Price to Pay, A (14 page)

Iona had a perplexed smile on her face as they headed towards her car. The woman’s forthright manner was strange. The comment about buying Iona’s hair, for instance! Iona couldn’t imagine growing it long and then chopping it all off for some cash. Something so personal, so integral to how you saw yourself. She realized it was the way the woman so calmly said it had a value. To her, it was a commodity – nothing more. ‘She had a heart of flint.’

‘You what?’ Martin sounded surprised. ‘She was very pleasant.’

Iona gave him a quick glance. ‘Oh, right. By the way, you can roll your tongue back in now.’

‘Roll my tongue back in?’

‘Come on. You were like a puppy back there. Practically drooling.’

Martin snorted. ‘OK, she might have been mildly attractive.’

Iona felt a little pang in her chest. The woman was tall, blonde and stunning: everything she was not. Chiding herself for being so insecure, she said, ‘Nice touch with the business card.’

‘What’s that meant to mean?’

His voice had been defensive so Iona smiled innocently, glad to have landed one on him. ‘Nothing. We’re meant to be offering our reassurances to the public, lowering their perceptions that crime is on the increase. I’ve read the departmental memos, too.’ She paused before shooting him a cheeky grin. ‘It had nothing to do with you fancying her.’

He tried to adopt an affronted expression, then gave up. ‘I feel she rather liked me, too. Unmarried as well. Not even an engagement ring, I couldn’t help notice.’

Iona wanted to laugh. ‘Is that all it takes? A flash of those ice-blue eyes and a smile or two?’

‘We had a certain chemistry. Admit it – you felt it crackling in there, the electricity.’

Iona raised a hand and clicked her fingers. ‘And back in the real world … talking of rings, did you notice the fingers on her left hand?’

‘The kinks in the middle two?’

‘Kinks? She’d had them badly snapped, at some stage. No rings are ever going to fit over the lumps in those joints. What about her business? Selling human hair – how creepy.’

‘Just business,’ Martin replied. ‘Buy cheap, sell expensive. The woman wasn’t breaking any laws. And from the look of her office, she employs a few other people, too. Small businesses like hers are the backbone of this fine country.’

‘I suppose so.’ Iona wanted to, if not like the woman, at least feel respect for her. Aside from being stunning, she had much of what Iona aspired to. Confidence, independence, drive and ambition. But all Iona actually felt was mildly unsettled.

They reached the fork in the path and, as they continued towards her car, Iona studied the main house. ‘Something like that. I know we’re only on the edge of Denton, but what do you reckon? Three quarters of a million quid?’

‘Probably. It practically borders the golf course. Nice and private.’

A burst of drum beats carried across the lawn. Vocals kicked in, but the noise quickly died. Iona kept looking. Did she have kids? She didn’t have any photos in her office. The noise didn’t resume. Odd, Iona thought, unlocking her car and getting in. ‘What’s next on the list?’

‘An accountancy firm, over in Salford. The A57 will be best. You can get on to the Mancunian Way at Ardwick.’

‘No problem.’ As she reversed, Iona looked at the Range Rover’s number plate once more. N1NA. How naff.

N
ina Dubianko unlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs and strode towards the music coming from the TV room. ‘Who was it?’

Madison and Chloe glanced up from the beanbags. Seeing her expression, their smiles vanished.

‘Who turned the music up so loud?’ Her face was white.

Madison looked at the floor. Chloe half-raised a hand. ‘Me.’

Nina continued across to the docking station, lifted it up and hurled it against the wall. The casing came open and the iPod Nano spun to the side, hitting the side of the TV and dropping among the untidy pile of DVD cases. She whirled on the pair, voice shrill with fury. ‘I said no loud sounds. I said! And then I have the police visiting here – police! – and I hear music from here.’ Her fluent English was gone, the words distorted by a thick, awkward accent. ‘This police detective – what if he also heard?’ She bent forward to bring her face closer to the cowering girls. ‘You stupid fucking bitches. You wish trouble for me? Do you? Do you?’

Chloe had lowered her chin to her chest while Madison remained absolutely still, eyes unfocused and distant, as if in a trance.

Nina straightened up. ‘I throw you back on the street. No money for you, no job, no lovely place to live. You don’t deserve it.’

