Soft Target (3 page)

Hendrickson nodded. He was wearing wire-framed Gucci glasses and he pushed them up the bridge of his nose. The 16 man's hand reappeared with four Polaroids. He gave them to Hendrickson.

'Did he say anything?' Hendrickson asked, as he flicked through the photographs, then put them into his jacket pocket.

'He said, “Don't,” and “Please,” but generally I try to get it over with as quickly as possible,' said the man.

'Conversations tend to slow the process.'

'Did you tell him who was paying you?'

The man's eyes narrowed. 'Did you want me to?'

Hendrickson's cheeks reddened. 'No, no,' he said hurriedly.

'I just wondered, that's all.'

'I did exactly as you asked,' said the man. 'I killed him and I buried him where he'll never be found. That's what you wanted, right?'

'Of course.'

;«

'So, now it's time to pay the piper.' The man held out his $ hand.

Hendrickson opened the briefcase, took out a bulky brown envelope and gave it to the man, who slid open the flap and ran his fingernail along the block of fifty-pound notes.

'It's all there,' said Hendrickson. 'Fifteen thousand pounds.'

He closed the case and snapped the two locks shut.

'I'm sure it is.'

'Aren't you going to count it?'

'Do I need to?'

'I just meant. . . you know . . .' Hendrickson's voice tailed off.

'If we don't trust each other now, we're both in deep shit,'

said the man. He put the envelope inside his coat. 'This is all about trust. You trust me to do the job, I trust you to pay me in full. We trust each other not to go to the cops.'

'Oh, God,' said Hendrickson. 'The cops.' He pushed the glasses up his nose again. The smell of his aftershave was almost overpowering.

'Don't worry about the cops,' said the man. 'They're stupid.'

'I hope so.'

'They're too busy hassling motorists to worry about a businessman who's gone AWOL. They won't even investigate.'

'They'll want to know where he's gone at some point.'

'They might talk to you, but it'll be routine. He's a grown man, and without a body they won't make it a murder inquiry.'

'And the body won't ever be found?'

The man grinned. 'Not in a million years.'

'And the gun? You've disposed of it?'

'I know what I'm doing, Larry.'

Hendrickson swallowed nervously.

'Relax,' said the man. 'You asked me to kill your partner.

I did. You asked me to dispose of the body. I did. The company's now yours to do with as you like. You've got what you wanted. I've got my money.' He patted his coat pocket.

'Now we go our separate ways.'

'It was when you mentioned the police - I panicked.'

'There's no need. Even if the cops do suspect that Sewell's been killed, you have an alibi for when I did it. All you have to do is to keep your head.'

Hendrickson nodded slowly. 'You must think I'm stupid.'

'You haven't done this before. I have.'

'How many times?'

The man frowned. 'What?'

'How many times have you . . . killed someone?'

'Enough to know that it's best not to talk about it.'

'But you don't . . . feel anything ... do you?'

The man's eyes hardened. 'You don't know what you're talking about,' he said.

Hendrickson held up his hands defensively. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.'

'You're not offending me, you're annoying me.'

The rain thundered down on the roof of the blue Transit van but the three men inside were wearing headphones and barely aware of the noise.

'What's he waiting for?' asked the youngest. He had been with the undercover unit for just two months and this was his first time in the van. He'd arrived with two cans of Red Bull and a Tupperware container filled with ham and cheese sandwiches.

'It's his call,' said Superintendent Sam Hargrove, adjusting his headphones. 'Has to be.'

Two digital tape-recorders were recording everything that was said in the Volvo, and two CCTV monitors showed visuals - the tops of the two men's heads and a shot from the front passenger footwell.

'But we've got everything we need. A confession on tape and the money in his hands.'

'It's his call,' repeated the superintendent.

A sheet of paper was stuck to the wall of the van with 'we live and learn' typed on it. Until the man in the car said the magic words, the three men in the van wouldn't be going anywhere. Nor would the half-dozen uniformed officers crammed into the back of the van on the other side of the car park.

