Death Trap (43 page)

He ditched thoughts of his family as he turned the ignition. It took him just under thirty minutes to reach his target’s cousin’s home. He parked up on an adjacent road, pulled out his mobile, made the call that he hoped would get this job done and get him back to his family.

‘I’ve located her.’

‘Why are you calling me? You know what to do.’

‘She’s at the actress’s place.’ His orders were not to go anywhere near the cousin.

Maybe his contact had a soft spot for the character the actress played in that appalling period drama.

‘But,’ he added, ‘let me be clear. If I don’t go into the actress’s home and finish this I won’t be here come the morning light. I’ve already changed my plans – which I never like doing – and have given you an extra day—’

‘Which you’re getting paid for—’

‘True. But this job doesn’t feel so lucky anymore.’

‘Unlucky is being tossed out on the street after leaving the army. Don’t forget who gave you a helping hand and brought luck back into your life.’

He swallowed. He didn’t like thinking back to those days.

‘Am I going in?’

Silence. Then, ‘Do it.’

He disconnected the call, zipped his midnight-black windbreaker to just over the bump in his nose, flicked his hood until it hung low over his face, and got out. Heading around the back to the boot of the car, he pooped the lid. Inside a large holdall bag were the tools of his trade – guns, wire, string, tape and a variety of sedatives and deadlier meds. And his beloved knives: knives, never derogatory names like blade, cutter, pig sticker, Tottenham toothpick. Those terms were disrespectful and you didn’t diss things that were part of your family. He chose one of his larger filleting knives – one that was real easy to get close to the bone.

Finally he looked up at the small building, black railing set around it. He counted ten maisonette-style apartments. The actress’s home took up a space on the ground and first floors. No security cams or alarms in sight. Good. He walked over until he stood directly opposite her front door. The place was dark downstairs, but there was the glow of a light behind the drawn curtains of a window upstairs. Was the room the shit actress’s or the girl’s? He shrugged as he took out his picklock. Didn’t matter really; both were dead already.

Ten seconds later he was inside a hallway bathed in black. He immediately caught his reflection in the oval mirror that faced him at the far end of the hallway. He smiled tightly. He liked what he saw; the visual image of a shadowed beast, with only eyes for a face and black gloves for hands. He looked away from the mirror. Didn’t bother checking any of the rooms downstairs; the light upstairs told its own story of where the residents of this home were. He took the stairs carefully, slowly, his covered hand gripping the bannister to keep his tread quiet and light. He counted the steps as he went.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

On number five he saw through the bannister which room the light was coming from. The second room on a short landing. Probably a bedroom.

Six.

Seven.

On number eight he pulled the knife into his hand.

Final step. His feet touched the landing. He took his time moving, the light from the room almost drawing him in. His hand tightened on the flexible knife handle. He took another step. And another. He reached the edge of the room. The door was partially opened into the room. He pushed the door slowly back with an expert, quiet ease as he entered the room.

And there she was, with her back to him, sitting on a stool at a dressing table. He could feel his cock getting hard. It was always the same with him. Just before the kill, he felt this power so strong, so engulfing, every nerve ending inside him fired up, pushing adrenaline to the four corners of his body until he thought he was going to blow and come. She hadn’t heard him yet. That made the feeling so much sweeter. Him, so much harder.

He got himself back under control. His cock started shrinking as he finally moved towards her, knife rising wickedly high.

A female voice announced behind him, ‘You take another step mister and you’re a dead man.’

4:42 a.m.

‘Drop it,’ Rio said as she held Calum’s gun steady.

She could feel the tremble in her finger; she so wanted to pull the hammer back and blast this man away for all the damage he had done.

‘You shoot me and you know what’s going to happen?’ the professional killer said as he half-turned, his voice no way as steady as the last time they’d met in the hospital. ‘All I’ve got to do is throw this knife straight into the girl.’

‘No, you’re just going to drop straight to the floor like the sack of sorry humanity you are. And, oh yeah, that isn’t the girl.’

He turned his head slightly as the person on the stool turned. Not his target but the actress.

Rio saw the muscles contract in the gunman’s shoulder. Only confronted by the possibility of Calum’s death had she figured out she’d been playing the hitman all wrong. Instead of waiting for him to strike, Rio had flipped it around so that she was now the hunter. But it would only play out if Ophelia was willing to play the part of Nikki. Rio had explained the danger involved, but the other woman had immediately risen to the challenge, saying she’d do what it took to keep her daughter safe. Plus, she’d added, wasn’t she an actress? Ophelia Bell had guts.

Rio took a step closer as she spoke. ‘You should’ve figured out that this was all too easy. The only reason you took Calum’s phone was the hope that the girl would contact you. But it wasn’t her, it was me. By taking his phone you left yourself wide open for a set-up. Don’t they teach you better than that in hitman school? You’re cornered so let’s not do the whole “I’m going to count to three” routine,’ Rio said. ‘Just let the knife go.’

Rio read the indecision in his eyes. Then his hand came down as his finger loosened around the knife. But instead of the weapon falling, with a quick flick of his wrist and a twist of his body he threw the knife at Rio. She did a quick side step, the knife missing her by inches and hitting the wall behind her. He rushed forwards as Ophelia scrambled down onto the floor. Rio levelled the gun onto his moving figure. Her finger twitched against the trigger. Twitched.

Go on do it.

Pull the trigger back.

Do it.

DO. IT.

But she couldn’t do it – couldn’t fire a gun that wasn’t official issue, especially after what had happened on the raid. She wasn’t willing to cross that line. So she ran after him, but it was too late. He hurled his body at the drawn curtains. Went crashing through the window.

