Cut to the Bone (23 page)

Kate held his wrist, put a hand to his face.

‘Zain,’ she said. ‘You’ve turned pale; you’re sweating. What’s wrong? Shall I get you some water?’

Zain looked at her. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever called me Zain before,’ he said.

Illogical, but it was enough. It drew him back, he took a drink of his Scotch, his heart still playing drums, but the loss of consciousness that threatened had abated.

‘Can we go for a walk?’ he said.

Chapter Sixty-seven

The hotel was surrounded by forest. They stood at the back of the hotel building, looking out over a lawn, staring into the black trees.

‘You got a smoke?’ he said, shivering.

‘No,’ she said.

The sky was clouded, but stars flashed like coins between them. The moon was almost full.

‘At least you know where the moon was in its cycle,’ he said. ‘It looks so different, doesn’t it? Without all that light pollution in London.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Reminds me of home.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Always,’ she said.

‘Why don’t you go back?’

‘Sometimes you can’t,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

She looked up, over the forest line. Her eyes caught the stars, shone in their light, her head tilted back, her mouth slightly open. Zain felt the urge to kiss her. He imagined it.

‘What happened at Portsmouth?’ she said.

Zain looked into the sky now, all thoughts of Riley’s mouth gone.

What had happened at Portsmouth? He was in a shipping container, one of thousands stacked up along the harbour.

‘Desperate acts happened there,’ he said. ‘They took my toenails off. One by one.’

Kate shuddered next to him. He had no jacket to offer her, so he moved closer until their arms were touching. His bare arm against the cloth of her shirt. Heat sealed the place where they touched. Desire rose in him.

‘I gave them nothing,’ he said, lying.

They weren’t there to disagree.

‘They found us, though, the SAS. I got rescued, the terrorists got killed, imprisoned.’

Zain remembered those moments. He’d thought it was all over for him.

‘Fuck, you must be depressed. I’ve depressed myself, and I went through the whole shitty experience.’ Zain laughed. He heard only a trace of mania through it.

‘And you got over it?’ she said.

She looked into his eyes, her face blue in the glow of hotel security lights and moonlight. Kate reached out, her fingers running over his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. She was as tall as him, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Zain did the same, closing his eyes, feeling the adrenalin, the sheer lust. He felt himself respond to her, and for a moment it was OK. They were hungry, raw. He lived in those seconds, when two people were giving in to something. He kissed her neck, his hands going under her shirt; he sucked at her breast through her shirt.

She reached her hands back, over the nape of his neck, through his hair, and that’s when he started to panic. The touch against his neck. And then they weren’t two people kissing anymore; this wasn’t a prelude to sleeping together.

He felt trapped, the heat of their bodies cloying. He tasted her tongue, hoping it would ease the anxiety, but it felt fleshy, like meat. He gagged, pulled away, and threw up.

‘Well, I’ve never had that effect on a guy before,’ she said.

Outside her bedroom door, he tried to explain. She brushed him off, said it didn’t matter.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, again.

‘Goodnight, DS Harris,’ she said.

She opened her door, but before she could close it behind her, he put his foot in to stop it. He pushed the door back, and shut it softly. Kate didn’t pay attention to him. She took her boots off, sat down on the bed. She stared at him, daring him to watch her. She started unbuttoning her shirt, then took her trousers off. She got into bed, in just her underwear.

He felt stirring again; he should be all over her.

She lay staring at the ceiling, then switched the light off.

‘Please go away,’ she said. ‘You’re making it worse.’

He took his own boots off, and lay down on the bed next to her, on top of the duvet. The downy material separating them.

‘I haven’t been able to,’ he said. ‘Since they did that. When I get close . . . when you touched the back of my neck like that . . . they were going to behead me. In that container, they had a sword to my neck. They were going to stick me on the internet.’

She didn’t reply, but turned around so she was facing in his direction. He had his hands under his head, looking up at the darkened ceiling.

‘Being touched, like that, I can’t explain it. I freak out, and I panic, and I can’t do it.’

‘You could have said, told me to stop. You didn’t have to demonstrate your disgust.’

He laughed. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never done that with a girl before, either.’

‘Great,’ she said, sarcastically.

