Nick Oldham - One Dead Witness

‘ No — even better than that. You wanted to get Patrick Orlove out of the country — well, I’ve arranged it. He’s on that plane, with a new passport, new name, different coloured hair, and with orders to kill Tracey Greenwood when the appropriate moment comes. Then he can disappear, firstly into Britain, where I’ve opened a bank account for him with two grand in it; then he can hop across to Europe, where I’ve deposited a quarter of a million in a Paris bank for him — activated when the kill is confirmed, of course.’

There was a silence while no doubt Bussola absorbed all this.

‘ Mario, you should know me by now,’ Begin’s voice said persuasively. ‘I always have a fall-back position. I never take anything for granted.’

Felicity took the news like a blow to the stomach.

So it wasn’t over yet.

Felicity could not sleep. She heard Bussola return to the house just after midnight, then crash into his bedroom down the hallway. His snores more or less immediately permeated through the walls. Big, loud, disgusting ones, just like him. They made Felicity’s lips curl in distaste.

She could not help but think this was the time to get out of this mess. She hated her life, she hated her husband and she needed to break free. Otherwise she would crack up or die.

Other than the sound of snoring, the house was quiet.

Begin was not back — he slept in a room next to his office — so there was only herself and Bussola in at that moment.

Time to take a chance.

She dressed quickly in light clothing, filling a small valise with other clothing and some of life’s essentials.

She stepped into the hallway, which she was fairly sure was not observed by surveillance cameras. A dozen strides and she was outside Bussola’s door. It was unlocked. Felicity crept into the bedroom. A dim bedside light illuminated the massive, jello-like form of Bussola lying spread-eagled and naked across the bed like a beached whale. She tiptoed up to him, any noise she might be making masked by the deafening snores emanating deep from his throat. Alcoholic fumes and stale sweat wafted up from him.

He squirmed. His body wobbled.

Felicity remained still, confident he would not wake. Bussola’s clothes were scattered drunkenly around the room. She picked up his jacket and rummaged through the pockets, finding two keys on a chain. She pocketed them.

‘ What the hell’s..?’ Bussola blurted out and sat upright.

Felicity dropped like a stone at the end of the bed. The bedsprings bounced, Bussola groaned… then the snoring recommenced.

Felicity exhaled falteringly.

On her hands and knees she crawled around the bed to the cabinet in which she knew her husband kept his own personal gun. It was a. 25 Beretta, just like James Bond used to carry.

It was fully loaded.

She rose to her knees and found herself face to face with her beloved. Spittle dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. Oh, how she hated him. She stood up, reached over him and picked up a pillow. Holding the gun in her right hand, she held the pillow over it so the end of the barrel protruded slightly and pointed the weapon at her husband’s temple.

Not close enough.

She forced herself to touch the muzzle to his skin, braced and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The sound was dreadful in the confines of the bedroom. People must come running… she waited, listening for the sound of running footsteps, ready to bring down the first one through the door and die fighting the others.

No one came.

Before leaving the room she grabbed the wrist-watch on the bedside cupboard; it was a Rolex, once owned by Steve Kruger. Felicity pocketed it, a lump in her throat. With one last glance at her husband, whose brains now made a pattern on the light-shade next to the bed, she left the room.

A minute later she was downstairs outside Begin’s office. She unlocked the door with one of the keys she had just appropriated from Bussola. As Begin had boasted, the documents which would smash Kruger Investigations were on his desk — the same documents Felicity had stolen at the time of her divorce from Steve and which had subsequently played a big part in his death.

Well, she was making amends now, as best she could. With a great deal of pleasure she fed them one by one into the paper shredder next to Begin’s desk. Twelve sheets, shredded in three minutes. But that wasn’t all she planned to do in his office.

She moved to the small wall-safe set behind some law books on a shelf. She wasn’t certain what it contained, but she had an inkling there was something worthwhile within.

The other key on the chain opened it. Her jaw sagged in amazement when she clapped eyes on the contents. Felicity estimated she was looking at somewhere in the region of a quarter of a million bucks; she immediately transferred the bundles into her case.

Now all she had to do was make a quick phone call and get the hell out.

As she replaced the telephone, the figure of Ira Begin loomed in through the open door of his office. He was not expecting to see Felicity, but when his eyes fell on her and the open door of the safe, he quickly made the addition.

Felicity was on her feet. She hadn’t heard his car pull up.

Begin said, ‘What are you doing, Felicity? You don’t seriously think Mario will let you get away with stealing from him, do you? He’ll probably kill you this time.’

‘ Yeah, no doubt he would — if he was alive to do it.’

Begin’s face registered shock.

Felicity reached calmly into the valise and pulled out the revolver.

Begin’s hands rose instinctively. ‘Hey, if he’s dead, I don’t have any argument with you. I’ll stand aside. You can go.’

Her mind whirred. Yeah, she thought, and I’ll never get past that gate-house alive.

‘ Okay, Ira, I believe you,’ she lied, ‘but I want you to do one thing for me — phone those greasy bastards down at the gate and tell them that in a couple of minutes’ time you’ll be driving out and for them to get the gates open now, because you’re in a hurry.’

‘ But I’m not,’ he protested.

‘ Ira — that’s not the point, is it? I have a gun and I’m telling you what to do. If you don’t do it, I’ll shoot you… and don’t think for a moment I won’t. I’ve just got a taste for blood.’

He eyed her nervously and nodded.

‘ If you try or say anything stupid, I’ll put a bullet in your skull and take my chances with those no-brain wonders anyway,’ she warned him.

‘ Okay, I’ll do it.’

He crossed to the phone. Felicity circled away from him, covering him all the time, not trusting him an inch. She knew how sneaky and deceitful he was, and how violent when the need arose. At that moment in time she was feeling good, completely in control for once in her life. She had made a decision about her destiny and it put her on a high operating plane.

Begin replaced the phone. ‘Done.’

‘ Thanks, Ira — now get on your knees and put your forehead against the wall.’

He started to protest and she levelled the gun at him.

‘ Ira, don’t worry, I’m only gonna put some cuffs on you.’

Unsurely he knelt down, facing the wall.

Felicity stepped quickly up to him, placed the gun at the back of his head and shot him. She ran out of the room before he toppled over.

Begin’s car was outside the front door of the house. Unlocked, keys in the ignition, as were all cars left within the grounds. Headlights blazing, Felicity skidded down the gravel driveway and out of the gates with a loud ‘Yahoo!’ on her lips.

‘ I’d better be going.’ Tapperman indicated the wall clock. It was 2.30 a.m. He and Myrna were sitting in the living room of her house, having drunk endless cups of coffee. ‘There’ll be a black and white right outside the door twenty-four hours per day until you feel safe.’