Chloe wiped at the corner of one eye. ‘I’m sorry, Nina. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t.’

Nina flicked a hand at her. ‘You are sorry now. Now is too late.’

‘Please don’t … don’t cancel it. I won’t be so stupid again, I promise.’

Nina crossed her arms and looked towards the door.

‘Were the police looking for us?’ Madison asked in a subdued voice.

‘No,’ Nina replied, face still averted. ‘I am so angry with you.’ She was regaining control of her voice, English tones reasserting themselves.

‘Nina,’ Chloe tried again. ‘Please give us another chance.’

‘I will speak to you both later.’ She dropped her arms and marched from the room.

Up in the kitchen, she lit a cigarette and tried to think. She would have to tell him everything now. Things were too risky; they were too exposed to carry on. The police were bound to work it out sooner or later. They had to.

She took three deep drags on her cigarette, blew smoke upward then looked out of the window as she lifted her mobile phone. Dusk was beginning to fall. Would it be day or night where he was? She had no way of knowing. The call was answered almost immediately.

‘Hello.’

She perched on a bar stool, glad she wasn’t in the office with its unseen camera. ‘Can I talk?’

‘You may.’

‘There is a problem here. Police.’ It was a scenario they had prepared for. Arrangements were there for her to disappear quickly, if needed.

‘What problem?’

She sucked briefly on the cigarette. ‘I … I had a laptop and a carry case taken. By an engineer who thought they were not wanted.’

‘You mean stolen?’

‘No – I don’t think so. It was just a mistake by him.’

‘Information was on this laptop?’

She closed her eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘How much information?’

‘Enough.’

‘The main files?’

He meant details of his bank accounts. Places where money passed to and fro. ‘I’m trying to get it back. But the engineer, he sold it to someone else.’

‘Do you know who?’

‘I think so. Liam is out now, at the address. I should have it back soon.’

‘Liam.’

‘Yes.’

‘You trust him?’

‘Yes. He would never say anything.’

‘Everyone will say anything. It’s just a question of cost – financial or physical.’

‘He … he couldn’t afford to. He has dealt with people for me.’

He stayed quiet.

‘You are angry,’ Nina stated softly, disappointed to hear the wobble in her voice.

‘I do not know, yet. What else do you need to tell me?’

‘The laptop was sold to one person, but I think the carry case was sold to someone different. You were somewhere recently without any internet connection, remember? You asked me to fax those profiles to you. So I printed them off. They were inside the carry case and I think the police now have them.’

‘Profiles for the last four? You were meant to shred them, immediately.’

‘I know. I didn’t. I don’t know why.’ She stared down into her ashtray. He would be processing the fact that the profiles included the one of the girl who’d shown up on the Israeli border. She wished she could ask what he had got them into. ‘The profiles cannot be traced to me. To us.’

‘Why did the police visit you?’

Nina thought about Eamon. The idiot wasn’t meant to have recorded her details. That’s why she paid him in cash. ‘The address of my business was among some material the police found. The policeman was asking if the engineer had sold a laptop to me. So they can’t have mine. If they had mine, why send two low-rank officers? And one of them a woman.’

‘We do not know that. Who were these officers?’

‘Youngsters. They were not experts.’

‘You saw them where?’

‘In the office. Not in the house.’

‘At your desk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let me watch the conversation. I will ring you back.’ The call was cut.

Iona was passing the run-down Multiplex cinema on the A57, when her mobile’s screen lit up. Stuart Edwards, back at Orion House. She put the call on loudspeaker and spoke at the windscreen. ‘Hi, there. What’s up?’

‘You driving?’

‘I am. Heading to Salford, why?’

‘Your student angle just paid out.’

She veered into the slow lane. ‘How do you mean?’

‘The body of another female student has just been found.’

She glanced quickly at Martin, eyes wide. ‘Where?’

‘Her bedroom. A house in Moss Side.’

‘Any sign of a laptop?’

‘Not sure as yet. Word of this reached us, literally, minutes ago.’

Iona accelerated back into the outside lane. The road she was on led directly into the city centre. To her side, the sun was just a red smear above the horizon, its rays glinting on the fuselage of a plane as it made its final descent to Manchester airport. ‘How did she die?’

