Captives (9 page)

    'The same as the others,' he said quietly.

    Dexter nodded and got to his feet, the expression on his face one not of sadness but of anger. He looked at Colston.

    'I want a report on my desk by the morning,' he said. Then he looked back at the shredded features of the man, blood beginning to congeal in the wounds. 'We have to know.'

    

    

    He gripped the headboard and thrust harder into her, each motion of his hips accompanied by a grunt.

    Ray Plummer smiled down at her as he penetrated her, gritting his teeth in concentration, his efforts enlivened when he saw the look of pleasure on Carol Jackson's face.

    She gasped and raised her legs, hooking them around the small of his back, raising her buttocks to allow him deeper penetration. She began to rotate her hips gently, coaxing him towards the climax she knew was close.

    
Come on, for Christ's sake get it over with.

    She moaned loudly, knowing that the sounds she made, coupled with the clenching of her vaginal muscles around his penis, would, as ever, bring him to climax quickly.

    He was sweating profusely; as she ran her fingers up and down his back she felt their tips sliding through a sheen of perspiration.

    
Come on, Ray. You can't hold out much longer.

    'That feels so good,' she cooed expertly. 'Do it faster.'

    'Faster, slower,' he panted, trying to keep up his rhythm. 'Harder, softer. How do you want it?'

    'All those ways,' she breathed.

    
Only just get a bloody move on and finish, will you?

    She reached over and began to squeeze his testicles, stroking them gently, breathing ever more deeply, her exaggerated show of pleasure becoming more pronounced.

    She felt him stiffen, felt his body tense.

    'Oh yes,' she gasped with relief, knowing the time had arrived.

    He thrust into her with one final, deep lunge and she felt his hot seed filling her, seeping from her vagina as he continued to pound away, his breath rasping in his throat.

    She reached up to stroke his hair but he pushed her hand away, content that she should run her fingers up and down his back.

    
Get off me for Christ's sake.

    He remained on top of her, his breathing gradually slowing.

    'Jesus, that was good,' she gasped, her own breath coming in practised gasps.

    He touched her cheek with his fingers and smiled a smile of accomplishment before finally rolling off her and lying exhausted on the bed, wiping perspiration from his forehead. Immediately she reached for the tissues beside the bed and began mopping up the warm fluid seeping from between her legs.

    'Leave it,' he said breathlessly, watching as his semen trickled through her pubic hair.

    She rolled onto her side and began stroking his chest.

    'It's all right for you,' she said. 'You don't have to sleep in the wet patch.'

    He laughed humourlessly.

    'You should be used to it by now,' he muttered, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

    
I've done it to you enough times.

    She moved away from him slightly and laid her head on his chest, listening to his heart pounding, closing her eyes in relief that it was over for another night.

    'Felt good, didn't it?' he said, his tone self-con-gratulatory.

    'Yes,' she lied.

    She could feel his semen oozing uncomfortably over her thighs but she tried to ignore it, knowing that he would be asleep soon. Then, as she usually did, she would slip out of bed while he was snoring like a fog-horn and take a shower. Wash it all away. For now she lay where she was, aware that he was twisting her long hair around his fingers. Occasionally he would tug a little too hard and she would wince but she said nothing, content to let him play his little games.

    It was warm inside the flat. In contrast, her own place was like a fridge. All she had to keep her warm was a two-bar electric fire close to the bed. Plummer's penthouse apartment was fully central-heated. In the large sitting room he even had an open fireplace full of mock logs. She would often sit gazing into the gas flames late at night while he slept, tracing shapes in them, wondering if some of those shapes were the shape of her future.

    The flat itself was one of a group of four in Kensington, not too far from Kensington High Street. She knew that the other people who lived as Plummer's neighbours were well off. One was a lawyer, another a judge. She wasn't sure what the woman who owned the bottom flat did. Something in the City, she thought. It was ironic that a man of Plummer's means should be sharing the building with two people who, effectively, worked on the opposite side of the law to him. The apartment was worth, Plummer had told her (repeatedly), around three quarters of a million. He owned two houses in Belgravia as well, both of which were in the process of being converted into flats. He fancied himself as a landlord.

    He reached across and picked up his glass of Jack Daniels, tiring of his game with Carol's hair. She heard the sound of his expensive ring clinking against expensive crystal as he picked the glass up. He took a sip and then swung himself out of bed.

    'Where are you going?' she wanted to know.

    'Don't be so nosey,' he told her, disappearing into the en suite bathroom. He emerged a moment later carrying a small rectangular box which he held out to her. As she took it from him she noticed that the lid of the box bore the legend: GARRARDS JEWELLERS.

    He sat down on the edge of the bed and watched her open it.

    The pendant was solid gold, twice the size of a thumbnail. The light from the bedside lamp caught it and sent golden beams radiating from it.

    Carol opened her mouth in awe as much as surprise.

    'It's beautiful,' she said, not taking her eyes from the velvet lined box and its costly contents.

    'Put it on,' said Plummer, watching as she took it from the box and fastened it around her neck. It hung invitingly between her breasts. 'Do you like it?'

    'Thank you, Ray. It's gorgeous,' she told him, touching his cheek with her fingertips. She stroked his hair, but again Plummer pushed her hand away.

    'I got it today,' he said, reclining on the bed, not bothering to cover his flaccid penis. 'Probably cost more than you earn in a year.' He smiled.

    'You pay me,' she reminded him. 'You could do something about that.'

    'I don't pay you. Scott does.'

    'He pays me what you tell him to pay me.'

    Plummer brushed a hand across the front of his hair.

    'You still seeing him?' he wanted to know. 'Or should I say are you still fucking him?'

