Fifth Victim (39 page)

Raleigh insisted we take the club runabout – the GMC pickup he’d used as a tow vehicle to collect Dina’s horses. It was sitting on the yard with half a dozen fence posts and a bale of straw stacked in the back. We drove out of the yard making a beeline for the far side of the course, and The Coffin. If the size of some of the other fences we passed on the way were anything to go by, it was going to be just as scary as its name suggested.

Back when I’d had horses of my own as a teenager in Cheshire, I’d never ridden beyond inter-county level, with the fences smaller and less well nailed together than these. But even so, coffins had never been my favourite.

They were a three-part obstacle with a straightforward rail in that tricked you into approaching too boldly, but the landing surface dropped away unexpectedly. At the bottom of the slope was the lined ditch that gave the fence its name, then usually a single stride back uphill to another rail.

Get the first element wrong and there was very little chance of recovery. It was a test of rhythm and control on the part of the rider, and bravery and fitness on the part of the horse.

The Coffin on the riding club course was possibly at the furthest point away from the stable yard and any chance of disturbance or discovery. Without Ross’s garbled warning, we would never have had any reason to look for it.

The natural landscape had that slightly too-perfect look about it that made it certainly artificial. The whole place had been reshaped to provide changes in elevation, and planted with trees to make the approaches to obstacles sudden and surprising. When Raleigh had been let loose to design this course, it seemed they’d given him an open chequebook and he’d taken full advantage of the fact.

Now, we bumped over the rough ground, slithering despite the four-wheel drive, following a set of similar tracks to our own.

‘Should be just past that next bunch of trees up on the left,’ Parker said, tense, reading from the pocket version of the map, which Raleigh had given us. ‘Stop here, Charlie, and we’ll go in on foot. We don’t want to spook him.’

I pulled the pickup a little closer to the shelter of the trees and cut the engine. The sudden silence was broken as Parker pulled out the Glock he carried and racked a round into the chamber.

He glanced across, a question in his eyes, and I realised that this was the first time I’d been into a situation alone with him. On a rational level he completely understood that I was up to the job, but purely on an emotional level, that was another matter.

‘You don’t have to worry about me, Parker,’ I said tightly. ‘Just stay out of my line of fire.’

He nodded, a flicker of a smile lingering around his eyes, and we both climbed out, dropping down lightly onto the grass. Parker reverted to hand signals immediately, indicating we split up round the trees to approach from different angles, then loped away, moving with a stealth and speed that did not fit with his suited attire.

I skirted the copse as fast and quiet as I could, keeping my own SIG out and ready. I could smell fresh earth and wet leaves, hear birds squabbling in the branches overhead, the drip of residual water from the leaves. Apart from that, it was quiet as the grave.

So, into that peaceful background rustle, the crack of a single gunshot somewhere ahead of me was loud and shocking.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

I abandoned any attempts at stealth and ran. As I knew from experience, the noise of an unsuppressed gunshot would cause a temporary hearing shift in those at close proximity. It should be more than enough to mask the sound of our approach.

I hoped Parker was taking advantage of that fact, too. And I realised, much as he had reservations about me, I was just as unsure of him. I’d been in so many tight spots with Sean that it was as though we worked by some kind of psychic link, knowing instinctively what the other was thinking, how they would react, what they would or would not do.

Parker, by the very nature of his position, no longer spent much time in the field. Hell, he didn’t even carry his sidearm with a round ready in the chamber …

As I neared the far side of the trees, I slowed, moving at a sideways crouch and leading with the SIG, straining to hear above the pounding of my heart. I took a couple of deep breaths to steady my aim, and edged closer, forcing myself to trust that Parker was mirroring my advance.

And then, beyond the branches, I caught sight of colour and movement. A man, standing in the back of a pickup, shovelling earth through the open tailgate. He was working fast and furtive, head down with the effort of his labours, putting his back into it.

Hunt.

I stilled, eyes sliding around me. Raleigh had said he wasn’t alone, so where was Lennon? And what about the gunshot we’d heard? Had Hunt decided to give Dina the mercy of a quick and relatively painless death rather than the long slow agony of suffocation?

I clamped down hard on that thought. If she was dead, then I had failed utterly.

