Dead Girl Walking (44 page)

‘How do you know that?’ asked Flora anxiously, giving away that she would be the skipper.

‘I saw Bodo’s emails. He’s chartering a vessel from Esbjerg, on the west coast of Denmark, and your boat is sitting out there ready to set sail. How soon?’

‘Tomorrow morning, first thing.’

‘Why by sea?’ asked Monica, who didn’t look keen to get on board.

‘Two reasons that I can think of,’ Parlabane replied. ‘One is that you can’t just take a suitcase filled with two million euros through customs at the airport. And the other is that neither can you take firearms. Trust me on this: if you sail out to meet this guy, he’s going to take the money then kill all three of you, weight your bodies and drop them into the sea.’

‘He’s already laid the groundwork,’ added Mairi. ‘He hacked your tour blog. He got hold of your password and he’s been working on an alternative version ready to upload, edited to suit his narrative. There will be no mention of him or of the sex trafficking or the killings in Berlin. Instead it will read like an account of Heike descending into a despair deep enough to be contemplating suicide, and you blaming yourself for not preventing it.’

‘If you get on that boat, you’ll be gone for ever,’ Parlabane stated flatly.

‘And if I don’t get on that boat, I’ll be gone for about two decades. It was a
cop
I killed. They’re not bluffing: if there’s nothing in this for them I’ll be spending the best years of my life as a prisoner.’

Heike ran two hands over her head in exasperation.

‘That’s unless anybody’s got a Plan C,’ she added.

The good weather had broken overnight. Flora’s boat struck steadily north beneath grey skies, Scottish smir occasionally spraying the windows of the bridge. At least there wasn’t much chop.

Flora stood impassive at the helm, Heike out on the foredeck despite the drizzle, looking ahead from near the prow like an imperious figurehead. Her face was solemn, her thoughts unshared.

Parlabane mostly kept his eye to the horizon, but every so often he took a glance below decks, checking on their undeclared and very precious cargo.

Bodo had hailed them over the radio, later than the appointed time, to give them the precise coordinates. Flora plotted them on the navigational computer and gave her passengers an ETA.

‘You know it?’ Parlabane had asked as she pored over the chart table to the left of the console.

Flora nodded.

‘It’s a rocky bay on Colonsay. He’s recce’d it, the bastard: that’s why he was late calling us. No houses, no jetties, no landing points.’

No witnesses, Parlabane thought.

The coastline was just a vague shape, a denser band of grey in the distance as viewed from the starboard bow.

Nobody spoke. From the moment Flora had pushed the throttle forward and the engine growled in response they all knew the countdown had begun.

Parlabane wondered if it was worse for Mairi: not being here; not knowing. He was glad she was safe on dry land, though. There was no reason for her to risk herself, and she’d made her contribution.

It had been Mairi who had initially come up with an idea to give Parlabane some negotiating leverage and stay Bodo’s trigger finger. Unfortunately, there was always the possibility that Bodo would decide that having one million euros and leaving no living witnesses was an acceptable result, so the obvious weakness in Plan C was that it essentially relied upon his avarice to prevent this thing ending in a bloodbath. Parlabane had little doubt that Bodo was as greedy as he was ruthless; he just didn’t want to bet all their lives on it.

Flora eased back on the engine as they neared the south-western tip of Colonsay, a treacherous-looking miniature archipelago of thrusting rocks jutting from the waters like they had crumbled from the headland. She wasn’t simply slowing to navigate around this hazard, however. Their destination was close.

A few minutes later the vessel tacked starboard around a towering outcrop and their rendezvous was in sight: a powerful cruiser bobbing in the bay. Figures were visible on the foredeck and open bridge. Even at this distance he took one of them for Bodo: that broad body, thick neck and a domed head you could smack with a fence post for hours before you got bored.

Glances were shared, mutual checks and assurances. Parlabane felt a tightening in his gut and read the anxiety in Heike’s expression as the moment drew near. It was a cue to get in character, hiding his own nervousness behind a mischievous grin that had fooled so many before her into believing he knew what he was doing.

Flora glided them into the bay slowly, a growl of reverse thrust rising from below as she brought the
Hecate
alongside Bodo’s hired vessel.

