Authors: Ali Knight
K
elly had felt the full force of the floor judder through her spine and up her legs when Christos dropped her to fire the gun. As he ran after Georgie, Sylvie jumped on top of her, determined to pin her to the ground. They wrestled for tense moments on the carpet, a deadly tangle of limbs and straining muscles.
Sylvie was trying to get her knees on Kelly’s elbows so she could reach for the end of the rope and get it round Kelly’s neck, but there was one final thing Kelly needed desperately to know. ‘Why go to all this trouble?’ Kelly’s voice was strained as she fought to get Sylvie off her. ‘You could have killed me.’
Sylvie glanced up at the door, checking who was there. ‘Then I’m still playing the waiting game, hoping he’ll marry me. There are always other women, other passions to pursue. This way the deal is done tonight.’ Sylvie lifted her head, a hand slithering away across the carpet, pulling the rope across Kelly’s throat. ‘Tonight I’m reborn, I get my second act.’
Kelly tried to buck Sylvie off her. Their faces were inches from each other, Sylvie’s breath on her face. ‘When I insisted on a kid Christos saw that he could have the heir he so wanted. When I suggested the swap, he realised what I was prepared to sacrifice for him – he understood how dedicated I was. But don’t make lazy assumptions.’ Sylvie’s voice was a whisper, she was conserving every ounce of energy. ‘I don’t want to be Christos’s wife. I want to be his
widow
. I’m not as long-suffering as you. I can have it all without having to put up with him. My son will inherit everything.’
Sylvie had one knee on Kelly’s elbow, her curtain of dark hair trailing across Kelly’s cheek.
Kelly made a last huge effort, reared and grabbed at the strands of hair hanging either side of Sylvie’s face. The movement took Sylvie by surprise and she moved her head. The wig slipped down the back of Sylvie’s head and Kelly yanked. She now had her arms crossed over Sylvie’s chest and her hands were pulling the wig hairs across her throat. Sylvie tried to pass the rope across Kelly’s throat but Kelly’s forearms were in the way.
Sylvie’s face started to turn red. Her fingers were scratching urgently at Kelly’s arms now, more and more frantically, as the air she needed didn’t come. Kelly bucked up from under Sylvie and rolled on top of her, gripping ever harder on the locks of hair.
Georgie came down the stairs, her elbows rigid, the gun at the ready. Uncle Ed had taught her and Matt how to fire a gun in some scrabby fields in Essex, years ago. Don’t tell your mum, Uncle Ed had said and winked. It was a coming-of-age present, a sign she had grown up. She had a rare moment of silently thanking him for her illegal instruction. Down the long dim corridor and into the kitchen, then across the floor, avoiding the pans. She peered through the swing door into the dining room. It looked empty.
She opened the door with her shoulder and saw the rope still hanging from the light fitting. Two tables pushed up against each other and several overturned chairs were testament to the chaos she’d glimpsed earlier.
‘Kelly?’ She walked further into the silent room, towards a bundle of something on the floor. She moved closer, saw it was two women, one straddling the other. The dress of the one on top had ridden high up her back, her tights low on her waist. Georgie could see a small dolphin tattoo just above her pants. It was like interrupting two lovers, sated after a bout of vigorous sex. The face of the figure underneath was partially obscured by a mass of dark hair, her arms akimbo, palms upwards as if in the moment of final surrender.
‘Kelly?’ The woman on top sat up slowly, as if drugged. ‘Kelsey? I know what happened in Southampton.’ She saw the woman who looked like Sylvie, but had Kelly’s dolphin tattoo, look at the gun in her hand. ‘It’s OK now, they can’t hurt you any more.’
Kelly staggered to her feet, swaying uncertainly in her high heels, a trancelike blankness on her features. Georgie felt the sudden rush of adrenalin leaving her limbs and she half fell against a table. The gun slid from her hand and clattered on the floor. As she bent to pick it up she heard the slow tap of high heels as Kelly walked out of the room.
G
eorgie got no sleep that night. Her statement seemed to take hours, she was up and down the stairs of the
Saracen
, indicating positions, angles and spaces to one policeman after another. The forensic team arrived and she handed over the gun. It was bagged and taken away.
She found Kelly on the deck where Christos lay, giving a statement to a policeman. She was wrapped in a blanket someone had given her, but she was shivering.
