It was in a safe, ready cash, eight hundred and twenty thousand dollars, not just the fees I’d been paid, but funds she’d squeezed from other suckers too. The price of my soul, plus a bonus. I emptied it all into a large plastic bag, then tried to kill her.
I couldn’t. For all that she’d done, part of me still loved her and I wasn’t able to finish her off. At the same time I couldn’t just walk away and leave her. She had to be punished. Binding her tight, I fetched a knife from the kitchen and went to work on her face.
‘Ed!’ Andeanna gasps, hands flying to her mouth.
‘She had to pay,’ I croak. ‘I carved her up until I was sure she couldn’t be stitched back together again. I had to neutralize her, so she’d never be able to play another guy like she’d played me.’
Andeanna stares at me. To fill the silence, I complete my tale.
Leaving a wailing, ruined Belinda behind, I walked away with the money. For more than a year I lived in a daze, contemplating suicide, tormented by ghosts and memories of the past. (I still don’t mention the ghosts to Andeanna. We don’t need to go there.) But I didn’t have the strength to kill myself, and gradually my will to live returned. Fear of what I’d assumed to be my inner ghosts turned to interest when I considered the possibility that they might be external, supernatural phantoms. I embarked on a quest to prove that ghosts were real, hoping that if I could do that, I could find a way to deal with my own half-dozen. As I played around with all sorts of crazy ideas, I began to write short stories, thinking I might find the truth through fiction. In time I moved on to write Nights of Fear.
‘And the rest is history,’ I conclude blithely.
‘And Belinda?’ Andeanna asks.
I smile bleakly. ‘She changed her name and went to work for Simon Dale.’
Andeanna’s jaw drops. ‘What?’
I shrug. ‘Intrigue and killing are what she excelled at. Once she recovered, she approached Dale and offered her services. Told him how much more he could be making if he ditched Carter and set up on his own, with her running things behind the scenes. I’m sure he was wary of her, but he gave her a chance, she made the most of it and they’re still together. Doing very nicely from what I hear.’
‘You’re something else,’ Andeanna laughs. ‘Christ!’
The rain has eased, but Andeanna hasn’t lowered her umbrella. She holds it at an angle, shielding her face from me, thinking. I want to know what’s going through her mind and whether we have a future together now that she knows the truth about me, but I hold my tongue and wait.
‘Would you have told me?’ she asks in the end. ‘If Axel hadn’t stumbled in on us, and we’d run away together, would you have come clean?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s not good enough,’ she growls.
‘It’s the truth. My past was a closed book. I never intended reopening it. Then again, I never thought I’d fall in love again. I’d have carried on lying to begin with, but whether I would have continued . . . I honestly don’t know.’
Another long silence. Then she says, ‘I don’t think I can love you. You killed people. I understand that it’s not black and white, and I want to accept you, but you murdered for money. I could never forget that.’
‘Then go back to your husband,’ I respond harshly.
Her gaze drops. ‘I don’t know if I can do that either. You’re part of my life. You killed for me. I can’t cut you out and pretend you never happened.’
‘What do you want?’ I snarl, growing exasperated. ‘Just tell me. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. If you want me to go, I’ll go. It’s your call.’
‘Ed,’ she says, shaking her head, tears falling. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t.
‘Is that it? Ed?’
‘Yes,’ she sobs, rising. ‘I have to think about this. I need time alone, to work out where I stand.’
‘What if I’m gone by then? I’m not going to stick around for ever, waiting for you to make up your mind. You want me or you don’t, it’s as simple as that.’
‘No,’ she disagrees. ‘I want you but I might not be able to have you.’ She turns to leave.
‘Andeanna,’ I call. She stops and waits but doesn’t look back. ‘Now that you know about me, you know what I’m capable of. I can eliminate the Turk. If he’s the only obstacle between us, he can be removed.’
She starts to turn towards me, then shakes her head and scurries away, leaving me alone on the bench in the dark.
