One Dead Witness (54 page)

‘
Why?’

‘
Why?’ Tracey snorted. ‘Because I saw him kill Annie and he
panicked and this was his way of shutting me up, I
reckon.’

The Bussola household was unusually quiet.

Felicity paused on the stairs and looked out across the pool.
Her husband was at the poolside, working away at his computer. One
bodyguard lounged in the shade, reading a thriller.

Felicity trod quietly downstairs and wandered from room to
room, finding no one else around, not even Begin, which was odd. He
was usually creeping around somewhere. She went outside and hobbled
around the gardens, looking for more bodyguards. All she found was
one lonely soul in the gatehouse, playing patience.

Like a bolt of lightning, it suddenly struck her why they were
all missing.

They had gone to get the girl, kill her and anyone else who
got in their way.

It took time and not a little coaching and coaxing, a lot of
patience and a good deal of skill to get Tracey talking. Her story
was not much different to the one Danny had heard from Grace and it
did not shock Danny to hear it. Nevertheless it expanded the
picture of Charlie Gilbert and his lifestyle.

Tracey was a girl local to Blackpool and had ended up in care
through the usual series of mishaps, bad parenting and abuse so
very common with children in her social sphere. She was put in a
home, from which she frequently absconded. Most of her time was
spent around the arcades where she met Ollie Spencer and
subsequently Charlie Gilbert. She was lured by money, food and
drugs and enjoyed every minute of it.

She had only just begun her story properly when the chimes of
the front doorbell echoed through the house, interrupting the
conversation. Tracey stopped talking and sat back. Myrna, seated at
the far end of the pool, out of earshot, pulled a face, but got up
and walked through the house to the front door.

She froze when she saw who was standing there. It was Ira
Begin, Mario Bussola’s right-hand man. She recognised him
immediately.

‘
Mrs Rosza,’ Begin said with a nod. ‘How do you do? My name
is-’

‘
I know exactly who you are.’

Begin gave a supercilious smirk. ‘In that case there is no
need for introductions.’

‘
What do you want?’

‘
I’d like to talk to you about a mutual acquaintance of
ours.’

‘
I don’t think we have one.’ Myrna’s mind raced frantically;
panic crept through her being. How the hell did he get to know
where I am? she demanded of herself. Myrna started to close the
door.

Like a bad door-to-door salesman, Begin jammed his foot behind
the threshold, preventing closure. ‘Oh yes we do,’ he said. He
reminded Myrna of a slimy reptile. ‘And I suggest you spare some
time now to discuss the matter with me.’

They eyed each other, cat and mouse.

‘
Okay,’ Myrna relented, ‘but first let me close the door and
come back to you in a couple of minutes.’

‘
Is that a promise?’

‘
It is.’

‘
In that case. . .’ Begin lifted his foot out of the
door.

Myrna closed it, whirled round and ran out to the
pool.

‘
What is it?’ Danny asked, seeing Myrna’s worried
expression.

‘
Er, nothing to worry about, I hope, but we need to talk.
Tracey, will you give us a few minutes? Go upstairs to the bedroom
you’ve been using? Danny and I need to discuss
something.’

‘
Yeah, sure, whatever.’ She failed to pick up any of Myrna’s
tension. She was thinking about her next fix and where it was
coming from. She calmly trundled inside the house.

Danny, however, could feel and almost see Myrna’s agitation.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘
Look, I don’t know - but Mario Bussola’s right-hand man is on
the doorstep. I smell big trouble here. Danny, will you just hang
back out of sight? It might be better if he doesn’t know you’re
here - unless he knows already, of course.’

The doorbell chimed again.

‘
Time’s up,’ Begin said when Myrna opened the door.

Mark Tapperman was at the scene of a murder. One of a series
of drive-by shootings which had sprung up from an inter-gang
dispute in downtown Miami. Two gang members had been splattered
whilst sitting on the sidewalk terrace of a coffee shop. Problem
was, two civilians had also been struck and one had died. Three
bodies, blood, guts, overturned tables, chairs, shattered glass and
lots of cops.

