People Die (5 page)
Authors: Kevin Wignall
“I know the one you mean. Louisa Fox. It came out quite recently.” The girl smiled and followed Tom back to the shelf, where he started searching for the book with her, chattering away, another of his desert-flower friendships springing up over a few minutes.
JJ looked on, bemused again by Tom, too big a personality to be in that line of work. And while he waited he turned over the implications of what he’d just been told. The system wasn’t out of control, it was still working fine, but for some unknown reason he’d been cut out of it, along with all those minor players Tom had talked about and a few selected others, Viner among them.
But the mention of Esther’s name in particular made him think there might be some other way out. If he could trust anyone it was Esther; she knew the ropes and would at least lay it down for him how it was, let him know how real his options were. If the past was anything to go by she’d probably help him too, use her own connections with Berg as much as she could. Suddenly she was looking like his strongest contact, saving him from the mind tricks of Holden and Bostridge’s family.
Tom came back over, having found the book for the girl.
“You missed your vocation,” JJ said, smiling.
Tom beamed back. “Can’t help myself. I just love these eccentric English girls.”
“The people you mentioned ...”
“All still in London.”
“So they know they’re okay,” he said, the fact sinking in properly for the first time that he was in danger, just as Holden had said, a contract on him as real and immutable as those he carried out himself. It didn’t seem to mean anything though, especially now, chinks of daylight appearing. “I’ll give it some thought,” he added, almost to himself.
Tom smiled but said, “Maybe you should get some sleep first. You look beat.”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. And thanks, Tom. Drinks are on me next time.”
He nodded, a tacit acknowledgment of their strange relationship, said, “Take care, JJ,” and turned and breezed out of the shop, back into the September sunlight.
JJ bought the book and, once outside, ripped out the page he needed and dropped the rest into a trash can, folding up the details of the Copley Inn and putting them in his inside jacket pocket. He hailed a cab and asked for his hotel, settling back in the seat, looking at the crowded streets full of beautiful girls brought out by the sunshine.
He needed to sleep, reminded of it only by Tom’s comment about looking tired. A night had passed without sleep since he’d been at Viner’s, but he hadn’t noticed it until now, the sensation of life draining away from his muscles, a mental state that was like the beginning of lucid dreaming.
So he needed to sleep, and then according to Tom he needed to see Holden. And maybe Tom had a point. Holden was the only one who’d come up with anything for him so far, and if Tom was right, he was the one who’d be best placed to help. JJ still balked at the idea though, partly unnerved because of the way Holden had contacted him, mainly because of Bostridge’s family.
He thought back to the hit itself, to the strange girl in Bostridge’s room, to the troubled flight on which he’d met Aurianne again. And there’d been a picture of his family in Bostridge’s wallet, though JJ couldn’t remember now what they’d looked like, a blank that made it worse.
Because in there among the deeply buried superstition and the desire not to make connections was an impulse just as strong, a ghoulish curiosity to see them, to see what their lives had become because of him. He was just a gun, but beneath the surface the temptation to see what he’d wrought by being that gun was ever present, a temptation that he felt in his bones it was wrong to yield to, wrong for everyone but particularly for them, real people, a woman who’d lost her husband, kids who’d lost their father.
And despite what Tom had said, there was no need for it either, because there were people in London, people who could help him whether they liked it or not, help him in what mattered: getting to Berg. Most of all, there was Esther, the beautiful Esther as Danny liked to call her, the only constant he had left, perhaps the person who could help him most, give him the right pointers.
But if he wanted Esther’s help he knew he’d be better off moving quickly, going there straight away, putting the sleep on hold for just a little while longer. And if it turned out she couldn’t help him after all, then he’d still have that page in his pocket, which was where he wanted to keep it given the choice, folded away, unexploited.
He leaned forward and said, “I’ve changed my mind.” He gave Esther’s address then, the cabbie shrugging in response and cutting south and west on a series of side streets.
6
He got out of the cab at the far end of the street where Esther lived, two identical rows of white Regency houses, Esther’s the second from the far end. He walked casually, taking in the other houses, the cars parked along both sides, checking for any activity.
The only thing standing out was a guy sitting in a car about halfway down, on the opposite side and facing Esther’s house. Short of sitting in a van with tinted windows, he couldn’t have made it more obvious, but JJ paid him no attention. At a guess he was probably one of Tom’s colleagues anyway.
JJ kept it relaxed, smooth, like he was just someone using the street as a shortcut, even giving the appearance of passing Esther’s house, waiting until he was on top of it before making a move. It would have taken the watcher in the car a moment or two to realize JJ had stepped up to the columned portico and rung the bell, and by that time he’d have been out of camera shot.
JJ waited there, listening, wondering how she’d react to someone being at her door. He’d have been cautious at the best of times and he’d already reckoned on the possibility of her not answering at all, but with almost no delay the door was suddenly open and she was standing there, like she’d been expecting flowers or a delivery.
