Die Alone Page 6

  But I wasn’t going to get out of this on my own. I needed help, and I knew the one place where I could get it, which meant making a phone call. The burner phone was no use to me, as it was being monitored by Lane, but I wasn’t deterred. On the way up the stairs I hadn’t heard any noises coming from inside any of the other apartments and guessed that they were probably empty. It was late July after all, and the beginning of the school holidays. Also, in the last ten years huge numbers of apartments and houses in central London had been bought up by overseas investors, often with dirty money, and left empty. All I needed was a working landline.

  I picked up a butter knife from the cutlery drawer in the kitchen and went down to the apartment on the floor below. I listened at the door for a good minute, then, satisfied there was no one in there, I wedged the end of the knife into the old-fashioned seventies-style lock and wriggled it from side to side like a key until the door opened, which took all of about twenty seconds.

  The apartment was fusty and decorated in an unpleasant style that befitted the lock, but it was clear it was still being lived in, and I was pleased to see a landline phone in the kitchen.

  I took a deep breath before I made the call. Involving someone else meant exposing them to danger, and I cared deeply for Tina Boyd, the woman I was falling in love with when I was arrested a year ago. But I also knew she’d want to help if she could.

  The two of us had kept burner phones that we used to contact each other on to avoid having our conversations monitored. Clearly I no longer had mine but I was hoping she still had hers. I’d memorized the number long ago but, even so, my hand hovered above the handset for a long moment before I finally picked it up and punched in the numbers.

  The phone rang. And rang. Finally it kicked into voicemail.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘I’ll call back.’ Then I hung up.

  I stood there in this stranger’s apartment for another five minutes, contemplating my next move. The dishwasher was open and half full and there were two empty cups with dregs of tea in the bottom on the sideboard, so I knew that the occupants could be back soon.

  I tried the number one more time and waited.

  It must have been the tenth ring when she picked up.

  ‘Is it you?’ she asked, and I felt a pang of something powerful as I heard her voice.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘I didn’t expect this. Are you OK? What happened?’

  I sighed. ‘It’s a long story, and I can’t tell you about it right now, but I need you to do something for me.’

  She didn’t argue. I knew she wouldn’t.

  ‘Start talking,’ was all she said.

  8

  Tina put the burner phone back on top of the bathroom cabinet, out of sight.

  It had been up in her loft for most of the past year but when she’d heard that Ray had been broken out of the prison van, she’d taken it down and recharged it in case he attempted to make contact. She’d checked it repeatedly in the first forty-eight hours but gradually, as hope had faded that he was even alive, let alone in a position to call her, she’d started checking it less and less, and she hadn’t looked at it for a couple of days before today. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to hear from him. In the end, Ray represented the danger and violence of the past. In the few weeks they’d been together, she’d almost been killed twice.

  Tina had ridden her luck too many times over the years and she knew with certainty that at some point, and probably soon, it would run out.

  And yet she couldn’t help feeling a frisson of excitement at hearing his voice again. Her date with Matt had been OK. He was a nice guy, and funny too, and he looked like he did in his photos, but she couldn’t help feeling he was just a little bit lightweight. There were no rough edges to him. He would, she knew, be a pushover, and halfway through the date when he leaned forward and said ‘I can’t believe I’m sitting here having a drink with the Tina Boyd’, she knew that there was no future for the two of them.

  Because that was the problem. For most men she’d always be the Tina Boyd. The killer cop; the Black Widow who’d lost two of her close colleagues in the line of duty; the one who’d been fired from the job twice, shot twice, and involved in some of the biggest cases in UK criminal history.

  But Ray had never seen her like that. To him, she was a woman; an equal; a partner. He wasn’t in awe of her, because he’d been through the same things. And for the past year she’d thought she’d lost him for ever.

  And then, just like that, he’d reappeared.

  If she helped him, Tina was taking a huge risk. The maximum sentence for assisting an offender was ten years, and if she got caught they’d throw the book at her, so she’d definitely be looking at the upper end of that. It was a prospect that filled her with dread.

  She went back downstairs and out into the garden, lighting a cigarette and pondering her next move. She knew Ray wouldn’t hold it against her if she didn’t help him. He’d said as much on the phone.

  But the problem with Tina was that she’d never been able to turn her back on someone in trouble, even if it meant getting into a whole load of trouble of her own. And she owed Ray, there was no question about it. He’d only been arrested on that fateful night because at the time he’d been in the process of rescuing Tina from two people who would have killed her given half the chance. Ray had killed them, and been charged with double murder as a result, taking the rap so Tina didn’t have to.

  It was for that reason more than any other that she made the fateful decision to get involved.

  9

  It was just before 10.30 p.m. on my first night in the apartment when I slipped out the front door of the building. I’d been watching the street below for the previous hour and was certain there was no one down there watching me. Very few cars came past and those that did all seemed to stop further down the road at the brothel, disgorging their passengers before driving off again. There were no pedestrians and, as far as I could make out, no one in any of the nearby parked cars, which were all in Residents Only bays. It would be almost impossible for Lane and her associates to keep me under surveillance 24/7, especially with only three of them, and I suspected they were relying on the chip they’d planted in me to monitor my whereabouts.