Tapperman surveyed the carnage. If only the civvy hadn’t
bought it, he was thinking. Two gang members gunned down was easy
to deal with. They deserved what they got for living like they did.
But a civilian down put another angle on it.

Now the cops had to go all out to solve it, otherwise there
would be a major outcry.

As if he didn’t have enough on his plate, not least of which
was the small matter of hunting down Patrick Orlove, the man
responsible for blowing Steve Kruger’s brains out. That was a trail
that had gone ice-cold very quickly. Tapperman suspected Orlove had
been whisked out of state, possibly out of the country. He
despaired of ever laying his hands on the bastard.

Tapperman shook his head, refocused on the three dead bodies
and lots of blood.

His mobile chirped.

‘
Is that Lieutenant Tapperman?’ the worried female voice
enquired.

‘
Yup.’

‘
I’m Erica from Kruger Investigations. I’m really sorry to
bother you, but I thought you might be able to help me.’

‘
I’ll try.’ Tapperman eased a toecap under the shoulder of one
of the dead gang members and lifted him slightly to get a look at
what remained of the face.

‘
We’ve been trying to get hold of Myrna Rosza for some time,
but no one here knows where she is. There’s no reply on her home
number, or cell-tel. She hasn’t told us where she can be reached
and we need to pass an urgent message to her. I know it’s a long
shot, but-’

Tapperman pulled his toe away. ‘I know where she is - at Steve
Kruger’s house. But you won’t be able to call there because his
phone has been disconnected since he died. If you don’t mind me
asking, what’s the message?’

Erica relayed the message she had taken earlier from Felicity
Bussola.

‘
Jesus Christ!’ Tapperman gasped. ‘Leave it with me. . .
Harry!’ He called over to another detective. ‘Take over, I gotta
go!’

‘
I’ll come straight to the point,’ Ira Begin said. He and Myrna
were in the dining room, sat at the table opposite each other. He
lifted his briefcase onto the table and took out a plastic wallet.
‘You are presently protecting a witness by the name of Tracey
Greenwood?’ It was a statement and question combined. He raised his
eyebrows to invite a reply. None came.

Begin shrugged amicably. ‘I know she is here, whether or not
you wish to admit it.’

How, you bastard? Myrna’s mind screeched. Who could have told
you she was here?

‘
Now you know as well as I do that I could simply walk in here
with a show of force and take her away, probably hurting people
like yourself in the process. I don’t wish to do that because I
like win-win situations, where everybody comes out with some
profit. The lawyer in me likes to negotiate, so I have a
proposition for you.’

‘
I can’t wait.’

‘
In this wallet I have copies of certain documents that, if
they were made public and sent to the right people - the IRS, the
FBI, CIA, your customers, even. . . would destroy Kruger
Investigations.’ Begin opened the wallet and shook out a sheaf of
papers. He placed them on the table and fanned them out. ‘They
relate to a very illegal business transaction in which Kruger
Investigations acted as agents to supply certain goods to enemies
of the USA.’

‘
Cut to the chase.’

‘
Hand the girl over and I will ensure you receive the originals
of these documents within the hour. Then we shall both be happy.
You won’t have this hanging over your head like the Sword of
Damocles and the girl will not be a thorn in our side.’

‘
And what about her? Where does she stand in this win-win
situation?’

‘
She loses.’

‘
And if I don’t agree?’

‘
I’ll take her by force, kill you if necessary, but if I don’t
kill you, I’ll ruin Kruger Investigations just for fun.’

‘
Shit, Myrna, answer the godamned phone!’ Tapperman was driving
maniacally, steering with one hand, mobile crushed to his ear by
his free hand. He swerved dangerously, in and out of traffic,
accelerating and braking madly, yelling obscenities at all other
road-users.

