Death Trap (25 page)

‘So where does that leave us?’

‘The Turkish Republic of North Cyprus—’

‘Hold up a minute.’ Rio quickly took out her phone. Clicked on the file containing the Intel about the Larkin family Strong had gathered. Rapidly scrolled down. ‘There’s a cousin who has a place in Cyprus, but it doesn’t say whether it’s the north or south. Doesn’t say what the cousin’s name is either.’

‘It’s the ideal criminal des res. No extradition treaty with Britain and not too far away. Unlike the Greek side of the island, which does have an extradition agreement.’ He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Now trusting me wasn’t too hard, was it?’ His eyebrow dropped as one side of his mouth lifted into a sleepy smile. ‘We used to be such a great team – me, you and Mac. Taking on the world. Thinking we could spin bad into good.’

Rio couldn’t help the feeling of nostalgia that swept her. Memories of the three of them, heads close together, in their favourite café, batting and dissecting information on a case. God they were so young, so foolishly idealistic.

‘I know you’re also here to dig up anything you can on this gang for Foster,’ Rio said, easing her mind away from the past, ‘but I’ve been upfront with you about the Larkins, so I think it only fair you tell me anything you find out about them too.’ Rio ran her brown eyes across his face and held out her palm. ‘He might be able to offer you money, but I’m offering a priceless friendship.’

Shiiiit. That made her sound like some bloody, floppy-haired poet.

‘No touching, babe. Don’t forget I might be a married man.’

Their gazes fixed together. Then they started laughing – really laughing – filling the room with human music that was catchy in-drawn breaths, gasps and air that waved in and out of their throats. And then they stopped. Quiet. Their eyes remained meshed together.

Calum broke the silence, voice barely audible. ‘Last time I heard that sound coming out of you, Ray Gun, was when you wore that cream dress.’

Her face fell like he’d reached across and scratched and dragged down her skin. She stood up, ran her palms down her thighs. ‘I threw
that
dress away. Gave it to the local charity shop. Did you get Nikki to draw what she thought she saw the gunmen wearing?’

Rio kept her tone sorta icy, as usual not quite pulling it off; she had way too many hot emotions swimming just below her surface to stray into cold waters.

Calum reached for a piece of paper near his laptop and handed it to Rio. The drawn image put her in mind of the Elephant Man. That she couldn’t break the chain of what this was was really starting to mess with her head.
Damn loose ends.

‘Do you like it?’

Both Rio and Calum turned when they heard Nikki’s voice in the doorway. They both reacted with surprise and spoke at the same time when they saw
it
.

‘What the heck?’

‘That’s different.’

It
was Nikki’s homemade haircut. Her shoulder cut was gone, replaced with a brutal short style that hugged her head.

Nikki self-consciously flicked a few stray strands sideways onto her forehead at the same time modelling Lady Clarissa’s long, lacy, fingerless gloves her cousin had given her.

‘Do you think Lia will like it?’

That’s when Rio realised that the teen had tried to replicate her cousin’s hairstyle.

‘It looks . . . good.’ Rio’s response was slow; there was something troubling about the girl’s appearance that she couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t just the new hairdo, there was something else . . . As Nikki turned to the side, displaying her profile, the truth gripped Rio. Or at least what she thought might be the truth. Rio saw Nikki’s adoption papers in her mind, still tucked and folded safely away in her bag.

Not your business. Nuthin’ to do with the case. Let the might-be-truth drop.

As soon as Nikki was in the back of the car Rio got back on with her job and whispered to Strong, ‘When we reach Foster’s I want you to make contact with the High Commission in the Turkish part of North Cyprus. Give them Samson Larkin’s description and find out if they’ve heard of him. The one thing we know about Samson Larkin is that he can’t stay out of trouble.’

thirty-two

5:04 p.m.