It took a second for her to respond, a second in which they stood facing each other, her face registering his presence. She was still beautiful, her dark hair cut short, the light trace of freckles on her skin, full soft lips, but it had been a few years since he’d seen her and he could see now that perhaps she wouldn’t wear well, that age wouldn’t suit the youthful features.
She looked better when she smiled though, stepping back to let him in. Once he was inside she closed the door and turned to face him. He smiled a little at her expression, keeping eye contact, and then she said quietly, “Thank God,” and put her arms around him, pulling herself against him. It was the first real physical contact he’d had since holding the American kid’s ropy shoulders the previous afternoon, trying to stop him from vomiting. And it felt good, because he was tired and because she was warm and comfortable against him, an easy intimacy reawakened.
It was a reminder too that their brief relationship had never run its course, that practicalities had gotten in the way but that they’d both seen it as unfinished business, something they’d return to once they’d gotten themselves established. Even now, after too long an interval, there was still something unspoken there, a closeness on hold.
When she finally pulled away she looked at him and said as if to explain herself, “I heard you were one of the people in danger.”
“I am,” he said. “Or at least, I think I am. I was hoping you might shed some light on it.”
She smiled and said, “Come on through,” and took him by the arm into the living room.
He could hear water running as they passed the bottom of the stairs, and once they were sitting down he said, “Who else is in the house?”
“Just my boyfriend. Don’t worry, he’s taking a bath, he’ll be forever. Would you like a drink?” She was about to get up again, but he stopped her with a hand gesture, watched her relax back into the sofa.
“I don’t want to stay long. It’s not good for you to have me here.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She smiled knowingly. “I’m sure between the two of us we could fend off any attackers.” He eased back into the armchair, she lifted her bare feet under her on the sofa, and the two of them stared at each other for a while. It felt good to be sitting here with her, as if the problem was already fading.
She was wearing loose cotton cargo pants but a fitted T-shirt, an enticing relief map of her breasts and stomach, stirring his memory.
“You look great,” he said.
Esther returned the pointless compliment. “You’ve worn pretty well yourself.”
He nodded before gesturing upward with his eyes and saying, “What about him? Is it serious?”
“Not settling-down serious, if that’s what you mean. And you? Anyone on the go?”
He thought of Aurianne and thought better of mentioning her, but like she’d read his expression Esther’s face fell, showing she knew automatically what was hidden in his delayed response. “Oh God,” she said as if the realization made her sick. He smiled weakly in response because of how predictable it seemed now and the way he’d hoped against it being true the night before. It was what happened. Esther knew it, he knew it, they all did.
“I found her this morning, raped, interrogated, shot through the head. She didn’t even know what I did.” He felt torn up again suddenly, the slight distance already making him feel nauseated and bitter for having led her to that.
“Were you close?” Esther asked, avoiding the pat sympathy that anyone else might have offered.
“Not settling-down close,” he replied. “But she was a beautiful person. And if she hadn’t been involved with me she still would be.”
Esther nodded, not saying anything at first, and then, “How about that drink? I’ve got some Talisker.”
“In that case ...” He smiled, brushing off the air of melancholy, and she got up and left the room, returning a minute later with the bottle and two glasses. “Still like it neat?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” she said, pouring out two hefty measures. “Richard likes it with ice and water, the heathen.”
“The lightweight,” JJ added, guessing Richard was the boyfriend in the bath.
“Exactly.” She raised her glass. “To us.”
“Sounds good to me.” He took a swig of the whisky, the heat spreading down his gullet and settling into his stomach, a healing warmth, like its absence had been the only thing wrong with him. He looked at her then, curled up on the sofa again, nursing the tumbler in both hands, relaxed. “So tell me, how come you haven’t gone to ground?”
She shrugged in response and said, “I wasn’t aware I needed to. We were told the threat was to Viner and everyone connected with him. Philip knew he might be a target by association. You have heard about Philip?” JJ nodded, and she continued as if it didn’t really concern her that much. “They got him two days ago apparently.”
“Who?”
“The Russians,” she said like it was an unnecessary clarification.
“But who? It would have to be someone major,”
She shrugged again and said, “It’s not really my area of expertise.” She sipped at her whisky and added, “I’m sorry, J, I’m not being much use, am I?”
“It’s not your fault.” It had crossed his mind a moment before that she knew the truth about Berg, the way she was so casual about him being dead, but the more he thought about it, if she’d been lying she’d have laid it on thick. She simply didn’t know anything, which left him wondering what he’d hoped to get from her, other than to escape the sense of being isolated for a while, to spend some time with her, someone he had a real history with, someone in whose company there seemed to be other futures.
“What will you do?”
He shook his head, still lost in thought.
“Stay alive,” he offered finally. “I don’t know. Kill the people trying to kill me.”
“But you don’t know who it is.”
“Not yet, but it’s not the Russians.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to mention Berg, mainly because he was certain now she didn’t know anything. He wouldn’t have mentioned it anyway though, a professional veneer of suspicion and doubt that was common to everyone in the business, a corrective to set against his own intuition, just as, no matter what she felt about him, a part of her would still be treating him as a potential adversary.