‘
How much time do I have to think?’

Ira Begin made a show of checking his watch. ‘Not
long.’

Myrna stood up. ‘Let me have a few minutes. I need to go over
this in my head.’

‘
Sure, fine, Mrs Rosza, but don’t do anything rash like call
the cops.’

‘
As if.’

She left the room and walked quickly into the kitchen where
Danny waited apprehensively.

‘
Where the hell’s my phone?’ Myrna demanded.

‘
Out by the pool, I think.’

She ran out and picked it up off the coffee table and started
to dial. Danny was behind her. ‘What’s going on, Myrna?’

‘
Why the hell is this thing not working?’ Myrna looked at the
machine and realised the battery was dead. She did a quick exchange
for one in her purse. Immediately, she thumbed the power button,
the phone rang.

‘
Yes?’ she answered cautiously.

It was Mark Tapperman. Myrna listened as he shouted to her to
get the hell out of the house.

‘
It’s too late, Mark. Begin’s already here and by assumption
he’s probably got back-up stashed away nearby.’

‘
I’ll try and get a team there myself,’ Tapperman yelled, then,
‘Oh shit!’

There was a loud crash and Myrna held the phone away from her
ear. ‘Mark, you okay?’

‘
Yeah, yeah, f’Christ’s sake. I’ve just hit a parked car. You
try and get outta there, Myrna. I’ll do my best to get a SWAT team
to you, or something.’ He ended the call.

Myrna eyed Danny. ‘Bussola wants Tracey, the easy way or the
hard way. I can’t give her to him, Danny. I don’t know what the
hell to do.’

‘
You go back and keep Begin talking,’ Danny said, getting her
brain into gear. ‘I’ll nip upstairs and get Tracey. Have you got
the keys for that car on the drive?’

‘
The Chevy? Yeah - hung up in the kitchen.’

‘
Right - I’ll get Tracey into the van while you talk to Begin.
When she’s there I’ll come and get you and we’ll make a run for it.
How does that sound?’

‘
Like shit, Danny - but it’s better than anything I can think
of at this moment in time. Can you use a gun, Danny?’

The English detective nodded unsurely as Myrna told her where
Steve Kruger kept the firearms in his bedroom.

‘
This was supposed to be a jolly,’ Danny said to herself as she
sneaked quietly upstairs and went into Steve Kruger’s bedroom. ‘Not
a fucking Wild West show.’ She opened the drawer in the bedside
cabinet as instructed and found Kruger’s snub-nosed .38 special.
She tucked it very carefully into the waistband of her jeans at the
small of her back.

Next she went to the wardrobe where she found two more
weapons, shaking her head in astonishment on seeing them. ‘Just
what sort of a country have I come to?’ she asked
herself.

One of the guns was a pistol, the other a Heckler & Kock
sub-machine pistol, very light, accurate and deadly. It looked
thoroughly evil to Danny. She put the small pistol down her
waistband next to the revolver and dropped the HK into her
holdall.

Then she went to collect Tracey.

‘
I want the originals in my hand before I give up the girl,’
Myrna bluffed to Begin.

‘
That will not be possible,’ he said. ‘I am a man of honour; as
I said, you will have the originals delivered to you within an hour
of me taking possession of the girl. Trust me.’

Myrna leaned back, pretending to consider this. In reality she
was straining to hear outside the dining-room door, trying to judge
where Danny was up to with Tracey.

‘
You keep very, very quiet,’ Danny hissed. ‘Believe me, your
life depends on it, so does mine and so does Myrna’s.’

The girl was compliant, terrified.

Danny crept downstairs ahead of her, into the hallway and to
the front door, passing the dining room on the way.

From the front door it was less than twelve feet to the
Chevrolet. Danny looked at the keys in her hand and her heart sank
when she saw the remote-control locking fob. She pointed it at the
car and held her breath, hoping it would not make too much of a
noise.