Silent Truths (67 page)

Stan had just got to the punchline of a toe-curling encounter with a babe he’d offered to cast in his movie, only to find out she was an undercover detective trying to infiltrate a drug cartel, when the waiter arrived with their main courses, and abruptly drew back, as though the sudden eruption of laughter might shatter the plates.

‘Of course, there’s every chance she was spinning you a line too,’ Elliot remarked, as the waiter tried to sort out what was for whom.

‘No, mine’s the Chilean seabass,’ Laurie told him, as he put it in front of Elliot.

‘Mine’s the chicken rostizado,’ Elliot said.

‘So, señor,’ the waiter declared happily to Stan, ‘must be the ribeye steak.’

‘That’s me,’ Stan confirmed, tucking his napkin under his chin. ‘Got any ketchup, mate?’

‘Of course. I bring right away.’

Elliot’s eyes were alive with laughter as he added, ‘And another bottle of the Far Niente. Good choice,’ he told Laurie. ‘Who told you about it?’

‘Stan,’ she responded. ‘He read up about California wines on the plane coming over, so he’s our expert.’

Stan mumbled something in response, but his
mouth was already bulging with steak, so it was impossible to decipher.

‘What time are you meeting Tom Maykin’s contact tomorrow?’ Laurie asked Elliot, as they started to eat.

‘Eight. And you? What time are you seeing Beth Ashby?’

‘Noon.’

He looked at Stan. ‘Have you been up there to check the house out?’ he asked.

‘Mm,’ Stan answered, picking up his wine and glugging it back. ‘Didn’t see her, though. Just a weird Hispanic-looking geezer who went in at one point then came out again about ten minutes later.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘No. Just noted down his number plate.’

‘A supplier?’ Elliot commented looking at Laurie.

‘That’s what we’re assuming.’

His eyes were intent on hers, and she was glad he had no way of reading her mind, for the thoughts going through it weren’t particularly connected to what they were discussing. In fact, right at that moment, they were so explicitly sexual that it wasn’t only her cheeks that were burning.

‘I don’t have a good feeling about you going up there,’ he suddenly stated. His voice was surprisingly harsh, and his eyes were no longer on hers. ‘Is there any chance you can get her to come here?’ he added.

Shame was twisting Laurie’s heart. Had he somehow managed to sense her thoughts, was that what had changed his tone? Certainly he seemed to have withdrawn from her now, in a way that was
almost as physical as it was abrupt. ‘You know I can’t,’ she answered shortly. ‘But there’s nothing to worry about. Stan’ll be with me, and even if she’s high, what’s she going to do, apart from make me her best friend?’

The small attempt at humour fell on stony ground. ‘It’s not her I’m worried about,’ he responded. ‘It’s the Wingates and Kleinsteins of the world.’

‘Why? They got what they wanted didn’t they?’

‘Did they? I don’t know.’ Sitting back he picked up his wine. ‘What’s your instinct telling you, Stan?’ he asked.

Stan shrugged. ‘I’m going to be right there,’ he said. ‘She’ll be OK.’

Laurie’s emotions were struggling for direction, for though his concern was pleasing, his abruptness was really making her angry. However, she didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Stan, and would she know what to say anyway?

‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘Just make sure that if anything doesn’t feel right, or if anyone turns up looking out of place, that you get out of there straight away.’

‘And take Beth Ashby with me?’

‘Of course. But don’t try playing the hero. Make yourself a priority.’

By the time coffee was served and they’d finished the second bottle of wine Elliot was past pretending he could stay awake any longer. ‘If I’m up in time I’ll meet you for breakfast,’ he told them, picking up his room key. ‘If not I’ll go straight to the meeting and catch up with you later.’

He looked at Laurie who was staring down at her
glass. ‘If I don’t see you before, good luck tomorrow,’ he said.

She nodded, and detested herself for feeling so crushed that he was leaving now, with the air between them still so tense. ‘Thank you,’ she said, only half glancing up.

