Vendetta (38 page)

Rio slammed her head straight. ‘Help me? After all the muck you’ve sprayed around town today, I should arrest you . . .’

‘You don’t still believe that I killed Elena?’

‘All I know is that every time I turned a corner in this case, there’s only one face that keeps staring back at me – yours.’

Mac leaned in closer to her. ‘You just said that Detective Martin’s dad wanted to know why his son was murdered? So what are you going to tell him: that you couldn’t be bothered to go that extra mile to find out?’

Rio half hitched herself out of the chair. ‘You’re bang out of order . . .’

‘No, what’s out of order is that two people we both swore to keep safe are dead.’

Rio wobbled on unsteady legs. Their stares fought with each other. Then she fell back, making the chair swing slightly to the side. Loud voices came from somewhere outside, but neither of them took any notice, only interested in what sat between them in the room.

Rio twisted her lips and then pulled in a few tight breaths. ‘It was Martin who found out that Elena Romanov had a kid sister.’

‘How did he find the information?’

‘A bit of digging at Europol, and he also had a contact – someone he was sweet on, at the Russian Embassy.’

Russian Embassy. Mac’s mind ticked away at that. Someone else had mentioned the embassy today. Who? His thoughts clicked into place – Reuben. At his son’s party, he’d said that the last time he’d seen Elena had been at some bash for Russian vets who’d served in the Afghan–Russian conflict. But what did that have to do with anything?

‘Did his friend tell him anything else?’

Rio shook her head. ‘Can you believe I didn’t even know he was gay? I’m meant to be looking out for him, and when did I really take the time to get to know him?’

Mac knew she was hurting bad, but he also needed whatever information she had right now.

Rio must have realised what he was thinking and said, ‘Her sister’s name is Katia. Martin tracked down her address through the gym she used.’ She gave him a funny look. ‘I suppose that was you playing cops and robbers, minus the cops, at that gym earlier today?’

Mac had the grace to blush.

But Rio let it pass as she continued, ‘When we arrived at the house there was a red Mini parked outside . . .’

‘The only car outside when I got there was yours . . .’

‘I’ve got a number plate, but don’t get your hopes up – it was fake through and through. The motor will be a burned-out wreck by now . . . But if you still need the plate number . . .’

Rio’s hand shook slightly as she fiddled in her pocket and pulled out her notebook and read out the digits and letters on the false number plate.

‘And when we got inside . . .’ Suddenly Rio squeezed her eyes tight and Mac knew she was back seeing the scene in her head. ‘There was nothing unusual about downstairs, but upstairs, in one of the rooms, there was a packed rucksack. And passports with false names. I think Katia must’ve been getting ready to leave the country. I also found a map of the St Katharine Docks area, and that’s how I knew where the action was going to be happening later on.’

The shouting from outside intensified.

‘And whoever attacked you had a tattoo, the same one as Elena.’

Rio nodded. ‘Yeah, the woman who attacked me—’

Mac sat bolt up straight. ‘Hold up. I thought it was a man. How do you know it was a woman?’

‘Believe me, a bloke wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the perfume I smelt just before I was whacked on the head. It must’ve been the sister.’

Mac swore low and harsh. Shit, he should’ve figured out much sooner that the only other logical person to have the tattoo would be Katia. For fuck’s sake, it was staring him in the face; it was a family thing – dad, his two daughters and bosom-buddy friend.

‘What did you find out about Elena’s family . . . ?’

But Mac never finished the sentence because the yelling and hysterically raised voices were now coming from outside the door.

‘What the heck . . . ?’ Rio said as she swivelled the chair to stare at the door.

Mac got up and opened it; what he found outside was a hospital running on chaos. Medical staff were shouting and waving their arms around. Mac caught the arm of a nurse who rushed by, pulling her back.

‘What’s going on?’

‘There’s an emergency situation down on the children’s ward.’

An alarmed Rio asked what the emergency was. But Mac didn’t wait for an answer. He merely whispered:

‘Milos.’

eighty-nine

Milos, Stevie.

Milos, Stevie.

The names twisted and burned in Mac’s brain as he flung open the door to the stairwell. Jumped the steps two . . . now three at a time. Bashed the door to the children’s ward. And hurtled into chaos. People, some in medical uniforms, some not, rushed this way and that along the corridor. A woman and man clutched a child in their arms as they hunched low against a wall. A large glass vase of deep red roses lay broken and leaking water on the floor. The place radiated fear and confusion. His heart punched high against his chest when he saw a crowd of people further along the corridor. That’s when he realised where they were gathered – outside Milos’s room.

The police guard was nowhere in sight. Mac started running. Almost there, something slammed into his side, shoving him hard against the wall. Quickly he flicked his head to see a nurse tottering towards him. She must have collided with him as she came round the corner. He snapped his arm out to grab her before she fell. When she gazed up at him, dazed, he realised it was the nurse he’d spoken to earlier about Milos.

He yanked her to him. ‘Where’s Milos?’

Her light brown eyes widened. Then she took a deep breath. ‘It was a woman . . . Oh God . . . She shot him. The—’

Mac didn’t wait for her to finish as he thrust her to the side and belted back down the corridor.
He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead. Not like Stevie.

He reached the crowd of people. Urgently pushed his way through. Eyes frantically scanning the room. The bed was empty, with the blanket thrust back. His gaze swung to the side . . . his breathing hitched deep in his throat. Three people were on their knees around something he couldn’t see. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that they were looking down at Milos’s body.

Sensing his presence, one of the people on the floor twisted and looked up at him. A man and, judging from the stethoscope in his hand, a doctor. The two other people also turned their attention to Mac, leaving enough space for him to see who they were attending to on the floor. Not a little boy’s body, but that of a man. The cop who had been guarding Milos’s room. So where the hell was the boy?

