Once a Killer (25 page)

“I feel exactly the same way, but you understand why I can’t leave Cindy just yet?”

Abi nodded. “I get it.”

“Once I’m elected, everything will change. I promise.”

“Does she suspect anything?”

“No, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“She’s always a little cold toward me when she calls the office.”

“She doesn’t know about us.”

“What did you tell her you were doing this weekend?”

“I said we had a conference on money laundering in D.C., and she glazed over.”

“I don’t blame her.”

The waiter came over and asked if they would like a dessert. They took the menus and asked for a couple of minutes to choose something.

Caravini reached across the table and squeezed Abi’s hand. “It won’t be much longer before we’re together. I know how hard it is.”

Her face was a mixture of hope and innocence. “I’m counting the days.”

“Come on.” He placed the menus back down on the table. “Let’s get the check. I have a much better idea for dessert.”

Chapter 33

M
ADONNA
W
AS
N
OT
O
NE
O
F
M
ICHAEL’S
F
AVORITE
A
RTISTS
, but there was something about her
Confessions on a Dance Floor
album that went perfectly with the rhythm of running on the new Life Fitness T-5 treadmill. He turned up the volume on the Sonos system in the home gym and began his routine, gradually increasing the speed to seven miles per hour and the incline to one point five percent.

Hannah and Emily were playing in the garden, and he watched them through the gym’s French doors as they jumped in and out of the swimming pool. He loved their innocence and their boundless energy. Every now and then, over the music, he’d hear Caroline shouting at them to slow down when they ran alongside the pool. It made him smile.

Halfway through the workout, he raised the incline to two and then three percent. In recent weeks, he’d increased the frequency of his exercise routine. A hard forty-five-minute session on the treadmill most days was the only way he’d found to ease the stress of dealing with Rondell. Besides, it also gave him an explanation whenever Caroline mentioned how much weight he was losing; something she did most days. She was right, of course. The strain was beginning to extract a physical toll on his body. Most of his suits were loose now, and his jeans were beginning to hang off him.

“It’s a lovely morning,” said Caroline when Michael came downstairs after taking a shower. “I’ve set the table up outside so we can have our breakfast in the sun and keep an eye on the girls.”

“Sounds good,” Michael said, his face still warm from the run, beads of perspiration bubbling up on his forehead.

Caroline laughed. “You can still see where your headband was.”

He rubbed his fingers along his brow. The skin was mottled where the elastic headband had squeezed his head. “Can I do anything to help?” he asked, pointing to the cooktop.

“No. I’ve got it all under control. The girls have eaten, so I’ve only got to do ours. Why don’t you sit outside and keep an eye on them?”

Michael picked up the Sunday newspaper and sat at the table on the deck, facing the garden so he could watch his daughters play. A couple of minutes later, Caroline brought him a plate filled with a cheese, mushroom, and onion omelet and whole wheat toast.

He put the newspaper down. “This looks good. I’m starving after that run.”

Caroline pulled up a chair beside him while he poured them both a coffee. “Nice to see you not having to work on a Sunday for a change.”

“I know. It’s been hectic. The work just keeps coming in.”

“You’re going to have to learn how to say no. It’s not good for you working all hours.”

“You’re right.” Michael was in no mood to argue.

“I’m beginning to regret you ever made equity partner. You look terrible. I’d rather have my husband back with less money.”

Michael didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t the work that was affecting his health. If anything, that was helping to keep him sane. He reached over and rubbed the top of her forearm. “I’m sure it will ease up soon.”

“I’m just worried about you, Michael. You need to look after yourself.”

“Shall we take the girls to the beach this afternoon?”

Caroline’s face lit up. “You’re not working?”

“No. Dudek’s have had their pound of flesh out of me this week.”

After they had cleared away the dishes, they returned to the deck with two fresh mugs of coffee. Michael picked the newspaper back up while Caroline read her Kindle.

“I meant to ask you something,” she said, raising her sunglasses.

“What?”

“Did you ever hear anything from that man we met at the restaurant?”

Michael put the paper down and screwed his face.

“Ron something.”

“You mean Rondell?”

“Yes, him. The one who knew you from Chicago.”

“Never heard anything from him again.”

“Maybe he got the hint.”

“Well, I did try to make it clear I wasn’t interested.”

“You certainly did that.”

Caroline returned to her Kindle, and Michael pretended to read the paper. Where had that come from? What had prompted her to ask about Rondell after all this time?

He read for a few minutes then, “What made you ask about him?”

Caroline wrinkled her nose. “Sorry?”

“Rondell. What made you think about him?”

She switched off the Kindle and placed it on the table. “You’re going to think I’m being stupid.”

“I doubt that.”

She removed her sunglasses and looked over to the girls to make sure they weren’t able to hear. “I was putting Emily to bed a couple of weeks ago. You were on the running machine. As I drew the bedroom curtains, I saw a black car parked across the road. It wasn’t directly opposite our house. It was down the road a little, outside the Carpenters. I saw something move in the car and, when I looked, I could see two men sitting in the front. They were staring right at me.”

“Who were they?”