After clapping Stan on the shoulder he walked away, leaving her suppressing the urge to shout after him that not three days ago he’d told her he missed her. Didn’t it mean anything now? Was it just something he’d said that she was supposed to forget? The dread of it lodged in her heart, making it suddenly hard to listen to Stan as he continued chuntering on after Elliot had gone. What if he really did regret saying it; was angry with himself for having even gone there? He was probably, even now, desperately trying to think how to back off from it. In fact, his insistence that Stan join them for dinner was very likely to avoid being alone with her. And he’d already set the scene for not turning up to breakfast, so this probably wasn’t paranoia, or insecurity, she was dealing with now, but harsh reality.

Of course, she’d been a complete fool to read so much into so little, so it was her own fault that she was feeling so upset she was almost crying with frustration. It didn’t help that he was in the very next room to her either, because when she went up, some twenty minutes later, and saw that his light was still on, she could only presume that he hadn’t been that tired after all, but had wanted to escape the awkwardness of them going to bed at the same time.

Pushing open her own door she bit down hard
on the urge to scream, or go back there and kick his door. She almost wished she’d never come here now, and the fact that she knew very well that she was completely overreacting wasn’t making her feel any better.

Noticing the red flashing light on her mobile, and despairing of her ludicrous hope that it would be a message from him, she picked the phone up and carried it into the bedroom.

The instant she heard the urgency in Georgie’s voice she searched out the number and called her back. ‘It’s Laurie, what is it?’ she said when Georgie answered on the second ring.

‘I’ve had a call from Beth,’ Georgie told her. ‘She doesn’t want to do the interview.’

‘Oh no! She can’t –’

‘But listen, I want you to go anyway. She’s on her own. I don’t know where Theo is; he disappeared three days ago and she’s terrified. I just want you to know how the land lies before you go round there. She’ll try to resist you but, please, do whatever it takes to make her see you. If I could get there in time to come with you I would, but it’s not possible now. So, please, Laurie, make sure she’s all right and try to make her understand that this is where she should be. This is where people love her, so she doesn’t need to be on her own out there.’

‘OK,’ Laurie responded. ‘Thanks for the warning. I’ll call as soon as I have some news.’

Relieved that the interview hadn’t been cancelled, and glad of the distraction, she wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Of course Elliot could always have fallen asleep with the light on. And where else was Stan supposed to
go for dinner? In fact, there was still a chance he would make it for breakfast, but even if he didn’t, they were here for at least six more days so there was plenty of time for something to happen, and something would, she was sure of it.

Kleinstein was on board his Gulfstream jet, mid-flight from New York to Los Angeles. The aircraft had been equipped to meet all his business needs whilst travelling, and currently there was pandemonium going on as his three senior aides screamed at traders and bankers from London to Hong Kong, trying to avert the disaster they were heading right into. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time now before Russell and Maykin blew the whistle. Already rumours were flying, causing the markets to react and getting just about every news bulletin and respectable paper on the planet commenting, or even leading, with the curious and potentially serious stock fluctuations. However, as yet, not even the most informed or canny of pundits had mentioned the existence of any kind of syndicate.

At that moment Kleinstein was on the telephone with Gatling, his back turned to the rest of the cabin, a finger plugged in one ear. ‘I hear what you’re saying,’ he growled into the receiver, ‘I hear you every time, so I’ll tell you again, if you’d let us deal with the problem right up front we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.’

‘If you’d just listen,’ Gatling seethed, ‘I’m trying to tell you there’s still a chance we can salvage something.’

‘Impress me,’ Kleinstein snarled.

‘Elliot Russell’s just arrived in LA,’ Gatling told him. ‘His girlfriend’s there too, the one who interviewed Ashby in the prison. Apparently she’s due to see Beth Ashby tomorrow. If you send someone in there we can use her to make Russell and Maykin drop the investigation.’

Kleinstein was grinding his teeth as he rapidly thought it through. ‘It could buy us some more time at the very least,’ he conceded. ‘OK. Leave it with me.’

After banging down the phone he returned to the bedlam, until, having gained a good enough picture of just how bad it was getting, he walked over to where Croner, his bodyguard, was watching a game.

Croner listened attentively as his boss explained what he wanted him to do. It wasn’t difficult, nothing complicated, he could be in and out of there in a couple of minutes. ‘Where do I take her?’ he asked.

‘To the house. We’ll work something out after that.’