  It was a warm evening and I headed off to Connaught Street where the pubs and restaurants were busy enough that there were a fair few pedestrians about. None of them gave me a second glance. My new look of shaved head and full-face beard was clearly working, helped by the fact that it was now more than two weeks after I’d gone on the run, and my face was only now rarely appearing in the media.

  I turned off onto a residential road after about a hundred yards, taking up a position in a doorway out of sight.

  Three minutes later, as I waited, a black Ford Focus turned into the street. I recognized it and the driver immediately. As Tina slowed the car, I stepped out of the doorway and raised an arm to show it was safe for her to stop. Our eyes met, and I experienced something I hadn’t felt in a year. It took me a second to realize it was excitement.

  I jumped inside and she pulled away.

  ‘Jesus, Ray, you look different,’ she said, glancing over at me. ‘The bald look really doesn’t suit you.’

  I smiled. ‘It’s temporary, I promise. It’s good to see you, Tina.’ I wanted to lean over and touch her but held back. She looked beautiful. Her skin was pale and flawless beneath a jaunty-looking bob cut I hadn’t seen before, and she could have passed for close to a decade younger than her forty-one years which, given some of the things she’d been through over the years, was pretty impressive.

  I glanced over my shoulder to check that the street behind us was empty.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I wasn’t followed. The police were in touch with me just after you got broken out of prison, but they’ve left me alone since then. I’d know if I was under surveillance.’

  ‘I know. I guess I’m just paranoid.’

  We came to the en
d of the street and she pulled into a parking bay in the shade of an oak tree and looked at me properly for the first time. There was concern in her expression but also a certain wariness. ‘So what happened, Ray? Did you organize the escape? It looks like the men who sprung you must be good cooks. You’ve put on weight.’

  ‘They were,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t ask them to spring me.’ I told her briefly what had happened from beginning to end.

  She didn’t interrupt me, or look sceptical, and I knew she believed my story.

  ‘Do you think they’re really security services?’ she asked when I’d finished. ‘I know they do some dodgy things, but springing you from jail and getting you to murder one of the most prominent politicians in the country is a pretty big thing.’

  ‘They may not be working for the security services but they’ve gone to a lot of trouble, and they definitely want Sheridan dead. Whether they want me walking away from the hit afterwards, well, that’s another matter.’

  ‘But how do they know you’re actually going to carry out the hit? They’re not exactly keeping strong tabs on you, and relying on a bug that you’ve managed to remove on your own seems a bit weak.’

  I thought about this. ‘They know I hate Sheridan for what he’s done, so they figure I’ve got the incentive to kill him anyway, and that the prospect of money and a new passport will be enough to seal the deal. You’ve got to remember, they’ve treated me well these past two weeks, and their argument for letting me go is a sound one. So why wouldn’t I trust them?’

  ‘But you don’t.’

  ‘No. I don’t.’

  ‘So why don’t you run then? You must be able to access some money somewhere. You’ve always been a resourceful guy.’

  ‘I can probably make it. But I’m going to kill Sheridan first. He deserves it. And don’t forget, I made a promise to the Brennans that I’d bring their daughter’s killer to justice.’

  The promise. It would forever be a millstone round my neck. When thirteen-year-old Dana’s remains had been found in the school grounds the previous year, almost three decades after she’d gone missing, I’d been the detective sent to tell her parents what had happened. To my dying day, I will never forget the terrible pain they were still experiencing as they spoke to me of their long-gone daughter. And somehow, in that room, I’d taken on some of their pain and had made the biggest mistake any detective can make: I’d become emotionally involved in one of my cases. And it had come close to killing me.

  Yet strangely, even after all that had happened to me, I didn’t regret making that promise. In fact it hardened my resolve to kill Alastair Sheridan.

  ‘You’re a man of your word, Ray,’ said Tina. ‘Most of the time that’s a good thing.’

  ‘But not now?’

  Tina sighed. ‘The thought of a man like Sheridan in power scares the hell out of me.’ She looked at me, and I could see concern in her expression. ‘But no, I don’t think you should try to kill him. You’ve suffered enough. And you’re right not to trust these people. Killing Sheridan is a major assassination. They can’t let you survive that. So save yourself, Ray. Go off grid, lie low for a bit longer, then disappear, start a new life somewhere. I’ve seen it done before.’

  I smiled. It was good to talk to her again. She knew how our world worked.

  ‘Did you manage to bring the stuff I asked for?’

  ‘Yup. It’s all in the glove compartment. A big wedge of currency and a burner phone. It’s a cheap Huawei but it’s got smartphone capabilities, and a pre-paid sim with fifty megs’ worth of data on it, so you can get limited internet access. It’s untraceable back to me but try not to get caught with it.’

