Remorseless Page 4

  With this in mind, Olivia’s plan of action had slowly evolved as she gathered what information she could, until she finally felt ready to strike. She had returned to England in late February, driving up from Italy on her large BMW, the workhorse of a bike she loved to ride, and heading for the caravan she kept on an anonymous site near the Kent coast, conveniently close to the cross-channel ferry ports. As well as being where she stored a second motorcycle, a large Kawasaki, the caravan was one of three locations where she kept her essential supplies: spare sets of clothing, tools, fake foreign number plates, carefully packed and sealed explosive charges, remote detonators and untraceable mobile phones. The other locations were the lock-up garage and its attached flat in West Bridgford, where she had hidden after escaping from Harlow Wood, and her farmhouse in Tuscany. Duplication of resources was important to Olivia, a matter of eggs and baskets. If one of her hideaways was compromised, there must always be an alternative available.

  Starting her killing spree with the softest of her seven targets — the three former colleagues who lived in or around Nottingham — was the obvious way to go. And of the three, Hurst would be the first, not only because he had been a more major player in her downfall but also because he was now retired, his daily routine more predictable. He would be the easiest to follow and kill.

  In addition to her first three police targets, Olivia had also been determined to pursue her hunch about Mandy Gwo. It would be an easy task, one she decided to undertake once she had located Hurst and established his routines. She had to know whether the little whore could be part of her scheme or forgotten about. She planned to head for the house in Forest Road West in Nottingham where Gwo had lived. The other women there must know where she was: whores like Gwo were stupid; it was most unlikely she would have kept her mouth shut. If she was still in England, Olivia would get her name and address, find her, establish her routine and add her to the disposal timetable.

  The first obstacle Olivia had encountered when she arrived in Nottingham was the discovery that Hurst no longer lived there. However, his new address in Otley, Yorkshire, was quickly established from a conversation with the new owner of his old house. Olivia introduced herself as a former school chum of Hurst’s wife visiting from Australia, hoping to catch up, and the friendly new owner willingly obliged.

  She had followed Hurst for several days, discovering where he went, what he did, how he came and went from his trips to the Lakes. When she learned he regularly headed out onto the lake in his own little boat, she was tempted to plant a larger bomb somewhere below the water line and watch him drown or freeze to death as his boat went down. However, having analysed all the variables, she came to the conclusion that there were too many unknowns: she would have to relinquish more control than she was prepared to. The goal was Hurst’s death, and the car was the way.

  The path to finding Mandy Gwo was as easy as Olivia had anticipated. She drove to Forest Road West not far from the centre of Nottingham, parked the motorcycle in a back lane and found the building where Mandy had lived.

  It was shortly after eleven in the morning, too early for the occupants of the house to be up and about, given their night-time activities, so she resigned herself to waiting. After nearly two hours there was finally some activity. Two women wrapped in cheap raincoats headed out of the house, heads down, deep in conversation. They were followed ten minutes later by a Chinese girl in her early twenties who was even uglier and skinnier than Mandy, if that were possible. This was a bonus: a Chinese girl; she must have known Gwo. Olivia made her way into the building and quickly discovered it was empty — only the three women she had seen lived there — and a quick check of possessions in the rooms told her which was the Chinese girl’s.

  Once in the room, Olivia was prepared to await the girl’s return and extract the information she needed before throttling her. However, as her eyes scanned the unmade bed and discarded clothes, they fell on a mobile phone on a chair, a charging cable attached to it. When she called up the address book, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The stupid Chinese whore, whose name was Apple Chan, had listed Mandy’s name and alongside it, her new name, Kitty Lee, together with her address in Nechells, Birmingham.

  A fatal mistake, thought Olivia, but only for Mandy: Chan’s stupidity had saved her life. Olivia put the phone back where she’d found it, quietly left the room and returned to her motorcycle. Apple Chan would never know she’d been there, certainly not until the police came knocking with the news of Mandy’s murder.