    'I see him occasionally,' she confessed. 'It's all over between us, though; it's just that I can't seem to get around to telling him.'

    'Does he know about you and me?' Plummer wanted to know. For a moment she saw a flicker of uncertainty on the older man's face.

    'Would it matter if he did?' she asked.

    
It would make it easier for me, splitting up with him if he did.

    'I suppose not,' Plummer said. 'It's just that he's a bit unpredictable. Flies off the handle a bit quick, sometimes.'

    
You're scared of him.

    The realisation brought a slight smile to her lips and she touched the locket almost unconsciously. It wasn't the first gift he'd bought her. She had a solid gold Cartier watch at home, endless amounts of silk underwear. He'd even taken her to Paris for a weekend about six weeks ago (she'd told Scott she'd been visiting relatives in the North). Of course she couldn't wear any of the things to work, Scott would want to know where they had come from.

    'You shouldn't spend your money on me, Ray,' she said, looking at the pendant again.

    'It's only money,' he said. Plummer enjoyed spending, enjoyed buying her things. He enjoyed impressing her with his wealth. Besides, she was a very good-looking young woman; he liked being seen with her. A number of his friends had remarked on her good looks, good figure. They envied him and he liked that. It was a good enough reason to hang on to her.

    For the time being.

    'Someone's got to look after you,' he said, stroking her hair.

    'You're going to look after me?' she asked, smiling.

    
You're going to help me escape the life I hate?

    He smiled.

    'Who else is going to do it?' he wanted to know.

    No one. She knew that. He was her only way out and she didn't intend to let him go. Whatever she had to do to keep him happy, she would do it.

    Happy, was that the word? Perhaps satisfied was more apt.

    'Take care of me, Ray,' she said softly, her eyes filling with tears. She leant forward and put her head on his chest.

    
Be careful, the mask is slipping.

    He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.

    'Don't worry, darling,' he said, his face impassive. 'I'm here.'

    
So make the most of it while you can.

    The phone rang.

    'What the fuck…' Plummer hissed, looking at his watch and then across at the bedside clock, as if to reassure himself of the time.

    2.36 A.M.

    The ringing continued.

    'Shit,' he grunted and reached for the phone, picking up the receiver. 'Hello.'

    'Ray Plummer.'

    He didn't recognise the voice.

    'Yeah. Do you know what fucking time it is?' he snapped.

    'Shut up.'

    'Who the fuck are you talking to…'

    'Shut up and listen.'

    'Who are you? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hang up.'

    'Because I've got something to tell you, you cunt. Something to your advantage. Now shut the fuck up and listen.'

    

    

    Plummer sat up, the receiver pressed tightly to his ear, his eyes narrowed.

    'Listening?' the voice chided.

    'Yeah, go on,' he rasped.

    Carol looked at him and mouthed 'Who is it?' but he raised a hand to keep her quiet.

    He concentrated on the voice, listening to every syllable in an effort to work out his caller's identity. If it was somebody pissing about he'd have their fucking head.

    'You're probably wondering why I called,' said the voice.

    'Just get on with it. What do you want?'

    'Patience is a virtue, Plummer. Now, do you want to hear what I've got to say, or shall we stop now?'

    'You couldn't tell me anything I wanted to know anyway.'

    'Oh ye of little faith.'

    'Are you going to get to the fucking point, or what?' Plummer's initial bewilderment had turned to anger. He felt tempted to slam the receiver down.

    'The point is you are about to be shat on from a great height,' the voice told him.

    'By who?'

    'Ah, now that's why I called. Interested now?'

    He was about to shout something down the phone when the caller continued.

    'Whoever has the most money controls London, right? Whether it's you or one of your… associates. You all own property, clubs, gambling places. You own people. I'm right, aren't I? The one with most money stays in control.'

    'Yeah,' Plummer said slowly.

    'Ralph Connelly is about to receive a shipment.'

    'Of what?'

    'Cocaine.'

    'That's bollocks. Connelly doesn't deal in drugs. He makes all his cash by laundering other people's money. He does some of mine, for fuck's sake. I knew you were full of shit. Get off the fucking line…'

    'Cocaine worth twenty million pounds. The shipment's coming in six days from now.'

    Plummer hesitated.

    Twenty million.

    'Why should I believe you?' he asked.

    'Don't. It makes no odds to me but twenty million, you'll agree, is a lot of money. By my reckoning that should make Connelly top dog.'

    'How did you find out about this cocaine?'

    'That's my business.'

    'Then why make it mine too?'

    'Just call it personal reasons.'

    'You want a cut,' Plummer said, smiling thinly.

    'I said it was personal.'

    'Look, any arsehole could ring me and tell me something like this. There's still no reason why I should believe you.'

    'Connelly bought a warehouse in Tilbury about a week ago, didn't he?'

    Plummer paused for a moment.

    'Yeah, he did.'

    'What would he want with a fucking warehouse? Like you said, laundering is his business.'

    'And business is good. Why would he want to start up with drugs?'

    'Like I said, twenty million is a lot of money. Would you turn it down? He was offered the shipment by some people in France.'

    Plummer stroked his chin thoughtfully.

    'How do you know all this?' he asked, even his anger receding now.

    'That's not important. What I do need to know is, are you interested in the cocaine?'

    'Yeah, I am. Twenty million…'

    The caller cut him short.

    'I'll be in touch soon.'

    He hung up.

    'Wait,' snarled Plummer. Then, hearing the buzz of a dead line, he slammed the receiver down. 'Cunt,' he hissed. Watched by Carol he clambered out of bed and padded through into the sitting room to pour himself another drink. Who the fuck had called him? he wondered. His interest had been aroused. Twenty million notes. Jesus. That was interesting. He smiled.