The Last Enemy (6 page)

But, if someone was after them, surely they’d have snatched them before they actually got into the flat. Unless they didn’t want to risk attracting witnesses. Inside their flat, there’d be no one to see.

‘Well?’ demanded Lauren.

‘I’ll take a chance,’ said Jake.

He stepped inside. This is crazy, he admitted to himself. If there is anyone in here, all they have to do is wait until I step into the room where they’re hiding, and knock me out, or tazer me, or whatever they plan to do. And do it before I can shout out to Lauren to warn her.

‘I’m going to keep talking all the time!’ Jake called to Lauren. ‘If I stop talking, run and call the police.’

With that he moved slowly along the short hallway. He could feel his heart beating faster. Calm, he told himself. Keep calm.

‘The kitchen first,’ he called. The door was open, and he could see at a glance there was no one in the tiny kitchen.

‘Kitchen clear!’ he called. ‘Moving on to the bathroom next.’

The bathroom door was shut.

‘OK, I’m at the bathroom door,’ he announced. He wondered if Lauren could hear the fear in his voice.

Keep it cool, he told himself urgently.

He pushed the door handle down, and then shoved the door open hard, at the same time leaping to one side in case anyone had a gun aimed at the doorway.

There was no movement or sound at all from the bathroom.

He was sweating now, trying to hold himself together, expecting at any moment someone to appear, armed with a gun or a knife.

‘Going into the bathroom!’ he called. ‘And counting, one, two, three . . .’

There was no one in the bathroom. He let out a sigh of relief.

‘Bathroom clear!’ he called.

He moved on to the bedroom. The door was closed.

‘OK, I’m about to go into the bedroom!’ he said. ‘I’ll keep counting!’

He opened the door and stepped carefully in, all the time counting out loud so that Lauren could hear him, ‘One, two, three, four, five . . .’

No one was in the room. He went to the wardrobe, still counting out loud the whole time, pulled the door open and stepped back sharply, just in case anyone was hiding inside.

‘Bedroom’s clear!’ he called. ‘I’m moving on to the living room!’

Still counting out loud the whole time so that Lauren could hear, still petrified and waiting to be attacked, he edged carefully into the living room. Everything looked the same, undisturbed.

‘There’s no one here . . .’ he began, and then he stopped.

‘What the hell’s that?!’ demanded Lauren, shocked, and he saw she’d come in and, like him, was staring at the window.

There, in large letters on the glass, someone had written ‘Malichea’. Underneath was added: ‘Next time you die’.

Jake could feel his heart pounding harder than ever and his throat had gone dry.

‘I’m calling the police,’ said Lauren. ‘When they see this it will prove there’s someone after us!’

Jake shook his head.

‘They might think that we wrote it ourselves. It’s obvious that DI Bullen is suspicious of me.’

Lauren sank down on to the settee. She looked as shaken as Jake felt.

‘I can’t live like this,’ she complained.

‘It’s the price we pay for getting mixed up with the hidden library.’

‘But we haven’t been involved for ages!’ Lauren pointed out.

‘Someone thinks we are,’ said Jake. He pointed at the words on the glass. ‘And now, with this, and me under suspicion of killing Alex Munro, it looks like we’re well and truly involved again.’

‘So, what’s our way out of it?’ asked Lauren.

‘I think our only way out is going to be working with fellow-accused, Guy de Courcey,’ said Jake. ‘If Pierce Randall can get him off, then maybe the case against me will collapse as well.’

‘And maybe, working with him, we might even get our hands on The Index,’ said Lauren.

‘Which is a long shot,’ pointed out Jake. ‘But, if we can, then that will solve everything.’

Chapter 6

They entered the palatial reception area of the Belvedere Hotel as the ornate clock behind the desk was striking twelve. Not loud bongs, but discreet musical chimes fitting to the aura of elegance of a time gone by. There was a distinct air of money here: old money, new money, any money, so long as there was a lot of it. Guy de Courcey claimed he was broke, and his family had always been hard up, but Jake was sure that a hotel like this would have still been the kind of place where they would have stayed when in London.