Rio heard a piercing scream from outside. Reaching the broken window, she looked down to see the killer impaled on the iron railings below, two vicious-looking spikes jutting out of his back.

‘Make sure Nikki remains in the sitting room,’ Rio yelled at Ophelia as she ran out of the room, rushed down the stairs, flung open the front door. Gun still in her hand, the cold air twisting around her, she ran over to him. His face was flopped forwards as blood leaked down his back. Rio bent down, shoving her face close to his. Laboured breathing and blood oozed from his mouth.

‘Tell me who sent you.’

No response.

‘Who ordered you to kill Nicola Bell? Did you murder the gang as well?’

He shifted his head slightly to gaze at her. Rio could already see death in his eyes.

‘You need to tell me . . .’

A nasty choking sound bubbled up from his throat.

‘Tell me . . .’ she shouted.

The choking sound stopped as his body relaxed.

‘Shit,’ Rio savagely swore.

She knew he was dead as she watched a line of blood stream from his mouth and tumble thickly to the ground.

‘You need to get away from here.’

Rio looked up to find Strong nearby. She pulled herself straight, shaking her head.

‘The bastard didn’t tell me a thing.’

Strong scanned the body. ‘I’d say one of those spikes probably went into his heart, if a man like him possessed one.’

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘Newman told me to keep this,’ he pointed to his eye, ‘squarely on you. You need to be gone before I call this in. I’ll say this was my operation.’

They turned to find Ophelia and her blood daughter huddled in each other’s arms in the doorway. Both their faces were frozen in shock as they stared at the dead body of the man.

‘Find out everything you can about him,’ Rio ordered as if she were still in charge of the case. ‘We still need to confirm who was pulling his strings, although I think I know who it is.’

‘Who?’ Strong asked.

‘Terry Larkin.’

Strong swore. ‘That’s going to be a big major deal problem.’

The skin on Rio’s forehead scrunched together. ‘What haven’t you told me?’

‘Terry Larkin is in Northern Cyprus.’

‘What?’ Her voice rose. ‘How the hell could he have gone there? Wasn’t anyone—’

‘He travelled using his own name because he knows we don’t have any evidence to hold him. If we confirm Larkin is behind it all we’ll haul him back from Cyprus.’

‘Do you know how long an extradition can take? Bloody years in some cases.’ She looked Strong square in the eye. ‘I’m going to get on a flight and get that murdering dickhead myself if I have to.’ Rio held up her hand when Strong opened his mouth. ‘I’ve got to find out how Calum’s doing before I do anything else.’

Then she turned and walked away, rocking with tiredness before she found a steady rhythm as she was swallowed up by the shadows of the street.

sixty-one

6:00 a.m.

Rio was dazed and bone weary as she walked slowly back into the hospital. She needed to be thinking straight if she was going to hit back at Terry Larkin. All she wanted to do now was to finally see Calum. As Rio got midway to the first landing her phone pinged.

Text message.

She almost swore but didn’t when she saw it was another message from Skull and Crossbones, AKA Samson Larkin. She scanned the message. No writing, but a photo and a link. The photo was a large red poppy – another reference to World War One. Rio still couldn’t understand the reference. Curiosity made her press the link.

It was a YouTube video with a painting of Beethoven on it. She recognised the face of the composer because she’d attended a murder scene once where a music teacher had been stabbed to death at home with the bow of her own violin. One of the paintings on the wall, someone had pointed out to Rio, was Beethoven.

The music video started playing: Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight’ Sonata. The tune Samson had tapped out on the table in the prison. Rio didn’t get why he was taunting her and she didn’t have time to get it. She put the phone away and focused on what she had to finally do – see Calum.

The inside of ICU held almost the peace of a religious retreat, except for the occasional beep and blare of a machine that was a reminder that people were fighting for their lives. She nodded to the solitary nurse at the medical bay and proceeded to Calum’s room, stopping at the door for a moment to focus on straightening out her breathing.

She finger-combed her ’fro. One more breath – in – out.

She entered. And locked the instinctive gasp in her airways as she saw the medical paraphernalia coming out of Calum and beside him. Her husband was pale, his dark hair swept neatly back as if someone had combed it.

She picked up his rucksack from the chair and gently placed it on the floor; pushed the chair close to the bed and sat down. Then her hand stretched out to grasp his fingers that lay limp against the pale blue bed cover. Just as she touched his cold flesh the door opened. Her hand flew back and she placed it in her lap as she turned to the doorway. Doctor Green stood there holding a manila folder.

‘Have you told anyone that we’re married?’ Rio asked

The doctor shook her head. ‘That’s not my business to tell.’ Her eyes drifted to Calum’s body. ‘We’re taking care of his limb.’

Confusion stamped Rio’s face. ‘Limb?’

‘Yes. His leg. You know . . .’ The doctor abruptly closed her mouth.

‘He won’t tell me how he hurt it, not that we’ve spoken to each other since after the day we got hitched a couple of years back.’

The doctor placed her arms behind her back, looking very professional. ‘Ah . . . Yes, his leg.’ She frowned. ‘Patient confidentiality and all that, I can’t discuss this further with you I’m afraid. I asked the nurse on duty to alert me if you arrived because there’s something I think may interest you.’

Rio stood up and moved to stand next to the doctor.

The doctor opened the file in her hand. ‘When Nicola Bell was first admitted here I requested to see her medical records. We’ve got this new nationwide computerised patients’ record database that has proved to be a real pain in the posterior – a flipping waste of good money if you ask me – so her records have only just arrived.’

She handed the file, opened at a particular page, to Rio. ‘I don’t really need it now – I mean she’s no longer under my care – but curiosity got the better of me. You’ll see that the girl is no stranger to hospitals. I don’t want to make assumptions, so read this and tell me if you notice anything.’