Death Trap (32 page)

‘Who I’ve been screwing with is none of your concern,’ she eventually answered him, sticking her chin defiantly into the air.

‘What if I told you I haven’t been sexing it up with anyone in the last three years?’

Rio scoffed. ‘Pull my other leg at the same time why don’t you.’

That made Calum laugh so hard it left Rio bewildered; she didn’t get where the joke was coming from. Then she clicked. She’d talked about pulling his leg – was this about his accident?

She dropped her chin slightly as she lowered her voice. ‘One of these days you’re going to tell me about what happened to you – but not now. Now we need to focus on this. Did you organise a flight for me?’

He nodded. ‘It leaves at three from Stansted. How can you be sure that it’s Samson Larkin in Northern Cyprus?’

Rio had asked him to organise a quick flight to Cyprus while she was in the car before setting off to see Cornelius Bell. Calum hadn’t asked any questions, but now he was.

‘His mugshot came through from Cyprus. It’s baby-boy Larkin alright.’

‘Still don’t get why you need to see him—’

‘Because whoever is pulling the strings in this case,’ Rio cut in as she stood, ‘thinks they’ve wiped out the gang, but there are two of them still left, if we’re counting Terry Larkin. But I’m more concerned for his son. If Samson Larkin was part of that gang I need to get to him before someone else does.’

Calum gave it ten minutes after Rio left for the airport before he took out the mobile he only ever used for international calls.

When the call connected he said, ‘I’m calling in that favour you owe me . . .’

forty-three

The Hit: Day 4

10:00 a.m. Northern Cyprus Time

8:00 a.m. London Time

Prisons, like gravesides, cast a chill over everything and as Rio was escorted from one security checkpoint to another, within the walls of the correctional facility in Cyprus, she began to shiver slightly. Nicosia was the dividing line between the Greek and Turkish sides of the island. As soon as she’d cleared immigration at the airport, Rio had alerted the Turkish authorities that she was acting as a legal adviser and wanted to pay a client a visit and they’d made the arrangements.

She’d had to wait until the morning, which had been a blow to her plans; she’d wanted to get everything done and dusted as soon as. But knowing there was nothing she could do about the time frame she’d booked a room in a pretty, self-catering three star affair. She’d carefully avoided doing anything that might have brought her to the attention of British representatives on the island because she didn’t want word getting back to London that she was there.

The physical search of her person bought Rio back to the prison. The examination was thorough and forbidding.

‘Which firm do you represent?’ one of the two prison officers asked her.

Rio answered confidently. ‘I’m a freelance solicitor for Stephen Foster in London and was in Cyprus to look after one of his client’s interests.’

The female guard smiled and said, ‘Ah yes, Mr Foster . . .’

It seemed everyone knew Stephen Foster. Rio had some fake paperwork, courtesy of Calum, but she froze briefly when the male guard reached for his phone. If he called Foster’s London office, she was sunk and might be shoved in a prison cell herself. Turned out he was merely calling someone to escort her to an interview room.

The room was bare, even by the standards of such places, with whitewashed walls and a table that was bolted to the ground. Two functional chairs were the only other furniture and there was a red buzzer on the wall. Once Rio was seated, she didn’t have long to wait before the door re-opened and a cuffed youth was escorted into the room. Despite the fading cuts and bruises on his faintly tanned face he had the look of the boy next door who was going to grow into a true heartbreaker. Short, deep-brown hair with a cluster of untamed strands licking his forehead, eyebrows and nose that seemed perfectly placed to fit the shape of his face and hazel eyes . . . It was his eyes that disconcerted Rio the most; they looked too alert.

As he was placed in the chair he acknowledged Rio by narrowing those eyes that were already getting her to rethink her strategy. Just before the guard uncuffed him and left, he made a gesture at Rio, which the youth couldn’t see. He tapped the side of his head with his finger, in a gesture she took to mean that the kid was loco.

But Rio knew that already. This was Samson Larkin.

