A Perfect Likeness (29 page)

‘Than…kyou, Mr Page.’ This time with a full smile.

Page moved on with a return of smile and a polite nod.

*

‘Done a check with the airline, Guv, and they confirm Edward Page is on the flight from Moscow. It’s airborne and scheduled in at 3. 15pm.’

‘You’ve made my day, Colin. Do we know where Miss Page is?’

‘Looks like she’s the chauffeur for today. She’s in the BMW tanking it up the M25 at this very moment. Just hope she doesn’t get nicked for speeding.’

‘And Rawston?’

‘Where he always is, Guv, playing with his boats.’

Chapter 22

Deckman confirmed his decision that the next drug delivery was to be the last; there was nothing to be gained from extending surveillance any longer. What he had hoped to obtain before arrests was that vital something to ensure Michael Campbell’s release. It was not going to happen. It would have to come from Sylvia Page herself or be hidden somewhere within the Page’s house.

The bulk carrier used to deliver the drugs had been traced to the
Caribbean Sea port of Barranquilla.
One of two identical ships operated under the Liberian flag by a Columbian family dedicated to the shipment of coffee. All employees were Columbian except for the two captains who were Greek, and two Spanish office workers. The company owners, highly respected, had previously agreed to cooperate with the Columbian authorities in their attempts to curb the illegal exporting of drugs. They allowed all departing ships to be checked prior to leaving port. The suspicions aroused by British customs were strengthened when a crewman of the returning ship had mysteriously fallen into one of the empty cargo holds as the ship entered Barranquilla port. He was taken to hospital unconscious and close to death. On arrival he regained consciousness and requested to speak to the police. He survived for less than four hours, but during that time he gave vital information to the police on how he had been thrown into the hold and also how the drugs were lifted on to the ship after it had departed port. Four hours out to sea the ship’s captain called for a practice emergency drill, ordering all non-essential crew to assemble in the amidships rest-room where they were kept for up to three hours. The dying crewman was concerned that why, in an emergency, he was to be locked up below decks and decided to find out what was going on. He knew a register of names was not taken and had hidden on deck when the drill started. He witnessed the meeting up with a fishing trawler and the transferring of packages using the on-board jib. He assumed it was drugs that were being loaded and the following day he began speaking to his colleagues, all of whom did not want to know. They were grateful for work and were not going to put either themselves or their family in danger. He guessed someone had seen him on deck or a colleague had reported him and that was why he had his ‘accident’. He had no idea where or how the drugs were offloaded.

The consultations between British and Columbian customs resulted in neither country taking action against the ship until after the next delivery had been made.

*

Deckman replaced the receiver, but kept his hand resting on the phone for a few seconds whilst considering the implications of the call from HM Customs. He released his hold, leant back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. The ship was on its way. It had left Vigo, on Spain’s west coast after offloading coffee and was now heading north. He wondered what Jens was cooking for dinner and thought he needed to get home early tonight to see the boys. He got up and went to his window and, for one of the rare occasions, noticed what was going on in the street below. It was busy. The law courts were in session and it was market day. He looked out at good, decent people who were unaware of the drama unfolding around them. The results of which would soon be broadcast world wide. Then he was looking without seeing. His thoughts had taken over. He reasoned until he lost track of what he was deliberating over. His mind was knocking questions around quicker than he could provide answers. He stood back and pulled the cord allowing the blind to hide the window. ‘Closed for maintenance,’ he murmured as he turned away.

He informed his Chief Inspector. ‘It has to be tomorrow night, although no confirmation has been received this end as yet. But the ship is now heading towards us. Will you inform the Chief Constable, Joan?’

Deckman’s phone rang as he was about to leave. A couple of more rings and they’ll ring off, he hoped. They didn’t, so he answered. ‘Oh, hello, Sir, good of you to call.’

‘Chief Inspector White has just informed me that tomorrow looks like being a busy day,’ said the Chief Constable.

‘That’s right, Sir. All being well. We know the ship is on its way.’

‘I know you’re busy, Terry, but just wanted to wish you well and please, no risk taking.’

‘Thank you, Sir, appreciate the call.’

*

‘We’ve had little time to talk since you returned from Moscow,’ said Sylvia Page. ‘I know it all went according to plan, but has anything changed now you have carried out your promise?’

‘Yes, it went very well. Mission accomplished, as they say. Once I had completed the task I wanted to return to England as quickly as I could. To get out of the city until things quietened down. I am afraid the pull of Moscow is so strong, Sylvia, so much so that I have to go back for good. My love of the city and its people is as strong as ever, but it is much more than that; I need to be where Olga is buried. It hurt me so much when I saw her neglected grave even though it was only six months ago when I had it restored. I have been thinking about her so much recently, to the extent that I believe I could become a liability and a danger to you and Tom. And the whole operation, of course. I’ve officially requested a return home. I know it won’t be easy for me in Moscow now I have killed Chernov, but I’ll get a new identity.’

She bit hard on her bottom lip. ‘I had hoped you would have changed your mind about going back. It is going to be impossible without you and the thought of working with someone else… well, it just doesn’t bear thinking about.’ She didn’t want to talk about it anymore, it would be a long time before it happened. ‘By the way, Edward don’t forget that we are due a delivery tomorrow night. I’ll get everyone informed once we receive confirmation.’

‘Yes, yes, but sit down again please. I need to tell you something I found out whilst in Moscow and it’s bad news, I’m afraid. Alexandria Koslova, our woman in Spain …’

‘You mean, Maria Perez?’ she interrupted. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Yes, Maria. Well, I’m afraid she’s been killed in a crash while the car she was in was being chased by the police.’

Sylvia Page was shocked and distressed but didn’t allow her expression to change. She caught her breath and placed her hand over her mouth. As if she was trying to hide even the slightest sign of emotion. ‘How did it happen?’