The furniture, the decor, even the uniforms that the hotel staff wore all looked as if they were from the London of Charles Dickens. As Pierce Randall were picking up the bill, it was definitely the right place for the recently ennobled Earl Guy de Courcey.

Jake and Lauren approached the desk, where the receptionist on duty smiled a greeting at them.

‘May I help you?’ he enquired politely.

‘Yes,’ said Jake. ‘We’re here to meet Guy de Courcey. Could you ring his room and let him know we’re here. Jake Wells and Lauren Graham.’

The receptionist gave them an apologetic look.

‘I’m afraid Lord de Courcey checked out,’ he said.

Jake and Lauren exchanged bewildered looks.

‘Checked out?’ repeated Jake. ‘When?’

‘This morning.’

‘But . . . we only saw him a couple of hours ago,’ said Jake, bewildered. ‘And we arranged to see him here at twelve o’clock. Did he leave any message for us?’

The receptionist shook his head.

‘I’m afraid not, sir. He left no messages.’

‘He didn’t say
anything
when he left about people calling to see him?’

The receptionist hesitated, then said, ‘Actually, Lord de Courcey did not check out himself. He sent an emissary, who paid his bill and collected his belongings.’

‘Did this emissary have a name?’ asked Lauren.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t give out that kind of information,’ said the receptionist.

‘What did this emissary look like?’ asked Jake desperately.

The receptionist looked suspiciously at Jake and Lauren.

‘Are you asking these questions in any kind of official capacity?’ he asked. ‘If so, I would appreciate it if you could show me some documentation, because we make it a practise never to discuss our clients.’

Wary of journalists looking for gossip, thought Jake. He shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s just that we’re concerned for his safety and we wanted to make sure that nothing unfortunate had happened to him.’

The receptionist studied them both silently for a while, then said politely but firmly, ‘I’m afraid I have nothing more to add. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’ With that, he turned away from them and went to attend to a couple who had just arrived at the desk.

Jake and Lauren headed across the reception area towards the door.

‘What do you think?’ asked Lauren.

‘Pierce Randall,’ said Jake grimly. ‘That solicitor overheard Guy arranging to meet us, and was determined to stop that happening. They know what we think of them. They wouldn’t want us interfering in their plans for The Index. If you ask me, once they’d got him in that car they had waiting, they whisked him away somewhere we can’t get to him.’

‘That’s possible.’

Just then, Jake’s phone rang. He checked it.

‘A text,’ he said.

He opened the text. There was one short message of three letters: ‘hlp’.

Jake frowned and showed it to Lauren.

‘What do you make of that?’ he asked.

‘Help,’ said Lauren.

‘Who’s asking for help?’ asked Jake.

He checked the number. It was withheld.

‘Guy,’ he said grimly.

‘How do you know?’ asked Lauren.

‘I don’t,’ said Jake. ‘I’m guessing. But I bet I’m right.’

‘So what are we going to do?’

‘We go to the police,’ said Jake.

Chapter 7

Jake and Lauren waited for twenty minutes in the police station reception before DI Bullen appeared. He didn’t look pleased to see them.

‘You needn’t have waited to see me,’ he said. ‘You could have handed in your passport to the desk sergeant.’

‘It’s not just that we came to see you about,’ said Jake. ‘It’s Guy de Courcey.’

‘Oh?’

Bullen’s attitude changed immediately. He was suddenly alert. He thinks I’ve come to shop Guy, thought Jake. Tell him that it was Guy who did the killing, and I was just an innocent accomplice, or something like that.

‘He’s disappeared,’ said Jake.

Bullen looked at Jake, then at Lauren, frowning, puzzled.