Kelly came over and gave Georgie a hug. ‘Thank you,’ Kelly said, her voice a whisper. They stared down the deck at the paramedics trying to stabilise Christos.
‘Tell me, did you see Ricky Welch earlier today?’
Kelly frowned. ‘Ricky? No.’
‘He wasn’t at the play centre?’
Kelly shook her head.
‘Your witness protection will have to be redone. I’m really sorry.’
Kelly’s answer surprised her. ‘Ricky is no threat to me. I’m through with hiding.’
‘The police might disagree.’
‘They can’t force me.’ She was already gaining strength, reasserting herself.
‘Tell me, the message you left me – what’s on the
Saracen
, what was it that was going to destroy your family?’
A look Georgie couldn’t interpret flitted across Kelly’s face. ‘Nothing that matters now. Just family stuff.’ They paused as the paramedics walked past, carrying Christos away.
‘Michael saved my life tonight,’ Georgie said. Kelly looked sharply at her. ‘Before he jumped overboard he said maybe he wasn’t so hard-hearted after all.’
She watched Kelly take a step forward, lean over the railing and stare into the black water. The staccato stop-start of the motorboat revving back and forth, searching for the man who had dived in, carried over the night air. She saw Kelly do a small shake of her head, as if trying to dislodge something that might have flown into her hair, and then she saw her smile. The first time, Georgie realised, she had ever seen her do so. She had a very good smile.
As dawn broke Georgie took a walk and had breakfast in a greasy spoon popular with the night shift. She ate a lot, she was ravenous. She wondered whether she was stuffing herself to block up the feeling of emptiness inside. At nine o’clock she headed back to the office.
Angus was already at his desk, a steaming coffee and bacon roll hiding in the fortress of his papers. He waved her in, got up and told her he’d heard all about the drama on the
Saracen
. ‘Some days in this job are quiet, and some defy all reason.’ He shook his head and then looked up as a woman stood in the doorway. ‘Tina, come in, come in.’
Georgie stood up as the head of HR walked in.
‘The PR’s downstairs,’ she said.
Angus nodded. He pointed a finger at Georgie. ‘You are one talented woman. I want Tina to do everything possible to keep you here.’
‘There’ll have to be an investigation though,’ Tina said.
‘Have you talked to the police about Ricky Welch yet?’ Angus continued.
Georgie shook her head.
‘Get it over with and then maybe we’ll know where we stand.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Is the car here?’
Tina pointed at the door. ‘Mo and Preston are downstairs.’
‘We’re going to do a press conference at the Woronzows’ about the wood. We’ll probably have to stand in the road to do it – the wife’s got all lawyered up and that’s already causing problems, as you can imagine. We’re unlikely to be allowed back on the property. The husband’s in Switzerland. At least he’ll have to stay there, he can’t come back here. He’s not welcome.’ He rolled up a piece of A4 and pointed it at the piles of paper on the desk. ‘Just more paperwork.’ Angus sighed and Georgie understood. Partial victories were often the outcome.
‘I’m sorry you can’t come with us, Georgie, but until this situation is clear—’
Tina interrupted him, wobbling from side to side on her kitten heels. ‘Until we know if there is any blowback on the department, it’s best to keep you away from anything to do with Malamatos Shipping.’
Georgie said nothing.
Tina smiled. ‘This case is being seen as an example of international cooperation to protect the Amazon, one of the world’s most unique and important habitats. The Brazilians are claiming just as much credit as we are.’
‘I need to run to the little boy’s room and then we can ship,’ Angus said.
Tina nodded as he flicked the roll of paper across the keyboard on his desk, as if knocking out stray breadcrumbs from between the keys. Georgie leaned forward, ears straining.
Angus looked at her. ‘You OK? You’ve had a hell of a night. Go home and get some rest.’ He flicked the paper across the keyboard again. Harder this time, then watched something small fall to the floor.
Georgie stared at him. That noise. It was the rattling, scraping sound from the end of the message on Christos’s phone, that Ryan had recorded, that she had sat in Joel’s recording studio trying to unpick. A tick, a personal tick as individual as pulling an eyebrow or twisting a lock of hair.
