In for the Kill (14 page)

As I pulled into the narrow lay-by opposite my houseboat I glimpsed a figure by the door and with a jolt recognised it was Deeta. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or irritated. It was late. I wanted to ease my aching body before my trip to Guernsey tomorrow, but now I’d have to invite her in and make small talk. That’s what my brain said, other parts of my body were telling me something quite different and small talk didn’t feature in it. Whether I would have the energy for those more amorous and athletic inclinations was a different matter though.

She turned to face me. I expected a smile, but what I got was an expression out of a Hammer horror movie that curdled my blood. Her skin was almost opaque with terror and her blue eyes wide and alarmed. I rushed towards her stifling a groan that could have been even louder than the one I’d uttered climbing out of the car. What now for God’s sake! Had Rowde planted more dead bodies on my houseboat?

She pointed at my open door. I guessed I was pale by now. With a quickening heartbeat, that would have had a heart surgeon salivating, I tentatively pushed open the door and stepped inside. Thank God. No body, only chaos. I let out a long, slow sigh of relief. I had been burgled.

I quickly ran my eye around the room; cushions were strewn on the floor, the cupboards opened and their contents tossed around. I guessed it was the same down below but didn’t get a chance to find out as Deeta came up behind me.

‘Who could have done such a terrible thing?’

she cried aghast.

Rowde most probably. One of his little warnings, like Westnam’s body. Yet, as my eyes surveyed the mess I knew that whoever had done this had been searching for something rather than simply being destructive, as Rowde would have been. Someone who’d had to act very quickly.

I’d seen enough cells turned over to spot the signs.

Deeta seemed really shaken. I lifted the cushion onto the seat. ‘Sit down. You need a drink.’

‘I should be saying that to you.’

I was surprised to see how distressed she was.

It was as if her home had been violated not mine.

‘We both need a drink,’ I said gently, going below to fetch one. It gave me a chance to see where else my intruder had left his mark. The galley wasn’t too bad; at least the crockery was still in the cupboards. I found a bottle of red wine and two glasses and dived into my bedroom before returning to the upper deck.

My clothes were strewn about the floor. I remembered my mother’s jewellery. It was all there, still in the box file, in its plastic bag: her wedding and engagement ring, a couple of brooches, a silver locket and a gold bracelet. The photographs had been tossed on the floor along with the diaries.

‘Has anything been taken?’

I swung round to find Deeta standing in the doorway. Her tight jeans and even tighter T-shirt showed off her figure to perfection. My heart began to beat faster this time with excitement and longing rather than fear.

‘Not that I can see,’ I said. This was one thing I couldn’t lay at Gus’s door. Unless he had flown back in a private plane as soon as Vanessa had telephoned him after my visit, landing at Bembridge airfield… stop being so bloody stupid, I scolded myself.

I made to move back upstairs when Deeta stepped further into the bedroom. I cleared my throat and tried to look relaxed. I wasn’t sure if I succeeded.

‘These photographs, they’re of you as a child.’

Before I could stop her she had picked up a handful of photographs and was sitting on the bed. OK, I thought, might as well join her. I opened the bottle and poured her a glass.

She took a sip and gave me a look that was both assessing and admiring, but maybe I just wanted it to be so. I could hardly breathe from being so close to her. I could smell her light scent. My hands ached to touch a woman, my arms to embrace one…

‘Are you always this calm in a crisis?’

If only she knew. ‘Not always.’ I felt an overwhelming desire to confide. It would be such a relief just to be able to talk to someone about what was happening to me, but it would also put that person in danger. I couldn’t do it.

Besides, in prison, I had learnt the hard way, never to confide in anyone, it only led to trouble.

‘How come you found this?’ I asked, sweeping an arm to take in the destruction.

‘I was passing and thought that maybe you had returned.’ She dashed a glance at me and I felt flattered by it. ‘I saw your door was open.’ She was regaining some of her colour. ‘What were they after?’

I shrugged and sipped my wine. Money? The code to the Swiss bank account where my millions were stashed away?

‘Aren’t you going to call the police?’ She frowned, puzzled.

‘Why? They won’t be able to do anything and they certainly won’t catch whoever did it.’

