Chameleon - A City of London Thriller (45 page)

Chapter
6
7

Room 417.1,
London Bridge Hospital, London, Saturday 8am.

“
How do I
know I can trust you?” Donkin asked. “You might be working with the
police.”

Barry
Mitchinson came to the conclusion that this man was even more
stupid than the press alleged, but he kept his opinions to himself.
He wanted to slap the celebrity wannabe, but he knew that he had to
be kind. He wanted to tell the young man that he wasn’t even
important enough to warrant a part time police guard. He was a
nobody.

“
Look, Rob,
I’ve explained my plan to you. You help me and you get what you’ve
always wanted. The alternative is that you stay in here, playing at
being blind until the medics get fed up and sell you out to the
police. Then it’s going to be arrest, remand, court and prison.
Tell me you’re not interested and I’ll leave you alone. You can
send me a postcard from the Scrubs!”

Rob’s eyes
were heavily bandaged and he looked every bit the blinded,
vulnerable, misunderstood boy he pretended to be. He knew, however,
that Barry was right. Although he denied it to sceptical doctors,
he could see a good deal better now. He reckoned that he had
recovered about seventy percent of his sight already. His main
problem was his central vision; he still had black spots there and
blurring around those black spots. Nonetheless, he could get around
safely, and Barry’s plan had two advantages - reuniting him with
his girl friend, and a flight out of the country, taking him away
from the threat of prosecution. His publicist would be mad as hell,
but he wasn’t the one who had to worry about going to
prison.

Rob clambered
out of his bed with Barry’s help, and slipped on a dressing gown.
As they walked along the corridor the nurse approached
him.

“
This is much
better, Rob. You needed to get out of that bed.”

“
I’m just
heading to the lounge where my Uncle and I can get some coffee and
talk,” he lied, with a total lack of conviction.

“
Well, Uncle,
take care of him. He needs his family to lift his spirits. Not
surprisingly he’s been a little bit depressed, but he will recover
his sight in due course. There’s really no need to worry.” The
nurse hurried on to another patient.

***

Once they were
alone, Barry removed the bandages and gave Rob a pair of sunglasses
which concealed his oddly coloured, creamy looking eyes and some of
the skin burns. After changing into the ill fitting clothing which
Barry had provided, Rob donned a beanie hat and they simply walked
out of the hospital unchallenged and into a taxi.

***

By the time
Donkin and his new protector had arrived at Maureen Lassiter’s
apartment they had already collected a few of the young man’s
belongings from his own tawdry apartment.

“
As you both
have current ESTAs I have been able to book you onto a flight to
New York. You can’t fly until tomorrow because of the twenty four
hour Advanced Passenger Information System requirements.

At JFK Airport
you will pick up a minivan with fold down seats. That should suit
your needs.”

Donkin sat on
the sofa listening to his iPod, a wet flannel over his aching eyes.
Barry talked quietly to Maureen Lassiter.

“
Get the flat
on the market immediately and make sure you turn up for work as
normal. I may need you there. Don’t give any indication that you
may leave, or Five will reduce your security access even
further.

I’ll be back
from the States in a few days, and we need to be ready to move
quickly.” Barry looked over at Donkin before whispering, “I don’t
think Rob will be making the return journey. He may find himself
sharing a grave with Gillian Davis.”

Maureen looked
shocked. She hadn’t anticipated any more killing, but she knew that
arguing with Barry was fruitless. Once they had the money and were
well away from here they could put all the violence behind
them.

***

Because the
doctors didn’t make their rounds on a Saturday, Rob’s absence from
the hospital wasn’t noticed until evening medications. The charge
nurse, under explicit instructions from the man paying the hospital
bills, reported the absence to the high profile celebrity
publicist.

“
Do nothing
for the time being,” the maddened publicist said. “He’ll be out
drinking. I’ll track him down and have him in his bed by the time
the doctors come around Monday morning. OK?”

“
OK,” the
nurse answered doubtfully, “but if he isn’t in his room by Monday
morning I have to call the police!”

Chapter
6
8

Miles Estate,
Lynchburg, Virginia, Saturday 7am.

Steve Post
drove into the rear driveway of the Miles Estate along the unmade
road leading to the Lodge, which was set well back from the main
house. He parked behind a well-used Chevy Tahoe and climbed out of
his government issued SUV.

As he walked
towards the door he unclipped the holster under his jacket and made
sure that his Glock handgun was easily accessible. He rapped on the
old wooden door. A few moments passed and eventually a bleary eyed
Gillian Davis-Miles answered his knock.

Steve held out
his commission card and badge, both contained in a small leather
wallet, and gave his name.

“
What have I
done to deserve a visit from the FBI at the crack of dawn?” she
asked.

“
I’m looking
for Dee Hammond, a compatriot of yours.”

He was about
to continue when the door opened wide and Gil invited him in with a
smile and a sweep of her hand. Steve stepped inside and saw Dee
sitting on large sofa, tapping away on a laptop. Dee looked as
surprised to see him as he was to see her sitting comfortably in
the company of Gil Davis.

“
Your husband
is beside himself with worry. He asked me to track you
down.”

“
Why didn’t
he call?” She knew the answer when she saw that she had no signal,
and a series of red symbols and words told her that there was
insufficient battery power for radio use.

“
It took me
all night to try to get the powers that be to agree to me calling
in on the Senator’s daughter unannounced. In the end they refused
me permission. So let me tell you, if anyone gets to hear about
this I’ll shoot you both.” He was clearly angry, but Dee understood
that he must have been very concerned about her safety.

Gil invited
Steve to sit down and she poured him a coffee, delivering it to him
before sitting opposite on the sofa.

“
It’s nice to
see that you two are now friends!” His acerbic tone revealed his
disappointment in Dee, as it was meant to.