‘I was pushing through it, because I wanted you so badly. I ignored the warning signs.’

‘Probably for the best,’ she said. ‘I am a little drunk right now. I think we both would have regretted it in the morning.’

He agreed in his head. When she found out he had betrayed her, and lied to her, it would feel a thousand times worse if they had slept together.

‘I don’t think I would regret it,’ he said.

Chapter Sixty-eight

The grainy images played out in front of him. He froze, then zoomed in. Pressed play again.

‘Who else has seen this?’ said Jed Byrne.

‘Just the two of us, internally,’ said Anderson.

They were in Byrne’s office in Soho, the blinds closed, all calls being held.

‘How did you get hold of this?’ asked Jed.

‘Used some pals of mine. They logged into the city-wide grid for me, did a facial recognition search,’ said Anderson.

‘How did you know where to look?’

‘I keep tabs on all our clients. I knew exactly where to look.’

Jed wondered if a tab was being kept on him, too. ‘Have you covered our tracks?’ he said.

‘Completely,’ said Anderson.

‘I need you to be sure. I can’t let this go public until there’s not even a hint of our involvement.’

Jed looked at his head of security, trying to find a flicker of doubt. There wasn’t one. Anderson was ex-SAS, a security veteran. When had he gone bad, wondered Jed. There must have been a turning point when he lost his way. What was it? Too much death, a love story, or just good old-fashioned greed? Jed didn’t have much time for people like Anderson, but his father had insisted. If he was going to fund MINDNET, then he wanted one of his own men on the inside.

That raised the question of trust. How much could he trust this man, his father’s man? Was he reporting back, divulging Jed’s failures? That couldn’t be the case; Jed would have surely felt the fallout by now.

‘I don’t make idle promises, and I don’t do half measures,’ said Anderson, his accent strong when he was trying to be sincere. ‘When I say we’re safe, we’re safe.’

Jed liked the ‘we’ in that sentence. Anderson was aware that his own balls were in the shredder if things went badly for them. How to keep men like Anderson close, and loyal: dirty their hands as much as your own.

Jed wiped his fingers over his face, feeling two days’ sweat and oil on his skin. For forty-eight hours, he had been too wired, nervous, scared. Hadn’t wanted to eat or shower. He went through bouts of sitting and staring, imagining the worst, his nerves shot. Bile instead of saliva in his mouth. Then frenetic energy, pacing. His life strangling him, making him claustrophobic.

Was Anderson finally giving him the space to breathe?

‘Then let’s do this, let’s see how it plays out.’

‘We could do very well out of this,’ said Anderson.

‘Yes, I can see that. The timing has to be right, though.’

‘I would suggest we don’t send it directly,’ said Anderson. ‘That detective, she’s too unfazed, too sure of herself. She’ll be here asking questions immediately.’

‘I don’t get it. You said you’ve removed all links to us?’ Jed hated the thought of Riley anywhere near him.

‘They found the contract,’ said Anderson.

‘Fuck,’ said Jed. ‘How?’

‘It was printed off, shredded in the girl’s bedroom.’

‘Paper. Fucking paper.’

The sick, twisted feeling was coming back. The pressure was tight in his chest, in his head. How could that have happened?

‘Relax, sir. We’ll deal with it.’

Jed pulled a bottle of whisky from his desk. He needed another shot to calm him. He’d finished off a bottle the night before, trying to medicate himself to sleep. It only worked to help him pass out.

‘How do we get the video to Riley, then?’ he said, filling a tumbler on his desk.

‘Rourke,’ said Anderson. ‘That way, there’s nothing to link back to us.’

Jed smiled. Yes, Karl Rourke. The desperate fool.

Jed felt another muscle relax, the breathing come more easily. Rourke could deal with Riley; she was only a woman, after all. How good could she possibly be?

Chapter Sixty-nine

Kate was in the conference room with her team. Zain was wearing shades, to allegedly cover dark circles and tired eyes. Kate was fine with it, though; she wanted to avoid looking into them, seeing the night before reflected back at her.

Where was her head? He was working for her. Why him? She couldn’t cross that line, not with a work colleague.

