bankers or stockbrokers. Merkulov knew that if he’d attended the service he would have learnt something about the man they were burying, but he had no interest in eulogies. He cared only about the burial.
The priest was saying whatever it was that priests said at funerals. The widow reached up to rub her left eye with the back of her hand but Merkulov knew she wasn’t crying. In fact, no one was shedding tears. There were sombre faces and clasped hands, but no tears.
A man in a fawn raincoat sat down next to him. ‘You’ve always had a thing for funerals, haven’t you, Viktor?’ He spoke with an American accent.
He was watching the mourners so Merkulov could see only his profile. He had short gun-metal grey hair and thin lips. He crossed his legs at the ankles. He was wearing black leather shoes with tassels and bright red socks. ‘Do I know you?’ asked Merkulov.
‘We’ve never met,’ said the man. ‘But I know you. And you seem to think you know me.’ He turned with an easy smile on his face. ‘Richard Yokely,’he said. ‘Nice to meet you at last. I’ve followed your career with interest over the years.’
Merkulov glanced over his shoulder. A man in his early thirties was standing a few paces away, his hands deep in the pockets of a black overcoat. He had a thick scar above his lips and he returned Merkulov’s stare with hard eyes.
‘Yes,’said Yokely. ‘He’s with me.’ He nodded to Merkulov’s right. ‘Him too.’
Another big man was positioned some twenty paces away, wearing a matching overcoat. Like the other, his hands were in his pockets.
‘We’re professionals, you and I, aren’t we,Viktor?’ said Yokely.
‘I suppose so,’ said Merkulov. If he had been in Russia he’d have been carrying a gun, probably two, but in Britain the penalties for being caught with a weapon were too severe to take the risk. They had outlawed most knives, and even a baseball bat was classed as a weapon unless it was accompanied by a ball.
‘Professionals in a world of amateurs,’ said Yokely. ‘We’re a dying breed.’ He smiled. ‘Some of us dying quicker than others, of course.’
‘What is going to happen?’ said Merkulov.
‘To the world?’ said Yokely.
‘To me.’
Yokely patted his back. ‘Are you carrying any sort of weapon?’ he asked.
‘Sadly, no.’
Yokely laughed. ‘Viktor, even if you had a submachine-gun under your coat, it wouldn’t do any good with my two colleagues there.’
Merkulov sighed. ‘I knew it was a mistake to look for you.’
‘But you were paid well?’
‘Of course.’
‘So you took a risk. I can understand that. You have bills to pay, and there’s no pension at the end of your career, is there?’
‘Can I make a phone call before . . .’ He left the sentence hanging.
‘Before what, Viktor?’
‘Before you kill me.’
‘Let’s talk first,’ said Yokely. He waved at the cemetery gates. ‘We’ve a van outside,Viktor,a blue Transit. You and I will walk together to it. When we get close the back doors will open and you will get in. You will lie face down on the floor.’
The Russian nodded.
‘My men are armed, and if you try to run they will shoot you. They won’t shoot to kill so, one way or another, you will get into the van. And we won’t be taking you to hospital so you’ll only be putting yourself through a lot of unnecessary pain.’
Merkulov stood up and shrugged. ‘I am too old to run,’ he said.
Yokely put his arm around Merkulov’s shoulders. ‘You and me both,’ he said.
They walked together to the cemetery gates. Yokely’s companions followed.
Charlotte Button looked at her cigarette. ‘Filthy habit,’ she said. ‘How come you’re not smoking?’
‘I smoke when she’s around, but that’s it.’
‘You don’t get a craving?’
‘I guess I don’t have an addictive personality.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean I have?’
Shepherd chuckled and poured more wine into her glass. ‘Most people could give up if they set their minds to it.’
Button took a long drag on her cigarette, then blew smoke at him. ‘At times,’ she said, ‘you’re a patronising prick.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Shepherd. The doorbell rang, startling them. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘That must be her.’
Button put down her cigarette. ‘Okay, I’m your sister, my name’s Rachel,’ she said calmly. She picked up the bullet and slipped it into her bag. ‘I live in Cambridge, I’m a pharmaceuticals sales rep and I’m in Belfast pitching a new drug to GPs. I’m married with no children. I haven’t seen you since Christmas when you came to our house for dinner. My husband’s name is Clive. Got it?’
‘Got it,’ he said. ‘Just one thing, are you my older sister or younger?’
‘Answer the door, baby brother.’ She picked up her cigarette.
Shepherd hurried down the hallway. Outside, Elaine Carter was holding a potted plant. ‘Belated housewarming gift,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But you already gave me a bottle of champagne, remember?’
‘Actually there was a buy-one-get-one-free at the Spar,’ she said, ‘but it’s the thought that counts.’
‘Come in and have a drink,’ he said. ‘And say hello to my sister.’
‘Your sister? I didn’t know you had one.’
‘My brother lacks the basic social skills, I’m afraid,’ said Button, from the kitchen door. ‘I blame our parents, but they did a good enough job with me.’ She held out her hand. ‘Rachel,’ she said. ‘I’m the brains of the family.’
Elaine laughed. ‘I’m so glad to meet you,’ she said. ‘Jamie never talks about his family.’
‘He’s ashamed of us,’ said Button.
‘Leave it out, sis,’ said Shepherd. ‘Do you want some wine?’ he asked Elaine. ‘You’ll have to be quick before Rachel finishes the bottle.’
‘You know he drinks Frascati?’ said Button. Shepherd followed Elaine into the kitchen and put the plant into the sink. Button poured wine for her and the three sat down. Button clinked her glass against Elaine’s. ‘Any friend of Jamie’s . . . has my sympathy.’
‘She’s been drinking, as you can tell,’ said Shepherd. ‘I went round earlier to see if you fancied joining us but you weren’t there.’
‘Up to my eyes in work,’ said Elaine. ‘So, where do you live, Rachel?’
‘Cambridge. I’m in Belfast for a couple of days on business.’
‘Have you been here before?’
‘I’m over every few months. I’m a pharmaceuticals rep and our company keeps increasing the size of my territory. What about you?’
‘Financial adviser,’ said Elaine.
Button laughed. ‘You should take a look at Jamie’s finances,’ she said. ‘He’s forever in the red.’
‘I’m working on it,’ she said. She sipped some wine. ‘What was he like as a kid?’
‘A bit of a nerd, I’m afraid. Always had his nose buried in a book.’
‘That’s so not true,’ said Shepherd.
‘And he played with dolls.’
Shepherd glared at her. ‘Action Man wasn’t a doll,’ he said. ‘He was an action figure.’
Button winked. ‘Still sensitive about it, as you can see. What about you, Elaine? Got any brothers?’
‘Three sisters,’ said Elaine.
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Shepherd.
