Pauline Rowson - In for the Kill

What she saw in me I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to ask.

I placed my glass on the table. I could smell her perfume; feel her soft breath near my face. I leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were so soft and willing against mine. My whole body was on fire. I put my arms around her and she responded so eagerly that it almost scared me off; her tongue was seeking mine, her slender body pressing against me. I could feel her softness. For some reason Scarlett’s voluptuous figure popped into my mind. But I hastily banished the thought of her and did what any man would have done in the circumstances, I made love to Deeta, twice. The first time I’m ashamed to admit was a purely selfish act on my part. The second time, I hoped she got just as much pleasure from it as me. I didn’t hear her complaining.

It was early morning when I woke.

‘I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ she said gently, pulling on her jeans.

I lay back with my hands behind my head and watched her dress. For a moment I forgot that I was going to Guernsey. But only for a moment.

I glanced at my watch. It was just after 6am. I pulled myself up.

‘Do you want a coffee or something to eat?’

‘No. I have to go.’ She leaned across the bed and kissed me. It was enough to stir me into action again. She pulled away laughing. ‘Thank you for a lovely night.’

It should have been me thanking her. I watched her walk away then grabbed a coffee, and some breakfast, showered, changed, and locked up the houseboat. Outside I hesitated before knocking on Scarlett’s door. There was no answer, but I knew she was in. I could hear the radio playing.

I headed for the Red Funnel service from Cowes to Southampton. The flight to Guernsey was delayed. They didn’t say why. It was 11.30am when I stepped onto the aeroplane. It landed just over an hour later.

I hailed a taxi to take me to St Peter Port. I didn’t have time to look at the blue rippling waters of the harbour, or the quaint town with its pretty colour-washed houses climbing the hill on my left. We followed the harbour round, keeping it on our right until, on the outskirts of the old town, we came to the new development of steel and glass: the glitzy offices of the financiers who had succeeded the Germans, the Guernsey cows and the tomatoes.

The receptionist told me that Mr Newberry was in a meeting.

‘I have to see him urgently,’ I insisted. ‘I have some bad news about his wife and sons. There’s been an accident.’

The girl looked horrified. My bruised face convinced her I was telling the truth. She quickly made to telephone him when I stilled her. I didn’t want Gus running out the back way.

‘I think it’s best if I go along there and tell him, rather than confront him here in reception, don’t you?’

She didn’t seem to be sure but I put on my most sympathetic face and finally she said,

‘Meeting room six on the top floor. The lift is behind you, sir.’

I hadn’t thought through what I would say, just that I’d get him by the throat and beat the truth out of him if I had too. The vision of at least fifteen years behind bars for the murder of Westnam, with bullies like Rowde, not to mention my children’s safety, was enough to make me desperate.

I scanned the numbers on the meeting room doors in the silence of the air-conditioned corridor, my heart beating rapidly, my palms sweating, until I was in front of number six.

Ignoring the ‘engaged’ sign I thrust open the door and all eight faces of the men sitting, jacketless, around a long boardroom table, scattered with papers and bottles of Perrier, looked up at me.

Gus was sitting directly opposite where I was standing. His was the only expression I noted and that barely as I swiftly crossed the carpeted room. Within an instant I had him by the throat, pinned up against the wall.

‘Where is it, you bastard?’ I roared. I was only vaguely conscious of movement behind me but nobody remonstrated with me. Gus croaked something but I wasn’t listening, I was too busy banging his head against the wall.

‘Where’s the fucking money?’ I screeched. His face was red; his eyes bulging like a bullfrog. He was struggling to speak. He was choking. I let him go and his body slumped to the floor. I balled my fist and held it back ready to smash it into his face when it was grabbed. I was spun round and a fist smashed into my face. My head rocked back and I staggered against the wall. The fist came up again but this time I heard Gus shout,

‘Leave him.’

My blurred vision began to clear and I saw a burly security guard wearing a uniform that the SS would have been proud of. Reluctantly he stepped back, a disappointed expression on his face. Gus reached out a hand. The smug bastard, I thought, trying to struggle up without his assistance.

The other men were standing by the door muttering and looking grim. I stumbled, reached for the corner of the table for support and shook my head as the room swam out of focus, then wish I hadn’t as pain shot through it. I sat down with a groan, putting my head in my hands.

When I looked up, the room was empty except for Gus and there was glass of water in front of me.

‘Drink it,’ he commanded.

I tried to glare at him but it hurt my head too much. Ignoring the drink I rubbed a hand against my lip and tasted the blood. Pulling out a handkerchief I wiped my mouth. Gus was now sitting on my right. He looked drained, but I bet he was a picture of health compared to me.

‘Where’s the money, Gus? Or should I say Andover?’ I snapped. Gus looked surprised. He wasn’t fooling me. ‘You lied about how long you had known Vanessa. You were having an affair with her. You wanted to steal her from me and the only way you thought you could do that was to disgrace me.’

I could feel my anger rising again, yet something in Gus’s expression told me I was wrong. His shock and surprise seemed genuine. I had to be right. My sons’ future depended on it.

I continued. ‘You can fly an aeroplane, you know all about computers and you have a connection with two of the victims. Westnam was chief executive of Manover Plastics and your firm were his accountants. Spires sponsored the Beckenham Challenge Cup and Couldner raced in that. Spires is plastered all over the spinnaker and you’re in a photograph alongside Couldner.’

‘And Brookes?’

‘They’ll be a connection.’

‘Alex, this is crazy.’

‘No.’ I spat. ‘Crazy is what you did to me. You knew a secret about each man, one worth blackmailing for. Perhaps Westnam’s accounts weren’t quite legit; perhaps Brookes had inflated the profits for the takeover by Sunglow, and Couldner’s secret could be something you learned whilst drinking with him in the yacht club.’

‘You’ve got this all wrong. Where does the aeroplane come in?’

I told him about the incident on the day of my release.

I studied him carefully. I knew he was clever.

‘There’s no use in denying it any longer, Gus. I met some very nasty men in prison. One of them called Rowde is now free and he wants the money I don’t have. In return for which he says he won’t harm my sons.’

Gus turned pale. ‘You’re not serious?’

Looking at him, I began to have doubts. His terror was no act; no one went that pale on demand. I said nothing.

He reached for a bottle of water, poured himself a glass and drank it down in one go. He was visibly shaken and looked physically ill. Serve him bloody well right I thought. It was about time something ruffled his oh-so-perfect fucking life. But that was stupid because nothing mattered except my children.

Gus was recovering. He was not the impetuous type. Instead he had been gathering his thoughts and his composure. Behind his slow deliberate manner I could see a brain that could operate at the speed of lightning. He said, ‘Does Vanessa know about this?’