Текст книги "Stay Alive"

Автор книги: Simon Kernick

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

‘And the unofficial one?’

‘That he’s a gangster. Back in Russia, the previous owner of the gas company that Hanzha sold was found face down in a swamp riddled with bullets, just after he sold his shares to Hanzha at a knockdown price, and there are more than a few tales of people who crossed him back then ending up dead. Since he’s been in the UK, there haven’t been any killings that could be linked back to him, but a few years ago a British businessman who’d had a dispute with him disappeared one day, and hasn’t been seen since. The businessman also had disputes with a few other people, so there was no way of proving it had anything to do with Hanzha, but there was another incident about a year ago when a South African bloke who’d shafted Hanzha on a deal involving a cobalt mine in Congo ended up shot along with his wife at their house in Cape Town. Again, nothing you can prove, but I’m one of those people who doesn’t believe in smoke without fire, and I always think that any man who employs an army of bodyguards, like Hanzha does, has got something to hide. There are other rumours too – that he’s involved in money laundering, that he’s connected to a major Asian illegal betting syndicate, all sorts – but you get the picture.’

‘Yeah, I do. We also heard he was estranged from his daughter – the one who got killed. Do you know what that was about?’

‘Off the record . . .’

‘This is all off the record, Sam. I promise.’

‘It’s lucky I trust you, Mike. Even if you do only phone when you want something. Anyway, I’ve heard Hanzha has a bit of a temper, and he used to knock the girl’s mother about. They divorced a long time back but she was the only one of the three kids – the other two are boys – who sided with the mother. As far as I know, she doesn’t – didn’t – speak to her father or her brothers.’

‘He sounds like a really nice guy.’

‘He’s an arsehole, and a rich arsehole as well, which makes it even worse; but, as far as SOCA are concerned, he’s not top priority. There are plenty out there who we know for sure are up to no good, and they’re the ones we’re after right now. Maybe we’ll get round to him eventually, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

‘I won’t,’ said Bolt, who’d long ago got used to hearing stories of major criminals operating with impunity.

‘You still haven’t actually told me what this is really about,’ said Verran, a knowing tone in his voice. ‘What do you think Hanzha really has to do with all this?’

Bolt knew he was going to have to give his old colleague something if he wanted to get any more information from him. ‘Okay, and this is definitely one hundred per cent off the record, but we think it’s possible that some harm might have come to Leonard Hope.’ He ignored Mo’s sideways frown and continued. ‘We’re certain he got help escaping from us when he was under surveillance, but we reckon that whoever helped him might then have killed him.’

‘So he’s dead.’

Bolt didn’t say anything.

‘Come on, Mike. You’ve known me long enough to know I won’t shout my mouth off.’

‘Yeah, he’s dead. His body was dumped in a wood out near Maidenhead and he’d been badly tortured.’ Again, Mo gave him a frown, but Bolt just shrugged.

‘Well, by the sound of things, whoever did it was performing a public service. I can’t see too many tears being shed for a sick bastard like him.’

‘As it happens, Sam, I agree with you. But right now we’re stuck for a motive. We’re looking at the vigilante angle, and what I wanted to know from you was whether you thought that Hanzha would have the capability to snatch Hope from under our noses, and whether he’d go to all that effort to avenge his daughter. At the time, no one outside the Force knew we were onto Hope, so it had to be someone with good connections.’

Verran was silent for a few moments as he pondered this. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. Like I said, Hanzha’s got good connections and plenty of money, which is a pretty effective combination. I also know he’s got a bloke working for him called Frank Keogh, who’s an ex-copper. You might have heard about him. He was a firearms officer who shot a gang member a few years ago and ended up getting done for manslaughter.’

‘Yeah, I do remember something about that. I remember thinking at the time it was a real injustice.’

‘It was. They just needed a fall guy. Anyway, it looks like Keogh’s gone over to the dark side, and the thing is, he’s still got some contacts in the police force, so there could have been a leak. The problem you’ve got though, Mike, is proving anything. Even if Hanzha is responsible, and I’m not at all sure he would be, given he hasn’t spoken to his daughter in years, there’s no way he would have been involved himself.’

‘The torture was personal. It wasn’t a professional job. Whoever did it wanted Leonard Hope to die in a huge amount of pain. I’m thinking he’d have to have been involved.’