  I reached inside and pulled them both out. I’d given the money – €10,000 and £5,000 in cash – to Tina for safekeeping not long after we’d started seeing each other over a year ago. I’d stashed even more cash in my old flat in Fulham as well as a storage unit in Clapham, but I couldn’t access any of that now. There was a good reason for my hoarding large quantities of mixed currency. Believe it or not, the current half-a-million-pound bounty on my head wasn’t the first time a price had been put on my life. Two years earlier, a wealthy Arab businessman, whose brother had died during an operation I’d been part of during my army days, had hired a freelance operative to kill everyone involved in the op, including me. The killer had failed, but the experience had left me paranoid that I might one day have to disappear in a hurry.

  ‘I didn’t spend any of it,’ said Tina as I opened the envelope and peeked inside before putting it in my jacket pocket along with the smartphone.

  I sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to involve you in any of this.’

  ‘I’ve been involved from the start, Ray. Remember?’ There was an edge to her voice, and she seemed agitated. ‘Why did you stop me from visiting you when you got sent down? You know I wanted to.’

  ‘I couldn’t face seeing you when I was behind bars. I thought a clean break would be best for both of us. I was facing life in prison. I still am. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care, Tina. I’ve always cared. And I’ve always missed you.’

  She stared out of the window into the night. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Then don’t say anything. I shouldn’t have asked you to come.’

  ‘No, it’s a relief to see you. I’m glad you made it. I thought it was Kalaman’s or Sheridan’s people who’d kidnapped you, and that you were dead, or being tortured somewhere.’

  I could hear the pain in her voice, and the car fell silent for a few moments.

  ‘Look,’ I said eventually, ‘there’s something else I need. It’s something that’s not going to arouse any suspicion or put you in any danger, I promise. But if you don’t want to do it, I’d understand.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Lane and her people made a real effort to avoid any kind of identification, or give me any clue as to where I was being held for the last two weeks. They even made me wear a hood and lie under a blanket on the way into London. But they made one mistake. When they dropped me off here, I managed to get the car registration. You’re a private detective. Do you know anyone who can get access to the ANPR database and find out the route their car took yesterday afternoon?’

  She thought about that for a moment. ‘I know someone who might be able to help, but what use is that information to you?’

  ‘I know exactly what the house I was kept in looked like from the outside. I walked round it enough times. If there’s an ANPR camera within a mile or so of it, I might be able to get its exact location, and the more I know about these people the better, especially if they do decide not to play ball.’

  She wrote the registration number down. ‘Leave it with me. If I find anything I’ll message you on your new phone.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, feeling awkward. ‘For everything. I wish it hadn’t ended like it did. I really do.’

  ‘I’m used to it,’ Tina said with a small shake of the head. ‘I’ve always been unlucky in love.’

  We looked at each other for a long second, and I knew the spark was still there for both of us. Instinctively I went to kiss her on the lips, but she turned her cheek, and my lips brushed against it. Her skin smelled soft and sweet and I longed for just one more night. I’d been so long without human affection that I suddenly yearned for it.

  ‘You broke my heart, Ray,’ she said as I moved back in my seat. ‘I know you didn’t mean to. But that’s what you did.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I know. And I can’t tell you how much I regret that.’

  ‘I have to go. Good luck, and I’ll see what I can do about that registration.’

  I got out of the car, keeping my head low as I walked down the street, and Tina drove past me, quickly disappearing from view, and leaving me feeling more empty than ever.

  Part Two

  * * *

  10

  The next morning I rose early and made myself instant coffee from the store cupboard. It taste
d like crap after the good stuff I’d had for the past couple of weeks, but it woke me up, which was useful as I had a busy day ahead. Whatever happened, I was determined not to go back to prison, and since I couldn’t trust Lane and her associates to come through with their promises, I was going to have to make my own plans.

  Contrary to what some might think, it’s not easy being on the run. To stay hidden you need money, and lots of it – more than the handy spending cash Tina had passed to me the previous night. I no longer had access to my savings and pensions, but one of my luckier investment decisions had been buying up bitcoin when it was still relatively cheap, and I had it stored in a wallet hidden away on the net a long way from the prying eyes of the authorities. I wasn’t sure how much it was worth right now and didn’t want to waste my data finding out, but figured it must be in the region of a quarter of a million pounds, all of it untraceable.

  But money’s no good without a whole new identity. Fake passports and driving licences can be bought over the net but a lot of the sites offering the services are scammers and the finished products often shoddy and easily identifiable as fakes. If you’re buying from criminals, it’s always better to do it face to face. They’re less likely to scam you that way.

  Unfortunately, and not surprisingly, there’s no list of reliable providers of high-quality fake IDs for me to access. However, being a former detective has its advantages, and I knew immediately who could help me find the right person.

  For a number of years I worked for the Met’s Counter Terrorism Command, or CT as it was better known. Although technology plays an increasingly large part in catching would-be terrorists before they can carry out their attacks, one of the most reliable methods of disrupting terrorist activity is still the use of informants. These people aren’t necessarily right on the inside of plots; often they’re petty criminals on the fringes who keep their ears to the ground, and come up with the occasional titbit of information in exchange for being left alone by the police. It’s not officially like that of course, but that’s how it tends to work, and the best informants are those who provide a steady stream of information over a long period of time without ever falling under suspicion.