‘Suspiciously. That’s all we’ve got at the moment.’

‘What’s the address? We’re on our way.’

Nina felt her shoulders flinch. She pushed the end of her cigarette into the ashtray, took a quick breath and picked up the phone as it rang again. ‘It’s me.’

‘I think you are right. They had no idea. Their superiors might, but I think not.’

Relief caused Nina’s head to fall forward. ‘I agree. It is nearly dark here. Liam will get the laptop back.’

‘The profiles. These are a problem.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you destroy them?’

She wished he’d shout when he was angry. This whisper. It terrified her. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘We must go ahead with the two you have. I have buyers waiting. But not before one other thing.’

His voice had that hitch in it. She knew something bad was coming. ‘Yes?’

‘The female detective who visited you.’

‘Yes?’

‘She is perfect.’

‘Perfect?’ Please, she thought, don’t say it.

‘The girl you lost at that motorway bridge. This female officer is the same. Black hair, petite, skin like coffee. Are her eyes green?’

‘I … yes, they were.’

‘Do you think she weighs any more than the other one?’

‘No. Maybe a little more.’

‘The other one was a little thin for what my buyer wanted. What was the policewoman’s name?’

‘Khan. Something Khan. Iona, that was it.’

‘Iona Khan. Was she with Greater Manchester Police?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know which part.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I can find that out, along with her address.’

‘Her address?’

‘The plane that is coming for the one called Chloe. You come on it, too. I also want Iona Khan on the flight. You will get her for me.’

‘But she’s with the police.’

‘It doesn’t matter. We’re finished in that country. Do what you need to make sure no one can trace you.’

Nina cleared her throat. It was all over. Her business, her lovely home. Finished. ‘But how will I get someone like her?’

‘Use Liam, if you have to. Kill him after.’

‘But she’s police.’

His voice dropped even lower. ‘Do you think I am pleased with you? You have let me down, Nina. This policewoman – she is the way you can make things better. A little bit, at least.’

T
en minutes later, Iona and Martin came to a stop. Teresa Donaghue had lived in what struck Iona as a typical student house – large, slightly dishevelled, a neglected front garden and the curtains in most windows either closed or half-drawn. There was even a wheelie bin with the lid being forced up by the volume of cans and bottles crammed inside.

The sight of it momentarily took Iona back to her own student days in Newcastle. The long trudge from lectures up the Westgate Road to Fenham. Local kids vacillating between mild curiosity and open contempt at the rainbow-coloured book bag her sister had bought her as a going-away present. Iona couldn’t stand the attention it attracted, but still doggedly used it out of loyalty. Years later, Fenella admitted she thought it was utterly gross but had got it because she thought that was the type of thing students used. They still laughed about it.

‘Beer and baked beans,’ Martin muttered, unclipping his seat belt.

Iona looked at him.

‘Student life,’ he stated. ‘Beer and baked beans.’

‘Where did you study?’ she asked.

‘York. You?’

‘Newcastle.’

‘Add another word beginning with b, then. Burglaries.’ He laughed.

She didn’t like his tone and she didn’t like his superior attitude. ‘No criminals in York, then?’

‘Not as many as Newcastle.’

She reflected on how many times her own house had been broken into. Three. Deciding not to rise to it, she got out of the car and approached a uniformed officer at the end of the drive. ‘DC Khan and DS Everington. Who can we speak to about this?’

He looked over their identifications and jotted their names on a clipboard. ‘Crime Scene Manager’s just shown up. Jim Reed.’

‘Thanks.’

There were more uniforms hanging around in the hall and two sitting with what must have been one of the housemates in the front room. More voices came from upstairs. Iona climbed them, spotting a white-suited forensics guy outside a doorway further along. ‘Jim Reed about?’

He turned round and removed his face mask. ‘That’s me. Are you with the Major Incident Team?’

‘Counter Terrorism,’ she replied as quietly as possible, stepping on to the landing.

‘Oh.’

‘What do you reckon has happened?’

He glanced into the bedroom. ‘I’d guess she was killed about ten hours ago. In the early hours. Cause of death would have been asphyxiation, I’m pretty certain. She had something looped round her throat. Smooth surface, about five millimetres in width.’