ELEVEN
My ghosts are my only company over the next couple of days and nights, keeping the same silent vigil they’ve maintained these past six years. I don’t know why they can’t make noise. If they’re creatures of my own creation, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be capable of providing them with voices as well as faces. If they’re real, in the course of my research I’ve encountered plenty of other spirits that have no trouble causing a ruckus.
Axel Nelke has settled in swiftly. Apart from his first sly attack on the Tube platform, he hasn’t attempted to unnerve me, slotting into the cluster of ghosts as if he’s been one of the gang for years. I’m guessing (if they’re real) that they have some means of communicating with each other, or else they just react instinctively when they come back from the dead.
I truly thought I’d left the killing behind, that nothing could drive me to murder again. I hoped I might one day be able to atone for my crimes, that the ghosts would see I’d repented, forgive me and move on — or that I’d forgive myself and disperse them if they were inner projections. But I was deluding myself. The killer is still alive and hungry within me. Part of me rejoiced when I killed Axel Nelke. Part of me had been waiting longingly for another chance to lash out and taste blood. And that dark, dreadful, needful part of me wants to do it again.
When my cell phone rings in the middle of the night, I spring awake, lean over and answer instantly, ‘Andeanna.’
A startled pause. ‘How did you know it was me?’
‘Who else would be ringing –’ I check my watch – ‘at four in the morning?’
‘One of your other mistresses,’ she teases.
‘They never ring before nine,’ I joke, sitting up in the darkness, joyous that she’s called, but terrified too. What if she says she never wants to see me again?
‘I’ve missed you,’ she sighs.
‘Does that mean . . . ?’ I ask hopefully.
‘That I want to be with you? Yes.’
My heart glows hot. ‘I love you,’ I croak.
‘I love you too,’ she replies simply, wonderfully.
‘So. What now?’ I ask.
She doesn’t answer straight away. Maybe she has no answer. Or maybe she’s just reluctant to voice it. Then, in a morose tone which might be funny under other circumstances, she says, ‘We have to kill Mikis, don’t we?’
‘If we want to be together, yes.’
‘We couldn’t just run away?’
‘We’d always be looking over our shoulders, worrying, wondering. Fear would destroy us.’
‘He’s Greygo’s father,’ she says.
‘He’s a worthless son of a bitch,’ I retaliate. ‘Your son is the only one who’ll miss him. Apart from maybe a couple of his favourite whores.’
She sighs. ‘We won’t get away with it. His men are loyal, especially Bond. They’d come after us.’
‘Not if we do it right.’
A long, long silence follows. Then, ‘Tell me how.’
And our sinister pact is sealed.
Killing Mikis Menderes is relatively easy. Making sure the finger of blame doesn’t point at Andeanna is the hard part. His men won’t rest until they’ve flushed out the assassin and his employer. They’ll suspect everyone, starting with her and her son, since they have the most to gain.
‘Not me,’ she snorts. ‘Mikis has willed everything to Greygo. I get nothing.’
‘That’s good,’ I mutter. ‘But it’s not enough. We need to divert their attent
ion. Make it look like an accident or throw them a scapegoat.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.’
When she hangs up, I head for the shower, where I can think more clearly under the rush of flowing water. The basic frame of a plan comes to me almost immediately. Before anything else, I need to acquire a gun. That might have been a problem previously, but Axel Nelke’s pistol is waiting for me at Heathrow. I smile grimly at how I obeyed my instinct to leave it in the car. Part of me must have guessed this was where things were heading. I was thinking further ahead than I realized when I held on to the gun.
Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself, then dress, slip a thin pair of gloves into the pockets of my jacket and catch the Tube to Heathrow. This time I stay well clear of the platform edges on the way.
I buy a hat and sunglasses in a shop at the airport, put them on in a restroom, then catch a bus to the car park. In the lot, having pulled on the gloves, I stumble around for a while, acting lost in case the Turk’s people have tracked down the car and set a team on watch. Spotting nobody suspicious, I stop and open the unlocked driver’s door, digging into my pocket first and pretending to produce a set of keys. I get in.
