Perfect Kill

‘He’d met someone,’ Mr Reilly announced, at little more than a whisper.

His wife whipped her head round, the fastest Ava had seen her move since arriving.

‘What are you talking about?’ Mrs Reilly asked.

Her husband rubbed a hand across his forehead.

‘He asked me not to tell you. I don’t know much about it myself. Just that he’d met a woman he rather liked a few times, but that he wasn’t sure it was going anywhere.’

‘Why not?’ Ava asked.

‘Why was I not to be told?’ Malcolm’s mother followed up.

‘I gather she was married, or engaged, or something. Malc was vague about it. He wouldn’t tell me her name. I got the impression she’d asked him not to talk about her.’

‘Why exactly?’ Ava pressed.

‘He said something about how she wouldn’t like him talking about her. I overheard him on the phone one day. Malcolm had sounded excited, younger than normal. He was quite reserved usually, so I asked who it was. I think he wanted to tell me more but was torn.’

‘You should have told me anyway,’ Mrs Reilly said. It was an accusation.

‘Malcolm knew you’d disapprove. He didn’t want to upset you. Neither did I.’

‘And what if she had something to do with all of this? If I’d known, if you’d told me …’

‘How could some woman he liked have taken him to France? His passport’s still in his drawer. And why would she do that? It makes no sense. That’s why I didn’t say anything before. It’s ridiculous,’ he declared, banging his fist against his leg.

Ava gave them both a moment to calm down.

‘Which phone did you hear Malcolm talking to this woman on, and when?’ she asked.

‘His mobile. It was never found after he disappeared. As for when, that would have been about ten weeks ago. It was a Sunday afternoon,’ Mr Reilly said.

‘So two weeks before he disappeared, then. I’ll check his mobile call logs with his telecom provider. I don’t suppose you know where he met this woman?’

‘I don’t, but he was keen on her, and he obviously thought she felt the same or I don’t think he’d have mentioned her to me at all. It couldn’t have been her, could it?’ He stared into Ava’s eyes, looking for more than information. Wanting affirmation, reassurance, perhaps forgiveness.

‘We have to cover all angles when we investigate. I’ll do my best to locate this woman. Until then, it’s best not to torture yourselves with hypotheticals. I’ll leave you to it. If you think of anything else, please do get in touch.’

‘How could you keep that from me?’ Mrs Reilly hissed at her husband. ‘He was my son, I had a right to know.’

‘It was nothing, please, Anne, don’t upset yourself …’

‘Don’t upset myself?’ she raged, looking around the room before choosing the nearest object to seize. It was a vase. Her husband looked on in silence as it smashed in the fireplace. ‘My boy was gutted like a fish, and you’re asking me not to upset myself? What is it that you want me to do? Sit in bed quietly and cry into a hankie? What if this woman’s husband found out about them and decided to get rid of Malcolm? Did you think of that?’

‘No … no, I’m sure Malcolm wouldn’t have let it get that far.’

‘Mrs Reilly,’ Ava said. ‘I understand—’

‘No you don’t,’ Malcolm Reilly’s mother screamed. On the final word she aimed an open palm at Ava’s face, slapping hard enough for Ava’s neck to crack as her head whirled round. ‘Oh my God. I’m sorry. Oh my God,’ she gasped, falling to her knees.

Ava took to the floor beside her, taking Malcolm’s mother’s hands in her own, gently stroking the hand that had slapped her.

‘You’re right,’ Ava said. ‘I don’t understand. It’s okay. The worst thing is, I know that I never want to have to understand, not fully. I never want to be feeling what you’re feeling now. That’s why I do this job. I want to make sure that as few people as possible have to go through what you’re experiencing. All I can promise is that I’ll do my best, and that I’ll make everyone else do their best, and I won’t stop until I can give you answers.’

Mrs Reilly drew herself into a ball, rocking back and forth, eventually letting her husband kneel next to her and wrap her in his arms. Ava suspected they would be there, on that cold wooden floor, for an awfully long time. She let herself out.