The drive back to the London HQ had passed in silence, no music, just the news on Radio 5. Ruby was still headline-worthy, the search in Hampshire the lead item. So far, Kate had avoided the press. She didn’t want to appear on TV, or have her picture in the papers. She wanted to keep her cover.

She wondered what she would look like to someone from her past. The blonde girl gone, a brunette woman in her stead.

‘I’ve seen stuff like this on
CSI
,’ said Rob Pelt. He was chewing a plastic spoon that he’d used earlier to stir Sweet’N Low into his decaf coffee. Out of all of them, he looked the most freshest. He seemed so unconcerned all the time. How did he switch off?

‘How do we pin it down? Show that he strapped her to the chair, led her into the woods?’ said Zain.

‘Do we have anything from Forensics?’ said Kate.

‘His partial prints are on the tape, the one used to strap Ruby to the chair. On the boat, they found fingerprints, and some hair,’ said Rob.

‘Circumstantial,’ said Zain. ‘He owns that place, and the boat. Everything would potentially have his prints on it.’

‘How did he restrain her with just tape?’ said Stevie.

‘It’s specialised, made from nanotechnology. Silica atoms, blasted to a millionth of an inch, then hammered back together. It would be like being restrained by steel.’

They all turned to stare at Zain.

‘What?’ he said, noting their surprise. ‘They make it at UCL; they have a nanotechnology department. I was there on a case, once, learned a few things.’

‘How do you know it’s the same stuff?’ said Stevie.

‘Saw the roll on the kitchen table,’ said Zain.

‘We back up the forensic evidence with the text messages, the emails,’ said Kate. ‘His lack of an alibi is key. We have a strong case against him. Hope is keen for us to proceed. That means he’s cleared it with the lawyers.’

‘Over golf or pints at his club,’ muttered Stevie.

‘Don’t think they do pints in his club,’ said Rob.

‘Whatever,’ said Stevie.

She skulked down into her jacket, her hands in the pockets. Her legs were stretched under the table, her boots tapping the floor as her legs bounced. She concentrated better by using up her excess energy that way.

‘What we need is the body,’ said Rob.

‘Plenty of people get convicted without a body,’ said Stevie.

‘When he gets nailed in court, and banged up, to become some guy’s bitch, that’s when I’ll celebrate,’ said Zain. ‘Because I’ve seen too many guilty bastards walk.’

‘Cynical freak,’ said Stevie.

‘What is your fucking problem?’ said Zain.

‘It’s speaking to me? I mean, what the hell, Harris. You think you’re in
Heat
magazine? What are the shades for?’

‘Get a grip,’ said Zain.

‘You guys are making me turn to religion,’ said Rob. ‘And drink.’

‘It’s true, though, come off it,’ said Zain. ‘Your case – remember the guy who arranged to help his brother-in-law kill his love rival? Got off with a crap excuse. That’s what happens. Fucking judges.’

‘That was harsh, took me ages to get over that,’ said Rob. ‘How did you know about that, anyway?’

Zain froze.

‘I wonder what else he knows,’ said Stevie.

‘Whatever it is, I hope it’s related to this investigation,’ said Kate.

She felt tired, suddenly. She had let them all start work late that morning. Zain had dropped her off at HQ, giving her enough time to head home, check in on her mother and Ryan. Both were in a mood but she couldn’t unpick why, and she didn’t have the time. Something had happened.

‘I have to go early today,’ Ryan had said.

Kate agreed to be home by six-thirty.

‘And I need some time off,’ he had added.

Kate had felt her world shift. What was going on? She would have to speak to her mother that evening. With no Ryan, she didn’t see how she could manage her life.

There was a knock on the door. Lia told her Karl Rourke was in reception, needed to speak to her urgently.

Michelle played the footage Rourke had brought with him. He was nervous, a layer of sweat on his face. He was touching his hair a lot, smoothing it down, wiping at his nose.

On the screen, they saw a man in a hoodie walking through a council estate.

‘Where is that?’ said Kate.

‘Carsdale,’ said Rourke.

Carsdale estate was notorious, set over six blocks in Peckham. It was standard London council estate, solid bricks, white-framed windows.

The man walked past parked cars, a group of young men huddled together.

The camera angle changed, catching the man from the front, his face visible, even though his hair and chin were covered. The eyes. They were huge, distinctive.