‘What about the insurance?’

‘Not worth it,’ I dismissed.

This breakin was the least of my worries. But sitting here with her, drinking wine, the tension began to ease a little. Oh, my anxiety was still burrowing away inside my gut, and I was impatient for action but, I kept telling myself, there was nothing I could do until tomorrow.

Her slender hands were flicking through the photographs.

‘What happened to you, Alex?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Percy says you went to prison for stealing money, is it true?’

‘No.’ I felt the involuntary stiffening of my body. She noticed it.

‘I believe you.’

‘Why?’

‘You look honest.’

I laughed. ‘I wish you’d been on the jury. No, I’m not making fun of you, Deeta,’ I added hastily, seeing her puzzled and slightly dejected look. ‘Someone framed me.’

‘Tell me about it.’ She looked at me over the edge of her wine glass.

I’d rather kiss you, I thought. ‘I’d only bore you.’

‘I don’t think you’d do that, Alex.’

My heart went into overdrive. I wanted so much to make love to her and yet I was half scared to death to even try. It had been such a long time.

She picked up the photograph of me with the telescope. ‘It must have been magical growing up in a place like this and with such a beautiful, caring mother. You can see she loves you by the look in her eyes and the way she has her arm around you.’

‘I know.’ My voice faltered for a moment.

‘Did she ever talk about the old days? About her father?’

‘Teddy Hardley?’ I shook my head. ‘Not much.

He died when she was quite young.’

‘And he never left any letters, or a diary?’

‘No. Why the interest?’

‘I’m an historian, remember.’ She gazed steadily at me with those big blue eyes. My heart was melting and my loins were on fire with desire.

‘I am always interested in the past,’ she said.

‘It’s only the present that matters to me.’ I didn’t want her to leave. She would be a distraction for me, and a pleasant one at that. That sounded callous. I didn’t mean it to be. Or did I? For one night she might help me to forget about the past and the future. It was selfish of me, but I was sure it was what she also wanted.

What she saw in me I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to ask.

I placed my glass on the table. I could smell her perfume; feel her soft breath near my face. I leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were so soft and willing against mine. My whole body was on fire. I put my arms around her and she responded so eagerly that it almost scared me off; her tongue was seeking mine, her slender body pressing against me. I could feel her softness. For some reason Scarlett’s voluptuous figure popped into my mind. But I hastily banished the thought of her and did what any man would have done in the circumstances, I made love to Deeta, twice. The first time I’m ashamed to admit was a purely selfish act on my part. The second time, I hoped she got just as much pleasure from it as me. I didn’t hear her complaining.

It was early morning when I woke.

‘I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ she said gently, pulling on her jeans.

I lay back with my hands behind my head and watched her dress. For a moment I forgot that I was going to Guernsey. But only for a moment.

I glanced at my watch. It was just after 6am. I pulled myself up.

‘Do you want a coffee or something to eat?’

‘No. I have to go.’ She leaned across the bed and kissed me. It was enough to stir me into action again. She pulled away laughing. ‘Thank you for a lovely night.’

It should have been me thanking her. I watched her walk away then grabbed a coffee, and some breakfast, showered, changed, and locked up the houseboat. Outside I hesitated before knocking on Scarlett’s door. There was no answer, but I knew she was in. I could hear the radio playing.

I headed for the Red Funnel service from Cowes to Southampton. The flight to Guernsey was delayed. They didn’t say why. It was 11.30am when I stepped onto the aeroplane. It landed just over an hour later.

I hailed a taxi to take me to St Peter Port. I didn’t have time to look at the blue rippling waters of the harbour, or the quaint town with its pretty colour-washed houses climbing the hill on my left. We followed the harbour round, keeping it on our right until, on the outskirts of the old town, we came to the new development of steel and glass: the glitzy offices of the financiers who had succeeded the Germans, the Guernsey cows and the tomatoes.

The receptionist told me that Mr Newberry was in a meeting.

‘I have to see him urgently,’ I insisted. ‘I have some bad news about his wife and sons. There’s been an accident.’