Verran sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know, Mike, but what you need to take into account is that Hanzha has operated under the radar for fifteen years in the UK without so much as a single arrest, which tells you that he knows what he’s doing. Even if he was involved, you’re not going to prove anything against him. And to be honest, most people will be thinking good riddance to bad rubbish.’

‘I still want to talk to him, and I’m going to want to talk to this guy Keogh who works for him as well. Do you know where Hanzha’s based?’

‘He’s got homes all over the place, but he spends a lot of his time in London, and at a country estate he’s got up in the Cairngorms.’

‘Thanks, Sam. You’ve been a big help.’

‘Yeah well, don’t tell anyone where you got your info from.’

‘Course not. You know me. Listen, while I’m on the phone, fancy a trout fishing trip some time?’

‘Sure, that’d be good,’ said Verran, but he sounded non-committal.

‘I’m serious. How about next weekend, or the one after? I could do with a break.’ Bolt realized, almost with surprise, that he was desperate for some time away from the job and London, and Verran was good company, and single and childless like himself, having been divorced for close to ten years.

‘Ah Mike, I’d love to, but I’ve got myself a girlfriend now and she might not take too kindly to me disappearing off for the weekend, especially as I don’t get a lot of time off either.’

‘How long’s that been going on for, then?’ asked Bolt, hiding his disappointment.

‘Close to a year now. We’re even talking about moving in together, although that’s going to be a bit of a shock after all these years on my own.’

‘I’m glad for you, Sam,’ said Bolt, and he meant it, even though the news gave him an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Maybe sometime in the spring then?’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Verran, in a way that was clear to both of them that it would never happen.

‘So you reckon Vladimir Hanzha had something to do with it, then?’ said Mo, when Bolt came off the phone.

Bolt nodded. ‘Someone murdered The Disciple,’ he said. ‘And you know what? Whoever did it probably deserves a medal. But that doesn’t detract from the fact that I want to know who it was and why.’

‘Can we at least wait until Monday before we talk to Hanzha? I’ve got plans this weekend.’

‘Sure,’ said Bolt, thinking he was clearly the only person who didn’t. He stretched in his seat, trying to get himself comfortable, and put in a call to DS Dan Grier back in the Disciple incident room.

‘I was just about to call you, sir,’ said Grier when he picked up. ‘We’ve just had the results in for the DNA found at the Rowan/Hanzha murder scene.’ Something in his voice didn’t sound quite right.

‘And does it match Leonard Hope’s DNA?’

There was a pause down the line before Grier replied. ‘That’s the thing, sir. No, it doesn’t. It wasn’t Hope’s DNA at the murder scene, which also means he’s not the man who killed Beatrice Magret in 1998.’

Bolt frowned, trying to process this new information logically. ‘So either the Disciple killings were the work of two men – Leonard Hope and the man who killed Beatrice Magret all those years ago—’

Grier finished the sentence for him. ‘Or Hope didn’t kill George Rowan and Ivana Hanzha at all.’

Thirty-six

IT WAS JUST before 10.30 p.m. and Bolt was sitting in his open-plan loft apartment with his feet on the coffee table and a glass of Rioja in his hand, when his mobile rang again.

It was DS Grier. ‘We’ve got confirmation that Leonard Hope couldn’t have been involved in the Beatrice Magret killing,’ he said. ‘He was serving in the army in Germany when it happened, and he wasn’t on leave.’

‘I guess we expected that.’ Bolt let out a deep breath. ‘Have you managed to track Vladimir Hanzha’s whereabouts?’

‘Yes. He’s at his Scottish estate. He flew up there yesterday.’

‘I need to organize a plane ticket up there. I want to speak to him, and I want to speak to Amanda Rowan as well.’

‘Already done, sir. You and Mo Khan are on the twelve thirty p.m. flight out of Heathrow, getting to Aberdeen at one fifteen. I’ve organized a press conference for nine tomorrow morning to announce the news about Leonard Hope’s death, so that should give you plenty of time. That’s what you wanted, right?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Bolt. ‘Thanks a lot for that.’ He made a mental note to keep an eye on Grier with a view to recommending him for promotion. The guy was still young but, unlike too many detectives of his age, he got things done with maximum efficiency and minimum fuss.

‘So, what do you think, sir?’ asked Grier. ‘Are we back at the two killers theory?’

