Connor Weston
D’urban Swayze
Lyle Tate
Jason Campo
I’ve attached records and details for all four. Three listed as mispers.
Paula had to read it twice to make sure she wasn’t imagining it. Lyle Tate. The boy whose supposed murderer had been behind bars long before the latest victim of a serial killer had been taken. Lyle Tate, the boy whose supposed killer was the focus of Carol Jordan’s innocence investigation.
She clicked on the attachment. Lyle had three convictions for soliciting, one for possession of cocaine. He was NFA – no fixed abode – for the first two, but there was an address for the last two. He’d been reported missing but by the time he’d appeared in the system and anyone had joined up the dots, he was old enough to make his own choices.
Those choices had put him in the path of a murderer. But not the man who was serving life for his murder. She knew she was breaking the rules, but there was a man behind bars who didn’t deserve to spend another day there. Paula took out her phone and called Carol’s number.
49
Control is an illusion we all need to keep the chaos at bay. Losing control is what the predator fears. Losing control is when we make the mistakes that cost us most dearly.
From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL
It took every ounce of composure she possessed to stop Carol whirling round to face Vanessa. ‘I gave you your chance, Harrison,’ she managed to squeeze out. The adrenaline surge made her feel faintly nauseous.
Vanessa stepped forward into the pool of light thrown by the lamps, her hair gleaming soft in their glow. ‘Did you really think I’d send someone in alone to sort this out? She’s just here to soften you up. That’s why she didn’t lock the door behind her when you invited her in.’
She was dressed like the villain in a Bond movie, Carol thought. Long black leather coat over a tailored suit in supple grey leather. Black leather gloves, obviously. ‘It’s showtime, Harrison. I’m offering you the deal of your life. You pay me what you owe me, and we walk out of here. I won’t go to the police, I won’t harm a hair on your devious little head and you can get on with this magnificent life you’ve made for yourself.’ She waved a hand at the cosy living room, making no attempt to disguise the sneer.
‘And if I say no?’
Vanessa gave a theatrical sigh. ‘You didn’t mount your grand scheme to die an ignominious death in a shitty two-up, two-down in the arse end of nowhere. You’ve got more than enough salted away. She was telling you the truth. I have killed a man before. Up close and personal. It was him or me. And right now, when I think of what you’ve done to me, it feels like the same equation. Your life, or mine. So get your bank account on the screen and let’s get this bloody mess sorted out.’
His eyes moved between the two women. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. ‘You talk a good game, Vanessa, but that’s all.’
She took another step forward. ‘I found you, didn’t I?’
Technically, Stacey did. ‘What would you rather, Harrison? Death or jail? I’m happy to call the cops and wait till they get here. Because we’ve done nothing wrong. You invited us in, after all.’ Carol smiled.
‘Either way you wouldn’t get your money.’ He actually smirked.
‘Neither would you,’ Carol snarled.
Vanessa took off one glove and theatrically struck him across the face. Left cheek, right cheek. Just as he had when Carol had burst in, he folded in the face of violence, letting out a scream of pain. ‘That’s just the beginning, you little shit. You’ve got more than enough to go around.’ She fumbled inside her jacket and pulled out a leather sheath. Seconds later a slender silver stiletto jutted from her gloved fist. She loomed over him, the blade touching the tip of his chin, a geriatric Valkyrie as terrifying as Brunhilde in her prime.
Gardner held his hands up in surrender. ‘Fuck it,’ he said bitterly. ‘My laptop’s in the kitchen.’
‘Don’t kill him while I’m gone.’ It was a relief to get out of the room. Carol’s pulse was a jackhammer in her throat and cold sweat was trickling down her back and her sides. She’d been kidding herself when she thought she was learning to control her PTSD. She was as much in its grip as she’d ever been.
The laptop sat on the kitchen table, the Telegraph website open to a business page. She carried it back and handed it to Gardner. ‘You’ll need to move the knife,’ he muttered.
Vanessa obliged and stood where she could see what he was doing. Carol joined her just as he opened the site of a bank in the Caribbean jurisdiction of Nevis. He had to pass through four levels of password security, his fingers flying over the keys more swiftly than Carol could follow. Then an eye-watering balance appeared on the screen. ‘Bloody hell,’ Vanessa said. ‘Five and a quarter million’s just a bloody flea bite. You greedy bastard.’ There was almost a note of admiration in her voice.
‘I’m very good at what I do. Your bank details?’ Vanessa nodded to Carol, who took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it over. Gardner worked his way through the transfer then sat back with a sigh. ‘All done. That’s the beauty of private offshore banks. No stupid daily limits on transfers. You’ll want to check it’s arrived?’
Vanessa turned away and huddled over her phone. ‘Hello, old friends,’ she said after a couple of minutes. ‘How lovely to see you again.’
Gardner stood up. ‘Now you can both fuck off.’
As soon as the door of Cove Cottage closed behind them, Vanessa crossed to her car, parked on the verge opposite. Carol had to hurry to catch up, reaching her just as she released the locks and went to open
