A Hard Woman to Kill (The DCI Hanlon Series) (38 page)

Eventually she got out of the shower and towelled herself dry. She felt renewed. She put on her ridiculously sexy nightdress and lacy kimono, feeling slightly absurd, and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. My, my, she thought. She slipped quietly through the door into the bedroom.

‘Is that for me?’ asked Enver. His eyes drank in the sight of her, exceeding his wildest dreams. He had never seen such an attractive-looking woman wearing so little. The bandage round his head looked like a turban in the half-light, his powerfully muscled arms dark and naked against the white sheet that covered him.

‘In your condition?’ asked Huss. She was backlit by the light from the bathroom door, her nakedness and the curves of her body emphasized by the nightwear.

‘Particularly in my condition,’ said Enver. Huss smiled and slipped under the sheet next to Enver. They reached for each other hungrily.

I would imagine Enver Demirel’s fine,’ said Hanlon. She didn’t add,
No thanks to you
. It would have been a cheap shot.

‘Drink, Hanlon?’ asked Corrigan. He gestured expansively towards the darkened bar area, the ranks of serried bottles. ‘The place is ours.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m driving, sir, and I have things to do when I get home.’

Instead she told Corrigan a carefully edited version of the whole business from the start. She left out anything connected with Anderson. She no longer cared what happened to her, but that might hurt Whiteside and he had been hurt enough.

Corrigan said little while she briefed him. He drank some more Scotch, but mainly contented himself with swirling the pale liquor around in his glass. It was a Laphroaig, a west coast malt from Islay. Corrigan could taste the peat from the water it was made from; its smell reminded him of a childhood long ago. Of a burning fire in a cottage when he’d been a boy on holiday.

He knew Hanlon was leaving great chunks out. But let her, he thought. If it wasn’t for her, well – he didn’t deal in ifs, but he was profoundly grateful.

‘Mawson was a shock, sir. I was expecting Edward Li or even Serg to be the Russians’ man in the government, never him.’

‘You should never trust likeable bosses, Hanlon,’ said Corrigan. ‘You’re better off with old bastards like me.’ He sighed. ‘He was my friend. I’ve known him since I was, what, seventeen. But now we know what we know. . . Well, he gave up being a firearms officer after he killed an armed suspect. He was exonerated and he said he couldn’t go on doing that job after that, but it did look suspiciously like he’d shot him for fun. But because he was who he was, Mr Nice Guy, well, we never thought anything of it. We thought, it’s Mawson, it can’t be. His wife died unexpectedly too, come to think of it. I have a horrible feeling that if we started looking into his past. . .
Straw dogs
, eh, Hanlon.’

He fell silent, frowning. He hadn’t imagined Mawson capable of anything like this. He certainly wouldn’t be making any of that public. All Mawson’s cases gone over, floods of litigation and appeals. God knows what the press would make of it. Mawson could take all of this to the grave with him.

Let Mawson become one of his own statistics. Let DC McIntyre, or whatever she was called, put photos of Mawson out on social media and the Internet. Hanlon could start the investigation into his disappearance.

‘I got your email, Hanlon.’

‘My resignation, sir.’

He nodded. ‘What was it Surikov said to you about duty?’

‘He said, sir, “If I left I would feel a traitor.”’

‘Well,’ said Corrigan, ‘you care about people, Hanlon. Surikov has Russia. You’ve got London and an abstract sense of fair play. If you left you’d regret it. You’re not even going to face an inquiry over this. Nothing, technically, has happened.’

Hanlon felt a surge of affection laced with irritation towards Corrigan.

‘I may have arranged an operation for Mark Whiteside,’ she said. ‘I need to concentrate on that, sir.’

Corrigan brightened. He poured himself a massive Scotch.

‘Six months’ compassionate leave, Hanlon, effective in a fortnight. We can put it down to post-traumatic stress from your last case, followed by six months’ unpaid leave but your job open if you want it. Think of it as your gap year, Hanlon. Deal?’

Despite herself, she smiled. Corrigan thought, I’ve hardly ever seen her do that. It transformed Hanlon’s sombre face. He suddenly thought sadly, I wish I wasn’t so old. Oh, well. I suppose I’d better look wise and avuncular.

