Stephen Leather - Dead Men

‘I’ll never leave Belfast,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘What time are you off? I’ll take you for a drink.’

‘I’m on the clock until midnight,’ said Williamson. ‘We can hit the hotel bar.’

Maplethorpe grinned. ‘It’s a date,’ he said.

Shepherd and Elaine had breakfast in the hotel restaurant, then walked over to the exhibition centre. ‘Are you sure you want to come in?’ she asked.

‘My first meeting isn’t until this afternoon,’ he said, ‘and I might find something interesting to do with my money.’

‘Well, no impulse buying,’ she said. ‘Run anything past me first. There’ll be a lot of sharks about.’

The giant hall was filled with booths offering the wares of banks, building societies, insurance companies and investment firms. They were staffed by earnest young men and women in suits, half of whom seemed to have Bluetooth headsets glued to their ears. Shepherd walked with Elaine from booth to booth. Hundreds of visitors were milling around, inspecting the displays and collecting glossy brochures.

At eleven they had coffee, then watched a presentation by two blonde girls with pneumatic breasts promoting a property fund that was investing in shopping malls in the former Communist bloc, and another by two slick men in black Armani suits with Russian accents who were pitching shares in an oil-exploration company.

Afterwards they went out for a cigarette, then wandered round the booths again. Elaine said she needed to wash her hands and redo her makeup. Shepherd went off for another coffee, then sat and read the Daily Mail . By the time he’d finished his coffee she hadn’t returned. He realised it had been almost thirty minutes since he’d seen her. He went down to the cloakroom area but she wasn’t there, then walked the length of the exhibition hall. There was no sign of her. He called her but her mobile went straight to answering-machine. He put his phone back into his pocket, went up to the mezzanine floor and scanned the exhibition below.

He left the hall and went to the hotel on the off-chance that Elaine had gone back to the room. She hadn’t. He phoned Button. ‘I’ve lost her,’ he said.

‘How long?’

‘I last saw her an hour ago. I spent half an hour looking for her in the exhibition centre, and she’s not in the hotel room. Her mobile phone’s off.’

‘You checked for a weapon, right?’

‘As best I could.’

Button clicked her tongue. ‘What do you think, Spider?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe she met a client and went off for a meeting.’

‘Without telling you?’

‘We’re not joined at the hip.’

‘Is it possible she’s going after Kinsella?’

‘Charlie, I don’t know. My gut feeling is that it’s not her.’

‘I’m not sure we can risk everything on a gut feeling,’ she said. ‘Okay, meet me at Kinsella’s hotel. In Reception. Soon as you can.’

Shepherd ended the call and hurried to the car park for his Audi.

The lift door opened and Russ Williamson moved his hand closer to the gun in a nylon holster under his left armpit. He relaxed when he saw John Maplethorpe. ‘You can’t stay away, can you?’ he said.

‘How’s your head?’ asked Maplethorpe. The two men had spent three hours drinking the previous night, ending up in an after-hours club in Soho.

‘Throbbing,’ said Williamson. ‘I could do with a hair of the dog but the wife has a thing about alcohol.’

‘Thought I’d see if you wanted a cigarette break,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘I’m supposed to have a chat with Kinsella before he departs these shores so we can kill two birds with one stone.’

‘You sure? I could do with a coffee as well.’

‘Take half an hour. I’ll have my debrief and wait until you get back. You said the wife was going out shopping, right?’

‘Yeah, she’s at Harrods with Paul.’ He pointed to the door down the corridor. ‘Owen’s in there. I’ll let him know I’m taking a break.’

Maplethorpe patted his shoulder. ‘I’ll tell him,’ he said.

‘You’re a star, John, thanks.’

‘You’d do the same for me,’ said Maplethorpe.

Williamson went to the lift. When it arrived he waved at Maplethorpe, who waved back as the doors closed. Then Maplethorpe undid his jacket. A Smith amp; Wesson .357 Magnum stuck out of his belt.

Shepherd parked his Audi at a meter down the road from the hotel and phoned Button as he hurried along the pavement. ‘On my way,’ he said.

‘I’m here already,’ she said. A uniformed doorman saluted Shepherd as he went in. Button was in the lobby. ‘They’re on the fifteenth floor,’ she said. They got into the lift and she pressed the button.

‘We might be worrying about nothing,’ said Shepherd.

‘I agree,’ said Button, ‘but I’ll feel happier if we check for ourselves.’ She jabbed at the button to close the doors. ‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered.

Maplethorpe knocked at the door to Kinsella’s suite. After a few seconds it opened on the safety chain. Maplethorpe flashed his PSNI identification. ‘John Maplethorpe, Intelligence Branch.’

Kinsella squinted at the ID card. ‘Where’s Russ?’

‘Family problems in Belfast. His wife.’

‘How long will he be gone?’

‘I’m to fill in until you leave for the States,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘Can I come in and do a visual check, please?’

‘What?’

‘It’s procedure when there’s a personnel change,’ said Maplethorpe, putting away his ID.

‘Now?’

‘It’s supposed to be done as soon as I come on duty,’ said Maplethorpe.

Kinsella grunted, took off the chain and opened the door. He was wearing a dark blue denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and faded blue jeans. He hadn’t shaved and his hair was tousled as if he’d only just got out of bed.

Maplethorpe walked into the suite. ‘Nice room,’ he said. There were two beige sofas, a desk and a large plasma television on one wall. A half-eaten plate of sandwiches and a pot of tea stood on a coffee-table in front of the television.

‘You should try living here,’ said Kinsella.

Maplethorpe pointed at the door that led to the room on the left. ‘Is that where Owen is?’

‘Yeah. I think he listens in when I’m having sex with my wife,’ said Kinsella.

‘I’ll have a word with him about that,’ said Maplethorpe.

‘Don’t bother, it’s quite a turn-on knowing that I’m having sex and he isn’t,’ said Kinsella. He sat on the sofa and put his feet on the coffee-table. ‘Do you want tea? I’ll get them to send up an extra cup.’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ said Maplethorpe. He went to the connecting door and opened it. A man in a grey suit was sitting on the bed, pointing a remote control at the television. He stood up awkwardly and reached for the gun in his underarm holster.

‘Whoa, lad, I’m on the job,’ said Maplethorpe, holding up a hand. ‘Detective Superintendent Maplethorpe. John to my friends. Didn’t Russ mention I’d be dropping by?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ said Owen Crompton, visibly relaxing. ‘He was out on the town with you last night, wasn’t he?’

‘Just a few drinks,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘I said I’d swing by and review the security arrangements.’ He closed the door behind him.

‘It’s a babysitting job,’ said Crompton. ‘He’s off soon, anyway.’

‘Got to be done right, though, Owen,’ said Maplethorpe. He nodded at the window. ‘I saw a car down there this morning. Didn’t look right.’

Crompton went to look outside. ‘Is it still there?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Maplethorpe, as he took his gun from his belt and held it by the barrel. ‘Grey Toyota.’ Crompton craned his neck to look down at the road below. Maplethorpe slammed the butt of the revolver against Crompton’s temple, then caught him under the arms as he slumped to the ground. ‘Sorry, lad,’ he whispered.