Stay Alive (27 page)

‘And I bet you we pay more taxes than him,’ said Bolt, taking a moment to bask in the afternoon sunshine before walking over to a flight of steps wide enough to hold a wedding party that led up to the front door.

Before they got there, the door opened, and a big man in an open shirt and suit trousers appeared. He was in his mid- to late-fifties, with a thick head of curly grey hair and a slight forward stoop, without which he probably would have been about Bolt’s height at six foot four. He was beginning to run to fat, and his face was jowly and grizzled, but not without a degree of charm, and Bolt reckoned that a decade ago he probably would have been a pretty good-looking guy. Even if he hadn’t seen a photo of Vladimir Hanzha, he would have known straight away that this was him. He looked exactly as you’d expect a dodgy Russian oligarch to look, and Bolt was surprised that he’d chosen to greet them personally rather than send someone else. Men like him usually had a fairly sizeable entourage.

‘DCS Bolt,’ he said in a booming voice, coming down the steps. ‘I recognize you from the press conferences.’

They shook hands and Bolt wasn’t surprised that Hanzha tried to crush his in some kind of Vulcan death grip. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Hanzha,’ he said simply, not reacting to the pain as the Russian released his hold. ‘This is my colleague, DS Mo Khan.’

Hanzha gave Mo a curt nod and made no attempt to shake his hand. ‘Come inside,’ he said, addressing Bolt. ‘You must have come a long way. Can I get you a drink of anything?’

They both declined and followed him through a grand, richly carpeted foyer with animal heads and expensive paintings of traditional country scenes mounted on the walls. Bolt noticed the head of a huge stag with antlers several feet long that looked newer than the others.

‘I shot that one,’ said Hanzha, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he did such things every day.

Bolt didn’t comment. He’d never considered hunting animals with a big gun particularly impressive, and was one of those people who thought they looked better alive in their natural environment than decapitated and stuffed in a rich man’s house.

Hanzha led them down an adjoining hallway, past an indoor swimming pool, separated by a floor-to-ceiling glass window, and into a spacious, traditionally furnished living room with views out towards the mountains in the distance. They sat in chairs next to an unmade fire, Bolt and Mo opposite Hanzha.

‘Let me start by expressing our condolences for the loss of your daughter, Mr Hanzha,’ said Bolt.

Hanzha sighed deeply and his expression tightened. ‘We didn’t get on well, me and Ivana. She was headstrong, like her mother. But I miss her.’ He nodded slowly, as if this was the first time he’d admitted this to himself. ‘I miss her.’ For a few seconds he didn’t speak, then he looked at them both in turn. ‘So what brings you all the way up here to see me?’ he asked.

‘We have some news regarding our prime suspect, Leonard Hope,’ Bolt told him.

Hanzha’s expression darkened. ‘Tell me,’ he said, leaning forward in his chair, suddenly very interested.

‘We found his body yesterday. It had been dumped in countryside west of London.’

‘It showed signs of extreme torture,’ put in Mo, watching Hanzha closely.

For the first time the Russian smiled, but there was no humour in it. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I hope the bastard died in plenty of pain.’

Bolt nodded. ‘Yes, he did.’

‘So the hunt for The Disciple is over. It cannot bring my daughter back. She is with God now. But at least some kind of real justice has been served. I was worried he would end up in one of your prisons, watching television in his cell, taking drugs, living out the rest of his life in comfort.’

‘I don’t think our prisons are that comfortable,’ said Mo.

Hanzha grunted dismissively. ‘They are a lot nicer than Russian ones. Russian prisons are real prisons. The prisoners actually suffer there.’

‘The point is, Mr Hanzha, there are still unanswered questions,’ said Bolt. ‘The foremost of which is: who killed him.’

‘You’re the detective, Mr Bolt. That’s for you to find out, isn’t it? I’m just a businessman.’

‘Someone helped Leonard Hope escape our surveillance team. We suspect whoever helped him then killed him.’

‘You have a Frank Keogh working for you,’ said Mo. ‘Can you tell us what he does?’

Hanzha turned in his seat and glared at Mo, a barely suppressed anger in the expression, almost as if Mo was the one responsible for the death of his daughter. ‘Why are you asking about people who may or may not work for me? What has this got to do with anything?’