The air is stale and the seat is cold. I keep my hands on the wheel, staring ahead as if in deep contemplation. After a minute, my left hand sneaks down the side of the seat. My fingers touch cool metal. I drag it forward, hook a finger through the trigger guard and hoist it up. I glance down to make sure the safety’s on, then jam it inside my jacket.
If there were people around, I’d make a show of starting the engine and letting it cut out, curse as I left the car, pretend to go off in search of a mechanic. But I’m alone, so I simply step out, walk away, get the bus to the terminal then the Tube back to the Royal Munster, where I store the gun in my safe.
Weapon secured, I sit down with a pen and writing pad and work on my plan. I jot down names – mine, Andeanna’s, Axel Nelke’s, the Turk’s, Bond Gardiner’s – and draw lines between them. I need to point the finger of blame at Nelke. Killing the Turk with Nelke’s gun will be a good start, but the gun then has to fall into Bond Gardiner’s hands, so he can trace it back to the missing guard. I can’t post it to him or leave it at the scene of the crime. He won’t accept Nelke as the villain of the piece if I frame him clumsily. There has to be a legitimate way of tying him to the hit . . .
I smile tightly as the answer hits me. I add a new word to the page, in capitals — ASSASSIN. I operated anonymously when I was in the game, but others weren’t so modest. Some signed their work like an artist. If I could drag one of those into the scheme, I’d have an excuse to leave behind incriminating evidence. Gardiner could trace that to the assassin, then the gun through the assassin to Nelke.
I wouldn’t under normal circumstances think of double-crossing a hired killer – far too dangerous – but I have a man in mind who fits the criteria perfectly, who not only signs his kills but has a score to settle with the Turk. On top of that, he’s a man I’d love to drop in the shit. There are still a lot of details to iron out, but I can feel the plan taking firmer shape. It’s only a matter of time before the tumblers of death click fatally into place.
In the afternoon, my thoughts turn to Joe. The plot I’m hatching is far from foolproof, and I don’t want him getting sucked in if things go wrong. I have to sever the link between us. It won’t be pleasant, but it’s for his own good.
He answers brightly when I call. ‘Hi, Ed. What’s up?’
‘Joe,’ I reply tonelessly, ‘we have a problem.’
‘What sort of problem?’
‘My agent told my editor about our partnership and she kicked up a stink. The publishers are afraid of getting caught in the middle of a legal war if we fall out with one another.’
‘That’s crazy,’ Joe grunts.
‘I know. But I’m just the writer. My opinion doesn’t count.’ Joe laughs. ‘Tell them to send me a contract. I’ll sign whatever they want.’
‘Jonathan suggested that, but they didn’t bite. They say it’s a straight-up Ed Sieveking book or the deal’s off.’
Joe’s sigh pains me, but there’s worse to come and I steel myself against it. ‘I guess that leaves me out in the cold,’ he says, trying not to sound disappointed. ‘Still, the most I hoped for when we began was a mention, so I can’t be too upset.’
‘Actually, that’s not possible either.’
‘Why not?’ he asks, bewildered.
‘Jonathan wants to exclude you entirely. He wants me to say I did all the research and planning by myself. He thinks that if I mention you in the book or in interviews, you could stake a claim to royalties. I went ballistic at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I came round to his way of thinking.’ Stunned silence greets that last statement. ‘Joe? Are you there?’
‘I’m here,’ he says weakly.
‘I mean, it’s not as if you contributed substantial ideas,’ I rush on. ‘You certainly helped, and it’s a shame we can’t acknowledge that, but you only had the barest creative input, right?’
‘Sure,’ he answers shakily.
‘I’d hate it if this got to court. You’d hate that too, wouldn’t you?’
‘I guess,’ he says. He sounds dazed.
‘So you’ll sign away all claims to the book?’
‘Sign away? But I never made any in the first place. How can I –’
‘We’ll send you a form,’ I cut in. ‘A disclaimer. Once you’ve put your name to it, we can meet up again, share a few drinks and laugh about it all.’