‘What do you mean, disappeared?’ he asked. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because he asked us to meet him at his hotel at twelve o’clock. The Belvedere. We went there, but the receptionist told us he’d checked out.’

‘So?’ said Bullen. ‘Maybe he did.’

‘Do you know about it?’ asked Jake. ‘Because my guess is that, if he’s still a suspect, you’ll want to know where he’s staying. Or, has he done a runner?’

Bullen’s expression tightened.

‘Wait here,’ he said.

With that, he disappeared through the door that led to the offices and the cells.

They sat back down on the hard plastic chairs, and waited. It was a further twenty minutes before Bullen reappeared, and this time he was more relaxed.

‘Everything’s in order,’ he said. ‘We’ve spoken to Lord de Courcey’s solicitors, and they have assured us that they have given him one of their private apartments. They’ve provided us with the address.’

‘And have you checked it to make sure he’s there?’ asked Jake.

Bullen visibly bridled at Jake telling him how to do his job.

‘Why should we?’ he demanded.

‘Because I had this text,’ said Jake, and he showed it to Bullen.

Bullen looked at the word ‘hlp’.

‘So?’

‘I think Guy sent it,’ said Jake. ‘I think he’s asking for help.’

‘From
you
?’ Then Bullen’s tone changed and he asked, ‘If this is from him, why would he ask you for help? You said you didn’t know him.’

‘I didn’t, not before last night,’ said Jake.

Bullen stood studying Jake, suspicion obvious on his face. Finally, he gave a dismissive shrug and said, ‘Anyway, Lord de Courcey isn’t in any immediate trouble, apart from being a suspect in this case. As you are. We’ve just spoken to his solicitors, and they have assured us he is safe.’

‘They could be holding him against his will,’ said Jake.

‘Why would they do that?’ asked Bullen.

Because they’re criminals, thought Jake. Pierce Randall work with assassins and terrorists. They’d do anything to protect their investments. Kidnapping, torture and killing would be no problem for them.

Aloud, he said, ‘Because there’s a lot of money at stake here.’

Bullen fixed Jake with a hard glare.

‘Pierce Randall are a highly reputable and international firm of solicitors,’ he snapped. ‘I would think very carefully before making any accusations against them of wrongdoing.’ He then gestured towards the reception desk. ‘We still need your passport. If it’s not delivered to us within the next two hours . . .’

‘It’s here,’ said Jake, taking it from his pocket.

‘Hand it in to the desk,’ Bullen said brusquely. ‘They’ll issue you with a receipt for it.’ He gave Jake a searching look. ‘Anything else?’

Jake hesitated. He wanted to have a go at Bullen, tell him how incompetent he was being in refusing to listen to his concerns about Pierce Randall, ignoring the risks that Guy was facing. But then it struck him that maybe it wasn’t incompetence on Bullen’s part. Maybe the DI was being paid by Pierce Randall. It still puzzled Jake how he and Guy had been released so easily, especially when they were the prime suspects in a murder case.

‘Jake!’ said Lauren sharply, sensing Jake’s mood. ‘Just give them your passport.’

Jake hesitated again, then nodded.

‘OK,’ he said.

Once they were outside in the street, Lauren turned to Jake, annoyed.

‘What were you thinking of?’ she demanded. ‘You don’t want to give him any excuse to take you back in.’

‘Guy’s been snatched,’ said Jake. ‘I just wanted Bullen to at least say he’d investigate it.’

‘He did,’ said Lauren. ‘He contacted Pierce Randall, who told him everything was fine.’

‘And would you believe Pierce Randall?’ asked Jake.

‘No,’ admitted Lauren. ‘Not about anything. But he’s right about one thing, you don’t know who that text was from.’

‘Who else could it be?’ demanded Jake.

‘It could be from Gareth,’ said Lauren thoughtfully.

‘Gareth!’

‘I told you, his wife sounded very frightened when I spoke to her. She refused to talk to me. She hung up.’