there was a vehicle tucked in
front of the ferry shed. A plain white Citroen van, no livery. The
driver’s window was open, a man’s arm protruding from it, holding
a cigarette.
Must be here to do maintenance work, Joe thought, although twenty
past four on a Friday seemed an odd time for it.
But it was the identity of the Cadillac’s passenger that was uppermost
in his mind. He waited until they were across the bridge, then
looked at Cassie again.
'I take it that was your husband’s visitor?’
'I suppose so.’
'Do you know who he is?’
'Not a clue.’
Joe smiled. He couldn’t tell if she was resentful of him, or of Valentin,
or just that the line of enquiry bored her.
'What about that enormous boat sitting off the island?’
'Oh, I heard them talking about that. Valentin chartered it. He was
moaning because the minimum term is a week and he only needs it
for today.’
'What’s wrong with his own yacht?’
'Not impressive enough.’
'For this meeting?’
She nodded. 'He’s thinking of replacing his one with something
bigger. I saw him looking at brochures the other day.’
Joe pondered for a moment, then risked another impertinent
question. 'That’s a brave move in the current climate, isn’t it?’
'It’s crazy, if you ask me. But it’s up to Valentin. He knows whether
or not he can afford it.’
The van driver watched the Shogun until it was out of sight. He took
a final drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt towards the water. It
fell short, landing on the wet mud at the foot of the slipway. He turned
to his colleague, who was hunched over, writing on a notepad balanced
on his knee.
'Got that?’ the driver said.
'Incoming, a Cadillac limo, two male occupants. Outgoing,
Mitsubishi Shogun. One male, one female, two kiddies.’
'That was the Russki’s lot.’
'Ukrainian,’ the passenger corrected. 'Nasenko’s from the Ukraine.’
The driver shrugged. You’re confusing me with someone who gives
a fuck.’
Eleven
Priya wanted to leave the estate agent’s body where it was, but Liam
vetoed the suggestion.
'Someone else might turn up. We can’t open the front door while
he’s lying there.’
Reluctantly she agreed, and helped him unload some of the lighter
equipment from the van: the kitbags containing their clothes, masks
and gloves. For wrapping up valuables they’d brought rolls of bubble
wrap, heavy-duty garbage bags and packing tape, plus paper towels
and bleach to erase any trace of their presence.
Not that he’d envisaged a job on this scale, Liam thought.
Donning latex gloves, they placed the body on a bed of garbage
bags, then wrapped it and bound it with tape. Liam scouted the downstairs
rooms and found an office that would suffice for temporary
storage.
Mopping up the congealed blood was a much tougher proposition.
Priya had found a bucket in the garage, which she filled with hot
water and bleach. Taking a stack of paper towels each, they knelt on
opposite sides of the slick and set to work.
Within seconds they were both gagging. The rich metallic odour
of the blood was bad enough. Mixed with the acrid tang of bleach
and the thick stench of bodily waste, it was almost overpowering. Liam
fetched a couple of ski masks and handed one to Priya.
'Try this,’ he said. 'It might help.’
Priya nodded. Her posture was unnaturally straight as she tried to
keep her head as far as possible from the mess on the floor. She worked
with slow, thrifty movements, often with her eyes averted. Not shirking
from the task, as he first assumed; but definitely unhappy about something.
Liam
endured the mask for less than five minutes, then pulled it
off and hurled it over his shoulder. Too hot.
Shortly afterwards Priya did the same. For the first time today there
was a sheen of sweat on her face. A few strands of hair had escaped
her ponytail and glued themselves to her cheek. Glaring at the floor,
she began to scrub harder, grunting angrily, and that was when Liam
understood.
It wasn’t distaste at the idea of
front of the ferry shed. A plain white Citroen van, no livery. The
driver’s window was open, a man’s arm protruding from it, holding
a cigarette.
Must be here to do maintenance work, Joe thought, although twenty
past four on a Friday seemed an odd time for it.
But it was the identity of the Cadillac’s passenger that was uppermost
in his mind. He waited until they were across the bridge, then
looked at Cassie again.
'I take it that was your husband’s visitor?’
'I suppose so.’
'Do you know who he is?’
'Not a clue.’
Joe smiled. He couldn’t tell if she was resentful of him, or of Valentin,
or just that the line of enquiry bored her.
'What about that enormous boat sitting off the island?’
'Oh, I heard them talking about that. Valentin chartered it. He was
moaning because the minimum term is a week and he only needs it
for today.’
'What’s wrong with his own yacht?’
'Not impressive enough.’
'For this meeting?’
She nodded. 'He’s thinking of replacing his one with something
bigger. I saw him looking at brochures the other day.’
Joe pondered for a moment, then risked another impertinent
question. 'That’s a brave move in the current climate, isn’t it?’
'It’s crazy, if you ask me. But it’s up to Valentin. He knows whether
or not he can afford it.’
The van driver watched the Shogun until it was out of sight. He took
a final drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt towards the water. It
fell short, landing on the wet mud at the foot of the slipway. He turned
to his colleague, who was hunched over, writing on a notepad balanced
on his knee.
'Got that?’ the driver said.
'Incoming, a Cadillac limo, two male occupants. Outgoing,
Mitsubishi Shogun. One male, one female, two kiddies.’
'That was the Russki’s lot.’
'Ukrainian,’ the passenger corrected. 'Nasenko’s from the Ukraine.’
The driver shrugged. You’re confusing me with someone who gives
a fuck.’
Eleven
Priya wanted to leave the estate agent’s body where it was, but Liam
vetoed the suggestion.
'Someone else might turn up. We can’t open the front door while
he’s lying there.’
Reluctantly she agreed, and helped him unload some of the lighter
equipment from the van: the kitbags containing their clothes, masks
and gloves. For wrapping up valuables they’d brought rolls of bubble
wrap, heavy-duty garbage bags and packing tape, plus paper towels
and bleach to erase any trace of their presence.
Not that he’d envisaged a job on this scale, Liam thought.
Donning latex gloves, they placed the body on a bed of garbage
bags, then wrapped it and bound it with tape. Liam scouted the downstairs
rooms and found an office that would suffice for temporary
storage.
Mopping up the congealed blood was a much tougher proposition.
Priya had found a bucket in the garage, which she filled with hot
water and bleach. Taking a stack of paper towels each, they knelt on
opposite sides of the slick and set to work.
Within seconds they were both gagging. The rich metallic odour
of the blood was bad enough. Mixed with the acrid tang of bleach
and the thick stench of bodily waste, it was almost overpowering. Liam
fetched a couple of ski masks and handed one to Priya.
'Try this,’ he said. 'It might help.’
Priya nodded. Her posture was unnaturally straight as she tried to
keep her head as far as possible from the mess on the floor. She worked
with slow, thrifty movements, often with her eyes averted. Not shirking
from the task, as he first assumed; but definitely unhappy about something.
Liam
endured the mask for less than five minutes, then pulled it
off and hurled it over his shoulder. Too hot.
Shortly afterwards Priya did the same. For the first time today there
was a sheen of sweat on her face. A few strands of hair had escaped
her ponytail and glued themselves to her cheek. Glaring at the floor,
she began to scrub harder, grunting angrily, and that was when Liam
understood.
It wasn’t distaste at the idea of
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