  There followed two days in Birmingham watching Mandy Gwo, after which, having learned she had a job and what her hours were, Olivia was able to fit Mandy’s disposal into her evolving timetable.

  With two definite disposals now scheduled, Olivia returned to Nottingham with the intention of adding Bottomley and Hawkins to her plan of action. But she didn’t get that far. As she drove through the city centre, she was amazed to see Derek Thyme’s distinctive scarlet Mini Cooper ahead of her in the traffic. Derek had been visiting his mother on a day off. Not believing her luck, Olivia immediately followed the car, hoping Thyme would take her to Cotton. He didn’t, but he did take her to London and his tiny flat near Edgware Road. A day of watching Thyme gave her what she needed: he went to and from his work and his training on the Tube. The Underground. What a good way to dispose of someone: a crowded platform and a firm shove.

  With Derek Thyme now in the equation, Olivia decided she would put Bottomley and Hawkins on the back burner and turn her focus to Jennifer Cotton. Cotton and Thyme were close; she was bound to be at Thyme’s funeral. And when she appeared, Olivia would either strike immediately or follow her to wherever she lived and kill her there. Cotton’s funeral would then expose another of her targets: Cotton’s father Henry Silk. He would be there and Olivia would be waiting. Everything was lining up perfectly. If all went according to plan, she would complete at least five disposals in one trip before heading back to Italy, perhaps even all of them.

  However, while the disposal of Hurst had gone perfectly, followed three hours later by Gwo’s, Thyme’s had failed. He had survived. It had been so close, so very close, but all the brilliant contingency planning in the world couldn’t have allowed for the presence of the massive oaf on the edge of the platform, a Viking warrior with shoulders to make the average buffalo envious. He had yanked Derek’s arm so hard it was a wonder it wasn’t ripped from its socket. At least Thyme’s leg had been badly damaged, and his Olympic hopes quashed. For now, that had to be satisfaction enough, but if she ever chose the tube-train method again, Olivia would be sure to push considerably harder with her retractable truncheon, as well as to scan for bovine.

  It had been fortunate for Olivia that there was so much confusion on the platform. She had been able to slink away to her BMW and return to the caravan to close it up. From there she hurried to Dover and the ferry, anxious to leave the country before some bright spark found her on the station CCTV and a stop list was issued.

  As the ferry ploughed its way across the choppy English Channel towards Calais, Olivia continued to stare into space, forcing herself to be calm, forcing herself to focus her thoughts on the two disposals she had achieved. When she did and she thought of Mike Hurst’s, she allowed herself a flicker of a smile. It had been impressive, a brilliant reflection of her skills.

  Planting the bomb next to the most vulnerable spot in the hydraulics in Hurst’s car had been easy. He always parked for the day in a quiet car park near the moorings, well screened from the road by trees and nearby buildings, a gift as far as Olivia was concerned. It had been the work of seconds to slip under the car and reach up to place the device. She had studied the model in detail and knew exactly where to put the bomb.

  It had taken split-second timing to ensure everything was in place when Hurst’s car reached the spot on the road she had chosen so carefully, perfect judgement to be confident of his reaction when she pulled in front of him and braked, and expert technical skill to include just enou
gh explosive in the pack to take out the car’s hydraulics at the predetermined moment. Nothing had been left to chance; everything was planned.

  That was her forte. Planning. Sorting through the scenarios, predicting the outcomes, allowing for all contingencies. She excelled at it, and, fond of self-congratulation, she frequently lavished herself with praise, immensely proud of her skills.

  Chapter Six

  Jennifer’s first instinct on learning from Pete Hawkins of the attempt on Derek’s life was that she must return to England. She had to; he needed her. He was more than a colleague; he had become a very dear friend, one who had not only saved her life but also in the days and weeks following the near-fatal attack had spent every possible moment at the hospital by her side. She owed it to him; it would be the least she could do.

  However, she also knew she was far from fully recovered herself and that her doctors would be unlikely to sanction a visit to England. She would have to talk to Pietro, persuade him.