An hour later Ava was at home changing out of her uniform. In spite of the Major Investigation Team’s non-uniform policy, she had always felt more comfortable treating visits to the recently bereaved with the utmost formality. That mark of respect was the least she could offer. The rest of the day was going to be briefings and normal graft, though, and her jeans were beckoning. She was almost ready to leave for the station when her doorbell rang. Ava sighed. Her cheek was still raw from the monumental slap dealt by a grieving mother. The blow had been well delivered, and while Ava didn’t resent it at all, it had left fingermarks that would be like carrying a physical part of Malcolm Reilly with her for the rest of the day. Fitting perhaps, given that so much of him was actually missing. She wandered towards the door, feeling less than charitable towards whoever was out there, ringing her doorbell so persistently.

‘Hey you,’ a voice said, as Ava began to open the door. ‘I was hoping you might be here.’

‘Natasha,’ Ava said, stepping back to let her best friend in, grinning at the unexpected visit. They didn’t see each other often enough, and exchanging texts hardly did justice to the number of years they’d had each other’s backs. It couldn’t be helped. Natasha was Head of Philosophy at Edinburgh University, not to mention chairing numerous panels and writing articles. The two of them almost never managed to make their free evenings coincide. ‘You just caught me,’ she checked her watch, ‘but I’ve got time to put the kettle on. God, it’s good to see you.’

Natasha turned, shrugging off her coat slowly and putting it carefully on a hook before following Ava into the kitchen.

‘You mean you’ve actually got milk in your fridge that’s in date?’ Natasha smiled.

‘You’re so rude. I’m pretty sure I have.’ She opened her fridge door and peered at the label on a milk carton. ‘Aha, see, still good until tomorrow. Now you’ll have to apologise!’

‘Apologise my arse,’ Natasha said, sitting down. ‘Ava, I need to talk to you.’

‘Yes, please, anything. I’ve had a bloody awful morning so far. Seriously, probing grieving parents for details of their child’s life at the worst possible moment. You know it’s going to be bad, but nothing prepares you for the sense of devastation.’ She stretched her arms waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘Want some toast?’

‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry. Sit down with me.’

‘No time.’ Ava grabbed a hairband from her pocket and tied her long, curly brown hair up high on her head. ‘I’ve got two different teams working up cases, one here and one in France. Thank God Luc was already there or I’d have lost two officers to liaison posts.’

‘Ava,’ Natasha said firmly. ‘I have cancer.’

Ava looked at her, frowned as she half smiled, shook her head.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I found a lump in my left breast a month ago. The doctor was great, referred me straight to the hospital. The consultant’s been amazing. They operated two weeks ago, removed a sample and did a biopsy. I got the results yesterday afternoon.’

Ava closed her eyes, waited, opened them again, gritted her teeth.

‘A month?’ she said eventually. ‘You’ve been going through this for a fucking month and you’re at my door for the first time today?’ Her voice was at yelling pitch. ‘How the fuck could you ever think that was okay?’ She turned, tried to pick up the kettle but slopped boiling water across the tops of the mugs and her hand.

‘Ava, stop, please,’ Natasha said, standing and walking round the table towards her.

‘No,’ Ava said. ‘If you’re here, it’s because it’s bad news, and I can’t hear it, Tasha. God help me, I know it’s you going through this, not me, but I can’t have anything happen to you. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t stand it.’

Natasha wrapped her arms around Ava’s shoulders, holding her tight.

‘I couldn’t have this conversation before I knew for sure what it was. You’d have made the same choice. It was less painful not to think too hard about it. I knew you’d want to come to every appointment with me, ask every question, cross-examine the doctors, but I just wanted to let it all happen without a fight.’

‘How bad?’ Ava whispered into her friend’s hair.

‘Bad, but not hopeless. I won’t give you all the medical terms. I’ve driven myself mad looking it all up already. It’s stage two. I’ll need another operation, chemo, maybe radiation therapy, then they’ll review again and see how I’m doing.’ She stepped back, wiping tears from Ava’s face with her thumbs.

‘Oh holy shit. I’m so sorry I shouted at you. I’m such an idiot. You came here because you needed me, and I …’

‘Actually, I came here for you to yell at me and get it out of your system. You’re nothing if not predictable,’ she grinned.

‘Go to hell,’ Ava said, more tears falling. ‘Tasha, I have to ask.’

‘It’s all right,’ Natasha said. ‘Roughly speaking, there’s a fifty per cent survival rate for the type of cancer I have at this stage. It’s nowhere else in my body yet which is the good news. Apparently my aunt had it too, so there’s a family history to take into account, although I found out about that, as ever, when it was too late for a heads-up.’