“
Not so much
friends as non combatant enemies,” Gil added helpfully.

Steve looked
from one to the other and shook his head.

“
Look, it’s
none of my business, and maybe things are not as cosy as they look
just now, so you can tell me to butt out if you want. But I need to
understand what has gone on here that makes it possible for you two
to sit in the same room without killing one another.”

Dee explained
the night’s events and Gil’s admissions, before accepting that she
had been inconsiderate if not downright rude for not ensuring that
she remained in contact. Steve was appeased but suggested that he
and Dee should make tracks to his house, where his wife was going
to prepare a Saturday morning brunch.

Gil didn’t
have to ask whether she was invited; the look on Steve’s face when
he looked at her was comment enough.

***

Dee followed
Steve to his house in her hire car. The Chrysler was warm and
comfortable and she started to drift. Shaking herself awake, she
touched a button on the console which now housed her phone, and
said ‘Home’ loudly. The phone started dialling the UK.

Josh did not
sound unduly angry or worried when he spoke to her, and accepted
Dee’s apology graciously before moving on to explain that Tom
Vastrick had agreed that Dee needed some time off and that if Josh
came to the US they could spend some time at his ranch. He told her
he would be there by Wednesday evening. Dee was excited, but also a
little annoyed that her husband had contacted her boss directly. It
suggested that everyone believed her to be too closely involved in
the case. When she examined her own behaviour through their eyes,
she realised that they were right. She had been on a mission to
track down and hurt, possibly even kill, Gil Davis. Perhaps she
needed that break, after all.

***

The brunch was
as delightful as it was tasty. Pancakes accompanied both sweet and
savoury dishes, and a few of Steve’s buddies turned up, as did some
of their church friends. Dee’s spirits were lifted higher than they
had been for some time by the jollity and humour of her fellow
brunchers. One of the guys attending moved through the group,
leaving laughter in his wake. Dee thought he might be a stand up
comedian. He wasn’t; he was a clergyman. She couldn’t help but
wonder what his sermons must be like. When Reverend Casterton left
her laughing about his experiences as an American student of
Theology in Cambridge, his position at the kitchen counter was soon
filled by Steve.

“
Sorry about
this morning, Dee. I was just so worried. I’m still convinced that
Gillian Miles is capable of killing without a second thought, and
that will be hugely dangerous here in the US where she has powerful
protectors.”

“
Oddly
enough, I’m not so sure,” Dee observed. “She’s undoubtedly lost,
she’s undoubtedly amoral, but somewhere inside that body is a kid
who never grew up. I wanted to kill her when I turned up at her
cabin yesterday, but now I just want to see her get treatment.” She
paused as she swilled some fruit punch around in her glass. “I
don’t buy the government trained killer thing; she killed long
before anyone asked her to kill for them. She told me that it was
self defence, plain and simple, when she killed the first time, but
she sought the man out and she was carrying a rifle. It wasn’t just
revenge. I don’t think she knows herself why she acts the way she
does. She seems to operate on an instinct for self preservation.”
Dee realised that the smile had slipped from her face. “Come on,
Steve, I want to hear some more of those funny stories that have
been circulating all morning.”

“
Dee, don’t
go near that woman again.” Steve was serious.

“
I won’t. I
think I can live with it now. I’m just going to chill out in the
Hotel spa and watch old movies until Josh arrives.”

Chapter
6
9

Brown
University, Providence, Rhode Island, USA,

Monday
31
^st
January, 9am.

Katie’s
security arrangements were quite straightforward, as she was living
on campus for the first year of her course. Her accommodation was a
simple dorm room on the first floor with a self contained kitchen
area and bathroom. The single large room incorporated a bed and
clothes storage on one wall, with a desk and study area on the
opposite wall. TVs and music systems had to be accommodated in
these small spaces and so students tended to have iPod docks and
small flat TVs mounted on the wall opposite the bed. This was the
arrangement Katie had inherited and maintained. The small kitchen
area was equipped with a fridge under a counter, a toaster and
kettle on the counter top and a microwave oven built in above.
There was no oven or hotplate. The bathroom had a shower, W.C. and
wash basin; if a bath was needed, the tub was down the hall. Any
laundry had to be carried out in the basement at weekends, when
there was usually a mad rush for machines.

Deanna Pope,
her minder, was accommodated across the hallway in the same type of
room. Katie could summon Deanna at any time with a single press of
a preset key on her mobile phone. The college security desk in the
entrance to the dorm block was already manned twenty four hours a
day. This arrangement enabled Katie to enjoy a significant amount
of freedom around campus without an oppressive security
presence.

Katie’s room
looked out over a beautifully maintained square of lawn with bare
trees. The lawn was coated in frost this morning as Katie prepared
for her Psychology lecture. Deanna tapped on the door at around
nine, and the two young women walked down the stairs and out into
the cold winter morning.

***

The routine
walk around the main campus building was watched carefully by two
men sitting in a minivan which carried a printed sheet in the
windscreen showing a brown bear below the word BROWN and above “On
Hire to Ladies Volleyball Team”.

The men were
refreshed, having arrived in the US mid afternoon yesterday and
sleeping from around 9pm to 6am. The journey from Heathrow had
proven uneventful, as Barry had expected. They had sailed through
passport control at both ends of the journey. Clearly, neither
country had yet been made aware of Rob Donkin’s disappearance. Even
if they had been made aware, an absconder who had yet to be
formally tried would be unlikely to raise any alarm. Barry wasn’t
playing the odds. He was well aware that in the UK every day
hundreds of serious offenders fail to turn up for their court
hearings, and many are never even pursued, as the police just do
not have the manpower. To place them all on travel watch lists
would be impractical.