  She checked the time; it was still only four thirty, too early even for Pietro, who was nearly always up by five. She thought about calling Henry in California, but although there it would be early evening, his packed schedule often saw him filming until midnight. She sighed in frustration and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later, she was back on the huge sofa, a large mug of coffee nestling in her hands. She waited, watching the minutes tick by until she could call Pietro.

  “Jennifer, tesoro, what is it? You’re never around this early. I’ve only been up for a short while myself.”

  “Something terrible’s happened, Pietro. We need to talk.”

  She went through every detail of her calls with Hawkins, bursting into tears when she recounted how close Derek had come to being killed.

  “I’ve got to see him, Pietro,” she sobbed, “he’s hurt badly and he’ll be gutted by this; the Olympics meant so much to him. I can’t just sit around here while he’s in hospital.”

  “We’ll work something out, tesoro,” said Pietro, his tone reassuring but without any indication he was in agreement. “At least he’s alive, a true miracle if ever there was one. Someone was looking out for him. Those other two didn’t stand a chance. Do you think the police will have a guard at his bed in case this mad woman tries again?”

  “Without question, yes. I’d imagine the others from the squad will have protection for a while too, Hawkins and Bottomley, I mean. Henry’s probably OK; he’s out of the country, and I …” Her voice trailed off as she realised she was developing an argument for not being in England.

  Pietro was ahead of her. “The thing is, tesoro, apart from your recovery, which the doctors will probably say is still not sufficiently far on for you to be allowed to travel, there is the security aspect. This crazy woman cannot be anticipated. If you are in England, especially going to and from the hospital to see Derek, even with the team of guards I’d insist on providing, you are vulnerable. It’s exactly what she’d want. You’d be playing into her hands. At least in Sardinia, you are safe. She’ll have no idea you are there and even if she did discover your whereabouts, I’m confident she wouldn’t get near you.”

  “So you’re saying I can’t go.”

  “I’m not exactly saying that, no. I can’t, obviously; you’re a grown woman. I’m simply saying I think it would be unwise. And surely the final decision must rest with the doctors.”

  “But I feel fine, Pietro, I do, really.”

  “That’s not completely true, tesoro, is it? Your fitness is not yet back to what it was and you still get headaches if you overdo it. There is no shortcut, Jennifer, and your body, not your mind, must be the best judge. If you go against the needs and present limitations of your body, it will let you down. You know how it is.”

  She knew full well, but she refused to accept it.

  “Tesoro,” continued Pietro, his liquid tones beguiling, “let me talk to the consultant in a couple of hours when he’s up. I’ll explain it all to him, every last detail. But you only had a check-up a few days ago, I don’t see how things can have changed much since then.”

  As soon as he’d rung off, Pietro called Henry in California, fully aware that he might have to bulldoze his way through a petulant director. Fortunately, Henry had finished relatively early for once and was driving home. Pietro rapidly explained everything that had happened and what Jennifer wanted to do.

  “That’s absolutely shocking news, Pietro, Jennifer must be gutted.”

  “She is, which is why she wants to take this foolish step. I’m hoping you will support me in explaining how unwise it is.”

  “Certainly I will,” replied Henry. “With Jennifer, saying no would be like a red rag to a bull; she’d go charging ahead regardless. We need the decision to come from her, or perhaps from Derek when he’s able to talk to her.”

  “Yes,” agreed Pietro, “the doctors’ opinion won’t be enough; she’ll be quite prepared to ignore them. However, when she calls, it would be better if you didn’t mention we’ve spoken, don’t you think?”

  “Of course. I think I can act suitably surprised and I have no need to fake the horror I feel over the whole thing. This Freneton woman has to be stopped.”

  Within minutes, the hands-free unit in Henry’s car pinged with another call.

  “Jennifer! What a lovely surprise. It’s very early for you; couldn’t you sleep?”

  “Oh, Henry,” cried Jennifer, and she burst into tears again.