“You should take a holiday,” she said, echoing Danny. “A couple of weeks in some resort. It might have blown over by then, and even if it hasn’t, at least we’ll have a better idea of what’s going on.” He wondered whether the
we
referred to the two of them or whether more likely it was collective. After all, she was an employee, not freelance, and like all employees had a tendency to slip into the comfort blanket of the organization, forgetting that it was just as likely to smother as to protect.
we
referred to the two of them or whether more likely it was collective. After all, she was an employee, not freelance, and like all employees had a tendency to slip into the comfort blanket of the organization, forgetting that it was just as likely to smother as to protect.
“No, I know I should take a holiday, but I have some leads and I’d rather follow them while they’re still alive.” He didn’t really have any leads though, apart from the one he wanted to avoid, Holden, the Bostridge connection.
It had been that wish to avoid the trip to Vermont that had brought him to Esther, convincing himself that she’d be able to help in some way. But maybe she couldn’t, and if she couldn’t there was no one else he could think of, certainly no one he could trust as much as her.
As if reading his thoughts then she said helpfully, “I could make some inquiries, low-key, see if I turn anything up.”
“Do you think you’ll get anything? I got the impression things had shut down tight.”
“For the most part,” she said. “There are people I can contact though. Janet Dyson’s an old Russian hand; she might be able to tell me something.” He nodded though he didn’t recognize the name, then felt his thoughts stumble and pile up into each other as he heard Esther ask, “Where are you staying?”
“What?” He’d heard her but had automatically stalled, deciphering what it meant for her to have asked that simple question, where was he staying? She would never have asked it normally, would never have expected an answer either unless she thought she’d caught him unawares, particularly at a time like this.
“In case I find anything out,” she said, “where can I reach you?”
He was stunned, stunned that she’d fooled him, that perhaps his thoughts were muddled enough to have been lulled by her familiarity and warmth. He played on the air of confusion, on her supposition that he wasn’t thinking clearly, answering absentmindedly, “Of course. I’m at the Halkin, for the next couple of days anyway.”
“I love the Halkin,” she said, smiling, the familiar Esther again, the possibility there that she’d simply made a mistake, not thought of the implications. It seemed unlikely though. “A great place to eat too.”
“Yeah, it’s my first time back there in a few years. I’d forgotten how nice it is.” He looked at the whisky in his glass and drained it, sitting forward, more businesslike. “Speaking of which, I should go. Like I said, it’s not a good idea for you to have me here.” He stood and added, “Try your Russian contact though.”
“I’ll do it right now.” She leaned forward and picked up the phone.
“I’ll see myself out then.” She raised her hand, taking his in it and holding it against her lips for a second, what looked like real affection again. And maybe it was real affection, heightened because she knew she was about to betray him. He knew how it was, nothing personal, never anything personal when it came to business. For whatever reason, because she was involved with the true process or because she’d been fed some alternative truth, she was willing to conspire now to have him killed, an enemy to be eradicated.
“Be careful,” she said as she let his hand go, another genuine sentiment from the past, like all the others she’d used to conceal the reality that was there between them. And he’d fallen for it, till she’d slipped and made that one mistake, asking him where he was staying, leaving him disappointed, and insulted that she’d thought him capable of missing it.
He smiled at her and walked out as she began to punch the numbers on the phone. Opening the front door and closing it again without leaving, he stepped into the small recess for coats to one side of it. Esther was already speaking a little too cheerily to the imaginary Janet in the background. He listened as he stood among the coats, one of them full of the stale stench of cigarettes, another giving off a trace of some fragrance, a man’s aftershave perhaps.
Esther’s voice grew louder as she stepped out of the living room to check that he’d gone and then, once she was satisfied, stopped altogether. He eased his hand inside his jacket and pulled his gun. When he heard her speak again she was back in the living room, talking quietly. He stepped into the open, a couple of paces on his toes across the black-and-white mosaic floor, stopping near the bottom of the stairs once she was in earshot.
“I don’t know,” she was saying. “If it wasn’t Danny, maybe he has someone who’s better informed.” A pause and then, “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s staying at the Halkin.” The obvious question from the person at the other end. “Yes, I’m certain. Of course, it’s possible he was bluffing but I can’t see it; I know him too well. And anyway, why would he suspect me?” There was the insult put into words, leaving him not so much hurt as baffled that she could have come to think so little of him, that he could have thought he’d known her so well.
He listened in again but was distracted by some movement on the landing at the top of the stairs, the boyfriend she’d said would take forever in the bath. He was probably moving from the bathroom to the bedroom, but JJ began to ease backward just in case.
He was almost back to the door when the guy appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a short white dressing gown, towel-drying long black hair, bits of it straggling across his face. He was unshaven, swarthy, for some reason suggesting someone who worked in some branch of the media, advertising or music or something like that.
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