Hargrove ran his thumb over the transmit button of his transceiver. He was as impatient as the youngster to have the target in custody, but he'd meant what he said: it was the undercover operative's call. It always was. He was the man on the spot, the man whose life was on the line. Until Hargrove was sure it was safe to move in, the operation continued to run.

Hendrickson's face was bathed in sweat. He took a large white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped it. 'You couldn't turn the heater down, could you?' he asked. 'It's like an oven in here.'

The man adjusted the temperature. It wasn't especially hot in the car.

'Are you okay?' asked the man.

'I haven't done this sort of thing before,' said Hendrickson.

'There's always a first time.'

'It's just that I might have more work for you.'

'You want someone else killed?'

'Not me.' He swallowed and licked his lips. 'Someone I know.'

'So, now you're touting for business for me, is that it?'

Hendrickson dabbed his lips with the handkerchief. 'It's someone at my health club. They have a problem, and I got the feeling they could use you.'

'Close friend, is it? I wouldn't want you bandying my name around to all and sundry.'

'I didn't tell her who you were. I just said I knew someone who might be able to help, that's all.'

'Who is she?'

Hendrickson glanced out of the rear window.

'What's wrong?' asked the man.

'I feel like we're being watched.'

'That's guilt kicking in.'

Hendrickson wiped his forehead again. 'What about you?

Don't you feel any guilt?'

The man shrugged carelessly. 'If I did, I wouldn't do what I do, would I?'

'I guess not.' Hendrickson held out his hands in front of him, palms down. 'Look at me. I'm shaking.'

'Go home and have a cup of tea. Plenty of sugar. You'll be fine.'

Hendrickson folded his arms. 'He was a bastard,' he said.

'Who?'

'Sewell. He was running the company into the ground.'

'Better off without him, then,' said the man. 'This woman,

who is she?'

Hendrickson grimaced. 'I'm not sure I should tell you. Just in case.'

'In case what?'

'In case she changes her mind.'

'Give me her number and I'll phone her.'

Hendrickson shook his head. 'I'd rather pass your number to her. She can call you if she decides to go ahead.'

The man put his hands on the steering-wheel and gripped it. 'That's not how it works,' he said. 'I don't hand out my number to strangers. I'm not a plumber.'

'I rang you, though, didn't I?'

'My number was passed to you because you'd been asking around for someone to take care of your problem. I knew who you were before you called. I don't know who this woman is. For all I know, she could be an undercover cop.'

Hendrickson snorted. 'No way she's a cop.'

'You know her well, do you?'

'Well enough. Her husband knocks her around.'

'And that's who she wants killed? Her husband?'

Hendrickson nodded. 'She came to the club with bruises on her arm. Didn't want to talk about it at first. We had a few drinks in the bar and it all came tumbling out.'

'So you're having an affair with her, is that it? And with the husband out of the way you'll be free to move in.'

'It's not like that,' Hendrickson said. 'She's just a friend.'

'Got to be a pretty close friend if you're talking murder with her.'

'I didn't say murder. She just said she wished her husband was dead and I said I might know someone who could help her.'

'There's a hell of a jump from wishing he was dead to paying someone to kill him.'

Hendrickson shuddered. 'Not that big a jump.'

'It was different for you,' said the man. 'You wanted Sewell 21 out of the picture so that you could control the company.

Killing him made financial sense.'

'Her husband's rich,' said Hendrickson.

'So all she has to do is get a decent lawyer. If her husband's been abusive, she'll take him to the cleaners.'

A middle-aged housewife rattled a trolley past the car with one hand as she held a plastic carrier-bag over her head. She looked at them through the windscreen. Hendrickson turned away his face and didn't speak until she'd gone. 'Her husband isn't the sort of man you can divorce,' he said.

'Spit it out, Larry,' said the man. 'What's the story? Tell me now or get out of the car and we can go our separate ways.'

Hendrickson hesitated, then spoke quickly. 'Her husband's violent, that's all I know. A real hard bastard. He's already told her that if she ever leaves him he'll put her in the ground.

She says he means it. Divorce is out of the question.'

'And what's her name?'

'Angie.'

'Angie what?'

'I just know her as Angie.'

The man's eyes widened in surprise. 'You don't even know her full name and you're talking about hired killers with her?'

