Fifth Victim

spy. I can only suggest, not enforce. And I can’t protect her if she doesn’t trust me.’

Parker shot me a warning glance, but if anything Caroline Willner looked faintly gratified, as if having someone who would stand up for her daughter – against any detractor, regardless – was a personal vindication in her eyes. Proof that she had made the right choice.

‘You’re close to Dina’s age,’ she said. I was nearer thirty than twenty, but naturally I let that flattery pass. ‘And you’re British, well-spoken. It gives you, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, a sophistication not often found in someone of your … professional background. I hope she will take note of you, at least.’

I considered telling her that if she was looking for a role model for her daughter, she had best look elsewhere. My own parents had been at times both shocked and disappointed by the way I’d turned out. But then Parker asked, ‘Is Dina close to her father?’ and the moment passed.

Caroline Willner shrugged beneath her beautifully cut jacket. My own black wool business suit – the most expensive thing in my wardrobe that didn’t contain Kevlar – suddenly seemed like peasant garb by comparison. So much for my worldly air.

‘My husband and I separated when my daughter was eight,’ she said tightly, as if forced into group therapy against her will. ‘He returned to Europe after the divorce. There has been no … regular contact since.’

She rose, turning away from us and smoothing down her dress with an unconscious gesture that reminded me of my mother. Dignity at all costs. There was a large canvas on the wall to my left, a huge bold splodge of abstract colour exploding diagonally across it like multicoloured blood spatter. She moved over towards it and, after a moment’s apparent absorption with the brushwork, twisted back, poise almost masking the tension.

‘So, can you protect her?’

Parker put down his cup. ‘We can certainly do our best – and our best is pretty good,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘But you have to appreciate, ma’am, that preventing kidnappers who are well prepared, well financed and highly motivated is almost impossible without the kind of restrictions on your daughter’s lifestyle that she would find unacceptable. All we can do is minimise the threat – make your daughter no longer seem like a soft target.’

‘Make them look elsewhere, you mean?’ She gave another quick frown, not liking the idea of passing the buck.

‘If we can liaise with the authorities, study the reports on the previous kidnappings, and get a handle on the way these people operate, maybe we …’ His voice trailed off, then turned sharp. ‘Mrs Willner?’

‘The authorities know nothing of any of this.’ Another stern stare. ‘I was assured that the discretion of Armstrong-Meyer could be relied upon absolutely.’

‘It can.’ Parker stilled, eyes narrowing. He knew as well as I did that only around one in ten kidnappings were ever reported, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. ‘You should be aware that there has been considerable success in apprehending kidnappers inside the United States – far better than in many other countries around the world,’ he said flatly. ‘I would strongly advise full cooperation with local and federal law enforcement agencies.’

Caroline Willner inclined her head, almost graceful. ‘What I feel about the matter is irrelevant at this point, Mr Armstrong. My family is personally unaffected.’ She aimed a level stare. ‘I should very much like that state of affairs to continue.’

‘Nevertheless, a number of young people have been kidnapped – young people of extremely wealthy parents with homes on Long Island – over the past year,’ Parker pointed out. ‘Keeping it under wraps can only make things worse.’

‘Nobody likes admitting that they gave in to extortion,’ I agreed. ‘And if the victims were not precious, they would not have been taken.’

Caroline Willner did not appreciate being ganged up on. Her spine stiffened. ‘In the kind of social circles in which I move, involving the authorities would generate bad publicity that is something to be avoided at all costs.’ She glanced at me again, something calculating in her face now. ‘If word of this had gotten out, it would be open season.’

‘There have been – what? Three so far, I believe you said?’ I asked dryly. ‘The first of which was the middle of last summer and the last was only a few months ago. I rather think it already is.’

‘I am not saying I condone the decision of the people involved to handle things without the intervention of the authorities, Ms Fox, only that I can understand the reasons behind it.’ Faint colour lit her cheekbones. ‘That is why I am taking these steps to avoid the same fate befalling my daughter.’

‘Of course,’ Parker said. ‘The final decision in such an eventuality would be yours to take.’

She straightened, regal, her voice remote as if this was a business deal in which she only had marginal interest. ‘So, do we have an agreement?’

Parker glanced across at me, but I shook my head. ‘That’s up to your daughter,’ I said. ‘I can only protect a principal with their willing participation. If she’s against the idea, or obstructive, and refuses to take sensible precautions, then I can’t hope to do my job.’

Caroline Willner flipped back the sleeve of her jacket and consulted a wafer-thin wristwatch. ‘Dina should be back momentarily,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’

CHAPTER THREE

I stood in the lee of the security wall and watched Dina Willner wash clods of salt-laden sand from the white horse’s legs and belly. The animal delicately sidestepped the gush of the hosepipe with much snorting through distended nostrils, making a production out of it.

Dina was a slim girl, not much more than my height, and she seemed to handle him a lot more confidently on the ground than she had done while on his back.

Strictly speaking, white horses were referred to as ‘greys’, but such a dull term didn’t do justice to his haughty magnificence. I detected Spanish blood in the thick-crested neck and long sloping shoulder, pedigree temperament in the clearly delineated veins standing out through his coat. And if perhaps he wasn’t the most prudent match for Dina’s equestrian skills, I could understand, once she’d set eyes on him, how it would have been hard to settle for anything less.

As he scraped and stamped amid the spray, shoes ringing on the concrete pad that lay beneath the high wall, I briefly considered offering to hold his bridle, but quickly kept hands and thoughts to myself. I wasn’t yet officially in the Willners’ employ, and horse slobber, as I knew from my youth, would require dry-cleaning to remove. The white horse was producing enough froth around the metal in his mouth for me to imagine he’d been gargling with Alka- Seltzer. He distributed it freely with every temperamental shake of his head.

I had introduced myself as Dina rode up the beach to the house. Or rather, as soon as I’d stepped out of the gate in the wall at her approach, she’d smiled and called out brightly, ‘Hi! You must be the bodyguard.’

So much for keeping a low profile.

She was wearing a loose white blouse and a black felt hat with a wide brim and a flat crown that matched the nationality of the horse a little too carefully, I felt. Her hair was dark, pulled back into a ponytail that hung between her shoulder blades. And she had on a pair of pearl drop earrings. I wondered briefly what kind of person wore such expensive-looking jewellery to go riding on the beach?

There didn’t seem to be an answer to her question that wasn’t inane. I slipped on my sunglasses against the glare of sun on the water and said, ‘Did the way my knuckles drag on the floor give it away?’

For a moment she looked startled, then flashed a quick grin and dismounted, landing lightly in the sand. She looped the reins over her arm and elbowed the horse aside, not unkindly, when he tried to rub his sweaty face against her shoulder.

‘I’m Dina Willner – but I guess you knew that already.’

I shook the gloved hand she offered and murmured my name in response. She had a firm grip, backed by composure and the cool self-assurance that seems to come naturally to the offspring of the very rich. All too often, I’d found, brattishness and stroppy tantrums were bundled in as part of the package, but Dina’s gaze was frank and refreshingly open in its appraisal. She led the horse up onto the hardstanding near the gate, and pulled out the retractable hose.

‘When Mother said you were a girl, I wasn’t sure what to expect,’ she admitted, suddenly doubtful. ‘You don’t look like a bodyguard.’

‘I wouldn’t be much use if I did.’

A stock answer to a stock question. Parker usually wheeled me out when the client was looking for a more