desk, waiting for him to go around it and sit down – expecting a show of deference to put him at ease.

  Instead, he came to stand in front of him. ‘I had a feeling.’

  ‘About what?’

  Kent picked up a pen, absently. ‘That it was you calling last night from Dalton’s phone. I was starting to lose faith.’

  ‘In?’

  ‘You.’

  Stringer put his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ve got Dalton.’

  ‘That’s already understood. He’s still alive?’

  He nodded. ‘And talking.’

  Kent tapped the pen on the table. ‘I’ve no doubt about that. The trouble is he struggles with the truth.’

  ‘Tell me your version then.’

  ‘There is no version. There’s only what happened, what didn’t, and what can be proved.’

  Stringer stepped closer. ‘What happened is that Dalton came after my family.’

  Kent put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I can promise you I had no involvement in that. None.’

  ‘You were on the phone when he tried to kill me though.’

  Kent stared at him, choosing his words. ‘What are you here for, Michael? Why don’t we gloss over the accusations and get to the part where you tell me what you want. Because if you do have Dalton and he’s not dead or in custody, then you’ve made the smart move by coming to make a deal.’

  ‘Dalton came to you about Jamie Tan.’

  Kent pursed his lips.

  ‘He told you Andriy Suslov had hired me and was going after Tan,’ Stringer said. ‘You had him killed to keep him out of Suslov’s reach. So Tan was originally working for you.’

  Kent laid the pen down, staring at it while he chose his words. ‘It’s an interesting theory.’

  ‘Don’t insult me. It’s no secret Russian money floods into the London property market. Your play was going to the source. Billions in dirty roubles, washed clean through mirror trades – but once it’s out, there’s the age-old problem: what to do with all that cash? Then you swoop in with a solution: why not invest in building my luxury developments? Jamie Tan as your salesman – who better than the financial wizard they’d trusted to get their cash out in the first place? And then you sell the finished apartments back to the same kind of people. You win twice.’

  ‘If that were true, I’d have to have ex
tensive contacts in Russia. People who’d be very unhappy with anyone who became an impediment to their prosperity.’

  ‘You don’t need to threaten me, I’ve seen what you’re capable of. I wouldn’t be here if I was trying to pick a fight.’

  Kent put his arm across his stomach and propped his elbow on it. ‘Good. Because there is scope for a deal here, if you don’t overplay your hand.’

  ‘Why did you pick me for the Carlton job?’

  ‘Any number of reasons.’

  ‘Indulge me.’

  ‘Nigel will be a useful man to know.’

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘Perhaps I wanted to see your work. The job offer I made you was real.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you just clue me in on the Tan thing? You bought off Dalton, why not me?’

  Kent squinted at him. ‘A matter as sensitive as that? Dalton already knew the details when he brought them to me, you did not.’

  ‘How did he know about your involvement?’

  ‘Tan told him. It was supposed to be a hands-off message to your friend Suslov – a warning that Tan was protected – but Dalton cut him out and came to me instead. To make his own deal.’

  Stringer looked at the floor, nodding.

  ‘I sense you came here with a proposal in mind,’ Kent said.

  Stringer kept his gaze down, reaching for his inside pocket. He passed the slip of paper to Kent. ‘A hundred grand, in this account by lunchtime.’

  Kent took it without looking. ‘And what are you offering?’

  ‘Dalton. But I want him taken off the board.’

  Kent looked at the piece of paper in his hand, details of an account held in the British Virgin Islands. ‘I was hoping for more.’

  Stringer looked up. ‘Such as what?’

  Kent stared at him, looking for something in his eyes. Not finding it, he blinked and broke off, leaving it unspoken – Stringer with a growing sense of what it might be. ‘Midnight tonight. You’ll be contacted with a location.’

  ‘If the money isn’t there, I’m dust.’

  ‘It’ll be there.’