A gap year, she thought. She leaned forward and shook his hand. ‘Deal. So what are you going to do about the Russians, sir?’

‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ said Corrigan. ‘The only witness of tonight is this Arkady Belanov and he won’t be coming forward. God knows what will happen to Myasnikov’s businesses but that’s not my concern. Enver and Huss can forget the whole thing happened and you tell me that Joad will seek early retirement. Mawson’s gone.’

‘Well, Hanlon, you’re still in Missing Persons,’ he said, draining his Scotch. ‘In a couple of days you can add Mawson to the list. I doubt he’ll be turning up.’

Hanlon thought of the Edmonton Waste Incinerator near Anderson’s pub.

‘No, sir, I don’t think he will.’

It was four a.m by the time Hanlon wearily opened the door to her studio flat. In the east she could see the darkness beginning to lift.

Like Huss earlier, she stripped off her clothes. Like Huss, she bundled them into a bin bag for disposal later. Like Huss, she showered with intense concentration.

She wrapped a towel round her wet hair and stood naked by the window, looking out at the Thames far below, her face inscrutable. She picked up her phone.

Oksana’s number appeared and Hanlon tapped in:
A life for a life.
Five words. She pressed send. She hoped it would bring Oksana some measure of solace. That was the past dealt with as best she could. Her obligation discharged.

She selected another number and this time she hesitated. This was the future. She reached a decision.

Serg answered immediately. ‘Hello, Hanlon.’ His voice was full of suppressed elation.

For the second time in an hour she smiled. She knew that she’d said goodbye once; she’d hardly be phoning to confirm. ‘You’re not the only one with father issues, Serg. I’m in Berlin next month, the twenty-eighth is a Friday. I’ll be at the Neue National Galerie at eleven a.m., by the Beuys gallery.’

Serg’s response was coolly matter of fact. ‘Potsdamer Straße.’

‘I thought you’d know it.’

‘I’ll be there,’ he said.

‘I know you will,’ said Hanlon.

~

We hope you enjoyed this book.

The next gripping instalment in the DCI Hanlon series will be released in autumn 2016

For more information, click one of the links below:

Acknowledgements

Alex Howard

More books in the DCI Hanlon series

An invitation from the publisher

I received a great deal of help from various people but I would particularly like to thank the following: Narine Jordan for her invaluable assistance in translating Russian expressions and vocabulary. Roger Prior for help with what stripped down Landrovers look like.

The following are recommended to anyone remotely interested in Russian crime:
Putin’s Russia
by Anna Politkovskaya
Angel of Grozny
by Asne Seierstad
Investigating the Russian Mafia
by Joseph di Serio
Mafia State
by Luke Harding
And also of interest,
Stasiland
by Anna Funder

C
HECHNYA:
an incorruptible security officer is assassinated.

B
ERLIN:
a small child grieves for his father.

I
N THE EAST:
a psychopath sets his feet on the first rungs of his criminal career.

A frightened Russian woman seeks DCI Hanlon's help in finding her missing husband. Hanlon's not keen on the case. Until she hears a name she recognises only too well. ArkadyBelanov, sadistic pimp and owner of an exclusive brothel in Oxford, is involved.

When DI EnverDemirel, her former partner and friend, disappears, Hanlon is forced into an uneasy alliance with the London underworld to rescue him from the blood-stained hands of the Russian mafia.

‘Meet my new favourite detective – DI Hanlon.

‘She’s not that likeable. But I loved her. She’s not all that trustworthy. But you’d want her on your side. . . If you get on her radar beware – yet if you gain her trust and her loyalty she will fight for you until her last breath.

‘This dark and sinister tale of missing children is brilliantly done, authentic and doesn’t pull any punches. . . The story twists and turns its way to an edge of the seat conclusion.

‘Highly recommended.’

LizLovesBooks

A
LEX
H
OWARD
was born in London and educated at St Peter’s College, Oxford and Edinburgh University, where he studied Arabic and Islamic History. He worked in adult education for the British Council and other institutions in the Middle East and London. He is married with two children.

Visit
alexhowardcrime.com
Or visit his
Facebook page
.

The kidnap of a 12-year-old diabetic boy blows the case of some missing children wide open and the finger is pointing at the heart of the Met. Only one woman is incorruptible enough to handle it.

Time to Die
is available
here
.