‘It’s just a simple question, Mr Hanzha,’ said Bolt, knowing he had to be careful here.

‘Tell me why you ask.’

‘Because he has a conviction for manslaughter, has links to organized crime, and we believe he may have had something to do with Leonard Hope’s disappearance.’

‘And do you have any evidence to back up this claim?’ demanded Hanzha, sounding as if he genuinely didn’t believe a word of what Bolt was saying.

Bolt didn’t have a scrap of evidence, but he wasn’t going to admit to that. ‘We can’t discuss that. We just need to know whether or not he works for you.’

‘And I can’t discuss that. You want to continue this conversation, you talk to my lawyers. I thought you were coming here to keep me informed of progress on the case to find my daughter’s killer, not question me about affairs that have nothing to do with any of this.’

‘Mr Hanzha, we’re just trying to find out what happened to Leonard Hope,’ said Bolt, attempting to smooth things over.

‘Listen to me, both of you.’ He pointed a finger at them. ‘I have no idea who killed Leonard Hope, although I am glad he’s dead. He brutalized my daughter. Raped her, tortured her. Painted signs on the wall in her blood.’ He gesticulated angrily with his hands. ‘I hope he rots in Hell for all eternity.’

‘I have no doubt he will,’ said Bolt.

Hanzha got to his feet. For him, the interview was over.

Bolt and Mo followed suit. They both knew there was no way they were going to get anything else out of him now, but that didn’t matter. Bolt had already heard what he needed to.

‘I heard that there were two killers,’ said Hanzha, as he led them back through the house. ‘That’s what some of the newspapers have been saying. How do you know it wasn’t the other killer who got rid of Hope?’

‘The two-killer theory is a line of inquiry,’ Bolt told him. ‘But we’re not convinced of it yet. If there is a second killer, we’ll find him and bring him to justice.’

Hanzha let out a vaguely derisive grunt. ‘If there is a second killer, I am surprised that, between them, they didn’t manage to kill the woman who disturbed them murdering my daughter. What was her name again?’

‘Amanda Rowan. It seems she’s a very resilient woman.’

‘Very,’ said Hanzha, and there was something malicious and sceptical in the way he spoke the word. ‘Almost unbelievably so.’

Bolt frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Hanzha shrugged. ‘I’m just very surprised she got away. That’s all.’

They were at the front door now. Hanzha opened it and stepped to one side.

‘Thank you for your time, Mr Hanzha. Once again, let me reiterate how sorry we are for your loss.’

‘You came a long way just to tell me that.’ Something in his expression seemed to dare Bolt and Mo to accuse him of wrongdoing.

But Bolt simply nodded and turned away.

Neither he nor Mo spoke on the way back to the car. It was only when Mo had started the engine that Bolt turned to him. ‘Did you notice what Hanzha said?’

Mo smiled. ‘Course I did. I’ve been a detective a long time, boss. His problem is that he’s too arrogant. “Painted signs on the wall in her blood.” That’s what he said, wasn’t it?’

‘Exactly. We never released that information. The only way he could have known about it is if he had someone on the inside.’

‘And if he had someone on the inside, he could easily have organized Leonard Hope’s abduction and murder.’

‘He did,’ said Bolt. ‘There’s no question of that. No one else could have pulled it off, and he’s got the resources.’

‘But you saw him in there. The guy’s as hard as rock. He’s not going to admit a thing, and you can bet he kept a long way from the whole affair.’

‘That’s as may be, but someone tortured Hope, and if we can lift some of the killer’s DNA from his corpse, we might strike lucky.’ But Bolt wasn’t at all sure he believed it. So far, SOCO hadn’t managed to secure any DNA from the murder scene that would point a finger at Hope’s killer, and once again he felt the familiar frustration that had haunted him throughout this whole inquiry.

He and Mo were silent as they drove through Hanzha’s perfectly manicured lawns and out of his grand estate.

Finally Mo said: ‘Even if we know Hanzha was responsible for Hope’s murder, that still doesn’t tell us what the DNA of a separate killer was doing at the Rowan house. Someone else was involved in the murder of George Rowan and Ivana Hanzha, but who?’

Bolt sighed. ‘I still think we’re looking at this the wrong way. It was odd what Hanzha was saying about Amanda Rowan, wasn’t it? You know, talking sarcastically about how resilient she was.’