‘Well, there are definitely two killers. The question is whether or not they were working together.’ He’d spent the whole of the remainder of the drive back home discussing this with Mo Khan, who’d changed his mind about his weekend plans now that the case seemed to have been blown wide open. Mo was also now convinced that The Disciple was actually working with someone else because, as he’d pointed out, it was simply too coincidental for there to be a murderer at the Rowan household not connected to Leonard Hope, who also knew The Disciple’s complete modus operandi. Bolt could see his point, but he still wasn’t entirely convinced, which is what he told Grier.

‘If there were two killers in the house on the night that George Rowan and Ivana Hanzha were murdered, then I still don’t understand how they didn’t manage to kill Amanda Rowan, or how she didn’t at least see both of them. From what I can remember of our interview with her, she said she went upstairs, discovered the freshly murdered bodies of her husband and his mistress in the end bedroom, and was then confronted by the killer, who appeared from the bedroom at the other end of the landing. I was in that house afterwards. I saw the layout. If there were two killers, they could easily have trapped Amanda – it wouldn’t have taken any planning at all. But they didn’t, and that’s what I can’t work out.’

‘But what’s the alternative?’ asked Grier. ‘That the man who attacked Amanda Rowan was a completely different killer, who somehow knew The Disciple’s MO?’

‘I don’t know what the alternative is, Dan,’ said Bolt, who’d already been down this road with Mo. ‘I’m just telling you I’m yet to be convinced. That’s one of the reasons I want to talk to Amanda Rowan again. I want her to go back through her movements that night, just in case we’ve missed something.’

‘Do you want me to let her know you’re coming, or are you going to do that?’

Bolt yawned, weariness beginning to overtake him. ‘I’ll sort it out, don’t worry. Thanks again for your help on this. I appreciate it.’

Ending the call, he finished his wine and got to his feet. Sky News was on the TV in the background, the sound turned down low. There was no word yet on the discovery of Leonard Hope’s body, but that would come soon enough. He debated having another glass of the Rioja. It was good stuff, bought on the recommendation of the woman who ran the wine shop just down the road, and red wine always had a way of relaxing him, however hyped-up he was feeling. In the end, though, he decided against it. He had an early start tomorrow and a long day, and he wanted a clear head. Although there was no real urgency to the trip now that Leonard Hope’s body had been found, Bolt was keen to talk to Vladimir Hanzha, and get an idea of the man, even if he wasn’t going to admit anything. He was very keen to speak to Amanda as well because, the more he thought about it, the more he felt there was something wrong with the Rowan/Hanzha murders.

Something he and everyone else was missing.

Thirty-seven

Today 19.48

JESS FELT SICK. She’d lost Casey. She’d lost her little sister – the last member of her family still alive – and now Casey was somewhere in this endless forest, alone and terrified. What if she’d been caught by one of the gunmen? Worse, what if they’d killed her? Oh Jesus, she couldn’t even bear to imagine that. It would finish her if anything happened to Casey. Finish her just the same as if someone put a gun to her own head and pulled the trigger.

And yet here she was, sprinting further and further away from where she’d last seen her sister, the bloodied kitchen knife in one hand, the mobile phone she’d just been given in the other, as she tried to reach the road and a place where she could get reception and call the police before the other gunmen caught up with her. She prayed that the man who’d come to her rescue a few minutes earlier would find Casey, like he promised he would. She wondered who the hell he was. He’d looked like a nice guy, good-looking in a rugged yet friendly way; the type of man you could rely on in times of trouble. And, by God, she was relying on him now.

She couldn’t feel any pain in her arm where the dog had bitten her, even though the skin was all bloody and mangled, but her lungs felt as if they were going to burst and she wondered how much further the main road was. She was running parallel to the path that the stranger had told her to take, keeping well within the tree line. It was a good few minutes since she’d heard the last shot ring out, and it had been some distance away. The stranger had said he was going to try to lure the gunmen away from her, and she guessed that he’d been successful. At least she hoped so, since she had absolutely no way of knowing for sure.

Have faith, she told herself. Have faith. Casey will be all right. You’ll be all right. You have to believe this.

She slowed up a little, conscious of the noise of her panting, and risked a look over her shoulder into the gloom of the forest. There was nothing there. Relieved, she stopped for a few moments and bent down with her hands on her knees, trying to get her breath back.

And that was when she heard the noise coming from directly behind her.

Jess felt her heart leap and she swung round fast, clutching the kitchen knife tight in her hand, ready to lash out.