Angus smiled and stood up, dropping the baton of paper in the waste bin. ‘Am I ready for my close-up now?’ He laughed softly, smiling down at Georgie in her chair. Tina followed him out of the office.
Georgie didn’t think she was able to stand. She took three deep breaths, looking around Angus’s office. On the noticeboard behind his desk there was a photo of the department, the day she’d first started: Angus with the new recruits. The new generation, building the best port in Britain, a twenty-first-century trade hub for a twenty-first-century city. She ripped it off the wall and shoved it in her pocket. She could hear voices approaching in the corridor, the sound of Preston laughing. She walked out of Angus’s office and, for the second time in two days, slipped down the back stairs.
R
icky was back in a jail cell. Once you were fucked you tended to be fucked again and again in life, he’d begun to realise. The young woman who had invited him up to London had not come to see him again. He’d rung Dawn; that had been the hardest part, to hear her hopes of a normal life dashed again. The rational side of his brain told him he couldn’t be kept here. But life kept repeating itself on the same spool, the same story retold over and over. He hadn’t been at the warehouse at that moment on that day either, and look where he’d spent the next eight years.
He sat very still, trying to stay calm. It had been convenient then, was too convenient now. He wondered about the young customs woman. She had called the shots, even though he had invited himself up. Youth didn’t keep you clean, didn’t keep you at arm’s length from corruption.
Ricky waited for breakfast; they were later than he had expected in bringing it to him. The coffee would be appalling. He had a flash of his strong, thick brew in his cafetiere back home. He tried to take something positive from all this. He must be close. For him to have ended up back in here, he was close to finding out who had set him up.
He heard voices outside the cell, then the door slid open and a policeman led him to an interview room. Georgie Bell was already there. The policeman left them alone and closed the door.
‘How tall are you?’ she asked. She wasn’t wasting any time.
‘Six one.’
She pulled a photo from her pocket and placed it on the table. ‘Recognise anyone in this picture?’
She was panicking, an urgency and a fire in her eyes that he didn’t think was a good thing for her. He sat back. ‘You need to be careful. I ended up back in here—’
‘Do you recognise anyone in this picture?’
He looked closely.
‘That’s your colleague.’ He was pointing at Preston. ‘And this Indian-looking guy here.’ He touched Mo’s face.
‘Yes. Anyone else?’
He shook his head, then looked at her wonderingly. ‘You’re hunting someone on the inside, or you’re trying to get evidence to get someone on the inside.’ He looked back at the photo. ‘The only one old enough to have a past is this guy.’ He tapped his finger on Angus’s face. ‘But I don’t know him.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes. Who is he?’
She was frowning now, as if she had expected him to have a different answer. ‘OK. What was kept out of your trial? Every criminal trial has information that is never submitted, for various reasons.’
He thought for a moment. ‘I had a previous conviction for assault, there was a lot of argument about that in pre-trial hearings. There was a tattoo. Kelly saw a tattoo on the murderer’s arm, but she contradicted herself as to what the design was.’ He pulled up his shirtsleeve and there above the elbow on his bicep was a faded Celtic cross, blue-green with age against his skin. ‘She said it was a cross, then she wasn’t sure. It never ended up as evidence, which my counsel said was good for me.’ He shrugged, to show that it hadn’t been.
‘How did you end up in here this time?’
‘Christos Malamatos phoned the police and said he saw me outside the play centre. But that can’t be true, because I wasn’t even there, I was in the shopping centre. Only a little while later they get calls saying there’s been a shooting.’
‘How does he know what you look like?’
‘His wife may have shown him pictures, or I’ve been set up.’
‘I don’t think you had anything to do with it. You’ll be out of here later today. The CCTV at the shopping centre will clear you most likely.’
‘On the contrary. I want to make sure I’m in here for as long as possible. I need a rock-solid alibi in case anything happens to you.’ She stared back at him. ‘You’re trying to work backward. Filling in the blanks because you’ve got information you can’t reveal yet. That works for me, but be careful. Be very careful.’
T
he light had faded on another day by the time Georgie pulled up outside Angus’s house. She was in the Kent commuter belt in Ryan’s car, in a large village with big houses set back from the road and surprisingly high levels of traffic. The house was single-storey and wide, grander than she had been expecting, with a large garden and a gravel drive. She pulled in and parked by his dark-coloured saloon.