Threat Page 12

  ‘All that aside, I expect you know about the unfortunate death of a certain titled party at your neighbour’s flat?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘We know who did it and we want you to deal with her.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why don’t you place absolute proof of her culpability before the police?’

  He opens the paper, folds it back, puts it on the table in front of me and I’m looking at a photograph of the Earl of Dunkaid in his ermine robes. Nick points to the last paragraph of the obituary and I read that he died peacefully at his estate in Banffshire and left a wife and four children. Nick folds the paper.

  ‘We see no need to cause the family any embarrassment.’

  ‘Or the government either.’

  ‘Quite.’

  The noise in the pub is getting louder as the bell for last orders rings and I suddenly feel tired. I want to go home and get some sleep so that I can try to figure out what to do about this whole mess with a clear head. Nick tells me to wait for a bit and then follow him to his two-seater which is parked round the corner in Randolph Avenue. He puts his glass down and leaves. I finish my drink and pick up the paper he’s left on the table. As I stand up to leave I catch sight of the lecherous old fart from the bar stool weaving his way towards me through the crowd. He’s well pissed now and he sways against me and starts mumbling about what a shapely young lovely I am, or some such nonsense. When he tries to put his arm round me I stomp a stiletto heel hard on his foot. He shrieks with pain and drops his drink. I shove him onto the chair I’ve just left, slip off through the crowd and out the door.

  I go round the corner and I can see Nick sitting in his Austin Healey. I get in beside him and he opens a file, hands me a photograph and I recognise the Russian athlete that I’ve seen leaving Lizzie’s. It makes sense that she did it, as she’s a regular and it would have been easy enough for her to take an impression of Lizzie’s key and get a copy. Nick closes the file before speaking.

  ‘Olga Petrova. Member of the Russian shot-putting team at the Rome Olympics last year. She came last in the event and watched her old rival Tamara Press win it hands down. Olga was vilified and humiliated in the Russian newspapers. She said she’d been bullied by the coach who was having an affair with Tamara and claimed that he gave her a sedative before the event but no one believed her and she was thrown out of the team. We got to her while she was feeling angry at the motherland, offered her some cash and she defected and agreed to work for us. She’s been listening to Russian radio transmissions that we’ve intercepted and sending false messages to Russian agents that we’ve got the frequencies for. However, we’ve reason to believe she’s become a double agent, and that she discovered that Dunkaid was about to expose a Soviet agent within MI6 and killed him. The Russians are currently very keen to get hold of technical information about our nuclear submarines. We’re sending her to Berlin with some fake documents containing information of that kind to pass to one of the GRU agents that she’s been sending false information to. She’ll also be given access to documents of the same sort, that she believes are genuine, just before she leaves. We shall tell her that you have recently been recruited as an agent and that she’s to show you how it works in Berlin. You’re to stay with her and see which ones she passes to the GRU. If it’s what she thinks is the genuine information, it will prove that she’s working for the other side and you’re to kill her while she’s on German soil.’

  ‘I’ve never worked abroad.’

  ‘This is where you start.’

  ‘How would I know what’s genuine and what’s fake?’

  ‘You will be briefed.’

  ‘What if I refuse?

  ‘You can’t.’

  I know he’s right. If they don’t put me in for the Russian at the Dorchester or the man in the cemetery they’ll fit me up for something else.

  He reaches into his inside pocket and takes out a sheaf of notes. Hands them to me and says, ‘Your first payment.’

  I put the notes in my bag. Before I can speak he says, ‘As things stand you are leaving next Wednesday but that could change. Meet me on Monday evening at ten o’clock at the Glendale for your full briefing. I shall give you detailed instructions then.’ He reaches across me, opens the door and says, ‘Goodbye Rina.’

  I get out of the car and walk back to the flat.

  When I come out of the lift I see Gerry and his mate working on Lizzie’s door. They tell me Lizzie’s at home and I call her name as I go in and walk along the hall. She opens the living room door and we have a cuddle. She goes to the drinks cabinet, shows me the whisky bottle and I give her the nod and sit on the sofa. She pours two glasses and comes and sits beside me. I open the paper, show her Lordy’s obituary and point to where it says he died peacefully at home.

