Pauline Rowson - In for the Kill

The gate to the houseboat squeaked as I pushed it back. A sudden swish of noise came from behind me as I stepped into the forecourt. Before I had time to register what it was, my arms were pinned behind me in a tight grip and a voice hissed in my ear.

‘Make a noise and I break both arms.

Understand?’

I nodded.

‘Good, now let’s go inside and have a quiet talk, shall we?’

In the circumstances it seemed the most sensible thing to do.

CHAPTER 7

‘I gather you’ve been looking for me?’ He stabbed at the light before releasing me. I turned to face him. ‘Clive Westnam,’ he announced.

This time my prison training couldn’t keep the surprise from my face. He looked nothing like his newspaper photographs. He was much thinner, his face was gaunt and the sleekness of power had sloughed off him. The luxuriant silver hair was now thin and greasy and his clothes, an old anorak over a pullover and a pair of suit trousers, were grubby and creased. His shoes were down at heel and scuffed. I thought life had treated me harshly in prison but wherever he had been it hadn’t been much better.

‘Not the man you remember, eh?’

‘Who is?’ I replied harshly.

‘Prison doesn’t seem to have harmed you; except for the hair you look about the same, perhaps fitter. Bloody holiday inside, whilst your victims have suffered you’ve been living the life of Riley.’

‘I would hardly say that.’

‘Then what would you say?’ He thrust his face close to mine but eased back almost immediately when I didn’t react. I’d been frightened by harder men than him. He was a pussycat compared to the psychos who had wanted a piece of me in prison. He could see that he would be no match for me. I was younger and much fitter. If he wanted a fight I could give him one.

‘I didn’t take your money,’ I said evenly.

He laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, come on. I’m not the bloody law.’

‘Did you ever meet me?’ I pressed.

‘You know damn well I didn’t. You called me.

It was your voice and you sent me those e-mails.

You threatened me.’

‘With what?’ I stepped forward. I could see the wariness in his eyes.

‘I thought I was giving to charity. You conned me.’

‘Someone conned us both. What did Andover have on you?’

‘Nothing.’ A flash of anger, but it was bluster.

‘Oh, come on, he had something on all three of you, otherwise you would never have agreed to hand the money over.’

‘I was a company chairman. I had a good job. I had a wife and a lovely house until you came into my life and now I’ve got fuck all.’

I felt like saying join the club. There was one difference between us, I knew I was innocent and I knew that Westnam had a secret that he didn’t want exposed.

‘I want my money back, Albury. I’m going to see that you pay up.’

‘And how are you going to do that?’ I said with a mixture of cockiness and anger. Westnam’s eyes flicked beyond me but before I could react a voice said:

‘He isn’t, I am.’

I spun round. I hadn’t heard or sensed anyone enter, but behind me were two men, one of whom I recognised instantly from my days in Brixton prison. My heart sank and with it came fear. Despite that I forced myself to show little reaction and to keep my voice even when I said,

‘Hello, Rowde.’ I managed to hold his stare, which was difficult because I knew the evil that this man was capable of. I’d been on the receiving end of it many times and had witnessed it being inflicted on others. With Rowde’s appearance the prison smell was back in my nostrils.

‘It’s good to see you again, Alex,’ Rowde replied. He was the slimmer and smaller of the two men.

‘I wish I could say the same of you,’ I said casually, yet meaning every word of it.

He laughed and strode across the room as if he owned it whilst his henchman, a square-set man with eyes like scratched marbles and an expression to match, blocked the door.

‘Nice place you’ve got here.’ Rowde sat down.

Westnam was looking smug but nervous. I could see beads of sweat on his brow. I hoped and prayed there would be none on mine. If I allowed my mind to go back to the time when I had shared a cell with this man, before my transfer to Camp Hill, I would break out in a cold sweat and perspire so heavily he’d think I’d just stepped out of the shower.

‘Got anything to drink?’ Rowde crossed his legs and relaxed into the seat. In contrast to Westnam he was expensively but casually dressed in a lightweight Henri Lloyd sailing jacket over a navy cotton polo neck, and khaki-coloured jeans. He looked as if he had just stepped off a powerful and expensive motorboat. His hair was short and dark with only a few flecks of grey. He was about my age and had put on a bit of weight around the midriff since his release from prison. Apart from that he was the man I remembered, the man who had terrorised me for six months.

‘I’ll fetch some beer.’

‘No, Westnam will do that.’

‘It’s below, in the kitchen.’

Westnam scurried away.

‘You’ve got him well trained.’ I sat down opposite Rowde, trying to emulate his relaxed manner, yet fearing what might come next.

Whatever it would be I doubted it would be very pleasant, for me anyway.

‘He was easier than you.’

‘Yeah, and I’ve still got the scars to prove it.’

‘You always were a stubborn bugger. You know what we’ve come for.’

‘I haven’t got it and I don’t know where it is.’

‘Same old story. I would have thought you’d have learned by now that I don’t like lies and I don’t like liars. Neither does Barry.’ He jerked his head in the direction of marble man.

My mind was racing. How could I get out of this? Where were the police when you needed them? If they were keeping surveillance on me then why the hell had they let this masochist and his thug walk in? But I could answer that question myself: to see where it might lead them.

The police couldn’t demand money with menace but they could let someone else do it and then arrive to take the glory and the money.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you both. I was framed.’

‘So you keep saying. I hope you’re not going to bore me again.’

I didn’t answer. There was nothing I could say.

Westnam was taking his time fetching that beer and I guessed he was having a quick one whilst he was down there. I didn’t blame him. If he was looking for the money though he was going to be disappointed.

Rowde continued. ‘Westnam will be very upset if you don’t give him back his million and so will I. He’s going to give me a commission for helping him.’

‘Does he know that?’

‘Of course.’ Rowde leaned forward and lowered his voice, ‘But he doesn’t know how much.’

Poor sod, I thought.

Rowde laughed as Westnam appeared with two cans of beer. He handed one to Rowde who took it but didn’t drink from it. He held it carefully in his slim hands.

‘Has he told you where it is?’ Westnam said.

‘He will.’

‘You don’t trust this bastard, do you?’ I threw at Westnam.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Why should you?’ I rejoined. ‘If I had the money, and told you where to get it, do you seriously think he’ll let you keep it?’

Westnam threw a nervous glance at Rowde.

Rowde stood up. ‘I think it’s time we stopped all this polite chit chat and got down to some business.’

I saw him nod at marble man and resisted both the temptation to turn round and to stand up. I tried to keep my body language and expression as relaxed as possible which was difficult when I was shit scared.

‘I want that money, Alex, and I’m going to get it.’