The Payback (17 page)

She was on her feet in an instant and ready to spring at me again.

Until she saw that I still had the gun, and I was holding it outstretched in both hands, the end of the suppressor only five feet from her chest.

She froze. We both did. Staring at each other. Her expression neither defiant nor scared.

I thought of retirement again. If I just did this one last bloody task . . .

My finger tightened on the trigger.

Time slowed, then seemed to come to a complete stop as I realized that this was it. My choice. My crossroads. If I pulled the trigger, I was free. But the price would be truly heavy. Murdering a female police officer in cold blood. How would I be able to enjoy the peaceful evening sunsets knowing what I’d done?

What would Emma think? And our child?

I’d played hard and loose with my moral compass for far too long. Turned a blind eye to the rules I’d broken. Could I do it again one last time, when the victim was so clearly innocent of any crime?

The answer was no. I couldn’t. Not even for the reward on offer.

And so it was with a feeling of relief, mixed with the first sign of trepidation, that I lowered the gun and placed it on the bed beside me.

‘You followed me from the airport, didn’t you,’ said Tina Boyd, staying where she was, her eyes lingering on the gun on the bed beside me.

I frowned, taken aback that it had been that obvious. ‘Yeah, I did.’

She sighed and ran a hand through her short, spiky hair. ‘I need a smoke, so I’m going to go over to the dresser and get my cigarettes. OK?’

I nodded, and watched as she retrieved her pack and lit one, thinking that this was a hugely surreal scene. Here I was having a polite conversation with someone who up until a few moments ago I’d been determined to kill. Now my retirement plans, so fresh and exciting only moments earlier, were fading in front of my eyes. Yet I knew I’d made the right decision. Killing her would have been a crime I’d have found impossible to live with, however hard I might have tried to convince myself otherwise.

Tina took the kind of long, slow drag on the cigarette that made me want to start smoking again. I noticed then that she was looking at me strangely.

‘Do I know you from somewhere?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said firmly, starting to get up from the bed, knowing I had to leave before I made this situation any worse.

Tina retreated warily.

‘It’s all right,’ I told her. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

But my promise, unsurprisingly, didn’t count for a great deal, and she kept going until she was backed up against the wall.

‘Who sent you?’ she asked.

‘A man called Bertie Schagel. He organizes contract killings on behalf of other people,’ I answered, sitting back down. ‘When he finds out I haven’t done this one he’ll send someone else. You’re not safe. You should leave.’

‘Thanks for the advice,’ she said, still staring at me in what seemed like a bizarrely intimate moment.

But then her eyes narrowed, and I saw the recognition in them.

‘You’re Dennis Milne, aren’t you?’ She paused. ‘You look different. But not different enough.’

I should have picked up the gun and walked out right then. Left her behind and taken my chances. Thought of an excuse I could give to Schagel why I hadn’t been able to kill her. But I didn’t.

‘That’s right,’ I said slowly.

‘You murdering bastard. You were going to kill me, weren’t you?’

‘But I didn’t,’ I said, rubbing my face self-consciously where she’d struck it. It still hurt.

‘Why not?’

‘One, because you’re a cop. And two, because I didn’t think you deserved it.’ Which was pretty much the truth.

Not that my admission did me much good, because the next second, she took a few quick steps forward and slapped me hard round the face.

‘Jesus,’ I said loudly, leaning back. ‘Haven’t you hurt me enough already?’

‘That’s for all the shame you’ve brought on the Met. And for nearly killing me.’

I rubbed my cheek, eyeing her warily in case she decided to continue the assault. ‘Shouldn’t you be trying to find out who it is who wants you dead? Schagel’s only a broker. He works for other people.’

‘I know full well who wants me dead. But why the hell should I tell you of all people?’

‘Because I might be able to help,’ I said.

But even as I spoke the words, I wondered why I was offering to get involved. Maybe it was a desire to atone for past sins. Maybe it was something more shallow, like rescuing a pretty damsel in distress, even though Tina Boyd didn’t look or act much like she needed rescuing. Either way, I genuinely meant what I was saying.

Tina nodded slowly, then in one sudden movement, she reached down and grabbed the gun from the bed, pointing it at my chest, just like I’d done to her only a few minutes earlier. ‘I ought to hand you straight in.’

I faced her down. ‘Like I said, I might be able to help you.’ I looked around the room. ‘You’re in Manila for a reason, and it’s definitely not official business.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I was told by Schagel.’

She looked shocked. ‘He knew? How?’

‘I don’t know, but whatever you’re here for, you need to be very careful. This is a dangerous city.’

‘So I’m finding out. And how did you get to be working for someone like him?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’ve got a long time.’

‘OK. Put the gun down and I’ll tell you.’

She hesitated for a moment, then placed it back on the bed.

I got up and moved away from where it lay, taking a seat by the desk in the far corner. Then I started talking.

I told her about my life in the early days in the Philippines; the move away to Ko Lanta; how I’d met Emma; and, finally, how I’d met, and ended up working for, Bertie Schagel. I missed out the bit where I’d returned to the UK to avenge the death of a former colleague (a man she may well have known), because a lot of people had been killed then, and I didn’t want to incriminate myself any more than I already had.

‘That’s some story,’ Tina said when I’d finished. She lit another cigarette, blew out a thin plume of smoke, and turned to face me properly. ‘You know, I still can’t quite believe that I’m having a conversation with a man who’s just tried to kill me.’

‘Well, believe it. And believe this too. The man who’s after you knows you’re here, which means you’re in a lot of danger. But not from me.’ I sensed that her stance was softening. ‘Look, you’re not going to get far in this town on your own, and I’m offering to watch your back. If you don’t trust me, you keep the gun.’ I nodded towards where it lay on the bed. ‘Now it’s your turn. What are you doing here?’