Larkin checked her over for a while, drumming his fingers against the table. Finally he said, ‘So – who are you?’

‘My name is Miss Filey. I’m a solicitor and I work for Stephen Foster’s law firm in London. He asked me to come and talk to you.’

The beat of his fingers against the table got louder. ‘What’s your first name?’

That took Rio by surprise. ‘I think we need to keep this professional.’

‘Foster?’ He changed the rhythm of his fingers to a drum roll. ‘But he’s big time isn’t he? I thought our family’s brief was that Catley character?’

He tapped a new tune against the wood, one that sounded vaguely familiar to Rio.

‘Know what this music is?’

‘Mr Larkin, I don’t think we’ve got times for games—’

‘Beethoven’s ‘‘Moonlight’’ Sonata. Otherwise known as his piano sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor. Graceful. Beautiful. Lures you into thinking everything in the world is good and fine.’ He tapped away some more. Then stopped. Shuffled back in his chair. ‘Some say that Beethoven had African ancestry, like you. Think it’s true?’

The unsettling effect this youth was having on her grew. He might not be as loco as everyone thought. Hadn’t the information Jack Strong found out about him included a report from his psychiatrist that claimed he was a genius? Rio realised that Samson Larkin might be a completely different beast to the one she’d been expecting to deal with.

She got down to business. ‘I’m not sure how much you know about what’s been going on back home, Samson, but your Uncle Gary was arrested by the police on suspicion of being involved in, what the public are calling . . .’ Rio made a big show of looking through her papers. ‘Ah, yes.’ She looked back up at him. ‘The Greenbelt Gang.’

As soon as the word ‘Greenbelt’ was out in the open Rio noticed the way Samson Larkin shifted in his chair as the muscles around his mouth tightened.

‘Who said my name’s Samson Larkin?’

‘We both know who you really are.’

He pouted at her, but didn’t deny the truth. But she didn’t go in for the kill, kept it firm and professional as she carried on.

‘Mr Foster appeared while your Uncle Gary was under arrest and decided he was going to represent him.’

‘Now why would a big shot brief like him do that?’

Rio leaned across the table like she was about to tell him a secret. ‘The police think you were involved in Greenbelt. He wants to find out what you know so he can defend your uncle.’

Samson wore the look of a cocky, older man. ‘But, like I said Mizz-won’t-tell-me-her-first-name, I don’t know anything about nothing.’

‘Gary told Foster that you do.’

The cockiness withered away. ‘Why would he say that?’

‘Because it’s true?’

Samson shook his head as he too leaned forwards. ‘Nah, you’ve got it all wrong, lady. I don’t know anything about it and neither does my Uncle Gazza. I mean, be honest
Mizz
Filey – the Larkins aren’t that kind of family. Raids on people’s houses? Dousing people in petrol to find out where their valuables are? Gunning people down? That’s not us—’

‘For a man who doesn’t know anything about the Greenbelt Gang you certainly seem to know a heck of a lot about what they did inside those houses.’

Samson swallowed.

Rio pressed on. ‘So why did you flee the country after the fifth raid when the shooting started?’

He swept the unruly hair on his forehead into place. ‘I don’t know anything about any fifth raid, fourth raid or millionth raid, but I’ll tell you exactly why I came to Cyprus.’ He leaned so far across the table that Rio could feel the heat from his breath against her cheek. ‘The courts back home sent me to see a shrink because of some trouble I was in. And you know what that shrink as good as said? That I was a nutter, and I should be banged up in a loony bin. So I decided to skip town before they locked me up with a bunch of bonkers people. So the family arranged for me to come here. Then I was framed for that ruck in the casino up the coast and here I am. So, I don’t know anything about any Greenbelt crimes. Now then – are you going to help me persuade the local Johnnies that I’m innocent of the casino thing and to let me go? Or do I have to rely on that crap lawyer from downtown that the local Five-O have given me? Thought you Foster people are meant to be the best?’

