In for the Kill (9 page)

But then why should I? I hardly knew anything about the man Vanessa had married three months after our divorce.

We didn’t speak again until we arrived at the station when Gus offered his hand and said,

‘Good luck.’

On the train and the hovercraft home I went over my conversation with him; one phrase stuck in my mind
.
‘You are dealing with a very clever man.

I suspect he knows your every move before you’ve even
made it.’
Was that a warning? I hadn’t thought so when he had said it, but now I wasn’t so sure. I couldn’t get that pilot’s licence out of my mind.

Where had Gus been when that aeroplane was dive-bombing me? I should find out. Not that I thought he was Andover. Vanessa hadn’t met him until after I’d been in prison for eight months.

The gate to the houseboat squeaked as I pushed it back. A sudden swish of noise came from behind me as I stepped into the forecourt. Before I had time to register what it was, my arms were pinned behind me in a tight grip and a voice hissed in my ear.

‘Make a noise and I break both arms.

Understand?’

I nodded.

‘Good, now let’s go inside and have a quiet talk, shall we?’

In the circumstances it seemed the most sensible thing to do.

‘I gather you’ve been looking for me?’ He stabbed at the light before releasing me. I turned to face him. ‘Clive Westnam,’ he announced.

This time my prison training couldn’t keep the surprise from my face. He looked nothing like his newspaper photographs. He was much thinner, his face was gaunt and the sleekness of power had sloughed off him. The luxuriant silver hair was now thin and greasy and his clothes, an old anorak over a pullover and a pair of suit trousers, were grubby and creased. His shoes were down at heel and scuffed. I thought life had treated me harshly in prison but wherever he had been it hadn’t been much better.

‘Not the man you remember, eh?’

‘Who is?’ I replied harshly.

‘Prison doesn’t seem to have harmed you; except for the hair you look about the same, perhaps fitter. Bloody holiday inside, whilst your victims have suffered you’ve been living the life of Riley.’

‘I would hardly say that.’

‘Then what would you say?’ He thrust his face close to mine but eased back almost immediately when I didn’t react. I’d been frightened by harder men than him. He was a pussycat compared to the psychos who had wanted a piece of me in prison. He could see that he would be no match for me. I was younger and much fitter. If he wanted a fight I could give him one.

‘I didn’t take your money,’ I said evenly.

He laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, come on. I’m not the bloody law.’

‘Did you ever meet me?’ I pressed.

‘You know damn well I didn’t. You called me.

It was your voice and you sent me those e-mails.

You threatened me.’

‘With what?’ I stepped forward. I could see the wariness in his eyes.

‘I thought I was giving to charity. You conned me.’

‘Someone conned us both. What did Andover have on you?’

‘Nothing.’ A flash of anger, but it was bluster.

‘Oh, come on, he had something on all three of you, otherwise you would never have agreed to hand the money over.’

‘I was a company chairman. I had a good job. I had a wife and a lovely house until you came into my life and now I’ve got fuck all.’

I felt like saying join the club. There was one difference between us, I knew I was innocent and I knew that Westnam had a secret that he didn’t want exposed.

‘I want my money back, Albury. I’m going to see that you pay up.’

‘And how are you going to do that?’ I said with a mixture of cockiness and anger. Westnam’s eyes flicked beyond me but before I could react a voice said:

‘He isn’t, I am.’

I spun round. I hadn’t heard or sensed anyone enter, but behind me were two men, one of whom I recognised instantly from my days in Brixton prison. My heart sank and with it came fear. Despite that I forced myself to show little reaction and to keep my voice even when I said,

‘Hello, Rowde.’ I managed to hold his stare, which was difficult because I knew the evil that this man was capable of. I’d been on the receiving end of it many times and had witnessed it being inflicted on others. With Rowde’s appearance the prison smell was back in my nostrils.

‘It’s good to see you again, Alex,’ Rowde replied. He was the slimmer and smaller of the two men.

‘I wish I could say the same of you,’ I said casually, yet meaning every word of it.

He laughed and strode across the room as if he owned it whilst his henchman, a square-set man with eyes like scratched marbles and an expression to match, blocked the door.

‘Nice place you’ve got here.’ Rowde sat down.