Soft-footed now, cautious, I moved forward, right arm straight and left locked in to support it, keeping the SIG canted up so the centre of Hunt’s body mass stayed firmly in my sights. He had stripped down to a plain white shirt and rolled back his sleeves. The shirt was glued to his back with sweat, and was thin enough that I could tell he wore no protective armour underneath it.

Mind you – this time, neither did I.

As I cleared cover, I saw that Hunt had backed the pickup down to one end of the ditch element of the obstacle, and was currently filling it in with frantic haste. He bent again, his back still towards me. I reached the first rail part of the fence. It came up to my waist, telegraph-pole thick and forbidding.

And as I looked over it, down the slope, I saw a piece of cloth sticking out of the new earth in the ditch. Not just cloth, but the leg of a pair of trousers. More than that, a half-bent knee. I froze.

Dina?

And as the thought formed, I dismissed it. The leg was the wrong size, the wrong shape. Male …

‘Hello, Charlie!’

Disappointingly, Hunt’s voice did not sound in the least surprised at my sudden appearance. What surprised me about
him
, however, was the fact that all trace of his British accent had disappeared.

He’d straightened while my attention had been momentarily distracted by the body, and instead of the long-handled shovel, he was now gripping a silvered semi-automatic, probably a Colt, with self-assurance and familiarity. I remembered the almost casual way he’d shot McGregor in the gut during Dina’s abduction. Another good reason to kill him.

‘So, absolutely nothing about you is for real, huh?’ I said. ‘Not even your voice.’

‘Fooled you, though, didn’t I, Charlie? You swallowed that bullshit tale about Oxford and fox-hunting without a flicker.’

I remembered my doubts about his accent, the first time we’d met. I’d put it down to elocution lessons, or snobbery. My mistake.

I focused on him, avoided looking round too obviously.
Where the hell is Parker
?

‘I don’t suppose you believe for a moment that I’ve come alone,’ I said cheerfully, not lowering my own weapon.

He laughed. ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘You’re certainly arrogant enough.’

‘You’ve room to talk.’

‘Yes, I suppose I have. Is this the point where I’m supposed to ask how you found me?’

‘Ross,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to shoot someone, you really should learn how to make it count.’

He pulled a wry face and gestured towards the body half-covered in earth below him. ‘As you can see,’ he said, ‘I’ve been practising.’

‘Lennon, I assume. Not very loyal to your associates, are you …?’ I paused. ‘What do I call you, anyway? I assume the name Hunter Trevanion is as fake as everything else about you?’

‘It was OK for a while,’ he agreed. ‘I’ve already got something better lined up to step into. A whole new life. Not quite as comfortable as it should have been, but hey …’ he shrugged, ‘… you win some, you lose some.’

‘Why cut and run so early?’ I said. ‘What about the ten million you asked for Dina?’

‘The ten million
you
told me Caroline Willner hadn’t a hope in hell of raising, you mean?’ he queried, derisive. ‘The secret of gambling is knowing when to fold a losing hand, Charlie, and although I say so myself, I’m a very good gambler.’

‘In that case, you should have held your nerve a little longer before you chucked in your cards, Hunt,’ I said, adding a scornful edge. ‘Mrs Willner might not have the cash, but you told her to tap up Brandon Eisenberg and she did just that. There we were at four o’clock, with the money sitting waiting for you, and you never bothered to call.’

Emotions whipped across his handsome features, from disbelief through rage to a sudden twisted amusement. ‘No shit?’ he murmured. He eyed me cynically. ‘So, are you telling me you still want to make a deal?’

‘No,’ Parker’s voice said from the exit rail of the fence, popping up out of nowhere at the far reaches of Hunt’s peripheral vision. ‘I rather think the time for bargaining is over, don’t you?’

Hunt’s head snapped round, took in the shooter’s stance, the cool gaze, and knew Parker for the professional he was. Then he smiled again, almost to himself. ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s the case at all,’ he said lazily. ‘After all, I still have what you want, and I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that you don’t have much time.’

‘We’ve caught you standing over a half-filled grave, you little bastard,’ I said. ‘Do you honestly expect us to believe she isn’t in there?’