‘It’s me,’ hissed Amanda, jumping backwards and almost falling over in the process. She too was holding a knife she’d left the house with.

For a long moment Jess just stared at her. To her surprise, she wasn’t relieved to see her at all. In fact, it annoyed her that, after all that had happened, Amanda hardly looked to have broken a sweat. Even her hair, wet and bedraggled a couple of hours earlier, seemed to have bounced back to life. ‘Jesus, what do you think you’re doing?’ she said at last, making no move to lower the knife. ‘You scared the shit out of me. I could have stabbed you.’

Amanda eyed the bloodstained blade. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you but I heard running and I hid behind a tree just in case it was one of them. When I saw it was you, I came out. I was just about to say something when you turned round.’ She looked at Jess’s bleeding arm. ‘I didn’t mean to leave you. I’m sorry.’

‘Forget it, I’d have done the same,’ said Jess, although she wasn’t sure she would have done.

‘What happened to the dogs?’

‘I stabbed one. The other had hold of me –’ she motioned to her arm which was now suddenly beginning to hurt like hell – ‘but then this guy appeared out of nowhere with a gun and shot it.’ She paused, still panting. ‘I thought he was going to shoot me too, but he helped me escape and even gave me his mobile phone.’

Amanda looked puzzled. ‘Do you think he was police?’

‘I don’t know, but he was on his own. He’s gone back to look for Casey.’

‘He’ll find her, I’m sure.’

Jess glared at her. ‘How do you know he’ll find her? She could be dead already.’

‘They wouldn’t kill her.’

‘You said you didn’t even know who these people are, so how can you be so sure?’

‘There’s no reason for them to hurt her. She’s nothing to do with any of this.’

‘She’s a witness to the killings,’ said Jess.

Amanda looked hurt. ‘God, I’m sorry for what’s happened,’ she said quietly, putting a hand on Jess’s good arm and moving in close, as if she was going to give her a hug.

But Jess didn’t want any sympathy from this woman with her nice hair and educated accent. She just wanted Casey to be okay. She pulled away roughly as Amanda tried to embrace her, her face coming way too close, and took a step backwards. ‘We need to keep moving,’ she said. ‘They won’t be far behind us. As soon as I get reception, I’ll call the police.’

Amanda stared at her for a long moment, and there was something in her expression that Jess didn’t like.

Then, knowing that every second they delayed put them in more danger, Jess turned and ran into the trees, checking the phone in vain for some reception, all her thoughts still dominated by one person, and one person only.

Casey.

Casey lay still on the cold ground, not daring to move in case she disturbed all the dead leaves around her. Her head ached from where she’d hit the branch, and already a big, swelling bruise was sticking out. She didn’t care about that, though. It wasn’t even making her cry. In fact, she was making no sound at all, because the horrible thin man who looked like a zombie and kept clearing his throat, was standing just a few yards away. Only a thick tangled bramble bush kept Casey hidden from him. All he had to do was walk a couple of steps this way and look down and he’d see her.

He was leaning against a tree and smoking a cigarette, and he’d been there for what seemed like ages. He was dressed all in black and he was holding a very big gun down by his side, and he looked really angry. Casey was so scared and so cold that she had to really concentrate to stop herself from shaking. In her head, she kept praying to God, asking him to make the thin man go away. Jess had told her after Mum had died that there was no God, but Casey didn’t believe her. Of course there was a God. Who else made everything? Someone had to have done it to begin with. But she had to admit God wasn’t very nice sometimes. He’d killed Dad and he’d killed Mum, and now he’d sent these horrible men out here to kill Uncle Tim and Auntie Jean, and now maybe even her and Jess.

But still she kept praying in her head, knowing that she just had to keep quiet for a little bit longer and it would all be all right. The horrible man looked as though he was bored of searching for her now. Soon he’d go away, then she’d keep running until she found the edge of the wood. It had to end somewhere. She’d never before been in a wood this huge and empty with no people around anywhere. All of Scotland seemed to be like that, just miles of empty space, and though she liked her new home, and the kids at her new school who’d all been really nice to her, she missed the noise and bustle of London.

But of course she might be going back there, now that Uncle Tim and Auntie Jean were . . . She couldn’t say it. Even to herself. Her face crumpled as she thought of them then and she almost started to cry. She’d really liked Uncle Tim and Auntie Jean. She’d miss the stories her uncle used to tell her at night of the places he’d seen in the world when he’d been in the Merchant Navy and the people he’d met. She’d miss the way Auntie Jean would hug her really, really close and stroke her hair, and tell her what a beautiful girl she was . . .