Westnam was looking smug but nervous. I could see beads of sweat on his brow. I hoped and prayed there would be none on mine. If I allowed my mind to go back to the time when I had shared a cell with this man, before my transfer to Camp Hill, I would break out in a cold sweat and perspire so heavily he’d think I’d just stepped out of the shower.

‘Got anything to drink?’ Rowde crossed his legs and relaxed into the seat. In contrast to Westnam he was expensively but casually dressed in a lightweight Henri Lloyd sailing jacket over a navy cotton polo neck, and khaki-coloured jeans. He looked as if he had just stepped off a powerful and expensive motorboat. His hair was short and dark with only a few flecks of grey. He was about my age and had put on a bit of weight around the midriff since his release from prison. Apart from that he was the man I remembered, the man who had terrorised me for six months.

‘I’ll fetch some beer.’

‘No, Westnam will do that.’

‘It’s below, in the kitchen.’

Westnam scurried away.

‘You’ve got him well trained.’ I sat down opposite Rowde, trying to emulate his relaxed manner, yet fearing what might come next.

Whatever it would be I doubted it would be very pleasant, for me anyway.

‘He was easier than you.’

‘Yeah, and I’ve still got the scars to prove it.’

‘You always were a stubborn bugger. You know what we’ve come for.’

‘I haven’t got it and I don’t know where it is.’

‘Same old story. I would have thought you’d have learned by now that I don’t like lies and I don’t like liars. Neither does Barry.’ He jerked his head in the direction of marble man.

My mind was racing. How could I get out of this? Where were the police when you needed them? If they were keeping surveillance on me then why the hell had they let this masochist and his thug walk in? But I could answer that question myself: to see where it might lead them.

The police couldn’t demand money with menace but they could let someone else do it and then arrive to take the glory and the money.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you both. I was framed.’

‘So you keep saying. I hope you’re not going to bore me again.’

I didn’t answer. There was nothing I could say.

Westnam was taking his time fetching that beer and I guessed he was having a quick one whilst he was down there. I didn’t blame him. If he was looking for the money though he was going to be disappointed.

Rowde continued. ‘Westnam will be very upset if you don’t give him back his million and so will I. He’s going to give me a commission for helping him.’

‘Does he know that?’

‘Of course.’ Rowde leaned forward and lowered his voice, ‘But he doesn’t know how much.’

Poor sod, I thought.

Rowde laughed as Westnam appeared with two cans of beer. He handed one to Rowde who took it but didn’t drink from it. He held it carefully in his slim hands.

‘Has he told you where it is?’ Westnam said.

‘He will.’

‘You don’t trust this bastard, do you?’ I threw at Westnam.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Why should you?’ I rejoined. ‘If I had the money, and told you where to get it, do you seriously think he’ll let you keep it?’

Westnam threw a nervous glance at Rowde.

Rowde stood up. ‘I think it’s time we stopped all this polite chit chat and got down to some business.’

I saw him nod at marble man and resisted both the temptation to turn round and to stand up. I tried to keep my body language and expression as relaxed as possible which was difficult when I was shit scared.

‘I want that money, Alex, and I’m going to get it.’

Marble man was now beside his boss, towering over him both in height and girth and making Rowde look like a weakling. It made me wonder for a moment how Rowde could be so feared both inside and outside prison. Marble man looked like a thug who would have no compunction in beating a man to death, whereas Rowde looked as though he wouldn’t harm a fly.

But Rowde was clever. He was a manipulator.

He had charm and good looks. He was plausible.

He spun his web and you got caught in it if you weren’t careful. You confided in him. You trusted him. Then he used you and your secrets to get you exactly where he wanted. He was completely without conscience, remorse or guilt.

I said, ‘I suppose you could try beating it out of me, but I’d either give you a false trail to get you off my back, or I’d die and then neither you nor Westnam would get any money. A bit pointless, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Couldn’t agree with you more, Alex, which is why we’re not going to do that.’

He picked up the photograph of David and Philip and the blood froze in my veins. I dug my fingers into the palms of my hands so hard that the knuckles turned white. Westnam, holding his beer, looked like a rabbit caught in the glare of car headlamps. Marble man smiled at me. I could have kicked his teeth down his throat, but that’s what he would have liked me to try, and with three of them I didn’t like the odds. I wasn’t going to win whichever way you looked at it.