She’s alive. She
has
to be alive
…

Hunt merely smiled at the betraying desperation in my voice. He was still pointing the Colt at me, but when he spoke, it was to Parker.

‘I think I’d put the gun down if I were you, old cock, because not only can you
not
take the risk that Dina might be buried somewhere else, but you know I’ll shoot the lady first.’

‘So?’ I challenged, trying to keep his attention on me, to give Parker his chance.
What the hell are you waiting for, Parker? Can’t you tell all that shit about Dina is a bluff – where the hell else would she be?

Hunt laughed again, eyes still on me. ‘She doesn’t see it, does she?’ he asked. ‘It was pretty bloody obvious to everyone at the country club do who watched you two dance together that you’re desperate to get into her knickers, but she’s still pining for her vegetable lover and—’

The shot took Hunt in the side, just above his left hip, spun him round and knocked him back onto the pile of earth still in the back of the pickup. The gun went clattering from his fingers and clanged loudly against the metal side of the bed. A scatter of birds took to the air from the trees around us, shrieking their outrage.

We ran forwards. I ducked to retrieve the Colt while Parker kept his Glock firmly trained on Hunt. He had started to moan, hands clutching at the greasy wound.

‘You took your bloody time about that one,’ I said sharply, clicking the safety on the Colt and shoving it into my pocket. Boss or no boss, the adrenaline was surging. ‘Where else would Dina be, for fuck’s sake?’

Hunt, despite the pain, managed a gasping laugh. ‘What did I tell you?
Still
she doesn’t see it. Tell her, Parker. Tell her that’s not why you hesitated—’

‘Shut up,’ Parker said through his teeth, ‘or I’ll shoot you again.’

I could have told them both that I knew exactly why Parker had hesitated, but I wouldn’t give Hunt the satisfaction of being right. That Parker had been afraid of him getting off a shot at me if he did.

I put the SIG away, jumped up into the back of the pickup, and dragged Hunt closer to the edge of the tailgate. I half expected Parker to lift him down from there, but he just grabbed hold of the injured man’s ankle and yanked.

It was almost a metre to the ground, and Hunt landed with a solid, satisfying thump, but he refused to cry out.

Parker reached into his jacket and brought out a giant plastic tie-wrap. ‘They were in the truck we borrowed,’ he said when he saw my raised eyebrow. ‘I think they use them to hold the fences together. It should do the job.’

He looped the substitute PlastiCuffs round Hunt’s wrists and zipped them up tight, forcing his arms back behind him. The wound, I noticed, continued to bleed steadily, but I didn’t really care much about that. Parker flicked Hunt’s discarded jacket off the corner of the tailgate and packed that roughly under his belt to act as a dressing. An unnecessary kindness, in my view.

I picked up the discarded shovel and jumped down, reaching the half-filled ditch in a couple of strides. When I scraped the earth away from the body I’d seen, a young man was revealed, eyes still open and an expression of hurt surprise on his face. There was a small black hole just under his right eye, slightly deforming his features.

I didn’t recognise him, but I realised I’d never seen Lennon unmasked. When I checked his right arm, I found it had been bandaged, somewhat amateurishly, and had no doubt I’d find a gunshot injury lurking beneath.

When I reached down to drag him clear, he was still warm to the touch.

Parker jumped into the ditch alongside me and helped. With the body shifted, there was only a shallow covering of earth on top of another rough wooden box.

‘Dina!’ I yelled, but there was no reply. I shot Hunt a poisonous glare, but he had drooped over onto his side and his eyes were closed.

Between the two of us, Parker and I scraped the lid clear enough to get to the fastenings. I glanced at him, suddenly fearful, with a bleak rising memory of having been here before, standing over Torquil’s body that day on the beach.

‘Oh my God, have you found her? Is it Dina?’

We straightened sharply to see Caroline Willner approaching at a run across the sodden grass, Gleason and Brandon Eisenberg not far behind her. The noise of Parker’s gunshot, it seemed, had done a similar job of deadening our hearing.

Caroline Willner slithered to a stop at the top of the slope and gripped the rail as she stared down at us. There were splatters of mud on her skirt, and her shoes were ruined. Her face was death-mask white.