Tina sighed. ‘The man I’m after is called Paul Wise. He’s the one who I think ultimately hired you. He’s a gangster, a drug dealer, and a child killer.’

‘Sounds like a nice guy.’

‘The problem is, he’s also extremely wealthy, with friends in some very high places. So even after everything he’s done, he’s still walking free, and the British police are giving up on ever bringing
him to justice. But I’m not going to. I’ve been after him for six years, ever since he had my boyfriend murdered. And I’m not going to stop.’ She fixed me with an iron gaze. ‘No matter what he tries to do to me.’

I liked her determination. I could relate to it. She was the kind of copper I’d once aspired to be, a long, long time back. I asked her why Wise had killed her boyfriend.

‘John was a detective, and he’d found some information about a gang of paedophiles that included Wise as well as several other high-profile figures. Wise wanted to make sure that the information was suppressed at any cost. They made John’s death look like suicide. But I always knew it was murder.’

A tight knot began to develop in my gut. ‘Your boyfriend. Was his last name Gallan?’

She nodded slowly. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because,’ I said, ‘I was the one who gave him the information.’

Paul Wise was sitting on the villa’s rear terrace watching the sun go down over the clear blue waters of the South China Sea when the phone call came through.

‘Has the package arrived?’ asked Bertie Schagel.

‘It has,’ said Wise. ‘It’s being kept safe in Manila for the moment. I don’t want it brought down here until the last minute.’

‘When is the meeting scheduled for?’

‘Tuesday at eight p.m. Will you be sending your people to collect the package?’

‘My two best men will be in the country tomorrow. They will pick it up and bring it to you on Tuesday morning. They’ll also remain there until the meeting is concluded.’

‘Are these the same two best men who failed to deal with our mutual friend when they ambushed her in her home?’ asked Wise testily.

‘They made a rare mistake,’ replied Schagel with matching testiness. ‘They will not make it a second time.’

‘And what’s happening about our mutual friend now? I
understand she was on the same plane as me coming into Manila.’ He chuckled. ‘I thought that was a nice irony.’

‘She’s being dealt with by one of my other operatives. I’m currently awaiting confirmation that it’s been done.’

‘If he hasn’t seen to her, how easy would it be to get hold of her alive?’

‘No, no, no,’ said Schagel impatiently. ‘It would be far too difficult. It might jeopardize everything. Neither of us can afford that.’

‘I understand, but if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll pay another hundred thousand dollars.’

‘How about we make a compromise?’ said Schagel, ever the businessman. ‘If she hasn’t already been dealt with, I will tell my operative to make it as painful as possible. OK?’

‘Please do. And if he could get me a souvenir – a photo, perhaps, or even better, some footage – I would be most appreciative.’

Schagel chuckled down the line. ‘I will see what I can do.’

When the call had ended, Wise poured himself a glass of Château Coutet 1989 from the bottle in the chiller and took a tiny sip, savouring the taste. A good white wine sipped while watching the sun make its slow descent towards a calm azure sea was one of life’s great pleasures.

As was revenge. Tina Boyd had been a thorn in his side for far too long now. He’d left her alone, thinking that to take her out would only gain him unwanted attention, but still she’d persisted in aggravating him. It was only when her new lover, the journalist Penny, had started poking his nose into affairs that had nothing to do with him that he’d finally concluded enough was enough. Even then, though, she’d managed to weasel her way out of what was coming to her.

But now Tina Boyd had made a huge mistake. She was coming
into territory that Wise knew well, and considered his own. So much so that he was planning to base himself here permanently in the near future, now that his bitch of a wife had demanded a divorce after hearing some of the allegations levelled against him. He had a network of contacts in the Philippines, and even though he’d had to have some of them eliminated for the sake of security, there were plenty of others to call upon.

He took a deep, relaxed breath, savouring the smell of the bougainvillea coming from the garden below, and allowed himself to fantasize about getting his hands on Tina Boyd. He imagined taking her down to the basement beneath the villa where he could use his instruments to beat, humiliate and torture her until he’d debased her to such an extent that her spirit was completely broken. Only when he’d tired of the game would he remind her of his role in the death of her loved ones while he slowly squeezed the last of the life from her. And then, finally, she’d join the others, in a shallow grave among the acacia trees beyond the lawn.

He took another sip of his wine and placed the glass on the marble coffee table.

It was time to talk to Mr Heed, the man looking after the package for him in Manila, and tell him to expect a visit.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ demanded Tina, shocked by the revelation that Dennis Milne, the man who only minutes earlier had been on the verge of killing her, knew something about the murder of her lover John Gallan.

She took another pull on her cigarette, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic in this airless little hotel room thousands of miles from home. A wave of nausea hit her. She knew it was shock. When she’d been staring down the barrel of Milne’s gun, she’d been convinced it was the end of the road, that her luck had finally run out. Strangely, she hadn’t felt any fear. Just a sense of inevitability, as if violent death had always been her destiny. Even so, her heart was still thumping, and her legs felt weak.

‘But John died years after you went on the run,’ she said, forcing herself to focus on this new information.

‘I know,’ said Milne, who was still sitting in the chair by the desk on the other side of the bed. ‘But I came back to England a few years back. I wanted to find out who’d murdered an old colleague of mine. It turned out to be a gang of paedophiles who
called themselves The Hunters. I killed them all, except for a man called Tristram Parnham-Jones, who was the Lord Chief Justice at the time. Because I couldn’t get to Parnham-Jones, I contacted John Gallan, because I knew he was a man I could trust, and I gave him a dossier with all the details of what these guys had done. I heard later that Parnham-Jones committed suicide as well.’