“I didn’t recognize them, and it was hard to see any detail. Anyway, I thought nothing of it until a couple of days later, when they were back again—same car, same men. When I stood in the window, they looked away. Then I stood to the side, out of sight, and watched them. They kept looking at our house.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I was being silly, but I’ve seen them four times now. The funny thing is they’ve never been here when you’re not home.”

“Is that why you asked about Rondell? Did one of them look like him?”

“Not really. They were both white, but it was just something you said about him. You said you would have put money on him being a career criminal. Somehow, I thought there might be a connection. I told you it was probably me being—”

“Listen to me, Caroline.” Michael held her hands. “If you see them here again, I want you to tell me. Okay?”

“I will. I have to admit, when I saw them come back, I did find it worrying. I wanted to tell you, but with all the pressure you’re under at work…”

“Don’t worry about me. I want to know if they return. And if I’m not here, I want you to call the police and then call me.”

“Who do you think they might be?”

What could he say? That they were likely to be Rondell’s men keeping an eye on him to make sure he kept his side of the bargain? Or worse still, the authorities were onto him, suspecting him of passing information to insider traders? Once again, Michael was severely tempted to tell Caroline everything so he could bring this nightmare to a close. He looked at Caroline’s worried face and then watched as his giggling daughters ran around the garden. How could he destroy all this?

Damn Rondell
.

“I don’t know who they could be,” Michael said in as casual a tone as he could find. “Is it possible they may not even have been watching our house?”

“I guess that’s possible.”

An hour later, they were getting ready for their trip to the beach. Michael was in the garage, looking for the cooler, while Caroline was upstairs helping Emily change. As she passed the bedroom window, Caroline glanced across the road. The black car had returned, and the same two men were in the front seats. She pelted downstairs.

“Michael,” she said, opening the internal garage door. “I think they’re back.”

The panic in her voice told him exactly what she meant. “Stay here.”

As he hit the button on the wall to operate the electric garage door opener, he grabbed the garden shovel and then ran outside. Sprinting across the street, he didn’t see the car rushing up behind him. Its horn blared, and the driver only just managed to swerve around him. Michael ignored it and carried on racing toward the black car, the shovel held high above his shoulder.

The black car pulled out into the road, burning its rear tires as it accelerated. Michael stood in its path; he wasn’t going anywhere. It bounced up onto the curb, narrowly missing him. Swiveling his body, Michael threw the shovel at the back of the car, catching the rear fender as it sped away.

“Come back here, you bastards,” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Come back here. This has to stop now.”

“Michael,” said Caroline, running up to him. “Michael.”

He stood in the middle of the road, his eyes wide open, knees bent, ready to pounce, both fists clenched. He glared at the car as it disappeared up the road, the smell of burning rubber still clinging in the air.

“Is everything okay?” asked Mrs. Carpenter, walking over her lawn toward them, garden clippers in hand.

“We’re okay,” said Caroline, putting her arm around Michael’s shoulder.

“Shall I call the police, dear?” Mrs. Carpenter’s face was a mix of shock and concern.

“No,” Caroline said. “That won’t be necessary.”

She led her husband away from the road. “Come on, Michael. Let’s get you inside.”

Chapter 34

A
FTER
G
RADUATING
F
ROM
O
XFORD
with a first class honors degree in philosophy, politics, and economics, Oto Sokol spent a year at the London School of Economics, obtaining his MSc in economics and management. Throughout most of his academic career, Sokol had grown used to being the top-rated student in his class, with a rare talent for combining strategic insight with a detailed understanding of mathematical principles. But at the LSE, he met his match. One student on his course consistently ranked higher than him. What riled Sokol more than anything was that his rival appeared to glide through the semesters without too much effort. That student’s name was Anthony Liquorish.

While they started out as competitors, by the time they obtained their Masters, Sokol and Liquorish had become the closest of friends; so much so that they joined the same leading London investment bank in September 1981. They even shared a rented flat in Covent Garden for three years until Liquorish married. After that, while their careers drifted apart, they remained good friends, with Sokol becoming godfather to Thomas, Liquorish’s eldest son.

Sokol went on to launch his own hedge fund in 1988 and, when the Berlin Wall came down the following year, he started building business relationships back in his home city of Prague. After Czechoslovakia’s “velvet divorce” in 1993, he became a regular visitor to the new Czech Republic, where he bought a country pile just outside the capital city. Around this time, money began to flood into his hedge fund, only in part due to its stellar investment performance. The main driver was the surge of capital to the west from the former Soviet states. Throughout this period, the ever-scheming Sokol forged strong links with leading Czech politicians and business leaders, connections that would come to serve him well in later years.

Eventually, the lure of illicit money became irresistible. He built contacts with the nascent Eastern European mafia bosses, learning from them while he allowed their businesses to launder money through his London operation. After the Czech Republic became a member of the European Union in 2004, Sokol moved to Prague full-time. By then, he’d taken over many of his former clients’ mafia activities, through a mix of guile and brutality, eventually becoming the most powerful organized crime leader in Europe. From Prague, he could administer what had become an empire, ranging from the apparently legitimate London-based hedge fund to drug smuggling, prostitution, arms and people trafficking. From those competing criminal gangs he allowed to survive, Sokol extracted a generous cut of their income in exchange for providing an efficient and sophisticated money laundering service.