Soft Target

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 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 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.