‘Nice-looking boys,’ Rowde said.

I remained silent.

‘You wouldn’t want anything to happen to them. Be a pity to see those pretty faces scarred for life.’

I leapt forward but marble man put a great big paw on my chest.

‘Leave them alone,’ I hissed.

‘I wouldn’t dream of hurting them,
normally,
but these aren’t normal times, are they, Alex? You have something I want. And these boys are something you want. I’m prepared to do a deal.

You get me the money and the boys stay unharmed. And don’t think I don’t know where they are because I know exactly where they live and where they go to school. Getting to them is child’s play, if you’ll excuse the pun.’ He gave an evil smile.

I ran a hand through my hair. ‘For Christ’s sake, Rowde, how many times do I have to tell you I don’t have the money. It was a scam, a fit-up, a frame.’

‘Then you’d better find out who did it and ask him for the money.’

‘What do you think I’m trying to do?’ I almost screeched. ‘When I find the money you can have it with pleasure.’

But Rowde shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough. I need it now and so does Mr Westnam. You’ve got seven days, Alex, until next Tuesday morning, 8am.’

‘How the fuck can I get it for you when I don’t know where it is!’

‘That’s your problem. Perhaps your rich lawyer friend will loan it to you. And I wouldn’t bother going to the police, that would make me and Barry very unhappy; so unhappy that I would have to take revenge.’

He threw the photograph onto the floor and ground his heel into it smashing the glass. I made to surge forward feeling as if he’d physically wounded my boys, but marble man held me back.

‘It just slipped right out of my hand,’ Rowde said. ‘Seven days, Alex, then I’ll be back for the money or your boys get that treatment for real. I promise you that and you know I always keep my promises.’

Only too well, I thought, recalling the beatings he’d arranged for me to take in prison. I nodded.

Rowde smiled. ‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it? I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Now I think it’s time we were leaving. Thanks for the beer but I’m not thirsty.’ He poured the contents over the photograph, threw the can down and stamped on it. I felt as though he was stamping on my heart.

He brushed past me with Westnam in tow. I saw Rowde nod briefly at marble man and tried to tense myself for the blow that was to come but it made no difference, it still hurt like hell.

He knew just where to strike, on the lower left hand side of my back. I went down like a sack of potatoes. His boot came into my kidneys. I screamed in pain, and again it came. I felt my head being pulled up by the hair and then wrenched back with his punch. I tasted the hot sticky blood as it ran out of my mouth.

‘And here’s one for luck, just to remind you of what your boys might suffer.’

Another kick in the gut. Then the lights went out. It was black and deep and it swallowed me up.

When I opened my eyes it felt as though someone had inserted a red-hot poker up my nose and singed my brain. It was some time later when I tried again. This time the poker was still there but it wasn’t quite so hot. I was staring up at the ceiling. How many weeks had passed since I’d entered prison? I had no coherent memory to draw on. My recollections of people, procedures and prison were just a jumble in my head, as unreal as a dream, or rather nightmare.

They had no substance. It was as if I were watching it from the outside, a near death experience. That was me going through reception, lying on my narrow prison bed, eating prison food off plastic trays with plastic cutlery, but it wasn’t me. Perhaps I was inside someone else’s head. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

‘You’re awake then?’

Since when had they allowed women into my prison? I swivelled my eyes and with a start saw my neighbour, Scarlett, sitting beside my bed. I frowned, then wished I hadn’t. The poker had friends; tiny needles shot through my head.

‘How are you feeling?’

A hell of a lot better now I know I’m not in prison I nearly replied, but stopped myself. I found the roof of my mouth and said: ‘I’ll live.’

She looked pleased, which surprised me. Her brown eyes softened and she smiled. A first. She should do it more often, I thought. She was quite attractive. Vanessa had been unkind in her remarks. Scarlett simply didn’t conform when it came to clothes and appearance. Her hair was streaked with a myriad of different hues, including blue and green this time and she was wearing a loose-fitting floral blouse over a long multicoloured skirt.