Judgement and Wrath (14 page)

‘You have what I asked for?’

Gabe nodded. ‘In the bag. EMF meter. Gen-Three night-vision goggles. Sound suppressor and ammo for a ninety-two Beretta. Ketamine, plus delivery system, just as you asked.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Be careful, Dan. You’re familiar with the suppressor and ammo; I don’t have to tell you they’re illegal. I wanted to bring the drugs to your attention. Ketamine’s become the party drug of choice. If you’re found with it, the police will have you down to the precinct quicker than you can think.’

‘The police have never taken me before, Gabe, why the concern now? Any way, ketamine’s an animal anaesthetic, isn’t it?’

‘Originally, yeah, but that doesn’t stop crackheads shooting up with it. It’s used these days as a human antidepressant, strictly prescription only. Has some serious hallucinogenic side effects if the wrong dosage is administered.’

‘Don’t worry, Gabe, I won’t be using it on humans.’

‘Mind if I ask you what you do want it for?’

‘If I told you I’d have to kill you,’ Dantalion quipped. From the shocked look on his face, Gabe didn’t get the joke.

‘That’s your business, Dan. I just thought I could give you a nod on the correct dosages you’d need.’

‘Enough will be enough.’

‘Planning on a ghost hunt?’ Gabe asked. ‘Electromagnetic field meter. Night-vision goggles. They’re standard equipment for paranormal researchers these days.’

‘There might be a few ghosts around after I’m done,’ Dantalion told him. ‘Yours for one if you don’t stop asking stupid questions.’

Gabe stopped the questions. He knew when to keep his mouth shut when he was around
Dan-fucking-talion
.

The waiter returned. He placed the drinks down on the table, slapped down the check. Dantalion scattered a few dollar bills in his direction. The man clucked his tongue. Reached for the notes. Dantalion resisted breaking his arm. That would make the lazy fucker a bit faster on his feet. When the waiter had retreated to a place where he could study his fingernails, Dantalion leaned towards Gabe.

‘What’s the latest news on Baker Island?’

‘Rescue crews are still sifting through the wreckage. They haven’t released official numbers – or names – of those they’ve found dead yet. There’s a lot of media speculation, they’re throwing names around like rice at a wedding. It’s all guesswork cause they’ve nothing firm to go on. Bradley Jorgenson’s refusing to speak to the police. I’m sure he’ll be subpoenaed before long and then he’ll have to come clean.’

Dantalion was engaged in lifting his coffee cup to his lips. Some of the coffee slopped down his coat, leaving a stain like a month-old knife wound. ‘Wait a minute …
Bradley Jorgenson
’s refusing to speak?’

‘Yeah, he’s got some top-dollar attorneys holding off the cops with a verbal smokescreen. Of course that’ll only go on so long; doesn’t matter how much money he has, the police are conducting a homicide investigation and—’

Dantalion slammed down his cup.

‘I killed Bradley Jorgenson,’ Dantalion hissed. ‘Have you forgotten, Gabe?’

Gabe blinked rapidly. He slumped backwards in his seat, gaining distance from the anticipated lunge he could see building in Dantalion. It never came. He hoped that Dantalion – despite his jokes – valued his associate’s help too highly to give in to base anger. Emboldened by that assumption, Gabe said, ‘Not according to CNN. They say that he’s currently at his home on Neptune Island.’

‘And the girl? Marianne Dean?’

‘Yeah, she’s with him.’

‘Son of a bitch!’

Dantalion stood up swiftly. He ignored the pull in his wounded leg. Anger overrode the agony.

‘I guess that’s why the client was remiss in making payment?’

‘I guess so,’ Gabe said. ‘Sorry, Dan. I thought you knew.’

‘No, Gabe, I didn’t know.’ He reached into his pocket, toying with the spine of his book. Withdrew his fingers and wiped them on his coat. The book had lied to him. The numbers were all wrong. ‘But it looks like I’m going to have to do something about that.’

So, Jorgenson and Marianne had both survived the explosion. As had the damn gunman who’d been sent to kill him. Now they were all making pow-wow at Neptune Island. Suddenly he wasn’t so clear on how many enemies he was going to have to kill.

‘You have access to a thermonuclear device, Gabe?’

Gabe sniggered. ‘You’re joking, right?’

‘Do I look like someone with a sense of humour? There are a lot of people on Neptune Island about to die. Maybe every last one of them.’

Gabe gulped his soda in one continuous slurp. Smacking his lips, he said, ‘Can’t get you a nuclear missile, but call me if you need anything else, Dan.’

Dantalion stooped low, hooking the backpack with one hand.

‘I’ve everything I need right here.’

He walked quickly away, leaving Gabe to sweat a lot more.

19

Jorgenson’s people conducted a background check on us. Rink came back fine. He had a private investigator’s licence and his business was registered at the address in Tampa. On the other hand, my own legend was a tad more difficult to come up with. I told them they’d just have to take my word for it. No one argued.

Jorgenson left with an entourage of vehicles, heading down to Miami Beach to meet with his legal advisers, and then with officers from Miami PD’s homicide department. His father’s body had been pulled from the wreckage, but unlike those on the ground floor, his corpse wasn’t so burned or torn to shreds by the blast: it was obvious he’d been shot.

Marianne stayed with us. Just the way I wanted it.

Whatever it was that she had to get on with, she was doing it in her bedroom. I’d conducted a cursory sweep of the room, checking that an intruder couldn’t gain access, and had told her to keep the blinds closed so she didn’t offer a target to anyone outside.