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ she says.

  ‘You’re in the clear.’

  ‘Are your fridge men kosher?’

  ‘As good as it gets.’

  ‘The family must have found out he was up to his tricks and glossed it.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame them.’

  Lizzie smiles and starts reading the obituary again. I lean back on the sofa, sip my whisky, close my eyes and I’m wondering if I should tell her that one of her customers is a spy and a murderer, when she closes the paper.

  ‘Yeah, that makes sense.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘He was a member of the Joint Intelligence Committee.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I say, even though I know what it is.

  ‘Spying and that.’

  ‘How come it makes sense?’

  ‘I had a look in his briefcase once and he had a plan of a Russian submarine in there and diagrams and a map of some Russian port and I guessed he was in MI5 or something. Do you reckon that was why he was killed?’

  ‘I know it was.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Pour us another drink and I’ll tell you.’

  Twenty minutes and two drinks later I’ve told Lizzie about Nick being a spymaster and what Heinz is doing to Tony’s girls. I tell her what I’ve seen at Ringwood, and talk about Tony wanting me to kill Heinz, and Nick saying he’ll grass me if I do, and that I’ve to go to Berlin and kill Olga if she’s working for the Russians. By the time I’ve finished her eyes are wide and she’s leaning back on the sofa.

  ‘I knew you were a bit lively but fucking hell!’

  ‘I had it under control until Nick turned up.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Go to Berlin, I suppose.’

  ‘And leave Heinz killing our girls?’

  ‘I’ll sort him out first.’

  ‘And get grassed?’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  I suddenly feel tired. I snuggle up close to Lizzie and lean my head on her shoulder. She puts her drink down, stands up and leads me through to the bedroom.

  • • •

  By the time I’ve got dressed and left Lizzie sleeping I’ve had an idea. I take the new keys out of Lizzie’s handbag, lock her door behind me and put the keys through the letter box. I go across the way to my place, check that Georgie’s sleeping and change into slacks, leather jacket and a pair of black ankle boots. I put my revolver in my belt, lock up, take the lift down to the foyer and walk quietly past Mike who’s sleeping behind the desk. The clock on the wall above him tells me it’s one o’clock. I walk to the car and check under the wheel arch in case there’s been a change of plan since I left Nick, but no such luck. I start the engine and turn on the radio but Radio Luxembourg’s finished for the night. I twiddle the knob and get the faint sound of Elvis asking me if I’m lonesome tonight. The song finishes and a foreign voice says I’m listening to Radio Veronica, broadcasting from a boat in the North Sea off the coast of Holland. I turn the volume up to full whack as Del Shannon starts rocking with Runaway.

  I drive up Maida Vale onto Kilburn High Road. There’s an Austin
Cambridge behind me and he’s a bit too far back for my liking. I turn left, make a couple more turns, get back on the High Road and the Austin’s still behind me. I turn into Willesden Lane at the lights and he’s still there as I get into Brondesbury Park. I’m on a straight stretch and there’s nothing else on the road so I put my foot down hard then pull the wheel over and jam the handbrake on. The Mini spins round on its front wheel and stops. I shove it into first gear, stamp on the accelerator and shoot past the Austin, going back the way I came. I hear his brakes squealing as I throw the car round a left turn, then a right, then another left. I brake sharpish and park in a backstreet. Ten minutes later there’s no sign of him and I drive back through Brondesbury Park to Harlesden and park the Mini beside the lock-up.