Foster’s office wasn’t in the City where many of the top legal firms were based, but in a beautiful town house in Kensington. It gleamed a stunning white that looked like it had been painted the day before, with a glossy black door with accompanying large, bold brass knocker and a simple plaque that read ‘Foster’. No associates, which didn’t surprise Rio; Foster had always portrayed himself as a man who didn’t appreciate sharing the limelight with anyone else.

‘You OK?’ she asked Nikki, who stood beside her. Rio still couldn’t get over the haircut.

‘I still don’t get why I need to be here. Why can’t Mr Foster just let you know and you can tell me?’ The teenager’s expression was confused and frustrated – probably just wanted to spend the day doing virtual chat on the Internet; well that’s if she had an Internet to access, which Rio made sure she didn’t.

‘Your aunt and uncle probably left you a little gift or something,’ Rio explained.

She pressed the intercom button. A woman’s voice came on, efficient and clipped. ‘Can I help you?’

‘It’s Detective Inspector Rio—’

But she didn’t finish as a long buzzing sound unlocked the door. Rio and Nikki stepped inside a world that was as gleaming and sterile as the brickwork. Chequered black-and-white floor tiles, lawn-green, carpeted staircase, with a deep curved, wooden bannister and pure white walls. The only thing out of place was the shade housing the light in the ceiling: an ugly imitation-chandelier made of folds upon folds of blue paper.

‘That gets people every time,’ a voice said from the top of the stairs.

Both Rio and Nikki looked up to find Stephen Foster standing there, relaxed in a sombre, navy suit and spit-polished leather shoes. Rio couldn’t help how her mouth tightened; she just was never going to click with this man.

‘It was a gift from my first celebrity client. A long-forgotten actress from the 1950s who didn’t have quite enough for the fee so she gave me the light fitting to make it up.’

‘Didn’t think you did charity work,’ Rio said.

He just lifted the corner of one side of his mouth in a smile that put Rio more on edge.

His smile bloomed as he switched his attention to Nikki. ‘Good evening, Nicola, it’s good to see you again. I hope they’re treating you well in the place you’re staying.’

‘I’m staying at—’

Rio grabbed the girl’s hand and squeezed. The teen closed her mouth.

‘Let’s get on with this shall we?’ Rio said tightly.

He waved them both upstairs where they walked through a slim corridor and into a large room that was obviously Foster’s office. Inside were Nikki’s older cousins, Ophelia and Cornelius. Rio saw Ophelia draw in a stiff breath when she saw her young cousin’s hair, but Nikki did not notice. Rio suspected she knew what was going through the actress’s head.

Not your business; stay well away.

Nikki ran across the room and threw herself into cousin’s embrace.

Her cousin held her tight as she said, ‘I’ve missed you.’ Ophelia ran her hand over Nikki’s hair. ‘Hey, like the cutie hairdo.’

Nikki giggled self-consciously.

Rio noticed that Cornelius stayed tight to his seat. He’d obviously tried to make an effort for the meeting, dressing in loose, black linen trousers and a jacket that was a size too big. The man-bun was gone with his hair neatly combed to his shoulders, but the red blotches on his cheeks showed he wasn’t comfortable being here. In contrast, his sister had all the poise of the actress the public had come to adore, but if it were possible she appeared even thinner to Rio.

‘Let’s all take a seat.’ Foster waved at the two chairs, waiting for Rio and Nikki.

Once they were seated he began. ‘These are always sad occasions because it means that one of our loved ones has passed away and unfortunately in this case it’s two people who I had come to know very well and admire over the years—’

Ophelia let out a scoff. ‘Skip the homily because frankly I don’t need to be in your presence any longer than I have to.’

Foster didn’t even look at her, instead he opened the leather-bound black folder in front of him and took out an envelope. ‘Maurice and Linda Bell asked me to make sure that their will remained sealed until it was time for it to be read.’

He opened the envelope, pulled out a single piece of paper and started reading. ‘This is the last will and testament of Maurice and Linda Bell, March the fourth, 2009, who resided at Number Three, The Lanes. We revoke any wills and codicils previously made by us. We bequeath our home, its contents, our shares and businesses to our niece Nicola Bell—’

Cornelius slammed out of his seat. The back of the chair hit the floor. ‘You’ve got to be kidding, man. No bloody way—’

‘Connie,’ Ophelia cut in sternly, remaining calm and seated.