Mo looked startled. ‘You don’t think she did it, do you, boss?’

‘No, but I’m beginning to wonder if she knows more than she’s letting on. Now seems a very opportune moment to pay her a visit.’

It was only a few minutes after the two detectives had left that Keogh called Vladimir Hanzha to tell him that the Amanda Rowan snatch had gone wrong.

Hanzha could barely contain his anger. This should have been an easy, straightforward job, but Keogh had managed to make a mess of things. Hanzha had warned him to make good his mistake or face the consequences but, in reality, he’d already decided to rid himself of the scar-faced Englishman. Keogh had worked for him for more than three years and, although he’d always been a loyal and competent employee, he knew far too much about his boss for Hanzha to allow him to retire in peace. Keogh was going to have to disappear, especially now that the police had his name.

It didn’t surprise Hanzha that the police had suspicions that he was behind the abduction and murder of Leonard Hope. They would never prove it, though. The authorities in the UK were soft and tied up with all kinds of rules and regulations. A man with enough money and cunning could always stay one step ahead of them.

He put down the phone and walked back through the house, staring out of the window at the grounds of his estate in silence. For years he’d given his estranged daughter little thought, but since her murder she’d rarely been out of his mind, and he wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t as if he missed her – they hadn’t spoken in so long he had to work hard even to remember the sound of her voice. But she was still
his
daughter, and someone had taken her from him. Such an act made him lose face, and a man like Vladimir Hanzha couldn’t afford to lose face. He wanted revenge on those who’d crossed him.

And by the end of tonight he was going to get it.

THE WIND BLEW
hard across the exposed hills as Jess and Amanda trudged upwards towards the first of the rolling peaks.

Jess was shattered. Her legs felt like lead and her breathing was coming in short, hollow rasps. Once again, she checked the phone the stranger had given her. Once again, there was no reception. Pausing for a moment, she turned and looked back towards the long winding road as it disappeared into the distance. Behind the road, the forest spread like a great black carpet as it arched down towards the river. Casey was in there somewhere, lost and alone. The thought made Jess’s heart lurch. She felt sick that she was leaving Casey to fend for herself, and furious that she couldn’t get a phone signal, however high she climbed. What was wrong with this place? It was like the fucking Stone Age . . .

‘Are you okay?’ asked Amanda, stopping a few yards above her.

Jess put her hands on her hips and lowered her head, trying to get her breath back. ‘I just need a couple of minutes, that’s all. Then I can keep going.’

‘It’s not that much further to the top. Then it’s all downhill into Tayleigh.’

‘I need a signal on this phone. There must be somewhere round here I can get one.’

Amanda came down and stood beside her. ‘We should be able to get a signal at the top of the hill and, even if we can’t, we’ll be in Tayleigh in just over an hour if we move fast.’ She paused and put a hand on Jess’s shoulder. ‘Look, I know you’re worried about Casey, but she’ll be okay.’

Jess moved away from her. ‘How do you know?’ she demanded.

‘Because it’s me they seem to be after. You know, if you want, you can wait here. I can take the phone, and as soon as I get a signal, I’ll call for help.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ said Jess. There was no way she was going to give up the phone to anyone, not when it was her and Casey’s lifeline. She sat down in the long grass behind a gorse bush, feeling a wave of exhaustion.

Annoyingly, Amanda sat down next to her. ‘Casey’s not your real sister, is she?’ she said.

‘She’s totally my real sister,’ snapped Jess. ‘Not by blood, maybe, but she means everything to me.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, you know—’

‘My skin colour.’

Amanda nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what made me say it. I just wanted to talk, that’s all.’ She gave Jess the kind of earnest, patronizing look that a couple of the younger teachers at college liked to give her, as if the fact that she was mixed race made her somehow special, rather than just like everyone else. It annoyed her when they did it, and it annoyed her now.

She sighed. ‘I was adopted at seven. Before that, I had a shitty childhood – more shitty than someone like you could imagine. Then I had a happy childhood until first my mum died, then my dad. Casey moved up here, and I stayed at home in London. That’s it. My story. Satisfied?’

Amanda turned away, hanging her head down between her knees. ‘I’m sorry I asked,’ she said.

Jess didn’t bother replying. She had no desire to be this woman’s friend, not after everything she’d brought down on them.