  I go inside, change the plates on the van, open an old skip where I keep some of my working clothes and pull out a pair of dark blue overalls, a leather belt and an old corduroy cap. I put on the overalls and the belt and find a pair of hobnail boots among the shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe. I wipe off my make-up, put my hair up, hold it in place with kirby grips and pull the cap on. There’s still a bit of blond hair showing at the back so I find an old donkey jacket, put it on and turn the collar up. I take a pair of wire rimmed National Health glasses from a box of odds and ends and put them on too. I look in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door and reckon I’ve made a passable sex change. I open the safe, take out a knife, lock picks, a torch and a roll of gaffer tape and put them in my pockets. I put my gun in the belt of the overalls then I back the van out of the lock-up, drive the Mini inside and lock the doors.

  On the way to Catford I make a couple of detours round the back streets and a few fast turns to make sure I’m not being followed. An hour later I get to the prefab estate and drive slowly past Heinz’s place. There are no lights on so I park the van a couple of streets away and walk back to the house. A cat scampers across the road, stops on the pavement, arches its back, studies me for a moment and then darts off into a front garden. I get to Heinz’s prefab, step over the front gate and move slowly up the path. The front window on the left, which I remember is the bedroom, is open a little bit and as I get near it I can hear someone snoring. I take off the glasses and move round to the back door. I turn on the torch and hold it in my mouth while I pick the lock. This time there’s no dead girl lying against the door as I creep into the kitchen. It smells like the body’s still under the sink but I open the cupboard door to check. She’s seated in the same position but her hands have been cut off. There’s polythene wrapped over the stumps and there are rubber bands round her wrists to hold it in place. As I’m closing the cupboard door I hear footsteps in the hall.

  The light goes on and Heinz is standing in the doorway pointing a shotgun at me. He’s even broader and taller than he looked before. His great big head is a nasty red colour and his squinty eyes are hard as steel. He raises the gun to his shoulder, pulls back both hammers and I see his fingers tighten on the triggers. Just as I’m thinking it’s all over he lowers the gun, looks me slowly up and down and his mouth twists into a smile. He walks over to me, takes my cap off, leans in close and sniffs my hair. He says something in German, lays the gun on the draining board and shoves me up against the stove. He leans his weight against me, puts one hand over my mouth, forces my head back and brings the other hand up between my legs, still mumbling in German. I feel a sharp pain in my neck. I reach behind me, grab hold of a frying pan, swing it at his head and catch him a lucky one on the temple. As he staggers sideways I snatch the shotgun but he recovers and wrenches it out of my hands. He drops the gun, pulls me to him so my back’s against his chest, puts an arm round my neck and locks it tight. I struggle for bit then I slowly let myself go limp.

  When he thinks I’m gone and starts to release his grip I reach down, grab hold of his balls and twist. As he screams and doubles over I swivel round and knee him in the face. He hits the floor, rolls over, shakes his head and tries to get up. I pick up the shotgun, swing the stock at his big ugly head and knock him cold.

  I lean on the sink while I get my breath back, then I switch off the light, open the back door and listen in case the noise has woken up any nosy neighbours. All seems quiet so I take hold of Heinz’s feet and drag him into the bedroom.

  I try to heave him up onto the bed but he’s too much of a dead weight. I go to the wardrobe, open the door and feel around beneath the clothes for the coil of rope that was in there before. I find it, take it out and put it on the floor beside the bed. I look down at the great bald head on the floor. His face is already swollen from where I’ve hit him with the shotgun, and with his half grown beard he looks like the squashed carcass of some animal that’s been run over. I poke the barrel of my gun into his ribs to make sure he’s out cold, then I peel a length of tape off the roll in my pocket and stick it across his mouth. I push him next to the bed, take out my blade and cut three lengths of rope off the coil on the floor. I roll him over onto his stomach and tie his wrists together behind his back, then I push him up against the bed, wind a length of rope round his neck and tie it to one end of the iron bed frame. I tie his ankles together and bind them to the frame at the other end. As I’m tying off the last knot I hear the front door opening.