  After sobbing through her story, she told Henry what she intended to do. “Pietro’s clearly against it, and I know he’ll lean on the doctors, so regardless of what they really think, they’ll agree with him.”

  “I’m not so sure they’ll need to be leaned on, Jennifer. Their opinion was clear in the latest assessment, the one you told me about a couple of days ago. They don’t think you’re ready.”

  “They’re being ridiculously conservative. I’m sure Pietro is behind that as well. He’d rather I didn’t go back to police work at all. Ever. You know, I was convinced Freneton was long gone, that we’d never hear of her again. I can’t tell you how much of a shock this has been.”

  “Of course, and that’s why you shouldn’t rush into any decisions. You’d be exposing yourself unnecessarily if you went to England.”

  “You sound just like Pietro. Actually, I’d be pretty safe since I’d have a team of his heavies trailing me everywhere.”

  “You make him sound like a mafia don.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “Don’t you think it would be better to wait until you’ve talked to Derek? You’ll be in a far better position to judge once you’ve spoken to him, perhaps even seen him if they let him use Skype.”

  Henry hesitated, thinking through his tactics. Then he said, “He means quite a lot to you, this lad, doesn’t he?”

  Jennifer’s voice was distant when she replied. “Yes, he does. He’s someone very special. I think … He’s very special.” She stopped, not wanting to say more.

  Henry smiled to himself. “OK, then,” he said. “Let’s do it this way. I finish the filming part of the movie tomorrow. The voice-overs in editing won’t be for ages so if you’re going to England, I’m going with you.”

  “You can’t! Anyway, I thought you said last week you’d got an exciting new project coming up. A TV series.”

  “Ah, the Renaissance artist who’s still alive today. The 600-year-old man who doesn’t age beyond around forty because his gene structure precludes it. It’s a great plot and since the books are a trilogy, it could spin on to several seasons.”

  “If it’s about a man who never ages beyond 40, aren’t you a bit—”

  “Now, now, dear daughter. There’s such a thing as make-up in acting, you know. Apparently my features are what they’re looking for, as well as my brilliant acting skills, of course.”

  “And your modesty, no doubt. Didn’t you say the filming starts soon?”

  “You’re more important, Jennifer. I’ll get them to delay
or let them go for someone else.”

  “You can’t do that! You said it was the most significant part you’d ever been offered. You’re now saying you’d give it up if I went to London. That’s blackmail!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as that—”

  “Well I would, Henry Silk. I appreciate the gesture but it’s out of the question. Anyway, while you’re in the US, you’re safe from Freneton, I reckon, since it would be too risky for her to try to travel there either on her own passport, which has been stopped, or on a stolen one.”

  “You realise the hole in your argument, Jennifer. You saying that while it’s OK for you to put your head in the lion’s mouth by going to the UK, it isn’t for me. Doesn’t compute I’m afraid. She’s after both of us.”

  When Derek was eventually allowed to make a call on Skype from his hospital bed, Jennifer was still insistent she should be with him in the UK.

  “Jen,” pleaded Derek, once he’d let her give vent to her frustrations, “listen to me. I’m fine, really. Stop worrying about me and get yourself better, you prat. I don’t need you here to hold my hand; I’m surrounded by dozens of nurses who are queuing up to do that.”

  Jennifer could see from the haunted look in Derek’s eyes he was anything but fine, and more importantly she could see her intransigence was upsetting him.

  Pulling a face, she said, “OK, you win, but I want you to promise me that as soon as you can, you’ll get your backside out here. No, I can’t trust you to do that, I know you’ll only keep delaying it. Here’s the deal: I’ll make all the arrangements to get you here once the doctors give you the nod. This is the perfect place for you to convalesce. I’ve got a brilliant personal trainer, Alicia, whose hands I wouldn’t advise you trying to hold, given her gorilla of a boyfriend, but otherwise I’ll let her work her magic on you, and there’ll be access to the best orthopaedic doctors.”