‘And the other one? What do I do about her?’

‘Who, Ava?’ Kleinstein smirked. ‘What we should have done at the beginning,’ and, forming his hand into a gun, he pointed it at his head and fired.

Chapter 27

BETH WAS REMOVING
wilted hibiscus blooms from their stems – plucking exhausted little trumpets from puckered little mouths – and dropping them into her basket where dead geraniums and dried-up nasturtiums were already covering the bottom. As she moved around the terrace she carried a watering can, and wore a large straw hat to protect her head from the blistering sun. The temperature had suddenly soared again, scorching her back through her thin rose-pink dress, but she hardly noticed, as she snipped and pulled and watered, wanting urgently to get this done before she left.

Her hands were scratched and soiled, her face wholly intent as she carried out her task, blinking at the bright, blurry colours and delicately perfumed wafts that brushed past on the breeze. She hadn’t packed, because she wouldn’t be taking anything with her. She couldn’t, and anyway she didn’t need to. She’d made all the arrangements. It was all very simple, sliding towards the end the only way she could now. There were envelopes, with names on,
saying goodbye to those who mattered. They wouldn’t be able to reach her after, so she’d been kind and loving where she could.

Inside, the phone rang, but she didn’t look up. The machine recorded a voice, but she didn’t listen. Sweat trickled down her face and neck; butterflies flitted round her arms, while hummingbirds hovered over the feeder, drinking nectar from the pin-sized holes, their tiny wings vibrating in a blur. Yesterday she’d seen an eagle, suspended in the air a hundred feet above, its colossal wings spread wide to reveal the golden hue of its torso, while its black, beady eyes probed the fertile valley below. Its cry was ugly, but not as chilling as the screams of the coyotes that pierced the night like the ghoulish, wounded cries of children. She wondered if Colin had ever seen a hummingbird in the wild, or an eagle, or a coyote. If he had, she couldn’t remember him telling her.

Her heartbeat thickened as the sun’s rays became fiercer and the inevitable hour drew close. She just had a few more flowers to tend, then she’d take a shower and prepare herself. She wanted everything to be as pristine and beautiful as she could make it. Then she cried because she was afraid, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it had all gone.

Hearing the doorbell she paused and dabbed her eyes. It couldn’t be them. She wasn’t ready. No one would come yet. Or would they? She turned to look at the house, then flinched as the bell rang again. If it was Wingate, and he forced his way in, she’d shoot him dead. If it was anyone else, and they’d come too early she’d … What would she do? She
felt in her pocket for the Valium that had been delivered by the boy at the pharmacy. It couldn’t be anyone she was expecting, so there was no need to answer. Whoever it was would go away if she just pretended there was nobody in.

Laurie was standing in the meagre shade of an orange tree, swearing under her breath as she failed to get a reception for her mobile phone. Closing it down, she returned to the door and pressed the bell again. As she waited, she stood back to get a good look at the front of the single-storey house, with its steeply sloping roofs and dazzling white walls that were partially covered by vines. Not a sound, nor a sign of anyone.

The gravel crunched underfoot as she walked back up the drive to where Stan was parked at the other side of the hedge. The sun was so hot and dry, it was almost like passing through fire. The car engine was idling to keep the air-con going, but the leather seat still burnt her legs as she sank into it, and closed the door.

‘Can you get a reception on your phone?’ she said, taking a bottle of warm water from the beverage-holder.

He tried. ‘Nope, nothing,’ he said.

Wiping her mouth with her hand, she looked back at the house. It was barely visible through the density of the hedge, merely patches of white stucco and a few colourful blooms. ‘She’s in there, I’m certain of it,’ she said. ‘Where else could she be?’

‘Is there a back way in?’

‘There’s a gate at the side of the garage, but it’s locked.’

‘So what do you want to do?’

She was thinking about that. ‘Actually, the phones have given me an idea,’ she said, opening the door to get out again. ‘Maybe it’ll work.’

‘Want me to come?’

‘No. You stay here. I don’t want her to see you. In fact, pull forward a bit so there’s no sign of the car from the house.’

After she got out he eased the car forward, just managing to stay out of the ditch, then stopped on a small grassy verge in front of next door’s wall.