  I move to the wardrobe, take the key out of the lock and get inside. I hear footsteps in the hall and then the bedroom door opens. I put my eye to the keyhole and see the outline of a short man crossing to the bed and bending over the body. He pulls at the ropes, pokes Heinz in the chest, then he straightens up, takes out a gun, and comes towards the wardrobe. As the keyhole goes dark I kick open the door and punch him in the face. He staggers back and goes down on one knee. I grab his wrist, wrench the gun out of his hand, swing it at his head and knock him onto his back. As I’m mounting his chest he brings both knees up, shoves me over his head and I land against the wall. He launches himself at me but I squirm out of his reach and he hits the floor. While he scrambles to his feet I get behind him and crack him on the back of his head with the butt of the gun. He lands on the floor with a thump and he’s out.

  I turn him over, switch on the torch and have a look at his face. He’s got ginger hair and a scar on one cheek. I don’t recognise him. I don’t want to kill him in case it gets me into even more bother so I pocket his gun, take hold of his ankles and drag him to the kitchen. I open the back door and it seems quiet outside, so I go into the garden and find a hole in the hedge that leads into another garden that looks like a rubbish tip. The prefab that it belongs to has its windows smashed and the back door’s hanging off. I go back into the kitchen and lift my man onto a chair. I bend down, take hold of his wrist, heave him onto my shoulder, carry him across the lawn and through the hole in the hedge. I walk a few steps into the overgrown garden and dump him between a couple of rusty old dustbins. He starts to come round, so I duck back through the hedge, crouch down and watch him stand up slowly and shake his head. He looks around and takes a couple of steps towards the hedge, then he stops and searches his pockets for his gun. When he can’t find it he turns, limps up the garden and disappears round the side of the house. I wait a bit to make sure he’s gone then I go into the house and check that Heinz is still tied to the bed frame and out cold. I go into the kitchen, find an old towel and wipe the shotgun, the frying pan, and the handle of the back door clean of prints. In the bedroom I wipe Ginger’s gun and put it on Heinz’s bedside table then I pick up the phone and dial 999. A woman who sounds like she’s just woken up asks me which service I require and I tell her the police. When a copper answers I put on a frightened voice, give him Heinz’s address, pant a bit and say there’s a girl’s dead body in the kitchen. I wipe the phone, replace the receiver, and leave by the front door.

  There’s a prefab further along the road with a cement mixer and a pile of sand in the front garden and a tarpaulin over the flat roof. I go round the back of it and make sure there’s no one inside, then I climb up onto the roof and get under the tarpaulin. I craw
l to the front of the roof, lift the edge of the tarpaulin, and I’ve got a good view of Heinz’s place.

  Ten minutes later I’m hearing sirens and two police cars and a van pull up outside the house.

  The coppers get out and stand by the front gate while an inspector tells them something and then one lot go to the front door and the rest go round the back. When the group at the front get nothing from a knock on the door they break it open, pull out their truncheons and file inside. The lights go on in all the rooms and a few in the prefabs on each side and opposite as the neighbours wake up with the noise and get interested in what’s going on. A man comes out of the house next door and a copper on the pavement tells him to go back inside. A woman in a pink dressing gown and curlers leans out of a window of the next house along to try and see what’s happening. Two coppers hurry out of the front door, fetch a stretcher and blankets out of the van and take them back inside. I’m hoping they’ll come out with Heinz lying on the stretcher but when they do come out there’s only a mound on the middle of the stretcher, covered in a white plastic sheet which I’ll bet is what’s left of the poor girl’s body.

  Half an hour later the van and one of the cars take off with most of the coppers. There’s been no sign of Heinz and I know that the ginger haired bloke must have come back and got him away somehow. He won’t be coming back to Catford and I should have killed him when I had the chance. I crawl out from under the tarpaulin and drop down off the roof into the back garden of the prefab. I put the glasses back on, pull my cap down and walk to the van. Driving back to Harlesden I’m wondering if the ginger bloke was one of Nick’s mob who was watching Heinz’s place in case I turned up.

  It’s light by the time I get to the lock-up. I open up, drive the Mini out and the van in, get changed and head home. When I go through the doors to the building and across the foyer Mike looks up from behind the desk. I say good morning to him and head for the lift.