'I've known her for months.'

'But not her name?'

'You know what it's like in the gym. You nod and say hello - you don't exchange business cards. We were just talking,

that's all.'

'About killing her husband?'

'I think she feels she can open up to me because I'm not a close friend. I don't know her husband, only what she's told me. And all I said was that maybe I knew someone she could talk to who might help.'

'What does she look like?'

'She's pretty, blonde, late twenties. A bit tarty, a bit flash - no bra when she exercises, you know the sort.'

The man studied Hendrickson with unblinking pale blue eyes.

Hendrickson looked away nervously. 'I just thought . . .'

he said, then mumbled incoherently.

'You call that thinking?' said the man. 'Did you tell her I was offing your partner?'

'Of course not.'

'Don't you think she's going to put two and two together when she discovers he's out of the picture?'

'She doesn't know what I do. I didn't tell her I was paying you. It was just a general conversation, that's all.'

He leaned forward, his arms round his stomach. 'I feel sick,' he said.

'Not in the car,' said the man. 'If you're going to throw up, open the door.' He flicked the air-conditioning control and cold air blasted across their faces. 'Deep breaths,' he said.

'I'm sorry,' said Hendrickson, still bent double.

'It's the stress,' said the man.

'I mean about Angie. I shouldn't have mentioned it. You're right, it's none of my business.'

The man tapped his gloved fingers on the steering-wheel.

'You think she's serious? About wanting him dead?'

Hendrickson took several deep breaths. 'I'm sure of it.'

The man's fingers continued to tap the steering-wheel.

'Do you want me to give her your number?' asked Hendrickson.

'Take the bird in the hand, Spider. For God's sake - take the bird in the hand!' There was no way that Shepherd could hear the superintendent: radio communication could only be one way as transmission noise would blow an operative's 23 cover. Hargrove closed his eyes and massaged the back of his neck. The tendons were as taut as steel wires.

'He's going to let it run, isn't he?' said the young officer.

He had a video camera trained on the car in the distance but the rain meant that the footage would be virtually unusable.

Not that the exterior video mattered. The two video cameras in the Volvo had recorded everything, and the audio was all they needed to put Hendrickson away on conspiracy to commit murder.

Hargrove ignored the officer but he knew he was right:

Shepherd was going to let it run. The rain continued to beat down on the roof of the van as Hargrove strained to hear what was going on inside the car. 'Okay,' said Shepherd,

through his headphones. 'Tell her to call me. But if it turns to shit, I'll come looking for you.'

Hargrove cursed under his breath. He reached for his bottle of Evian water and took a long swig, then cursed again.

The young officer watched through the viewfinder of his video-camera as Hendrickson climbed out of the car and ran across the car park, the umbrella low over his head. 'What do we do, sir?' he asked.

Hargrove sighed. He opened his eyes, put his transceiver to his mouth and clicked the transmit button. 'Alpha One,

everyone stand down. Repeat, everyone stand down.'

Hargrove paid for the drinks and carried them to the corner table of the pub. Shepherd was taking off his black leather gloves and nodded his thanks as the superintendent placed the Jameson's and soda in front of him. His hair was wet and the shoulders of his coat flecked with water.

'It's not how I'd have played it, Spider. That's all I'm saying.'

'I had seconds to make up my mind,' said Shepherd,

stuffing the gloves into his coat pocket. 'What did you expect 24 me to do? Tell him I had to check with my boss?' He took a sip of his whiskey.

'No one's saying it wasn't your call,' said Hargrove. He sat down on the bench seat next to Shepherd and stretched out his legs. He had been in the back of the Transit van for the best part of four hours. 'I'm just reminding you that we've spent two months setting up Hendrickson and I wouldn't want to put that at risk for the sake of a maybe down the line. Plus, we've got Hendrickson's partner tucked away in a safe-house. He'll be none too happy when I tell him he's got to stay there for the foreseeable future.'

'I figure it'll take a few days at most. I'll fix up a meet to see if she's serious. I'll go in wired up, get her to pay a deposit and we can leave it at that. If her husband's knocking her around the court'll probably go easy on her so there's no point in busting a gut.'