She scrunched up her eyes and forced back the tears. She was a big girl now. She had to be brave.

The horrible man dropped his cigarette on the ground and stamped on it, all the time looking round with his big nose in the air, as if he was trying to smell her out.

Behind her, Casey could hear the faint rustling of leaves. Something was moving.

Very, very slowly she turned round, terrified of what she might see.

And had to stifle a gasp.

It was a baby deer, and it was standing next to a tree just a few feet away, looking over at her with big, dark eyes.

For just a couple of seconds, Casey forgot all her terror as she stared in wonder at it, amazed that it didn’t run off. She’d only ever seen deer in Richmond Park and they always seemed to be a long way away, but this one was so close she could almost lean over and touch it.

And then the horrible man let out a sharp, hacking cough and the deer tensed, then bolted, scattering dead leaves.

Casey looked back quickly, just in time to see the horrible man swing round fast, eyes narrowing as he pulled the trigger on his big gun.

Behind her, she heard the deer fall. Then she squeezed her eyes shut as she heard his footsteps coming towards her.

Sayenko lowered the gun, and walked over to the bush, peering over into the darkness. The deer – one of those small, rat-like ones you get in this country – bucked a couple of times on the ground, then lay still. Sayenko cleared his throat and spat a lump of phlegm against a nearby tree. He’d thought it was the little brat he’d been chasing, and was immediately disappointed. It annoyed him that he was out here running round after her when what he should have done was shoot her the moment he’d seen her. As far as he was concerned, there was no point in letting any of them live, especially when they’d seen their faces, but Keogh had yelled at him to take the brat alive. No doubt he wanted to use her as a hostage to try to get the others out into the open, but now she’d escaped and was beyond the reach of any of them. Like everything else today, it had been a fuck-up, and that was the fault of this idiot, Keogh.

Sayenko didn’t like having to work with anyone he didn’t know and trust, and with good reason. This whole thing should have been easy. Three of them with guns, and all they had to do was grab an unarmed girl in the middle of nowhere, jab her with a needle, then chuck her in the trunk of a car and drive away. Sayenko knew if he’d been there, rather than keeping watch in the village, it would have been a different story. Once in Moscow, he and two other gunmen had grabbed a journalist out of her car at some traffic lights in the middle of rush hour, shot dead her two bodyguards, and still got out of there without any problem. Yet the three men he’d been working with today had failed completely, and now here he was, running around these woods, trying to find someone who was surely long gone by now.

Sayenko decided he wasn’t going to carry on this chase any longer. He’d go back and find the others, which wasn’t going to be easy, as the satellite phone they’d given him didn’t have their numbers programmed in. But he’d worry about that in a minute. First, he needed a piss.

He glanced round briefly just to check that he was definitely alone before placing the gun carefully on the ground (he remembered only too well the story of a guy in the army who’d tried to take a leak with a pistol in his hand and who’d shot off the end of his cock when it had gone off by mistake).

Then, with a deep satisfied breath, he unzipped his trousers, relaxing for the first time that night.

Casey was holding her breath. She couldn’t believe that the horrible thin man was standing on the other side of the bush, almost right above her. She could see his boots underneath it, no more than three feet away, could hear his harsh breathing. She could see the gun on the ground too.

She knew he was going to pee. She’d heard him unzip his flies. His wee was going to land on her too if she lay where she was, which would be absolutely disgusting.

She had a chance to run while the gun was out of reach. And she knew she was going to have to do it too, because if she stayed where she was, she was going to have to breathe soon – and then he’d hear her for sure.

Almost without thinking about it, she leapt to her feet, seeing the shock on the horrible man’s face, then she turned and bolted into the darkness, knowing she was running for her life, that one mistake and she’d end up like that poor deer.

Sayenko leapt backwards with a startled growl. He couldn’t believe he’d almost been standing on the little blonde brat without knowing it, and for a couple of seconds he didn’t even react.

But then his training kicked in and – with an angry roar – he charged through the bush. He was quick over short distances, and with his long legs he gained on her rapidly, then reached out with one arm, yanking her backwards by the collar of her jacket and throwing her roughly to the ground, before slamming his knee into her back, enjoying the terrified sound she made as he picked her up.