‘So you’ve told your parents then?’ Natasha nodded. ‘How were they with you?’

‘Well, they managed not to ask if it was something I’d caught because I’m a lesbian, so I guess that was progress.’ She laughed, and Ava’s kitchen rang with the hollowness of it. ‘They were shocked, I think, but told me they’re sure I’ll be fine. Not what I wanted to hear, oddly. I mean, I want people to be reassuring, but it’s so bland when it happens like that. Almost dismissive, like they can’t cope with the reality so it’s an easy line to trot out.’

Ava sighed.

‘Still want that tea?’ she asked.

‘Damn right I do. I can’t drink booze at the moment, so tea’s about my only decent option.’ Ava busied herself with the mugs and teabags. ‘Anyway, I’m here to ask you to just stand by me, I suppose. At the moment, I’m not quite sure what’s ahead. I have another appointment at the hospital tomorrow to agree a treatment plan. I know you’re busy with your caseload but …’

‘I’ll be there,’ Ava said. ‘Whatever you need. Just message me about the time. I’ll drive you.’

‘You don’t have to go that far,’ Natasha smiled, taking the offered mug and sitting back down at the kitchen table with it.

‘Oh, that’s just because you’re a liability on the road already. I honestly can’t let the general public be put at risk if you’re even more distracted than usual.’ Ava sat opposite her.

‘Fuck you,’ Natasha grinned.

‘I love you,’ Ava retorted. ‘And I’m so ashamed about how I reacted. I wasn’t angry at you.’

‘I know that.’ Natasha reached across and took Ava’s hand in hers. ‘Do you remember when we were fourteen and that little gobshite Barry Beckwith told everyone he’d put his hand up my skirt? I came to you crying. Everyone was gossiping about it, and I thought my life was basically over.’

‘I screamed at you because you hadn’t punched him in the face as soon as you found out. Did you have to remind me?’ Ava laughed.

‘The next day, Barry turned up at whatever awful party we were at, with a black eye and a cut lip, telling everyone he’d been mugged for his backpack. I knew it was you, even though you never admitted it.’

‘I hated seeing you hurt like that.’ Ava smiled gingerly. ‘I still do. At least I could just go and punch Barry Beckwith. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?’

‘Hold my hand, make me laugh, give me space when I ask for it. What actually did happen with Barry then?’

‘I called at his house, flirted with him, told him I wanted to do the same as he’d done with you. He invited me up to his bedroom, and as soon as he closed his door I smacked him in the face. He tried to grab me to stop me from leaving, so I headbutted him, only he was quite a few inches taller than me, so I only contacted his lip. I knew he’d never have the balls to admit he’d been beaten up by a girl, so I wasn’t worried. He had tears in his eyes as I left, which I figured was almost good enough payment for what he’d done to you.’

‘I’m so glad we’ve always been friends. Mainly because as an enemy you’re terrifying.’

‘Whatever happens, I’ll be at your side,’ Ava said softly, the laughter gone. ‘You can’t leave me, Natasha. I won’t let you.’

‘Not even you can control this one,’ she replied. ‘But I appreciate the fact that you’re going to try, more than you could possibly know.’

Chapter Ten

Elenuta held a bag of ice against Anika’s cheek and waited for the girl to stop crying. Most of the men, and a few women, who visited Finlay’s establishment were there for something much less honest than plain old sex. They wanted to violate. Knowing that it was non-consensual was part of what they were buying. Getting away with throwing a few punches, the odd hand around the throat, sticking rough fingers wherever they liked, that was all included in the price too. Paying good money for a chance to express their hatred and rage in physical terms with no comeback was a given. The last bastard had gone too far with Anika though. She had fingermarks on both thighs where her legs had been held open, multiple grazes across her throat where rings had tugged at her delicate skin, and a lump coming up on her face that would take two weeks to reduce.

One of Finlay’s men came in, stared around the room at the four women crowded in there, syringe in hand.

‘This’ll make you feel better,’ he said gruffly.

‘She doesn’t need that,’ Elenuta said. ‘I look after her.’

‘Boss’s orders, don’t mess,’ the goon muttered.

Anika stared glassily at the syringe, then gave a weak nod, holding out her arm.

Elenuta took her hand, tried to pull her away.

‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Anika, let me help you.’

‘You’ll get the same treatment if you don’t keep your nose out,’ Elenuta was told. The man shoved her away from Anika.

