Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

Ingrid let out a short gasp.

‘Let’s wait till twelve,’ I said. ‘There’s still a couple of hours.’

Guy contemplated the gun in his hand. ‘I don’t know. Two hours is a long time to wait with you two staring at me.’

He lifted the weapon.

‘You were a crap businessman, you know,’ I said. I had to say something. For a second a spark of anger lit up Guy’s eyes. But then it died down.

‘I know.’

‘Nowhere near as good as your father.’

He lowered the gun. I had caught his attention. ‘You’re right.’

‘You’re good at the big-picture stuff. The vision thing. But you never really understood that it was all about money, did you? I did, but you fooled me too.’

Anger smouldered in Guy’s eyes.

‘Your father knew about profit, didn’t he? Let’s face it, if we’d done what he’d suggested and linked up to a porn site, the money would be rolling in. Sex ’n’ soccer. The tabloids would be queuing up to buy us. And the NASDAQ could just go screw itself.’

‘I could never have run a site like that,’ said Guy.

‘Neither could I. Could you, Ingrid?’ She shook her head. ‘But that’s our problem. You’d never have made it in property, either.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I remember reading an article in Private Eye about your father. How he had bribed a local council to allow planning permission for some shopping centre in the north. And how he screwed his partner in the seventies.’

‘That was all libel!’ Guy protested. ‘ Private Eye settled out of court. They paid Dad a substantial sum and printed an apology.’

‘Course they did. Just like they did to Robert Maxwell. I wouldn’t want to mess with your father in court.’

Guy sighed. ‘So what are you getting at?’

‘You built something much greater than your father could ever have done. Ninetyminutes was one hell of an achievement. Not financially, maybe. But I don’t know anyone else who could have created the best soccer website in Europe from scratch.’

‘Big deal.’

‘It is a big deal. It impressed the hell out of me. And Ingrid. And Gaz. And Michelle. And every one of the people who work here.’ I leaned forward. ‘Guy, you’ve always impressed the hell out of me. For a while I thought that you would be a great entrepreneur. So you’re not. So what? I’m still impressed.’

‘You’re just saying that because I’ve got a gun in my hand.’

‘I’m not, and you know it. I knew your father. I know you. Believe me, Guy. You’re a better man than him. You don’t have to prove that to me, and you shouldn’t have to prove it to yourself any more.’

Guy looked again at the gun. Very slowly he placed it on to the desk next to him. Even more slowly I got to my feet and reached across towards it.

Guy snatched it up and pointed it somewhere between me and him. ‘I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this thing, so don’t rush me.’

I eased back into my chair. ‘OK,’ I said.

We sat in silence, the three of us. But I was thinking about a fourth person. Clare.

Slowly, I pulled the note she had received out of my jacket pocket and handed it to Guy.

‘What’s this?’

‘Clare got it yesterday. It’s from Owen. Read it.’

Guy read it, frowning. ‘You think Owen wrote this?’ he said, when he had finished.

‘I know Owen wrote it. And he sent an e-mail to Clare today, telling her he’s serious.’

Guy was silent, staring at the letter. Eventually, he spoke. ‘I don’t think this is Owen.’

‘Of course it’s Owen,’ I said. ‘It was Owen who threatened Henry. Owen who planted the computer virus in Goaldigger’s system. Owen who has been threatening me. You know yourself Owen killed Dominique. I think he killed Abdulatif as well. And now he’s going to kill Clare. Unless you stop him.’

Guy looked confused. Unsure of himself. Unsure of his brother.

‘You are the only person who can stop him,’ I said.

Just then the door to the office banged open. We turned.

Owen.

He pushed his way through the door carrying a flat brown carton. ‘Hey, Guy?’ he called. ‘Guy? I got pizza! Pepperoni feast.’

Then he saw us.

‘What are these people doing here?’ he demanded, placing the pizza box on a nearby desk and moving over to his brother. ‘I thought you said you wanted to be alone?’

‘They came to talk to me about this.’ Guy handed him Clare’s letter. ‘They tell me you wrote it. Did you?’

Owen read the letter. He chuckled softly to himself.

‘Did you?’ asked Guy again.

Owen shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

Guy’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Ingrid and me. ‘Owen, if you did write this, it’s pretty dumb. If Ninetyminutes does get sold, killing Clare isn’t going to bring it back.’

‘Did she fold?’ Owen asked.

‘No,’ said Guy. ‘We haven’t heard anything from her. Or from Mercia Metro TV.’

‘Then I guess it was pretty dumb,’ said Owen.

‘There’s no point in harming Clare now,’ I said. ‘Ninetyminutes is going to be sold to Champion Starsat whatever you do to her or anyone else.’

Owen glared at me. His small black eyes gleamed with anger. He was about to say something when he noticed the gun on Guy’s desk. He reached over and picked it up.

I tensed. Owen was dangerous enough. Owen with a gun was lethal.

‘So, you had a use for this after all,’ he said to Guy. ‘I was scared you were going to, like, top yourself with it.’

Guy looked uncomfortable.

‘You were going to top yourself.’ Owen pulled up a chair next to Guy’s desk and lowered himself into it. ‘That’s why you wanted to be by yourself tonight. Then these jerks disturbed you. I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone.’

‘What about Clare?’ I said.

Big mistake. Owen exploded. ‘Screw Clare! I don’t give a shit what happens to her. She’s given Ninetyminutes away.’ He jabbed the gun towards me, using it more as a finger than as a weapon. ‘And screw you too. Can you see what you’ve done to my brother? It was you who totally fucked up Ninetyminutes. If it hadn’t been for you, he’d be fine now, not sitting here planning to blow his brains out.’

‘Give me the gun, Owen,’ Guy said quietly.

‘So you can use it on yourself? No fuckin’ way. I’m gonna use it. On this bastard.’

He raised the gun and pointed it towards me. He was aiming now, not jabbing.

‘Owen, wait!’ Guy protested.

‘No. This fucker deserves to die. He’s gonna die.’

Ingrid let out a small scream.

‘You too, baby. One goes, you both go.’

‘Don’t do it, Owen. It’s stupid.’

‘Of course it’s not stupid. If I hadn’t shown up just now, you’d have shot yourself. And all because of him.’ Owen stared at me hard down the barrel of the gun. He was angry, but he wasn’t out of control. He was very much in control. He knew what he was doing and he was determined to do it.

‘I’m telling you. Give me the gun.’

Guy’s voice was firm. But Owen ignored it. He didn’t move his eyes away from me. I heard the click of the safety catch. He was going to pull the trigger.

‘OK, OK.’ Guy ran his fingers through his hair. His expression changed. From a state of confusion, he suddenly became focused. Angry. ‘You’re right, Owen,’ he said. ‘It is all this bastard’s fault. But let me think. There’s no point in shooting him and waiting for the police to arrive.’

I stared at Guy. Had he gone mad? He looked very sane. Angry, but sane.

Owen stared at his brother too.

‘Guy?’ I said.

‘Shut the fuck up.’

‘Guy. You can’t let Owen do this.’