‘You mean . . . ’ He clears his throat. ‘You don’t want to see me until the form’s been signed?’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to see you. I can’t. It’ll be for the best if we keep out of each other’s way until the book’s been in the shops a while.’
‘What if we don’t talk about the book?’
‘Sorry, Joe. Lawyer’s orders. I’ve worked a long time for this break. You don’t want to wreck it for me, do you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So!’ I boom hollowly. ‘I’m glad that’s out of the way. It’s a pain, but I guess that’s part of the price of success.’
‘Yeah,’ Joe says sickly.
‘Of course,’ I chuckle, ‘after all this fuss, the book probably won’t sell shit.’
‘No,’ Joe disagrees. ‘It’s going to be a great book. I’m sure it’ll be a hit.’
I wince. This would be easier if he lost his rag and cursed the hell out of me. ‘I’ll let you go,’ I say, jovial to the end. ‘I’ll send you an advance copy of the book when it’s ready, no matter what those bastards say.’
‘That would be nice.’
‘See you around?’
‘Sure, Ed.’
And that’s the end of my friendship with Joe.
When Andeanna calls, I tell her we have to meet. She suggests Trafalgar Square, one of our favourite spots when we were courting innocently, so I head over at the agreed time. The square is teeming with tourists, even at this late hour. Everyone’s making the most of the clear sky and warm breeze. This could be one of the last sweet nights of the summer, and nobody wants to waste it.
Andeanna is sitting by a fountain. She kisses my cheek when I sit beside her. She looks more composed than last time. Her face has healed cleanly.
‘You look good,’ I compliment her.
‘I know,’ she laughs. ‘It’s crazy. I’ve been a mess since we met in the park. But this morning I woke up and felt light, giddy, free. It’s bizarre.’
‘It’s because you made up your mind and committed yourself to killing him. You know you’re in this to the end. Your choice has been lifted from you, so you feel unburdened.’
‘Hark at Mr Freud,’ she smiles. ‘How did you get to be so wise?’
‘I’ve seen this kind of reaction before.’
‘I’m following a trend?’ she shrieks mock-hysterically.
/> ‘Yes,’ I smirk. ‘First comes the vow — “I’ll kill him, no question about it.” Then confusion — “I can’t kill him! He’s my husband! But I must! But I can’t!”’
‘Stop,’ she giggles.
‘Then comes acceptance — “I’ll kill him. No big deal. Oh, look at the state of those nails. I need a manicure.”’
Andeanna glances at her hands and blushes. ‘Incredible. I’ve got an appointment booked for the morning.’
‘I should write a book about it,’ I say drily. ‘How to Murder a Loved One.’
‘That should be How to Murder a Not So Loved One.’
‘I stand corrected.’
It feels wonderful to be here with her, to look into her eyes and find no trace of fear, doubt or hatred. She loves and accepts me, and I know she’ll never again ask about my past or how I could have done such awful things. We’ve reached an understanding.
‘I hate the thought of killing Mikis,’ she says, her smile fading. ‘For all his faults, he always provided for me, and he’s Greygo’s father.’
‘I know.’
‘But three into two won’t go,’ she sighs. ‘We can’t carry on as we have been. He’d find out eventually and kill us. I can’t get a divorce. He’d chase me if I ran. We can’t wait for him to die of natural causes — he could live for decades. So it’s this or nothing.’
‘And I can’t settle for nothing.’
‘Me neither,’ she agrees, taking my hand. ‘But it has to be swift, as painless as possible. I don’t want you choking him like you choked poor Axel.’
‘It’ll be clean. A bullet through the brain.’
She nods grimly. ‘You can get a gun?’
‘I already have one — Nelke’s.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Won’t they be able to trace that to him from powder or bullet grooves or something like that?’
‘They’re meant to. I want them thinking that Nelke set up the Turk.’
‘Axel? Why would he?’
‘I don’t have a motive, but I don’t think we need one. Mikis suspects Axel of betraying him, right?’