She watched as the needle pierced the girl’s skin, plunging its oblivion into her nervous system. Anika’s sobs turned into a groan, then a sigh. Silence.

‘Why?’ Elenuta asked the man, as he withdrew the needle and checked Anika’s pupils.

‘Finlay’s fed up with her crying. She won’t last. Too fragile for his liking. He’s decided to race her next month. Believe me, a little bit of smack’s not going to hurt her.’

Elenuta stared at him. Most of the guards refused to enter into conversations with the women. This one couldn’t seem to care less. She wondered if she was being set up for a punishment, then decided it didn’t matter anyway. Being scared of every consequence was exhausting.

‘What’s your name?’ Elenuta asked.

‘Digger,’ he said. ‘You should go and eat.’

The rest of the women had already filed out of the room into the small kitchen they were allowed to use, with supervision. There was one dull knife for them to cut up food, and it had to be handed straight back to whoever was in charge once it had been used.

‘Not hungry,’ Elenuta said. ‘What race?’

Digger looked over his shoulder and Elenuta knew he was checking to make sure Finlay hadn’t sneaked in. He had a habit of doing that, could be almost silent as he approached. Finlay enjoyed keeping everyone on their toes. Two or three times a day he appeared to check up on them, going from flat to flat, making sure the women were busy on their backs and that none of the men who worked for him were getting lazy or dipping into the takings. Elenuta checked the clock every time he turned up. There was no pattern to it, and that was how he liked it, she realised. She and Finlay had spent what he’d called some quality time together after her failed escape attempt. Her ribs wouldn’t heal properly for weeks. He’d spared her face as that was what made him money, but other aspects of his punishment had been sufficiently brutal that she’d simply curled up in a corner and not dared move or speak until he’d left the flat.

‘You’re better off never finding out,’ he replied as Anika began to tip over. Elenuta caught her, and Digger grabbed a cushion off the tatty sofa to slide under her head as she hit the floor.

‘Will Anika come back from race?’ Elenuta asked quietly.

Digger stood up.

‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘That’s enough questions. You’ll get me in a right load of shit.’

‘Will I have to race?’ Elenuta asked.

‘You won’t if you keep the clients happy and don’t pull any more stunts like running away. The polis have been all over Gene’s place since. Finlay’s pissed. You got off lightly but I wouldn’t push your luck.’

‘How many women in race?’ Elenuta continued. Digger wanted to talk, she could tell. He was one of the less brutal supervisors. She’d never seen him hit any of the women, or take advantage of the free sex that was on offer. Her assessment was that he liked a quiet life. Not so quiet that he wasn’t prepared to shoot heroin in the arm of anyone making a fuss, but that was what Finlay had ordered. If any of the women were trouble, it was procedure to shut them up and leave their warm body on a bed for whatever use could be made of them.

‘Four,’ Digger said quietly, checking his watch. ‘Help me get her back onto a bed. She’s not going to wake up any time soon and Finlay won’t like seeing her lying there when the clients come in to choose one of you.’

‘They race each other?’ she persisted, taking hold of Anika beneath the arms.

‘For fuck’s sake, would you quit it woman?’ He picked up Anika’s legs and began walking backwards into the narrow hallway, down which the bedrooms were situated.

An arm slithered around Elenuta’s waist, crushing the air from her, leaving her lurching forward, trying to hold onto Anika’s head before it smashed to the floor.

‘Do you really want to know?’ Finlay mock-whispered into her ear. She could feel the wetness of his lips against her.

‘I told her to quit it, boss,’ Digger said, looking miserable.

‘I heard you, mate. This one doesn’t learn, does she? How are those ribs? Still sore, I’m guessing?’ He slid his arm up from her waist to her ribcage, tightening his grip. Tears sprang to Elenuta’s eyes as she fought for breath. ‘But education’s a good thing. Maybe I should show you what the race is all about. It’s guaranteed to make you behave yourself. You can manage this other wee cunny on your own, can’t you Digger.’ It was a decision, not a question. ‘And you, you pretty bitch, can come with me. Digger, fetch my laptop from the kitchen before dealing with the whore.’

He took Elenuta by the hair, pulling her backwards up the corridor, feet tumbling over one another, hauling her suddenly sideways when they reached an unoccupied bedroom. Throwing her onto the bed, Finlay climbed on next to her, winding an arm beneath her neck to pull her in close. Digger delivered the laptop, and Finlay tapped a series of icons until a video came up, the first image frozen in place.