‘We should move her,’ Rink told me. He’d said the same thing about a dozen times previously.

‘I agree.’ I’d also said the same thing numerous times.

‘So what are we waiting for?’

‘Marianne doesn’t want to move.’

‘So we convince her.’

‘She won’t budge. Despite everything, she loves Bradley.’

We were sitting in the hall on the second-floor landing. Marianne’s room was about three doors up. We could see the entrance to her room, but we’d placed ourselves so we could guard the main stairs and also see the door that led to a secondary stairwell further along the hall. Seagram’s men were keeping well out of our way.

‘While Bradley’s outa the way, why not snatch Marianne, and have done with it?’ Rink demanded. ‘She’ll get over it. When she comes to her senses and sees what an asshole he is.’

‘Two things, Rink. We’ve made ourselves public coming here. Bradley would scream kidnap. We’d be hunted down by law enforcement, despite our good intentions. Plus, I’m beginning to think that Richard Dean hasn’t told us everything. Neither has Marianne.’

‘It’s not safe here,’ Rink said.

There were armed guards in the grounds, armed guards in the house, more CCTV cameras than the Big Brother house. But he was correct.

‘I’ll speak to her again,’ I offered. ‘But we have to respect her wishes, Rink. I know we’re looking at her like she’s a child, but she is eighteen years old. She has her own mind, and a right to make her own decisions.’

Rink rolled his shoulders. ‘She isn’t thinking with her head, though. She’s smitten with Bradley. She’s got herself into a position where she’s afraid to walk away. She’ll take the violence from him, twist it round, blame herself. Try harder to be the good little wife. You know how these things work.’

I did. I’d seen it too many times. Women too afraid to walk away for fear of losing everything they’d worked so hard to achieve. Not realising that whatever they did, they’d never be
good enough
. They’d be caught up in the circle of domestic violence that spun on through their lives until one day he wouldn’t stop hitting her. Sometimes that was when the woman finally broke. She’d pick up a knife and jam it between her abuser’s shoulder blades. Or the man would hit her too hard and that would be that. More women were killed by their intimate partners – or other family members – than by all the strangers or serial murderers in the world.

‘I’ll speak to her again,’ I repeated.

Rink stood up. Walked along the hall. He checked the door to the secondary stairwell. Still locked. He walked back to the head of the main stairs. Peered down them. Turned and came back. It made sense to stay vigilant, but Rink was conducting a patrol just to be doing something. It wasn’t like him. Rink could sit in the same position for hours on end without giving any signs that he was anything but an inanimate feature of the landscape. On seek and destroy missions we’d often be dropped miles from our targets. We’d make our way in, find an observation point, then sit tight while gauging enemy strengths and weaknesses. Once we were conducting surveillance on a terrorist training camp in the deserts of Libya. Rink took point and dug himself in less than twenty yards from the enemy base. He was there undetected for seventy-three hours before we launched our assault and wiped the bastards out.

His unease had nothing to do with our current mission.

‘You shouldn’t be here, Rink.’

He looked down at me. ‘None of us should.’

‘You know what I mean, buddy. You should be in San Francisco with your family.’

He nodded slowly, his gaze staring off to somewhere very distant. ‘You’re family, too.’

‘OK.’

I didn’t say another word on the subject. The decision was Rink’s.

‘Maybe we should draw on a few contacts, see if we can find out who this hit man is. We know him, we know his MO. We’ll have a better idea of how to stop him.’

‘I’ll get Harvey on to it.’

Harvey Lucas was our friend out in the Midwest. He was an ex-Army Ranger who now ran his own private investigations outfit in Arkansas. He’d been an invaluable ally during a case we’d been involved with last year. He’d backed us up when the bullets were flying, and he’d got the job done. He was also damn good when it came to gathering the kind of information not generally in the public arena.

‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ll go and speak to Marianne again.’

Rink brought out his mobile phone and hit a hot key.

I knocked on Marianne’s door.

She answered it immediately. Almost as if she’d had her ear to the door. Her hair was pinned up again, and she’d changed her clothes. Tight blue jeans and a pale yellow sweater that bared her shoulders and the upper swell of her breasts. Her neck made a long sweeping curve towards the cream skin of her chest. I couldn’t help a quick glance.

Marianne caught my look and she stirred uncomfortably.

‘Come in.’ Her arms folded, and I couldn’t help but notice they went above her breasts this time.

‘Mind if I ask you something?’ I said as I followed her into the room. It was a well-appointed room, but I was more conscious of the delicate perfume that hovered in the space. The scent of her shampooed hair and freshly scrubbed skin. She’d been showering again. I felt a little awkward. A little like a father who is used to walking into his young daughter’s room unannounced, until that day when suddenly he realises that
this isn’t a child any more
. She’s a woman that I don’t recognise! After that he always knocks and hesitates in the doorway, shucking off the offer to enter.

‘What would you like to know?’

‘Your necklace,’ I pointed out. ‘I noticed it was missing.’

Her hand crept up to her throat, fluttered there like the beating wings of a butterfly.

‘In the photographs you were wearing a small cross on a chain.’

‘My mother’s necklace,’ she offered. I saw a shadow flit behind her eyes.

‘You aren’t wearing it now.’

‘No,’ she said. Her voice went to a whisper. ‘It got broken.’

‘It couldn’t be fixed?’