The girl looked horrified. My bruised face convinced her I was telling the truth. She quickly made to telephone him when I stilled her. I didn’t want Gus running out the back way.

‘I think it’s best if I go along there and tell him, rather than confront him here in reception, don’t you?’

She didn’t seem to be sure but I put on my most sympathetic face and finally she said,

‘Meeting room six on the top floor. The lift is behind you, sir.’

I hadn’t thought through what I would say, just that I’d get him by the throat and beat the truth out of him if I had too. The vision of at least fifteen years behind bars for the murder of Westnam, with bullies like Rowde, not to mention my children’s safety, was enough to make me desperate.

I scanned the numbers on the meeting room doors in the silence of the air-conditioned corridor, my heart beating rapidly, my palms sweating, until I was in front of number six.

Ignoring the ‘engaged’ sign I thrust open the door and all eight faces of the men sitting, jacketless, around a long boardroom table, scattered with papers and bottles of Perrier, looked up at me.

Gus was sitting directly opposite where I was standing. His was the only expression I noted and that barely as I swiftly crossed the carpeted room. Within an instant I had him by the throat, pinned up against the wall.

‘Where is it, you bastard?’ I roared. I was only vaguely conscious of movement behind me but nobody remonstrated with me. Gus croaked something but I wasn’t listening, I was too busy banging his head against the wall.

‘Where’s the fucking money?’ I screeched. His face was red; his eyes bulging like a bullfrog. He was struggling to speak. He was choking. I let him go and his body slumped to the floor. I balled my fist and held it back ready to smash it into his face when it was grabbed. I was spun round and a fist smashed into
my
face. My head rocked back and I staggered against the wall. The fist came up again but this time I heard Gus shout,

‘Leave him.’

My blurred vision began to clear and I saw a burly security guard wearing a uniform that the SS would have been proud of. Reluctantly he stepped back, a disappointed expression on his face. Gus reached out a hand. The smug bastard, I thought, trying to struggle up without his assistance.

The other men were standing by the door muttering and looking grim. I stumbled, reached for the corner of the table for support and shook my head as the room swam out of focus, then wish I hadn’t as pain shot through it. I sat down with a groan, putting my head in my hands.

When I looked up, the room was empty except for Gus and there was glass of water in front of me.

‘Drink it,’ he commanded.

I tried to glare at him but it hurt my head too much. Ignoring the drink I rubbed a hand against my lip and tasted the blood. Pulling out a handkerchief I wiped my mouth. Gus was now sitting on my right. He looked drained, but I bet he was a picture of health compared to me.

‘Where’s the money, Gus? Or should I say Andover?’ I snapped. Gus looked surprised. He wasn’t fooling me. ‘You lied about how long you had known Vanessa. You were having an affair with her. You wanted to steal her from me and the only way you thought you could do that was to disgrace me.’

I could feel my anger rising again, yet something in Gus’s expression told me I was wrong. His shock and surprise seemed genuine. I had to be right. My sons’ future depended on it.

I continued. ‘You can fly an aeroplane, you know all about computers and you have a connection with two of the victims. Westnam was chief executive of Manover Plastics and your firm were his accountants. Spires sponsored the Beckenham Challenge Cup and Couldner raced in that. Spires is plastered all over the spinnaker and you’re in a photograph alongside Couldner.’

‘And Brookes?’

‘They’ll be a connection.’

‘Alex, this is crazy.’

‘No.’ I spat. ‘Crazy is what you did to me. You knew a secret about each man, one worth blackmailing for. Perhaps Westnam’s accounts weren’t quite legit; perhaps Brookes had inflated the profits for the takeover by Sunglow, and Couldner’s secret could be something you learned whilst drinking with him in the yacht club.’

‘You’ve got this all wrong. Where does the aeroplane come in?’

I told him about the incident on the day of my release.

I studied him carefully. I knew he was clever.

‘There’s no use in denying it any longer, Gus. I met some very nasty men in prison. One of them called Rowde is now free and he wants the money I don’t have. In return for which he says he won’t harm my sons.’

Gus turned pale. ‘You’re not serious?’

Looking at him, I began to have doubts. His terror was no act; no one went that pale on demand. I said nothing.