‘Detective MacDonagh,’ Mac threw out as he quickly joined them on his knees near the fallen policeman.

The cop’s eyes were open, brimming with pain. Blood seeped from holes in his chest and shoulder. Mac realised that the nurse must have been referring to the cop when she’d uttered, ‘He’s been shot.’

‘What happened?’ Mac asked the policeman.

But before he could answer, the doctor broke in, ‘For Christ’s sake, man, he’s seriously injured and needs immediate medical attention. He can’t answer your questions.’

But Mac ignored him and asked, ‘Where’s the boy?’

The injured man swallowed hard. Then spoke in a pain-filled whisper. ‘It was a woman . . .’ He swallowed again. ‘Said she was the boy’s relative. I told her that no one was allowed to see him . . .’ Swallow. His breathing became harsh. ‘That’s when she pulled the gun . . . She took him . . .’ His voice twisted into a groan.

‘Right, that’s it,’ the doctor ordered. ‘No more questions.’

But Mac ploughed on. ‘Who was she?’

‘I don’t care if you’re a detective,’ the doctor ground out. ‘I’ll call security to have you escorted from the hospital.’

Mac only got to his feet when the policeman’s eyes closed. He stepped back. A woman? There was only one woman left in this murderous tale.

A woman running with a kid was going to be easy to spot. He rushed for the door again, but was stopped by the sound of the cop’s voice behind him.

‘She had a tattoo . . . Star . . . Red.’

Katia.

ninety

1:17 p.m.

Forty-seven seconds.

Forty-eight seconds.

Forty-nine seconds
.

Time’s running out. Mac chanted furiously in his head as he plunged down the stairs towards the hospital exit. No way was Katia still in the building. Her first priority would be to get Milos away from the hospital. And now Mac’s first priority was to get to her before she escaped from the hospital grounds.

Fifty-two seconds.

Fifty-three seconds.

He made it to the exit door at the bottom of the stairwell. Punched it open. Hiked up his speed as he stormed down the corridor. The longer he remained in the building, the less chance he’d have of finding Katia and Milos.

Fifty-six seconds.

Fifty-seven seconds.

The automatic exit doors were in sight. The sharp, fluorescent lighting sliced into his eyes as he moved forwards. The sweat popped out of the pores on his back. He reached the doors. They hissed sideways.

One minute.

The unkind, cold air struck Mac as he hit outside. He scanned the car park. Dead night. Nothing unusual. Then he spotted three figures on the edge of the car park talking together. Quickly he made his way across. Three men. Two were security guards, the other was wearing a high-vis jacket. He caught the end of their urgent conversation – the man in the jacket was explaining to the guards that he’d seen a car.

Mac butted in. ‘The car, was it a Mini?’

The man shivered as he gave his attention to Mac. ‘Dunno. As I’ve already told the guys.’ He lifted his chin towards the other men. ‘It all happened so fast. It came bombing down the slipway . . .’

One of the security men punched in, his expression filled with suspicion as he stared at Mac. ‘Who the heck are . . . ?’

Mac impatiently pulled out his badge. Carried on. ‘Was it a red Mini?’

The man shrugged. ‘Not sure. Could’ve been.’

‘Where did it go?’

‘Down the main road.’ The man’s voice picked up a speed of confidence. ‘Then it took a side road about a hundred yards to the left . . . the woman was wearing this summer hat . . . Floppy brim.’

Floppy hat?
He’d seen that somewhere recently. Mac’s mind went into rewind.
Floppy hat.
His brain screeched to a halt as he remembered – the woman he’d overtaken as he’d rushed into the hospital. He couldn’t believe that Katia had been right next to him and he’d let her get away. He felt like pounding a fist against the wall.

‘Get all the images from the security camera ready for when the cops get here,’ Mac shouted at the guards.

Then he ran to Phil’s car. As he turned the ignition, he pumped the engine and then took off towards the exit gate. When they saw him coming, two more security guards stood in front of the gate with their hands raised. While he controlled the car with one hand, Mac desperately tried to find the police siren on the vehicle but failed. He leant heavily on the horn and it howled with a single note over the squealing wheels. But the two men in front of him didn’t move, their hands stretched in a gesture meant to stop him. Mac pushed down harder on the accelerator. ‘Sorry boys, I’m coming through . . .’

At the last moment, they scattered. Mac heard a crump and a scream as he went by. He flew out into the middle of the road and heard the horn from a car, which narrowly avoided hitting him. Turned the car ninety degrees and accelerated a hundred yards down to the side road that Katia was supposed to have taken. Drove a few yards down the road. It looked like a strange route for a kidnapping desperado to take. Quiet and suburban, it seemed to lead nowhere. Unless . . .

Mac pulled over. Jumped out of the car and began searching the front gardens. It didn’t make a good escape route, but it was a good place to throw something away. As he went down the road looking over walls, he noticed a middle-aged woman, in a dressing gown, clipping roses and watching him with suspicion.

He ran over to her and shouted, ‘Did you see a car come down this road about ten minutes ago? A red Mini?’

She took an unsteady step back. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘I’m a police officer. Just tell me what I need to know, this is an emergency.’

‘Yes, I did actually. I’ve already reported it to the police. Driven by some yob in a hoodie.’

So Katia had ditched the hat.

‘He got out and changed the number plate. Threw it into one of my neighbour’s gardens and drove off. I went and picked it up.’

‘Get it – please. Hurry.’

The woman came back a few seconds later holding a number plate. It matched the vehicle registration that Rio had told him about.

‘Was it a male or female?’

‘Hard to tell. He or she was wearing a grey tracksuit with a hood. It could have been a girl, I suppose.’