‘Watch this,’ Finlay grinned, holding Elenuta’s head in place with one hand, as he took a knife from his pocket and lay tossing it in the air and catching it.

Four girls came into view from a small doorway, each wearing ragged underwear, no shoes on their feet. They looked back as the door shut, grabbing each other’s hands, stepping forward inch by inch. Elenuta could hear them whispering in at least three different languages mixed with some broken English. It was clear they had no idea where they were or what to expect. Nothing good, though.

A light came on to one side and a bank of chairs could be seen on a large glass-partitioned balcony. One hundred men, if not more, were seated in rows and looking eagerly down at the women. They began banging on the chairs, the floor, whatever was at hand, slowly at first, the beat increasing steadily, a cacophony of masculinity.

Finally, a man stepped forward, looking smarter than usual. He’d made an effort, Elenuta realised. The thought chilled her. This was Finlay dressed to impress, enjoying a crowning moment. The four women stood, frozen, huddled together.

‘Good evening, you bunch of cocksuckers!’ Finlay shouted to a gleeful response from his audience. ‘Welcome to the third race. Most of you know what to expect by now, so I’ll keep this short and you lot keep your hands out of your pants while I’m talking!’ He pointed vaguely into the crowd but at no one in particular and Elenuta understood that he’d practised and polished this little speech, self-proclaimed king for a couple of hours.

‘Do you want to see your champions?’ There was a further hammering of approval, but apparently not quite loud enough for Finlay’s liking. ‘Well, do you, you bastards?’ A much louder roar that time. ‘All right then.’ He threw back his arms, a circus ringmaster drawing the audience in, revving them up.

Another door opened and three men walked out, each wearing only shorts and trainers. Elenuta’s first thought was how ridiculous they looked, like those fake wrestlers whose every blow and fall was carefully choreographed. One was covered in tattoos – literally covered – from ankle to neck.

‘No names here,’ Finlay said, with a nod of acknowledgement towards the camera. ‘But these gentlemen have paid a high price for this honour – higher than the rest of you wankers bid, anyway.’ (Another crowd belly-laugh for that.) ‘So give it up for them.’

Finlay walked forward, raising each man’s right arm one after the other, tattoo’s first, then a skinnier man with a scar down the length of his torso, and finally a shorter male with an enormous girth and loose flesh folds dripping from his upper body. The men accepted their applause with chest-beating, raised fists and celebratory middle fingers pointed in the direction of the admiring crowd.

‘Now to meet your skanks. Let’s hope for their sakes that they haven’t got too out of shape, spending all that time on their backs!’ Real-life Finlay lying on the bed gave a snort of laughter at his own comic genius for that one. ‘Bitch number one!’ He grabbed the nearest woman to him and pulled her closer to the audience. ‘Great titties or what? Bet you can’t wait to see those bouncing up and down when she runs.’ He thrust her towards the nearby wall. ‘Bitch number two!’ The crowd was lapping it up, their appreciation rising to fever pitch. ‘Best blow jobs for fifty miles. You’d best hope she’s a fast runner then!’

The woman he took by the arm gave him a look that could have burned green wood. Elenuta saw her own loathing reflected in her eyes, and knew she shouldn’t look at Finlay while she watched the remainder of the video. What he saw in them would get her killed in a heartbeat.

‘Bitch number three!’ This girl – definitely more girl than woman – he grabbed around the waist and lifted into the air. ‘Grown men have fainted at the tightness of her pussy – we bring you nothing but the best here!’ He dropped the girl, who sank to her knees on the floor, hair hanging limply over her face. ‘And last but by no means least, the winner from the last race, bitch number four. Can she repeat the brilliance of her last run or did she only have one victory in her?’ Finlay circled the last woman, who was looking twitchy, jerking her knees up one after the other, her eyes huge, haunted, like some terrified Olympian on speed.

‘Rules – like there fucking are any – the bitches get a sixty-second head start on the hunt. They can run, hide, fight, disable one another, team up, whatever they like. Champions – same applies to you – all you have to do is move like fuck.’

Elenuta felt vomit rising in her throat at the word hunt. The women were starting to edge away from Finlay, three of them together, the previous winner – as if that term could ever apply – keeping her distance from the group.