‘There must have been a tip off. Either by a rival gang or by someone within their own group wanting to take over. There was a shoot out and a Brazilian was killed.’

‘That would be Boris. The ‘Gay Assassin’, as he enjoyed being called,’ said Sylvia Page. ‘He was a beautiful man, Maria said all the girls wanted him, but he wasn’t interested. He preferred men.’

‘Takes all sorts I suppose. Alexandria, or Maria, and the group leader managed to get away but he lost control of the car at high speed. He was killed instantly, your Maria died a day or two later. I’m very sorry, Sylvia, I know you liked her but it is a risk we all take, every day. Our way of life is a risk and we must accept the bad things that do happen. Either to us or our friends and colleagues elsewhere.’

Sylvia Page wanted to cry. She had taught herself not to show that kind of emotion in public, it would be saved till later when she was alone in her bedroom. Despite her ruthless streak she still felt emotion and that was when she was at her most dangerous. She had to feed that emotion the only way she knew how. She had to kill. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but Maria told me her work there was almost over and she was happy that she was due to be recalled to Moscow very soon. She also told me there were big problems over there and the group she was with were not well organised or security conscious. And she could not believe how easy it was for her to penetrate the organisation.’

‘Do you think they would have anything on record that could implicate us in any way?’

‘No.’ She thought for a moment before continuing. ‘No, I’m sure they wouldn’t. Maria said that they never kept records over there and the receipt for our money was not duplicated. They kept it all up here,’ she said, tapping the side of her head.

*

Trish Lister was seated at her desk in the marina control office when Rawston radioed in to say he was taking Red Star out for a test run. She acknowledged and went outside to get a clearer view as the luxurious Azimut cruiser passed. Rawston was on the fly bridge and they exchanged waves. She had grown to like Rawston and felt he’d had a raw deal. He had got himself caught at a vulnerable time and now he was desperately in love with the notorious Miss Page. Rawston had mentioned to Trish, the day before, that he had felt a slight vibration from the starboard side when he took Red Star out for a test after having a major engine overhaul. Now he had the mechanic onboard and hoped a minor adjustment would be all that was necessary to put it right.
These people don’t know how lucky they are,
she thought.
Why does their greed make them ruin so many lives?

Ten minutes was long enough for the mechanic to do his job and, as normal, Rawston called in as he entered the marina.

‘Roger, Red Star, understood. How’s the vibration, Mr Rawston?’ Trish asked.

‘Problem solved, thanks. Both engines growl like a pair of Harleys in perfect pitch. Beautiful.’

‘Very pleased, Red Star. Draycliffe Marina, out.’

Trish looked out of the window and noticed Sylvia Page walking along the pontoon towards Red Star. Or, more correctly thought Trish, towards Rawston. She was a beautiful woman and had a figure to die for which she dressed to perfection to enhance her curves even more. From a distance, it was hard to believe she was such a dangerous lady. She looked happy and content. As she should, reflected Trish, after all it was coffee time and all the rest that goes with it. Rawston and Sylvia Page were open about their relationship and it hadn’t gone unnoticed that their coffee breaks together often included an ‘aperitif’ or an ‘After Eight’.

Trish had never taken up the offer of Sylvia Page to have another coffee and chat on board. She had felt uncomfortable the first time and also when they had met around the marina. She couldn’t think why, but she felt she was being assessed all the time, even being prepared for something. Sylvia Page was friendly enough, over friendly, but Trish felt ill at ease in her company. She thought ‘in danger’ was a more appropriate description of her feeling. She had also noticed Sylvia Page had a strange habit of clenching her right hand, like she was muscle flexing or grasping at something that wasn’t there. Trish had reported her discomfort to DS Fraser who had warned her never to get in a position where she was alone with either of the Pages or Rawston.

*

Sylvia Page suffered a restless night. She had shed tears for Maria Perez, and crying for her was not easy. Her life had made her hardened to attacks of emotion, but they came from time to time and Maria was different, a true friend. An immediate friend. She felt confused and unhappy.
My life is all wrong
, she thought. So different from the lives led by ‘normal’ women, like Victoria Campbell and Trish Lister. She hated women like that, women who appeared happy. Life was so unfair.
But now I have Tom who treats me like a lady, so why do I continue to feel that urge to harm others?
She clasped her fingers around the handle of that imaginary knife and thought of her next victim. It always made her feel better, but the urge was becoming more frequent and had to be satisfied. She had a picture of Trish Lister in her mind and looked up towards the control room. Trish was there, watching her and waved. Sylvia Page returned a wave and considered how she would deal with Trish. She was deliberating her options when the bleep of her mobile interrupted her thoughts. She cursed and opened the message.

‘Yes, three’ was all it said.

She couldn’t help her anger.
It is always the same message,
she thought.
Why not ‘No’ or ‘Yes, six’? Anything but three. It never changed.
Now she would have to be alone whilst Edward Page and Rawston were at sea. It always made her anxious because she needed company. She needed to have people around her, particularly Rawston. He was the only person, apart from Edward Page, with whom she was able to relax. It was only when she was alone that ‘that feeling’ returned.

‘Hi, Tom, good timing. Can you spare a lonely lady a few precious moments before she goes off to the office?’

‘For you, Sylvia, I would strive to make even a few precious moments an experience of a lifetime.’

‘Sounds good to me. You have got ten minutes to prove your words.’

*

Edward Page was on his second coffee of the morning when Sylvia Page arrived at the office.

‘Morning, Edward, sorry I’m late, I went to see Tom to confirm tonight is on. It is the same as it always is. Three.’ She sat down opposite him and locked on to his eyes. ‘I’m tired, unhappy and irritable. Does that mean I’m suffering from a depression?’