Rio could hear the real question in the tone of his voice. Are you who you say you are? Or somebody else?

‘I’ve got reason to believe that someone wants all the members of the Greenbelt Gang dead.’

Samson froze, his hands clutching into fists.

Rio kept the pressure on. ‘If you were involved, that would include you too. And I’ve also got reason to believe that whoever that person or people might be has a very long reach. Perhaps even as far as a prison in Cyprus. If you know anything you need to tell me now.’

‘Don’t know shit, darling.’ But the unsettled expression on his face told her different.

‘In that fight in the casino, you were shouting, “I’m a gangster, I’ve killed people . . .”’

Samson unclenched his hand. Relaxed into his seat. ‘You know what, Mizz Foley, I think I’m going to take my chances with that lousy local lawyer.’

Samson might be a psycho, but he was a clever psycho. Rio knew her journey had been a total waste of time. Defeated, she got up from the table. As she turned to go, Samson looked up at her, ‘Oh, when you get back to England, say hello to my Uncle Gazza for me . . .’

Rio gave him a half smile and went to press the red button to alert the guards that she wanted to leave. But as she raised her hand, she felt a strong arm squeezing hard around her neck. She was yanked backwards into a corner of the room. With his spare hand, Samson pressed something lethal and sharp against her face.

Hissed, ‘You really must think I’m idiot? You don’t think I know who you are? You don’t think I know what went down back home? My uncle Gazza was killed by a cop.’

Rio started struggling, but he pressed the knife deeper into her skin.

‘My dad told me there was a black, lady cop, with a cool momma afro, fronting the operation to catch my uncle, so I know who you are and I know why you’re here. I might be mad but I’m not stupid. I’ll tell you your first name and your last – Mizz Rio Wray.’

forty-four

Samson’s hold on Rio grew stronger.

‘Know where the word
shank
comes from?’ he growled. ‘From the word
shiv
. Some say it’s a Roma word for knife and others say it’s from
shive
, which was a razor.’ His grip tightened. ‘Know how easy it is to make a shank inside prison? A toothbrush with a razor blade in it; a filed-down piece of a bed frame . . . Now I’m real proud of mine, Mizz Wray: wet toilet paper left to dry like papier mâché. Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t put any of my shit on it to cause you an infection as well. Mind you, what’s an infection when your eyes have been stabbed clean through?’

The worst thing to do was to show fear, so Rio kept her face immobile and the emotions back. She had been trained to deal with violent confrontations. But that generally meant violent confrontations with criminals who could think rationally, even in extreme situations. This violent young man didn’t know the meaning of the word rationality.

‘This is all being played out on the security camera in here.’

He laughed softly. ‘Ain’t no cam in here, Mizz Wray, I checked it out as soon as I got in here, like you should’ve. Plus the way the guards chat about having lousy wages, ain’t no way cash is going to be spent on a luxury item like plush security.’

‘How do you know what the guards say; you speak Cypriot all of a sudden?’

His green-brown eyes lit up with relish. ‘If you’d done you’re homework
again
you’d know they speak Turkish this side of the island. And some of my closest friends back home are Turkish and I’ve always found it easy to pick up different lingos.’ The makeshift knife pressed deeper, but didn’t spill blood. ‘Now stop stalling and start spilling.’

His angry breath fired up on her cheek. ‘You’re right. I’m Rio Wray. I shouldn’t have lied to you. That was wrong and I’m sorry . . .’ There was a very slight loosening in his grip while Samson gleamed with pleasure when he realised that he was right. ‘And you’re spot on again; your uncle Gary is dead. There was a police raid on the house, but I . . . we didn’t kill him. It was a set-up. He was killed by someone else. I want to find out who killed him. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.’

‘Yeah? Well, don’t worry about that at the moment, you’ve got a more pressing problem – how you’re going to get me out of here.’

The prison guard was right; the boy was loco. ‘I can’t get you out of here. You know that. Think straight.’