Nikki’s gaze swung between her two cousins. ‘I don’t understand.’

Ophelia responded, her voice cool, but slightly detached. ‘Your uncle and auntie left everything to you. You must not feel bad about it. This is a good thing because they loved you—’

‘Screw that,’ her brother raged. ‘I’m their blood, while she’s—’ He pointed his finger at Nikki making her shrink back in her chair. Tears gleamed in his eyes. ‘Fuck. This.’

He slammed out of the room leaving behind a smothered, electric tension.

‘He’ll get over it,’ Ophelia said, her gaze staring sharply on Foster. It was like she wanted to say more, but she kept her cheery painted lips firmly in place.

‘I don’t want it,’ Nikki violently said. ‘You can have it all, Lia—’

‘Don’t worry, darling,’ Ophelia started. Then her hand flew up. ‘Excuse me, but where’s your bathroom?’ she asked Foster as her hand covered her mouth. She was already on her feet as he pointed to a room that adjoined his office. A few seconds later the sound of her gagging and retching could be clearly heard in the other room, reminding Rio of the woman’s past battles with an eating disorder.

Rio sat there shocked. She’d never been to a will reading where there was this much drama. Why would the Bells leave all their worldly goods and possessions to their sixteen-year-old niece? But if what she suspected was true . . . Whatever the reason, it was already causing a shit storm of tension between family members who would soon be organising the funerals of four people.

As Rio took Nikki’s hand to reassure her, Ophelia reappeared in the room. She might look pale, but the way she held herself was back to perfection. And then she spoke to her younger cousin and all Rio could think about was the one time she’d seen the character Lady Clarissa on the telly.

‘Mum and Dad left all their beloved things to you because you’re young; not like me, I’ve already begun my life. They want to make sure that you get the best start possible. To make sure you’re on the right road for the rest of your life.’

‘Maybe we can share it?’ Nikki looked at Foster. ‘Can I do that?’

‘You can do whatever you want.’ Foster then turned to Ophelia. ‘But not at the present because everything will be held in a trust until you’re twenty-five, except six hundred thousand, which you can use anytime you want to. In the meantime I will be the administrator of that trust.’

Losing none of her poise Ophelia said, ‘I always thought you were a total tosser.’

Rio had never been so pleased to hear her phone ring; a heaven-sent excuse for her to escape the tension in the room. She excused herself and hit the landing.

Checked the ID.

Calum.

‘You’re going to be tonguing me for the rest of your life, bay-bee,’ he said in his usual overblown fashion.

‘French kissing you can’t be any worse than what I’ve just witnessed.’

‘Well I’m about to turn around your day.’

‘The only thing that can do that is Stephen Foster getting killed in a freak manhole explosion?’

‘I’ve got something way better than that.’ Calum paused.

Anticipation swelled in Rio as she waited.

‘I’ve discovered where the Greenbelt Gang are holed up.’

thirty-three

6:17 p.m.

Rio eagerly placed the three photographs of the same house on DSI Newman’s desk. At her superior’s side sat the Assistant Commissioner.

‘I’ve had a tip-off that this is the hideout of the Greenbelt Gang. It’s an oast house in Kent—’

‘Where did the information come from?’ AC Tripple interrupted.

Rio looked sharply over at her DS. ‘Calum Burns. You did say that I could use his cooperation?’

Newman nodded. ‘But we need to be careful that Burns isn’t dragging us down a hole we won’t be able to get out of.’

‘Of course, sir.’ Rio was feeling the heat; what she wasn’t telling her superiors was that Calum refused to divulge his source. All he would say was it was someone who owed him big time.

‘Calum’s intel only included where the gang are hiding,’ Rio continued, ‘not the identities of the gang members.’