‘If he goes down, he’ll talk, and my understanding is you’ve got an interesting business relationship with him. One you’d rather keep secret.’
‘What evidence, exactly, do you have on this Raymond Keen you’re talking about?’
I took out the portable tape player on which I’d recorded the interrogation of Kover. ‘This,’ I said, pressing the play button and putting the machine next to the mouthpiece. I’d wound it forward to the most incriminating part and was pleased at how good the sound quality was. Kover detailed Raymond’s role in the murder not only of Miriam Fox but of as many as four young girls as well. I switched it off before I got to the bit where I incinerated him.
‘It sounds like a lot of that so-called confession was given under extreme duress. Surely, then, it would not be admissible in a court of law?’
‘Maybe not, but if it fell into the hands of the police, I’m certain they would have to act on it. And I think you’d find they’d leave no stone unturned to put him away, and if they did that … well … I imagine they’d turn up a lot of stuff that would affect other people. And those people might get tarred with the same brush. And who wants to be closely associated with a child killer? Because I can assure you that’s exactly what Raymond Keen is.’ There was silence on the other end of the line. ‘Raymond’s at home at the moment. I think he’s getting a little nervous about things. In fact, I think he might be preparing to fly the nest even as we speak, so you’re going to have to be quick about things. If he’s still alive in twenty-four hours the police are going to get that tape I’ve just played you plus all the other evidence I’ve unearthed on Raymond’s nasty little sideline.’
‘And after that? If Raymond Keen disappears, what guarantees are there that there will be no further repercussions?’
‘I’ll have got what I wanted. The tape’ll be destroyed because, as you say, it incriminates me as well, and I’ll disappear off the face of the earth.’
‘You could be recording this conversation, What’s to stop it being used against Mehmet Illan at a later date?’
‘You’re just going to have to trust me on that. Whatever happens, if Raymond’s still alive tomorrow night, I’m going to the police. If he isn’t, I won’t. And to be honest, I’d prefer not to.’
‘It would be useful if you disappeared sooner rather than later.’
‘The moment Keen’s gone, so am I.’
‘OK. Well, thank you very much for your call.’
‘One last question. My driver for the hit at the Traveller’s Rest. Do you know what’s happened to him?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’
I didn’t say anything. Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe he wasn’t. He hung up without further preamble, and I slowly replaced the receiver in its cradle. Would he take the bait? I thought he had enough incentive, but I couldn’t be sure, and I wasn’t a hundred per cent certain he had the necessary fire-power to carry out an assault on Raymond’s place. After all, the two men he’d sent against me had hardly been armed to the teeth. One had had a sawn-off, the other a revolver with a badly sighted barrel. And they hadn’t exactly been accomplished assassins either. But he was going to want Raymond out of the way, and badly, which counted in my favour.
I got back in the car and thought about driving back to Bayswater, but decided against it. I hoped that I had just sentenced Raymond Keen to death, but maybe Illan would call my bluff and do nothing. I decided I had to go to Raymond’s house, to check that he was there and what the level of his security was. I was armed, so if he was on his own I’d finish him off myself, but only after I’d found out who else, if anyone, was involved in the killing of the kids.
* * *
It was a quarter to ten and still raining when I pulled up just down the street from Raymond’s residence. It was a big, modern house set behind high walls in two or three acres of land, part of a very plush new estate built on what was once farmland, a mile or so out of the nearest village. Only he and Luke lived there now. Raymond’s wife had died ten years ago, supposedly the result of natural causes, but in the light of what I’d heard about Raymond these past few hours, even that diagnosis had to be taken with a pinch of salt. He had three kids, all girls, ironically enough, and all grown up and moved away, so it would just be him and whatever security cover he had.
I got out of the car, took my raincoat containing the MAC 10 and the Browning out of the back seat, and put it on. The street was empty, with not a single car parked on it, and the houses were far enough apart to give the area a real sense of privacy. I assumed the sort of people who lived here were City bankers and lawyers, high fliers who liked to think that they’d achieved something in life because their houses had eight bedrooms and walk-in wardrobes. They were going to get one hell of a shock when they found out what one of their neighbours had been up to, but, you never know, perhaps they’d enjoy the controversy. At least it would give them something to talk about.
The wall bordering Raymond’s property was ten feet high and topped with short, vertical spikes to deter intruders. I walked up in the direction of the front gate, keeping an eye out just in case this place too was under surveillance. Not surprisingly, the imposing wooden gates were locked and access was via an intercom system. I walked back to the car and drove it slowly down