He witnessed the moment Bodo scanned who was on deck and recognised the unexpected member of the crew. All things considered, the guy did well to conceal his pleasure. Given what he was planning for everyone on board the
Hecate
, he must have thought it was his birthday to have the pain in the arse he’d been chasing all over Berlin suddenly show up here, where there was nowhere to run, climb or abseil.

Flora killed the engine.

There were two others with him: Gove-Troll and Spike, standing at the prow and stern respectively. Ropes were thrown across to the
Hecate
. Flora reciprocated, tossing a coil across to the other boat before crouching to tie a line to a port-side cleat. Parlabane scanned the waters around Bodo’s vessel. It didn’t look like it was anchored.

‘What are you doing here?’ Bodo asked, as Gove-Troll wrestled with a gangplank. His tone was suspicious, the initial delight giving way to more cautious instincts.

‘I came along to make sure everybody gets what they want from this exchange.’

‘I don’t see the other girl, Monica,’ Bodo stated.

‘She’s down below,’ Heike replied, coming to stand next to Parlabane on the waist in front of the bridge. ‘She’ll be up in a minute. She was feeling seasick.’

Gove-Troll secured the gangplank on a detachable hinge at his end, then tipped it towards the
Hecate
. It came down with a clatter, its edges scraping gently back and forth along the gunwale as the two boats bobbed just out of synch.

‘Where is the money?’

Bodo’s voice carried crisp and clear upon the air. The only other sound was the lap and splash of the waves in the little channel between the two boats.

Parlabane looked to Heike then back at Bodo.

‘Shit, I knew we’d forgotten something.’

Bodo glared and pointed a stubby finger like it was a blade.

‘Don’t try to fuck with me,
Kotzenkopf
. I ran out of patience with you a long time back.’

‘Yeah, I get that a lot,’ Parlabane replied, holding up his hands. ‘Don’t worry, we do have the money. But here’s the thing: there’s a slight change of plan.’

He saw the consternation in Bodo’s face and stole a glimpse down at the cargo. Bodo’s patience might be wearing thin, but he wasn’t going to do anything rash until he was sure they’d brought the money.

‘See, no offence, and we’re not in any way trying to imply that you’re an evil cunt who exploits young women and murders anyone who gets in his way, but we had this frivolous notion that you might just kill us all once we’d handed over the cash. Call us paranoid, but we thought it might be safer if we came up with a kind of staggered payment scheme. So the new deal is one million today, then, if you deliver on your end and the cop-killing gets covered up, another million in six months. And, obviously, we all have to still be alive for that to happen.’

Bodo’s eyes narrowed.

‘I’m starting to think that killing you would be worth the other million euros. Where is the fucking money?’

Parlabane folded his arms.

‘First, do we have a deal?’

‘Yes,’ he grunted impatiently. ‘One million euros now.’

‘In return for what?’

‘The dead cop never comes to light. The girl stays out of jail.’

Parlabane gestured to the gangplank.

‘You said the magic words. Come and get it. And remember to lift with your knees. A million euros is heavier than you’d think.’

Gove-Troll and Spike began to move, but Bodo halted them with a gesture.

‘No,’ he ordered, staring first at Parlabane and then at Heike.

‘You bring it to
us
. You and her. If you managed to carry it on to your boat, then you can carry it off.’

Bodo then issued something in German, causing Spike to join Gove-Troll at the bow, where the latter was hauling open a canvas bag.

It was full of plastic sheeting.

They began rolling it out, covering the foredeck.

Fucking bastards.

Bodo was opting to stick instead of twist. He had either decided one mill was a good enough return on this venture, or reckoned Heike hadn’t been able to raise as much as she’d claimed and was stalling over the rest. Either way, he was going for the ‘bird in the hand and no living witnesses’ option.

It was incongruously calm, unnervingly quiet. Parlabane felt profoundly aware of how isolated they were. Bodo had picked his spot well.

Bodo pulled out a handgun from his jacket. He didn’t point it, just held it close to his chest by way of warning.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he asked. ‘Go and get my money.’

‘You know, you’re in Scottish waters,’ Parlabane advised him. ‘Possession of that handgun is a strict liability offence. Could be looking at five years if the police see you. I’d stick it away if I were you.’

‘I’ll take my chances.’

‘No, seriously, I’d put the gun down. Spoilers: the cops are a lot closer than you think. Closer than you would believe.’

Bodo looked confused, lots of calculations going on busily behind his eyes.

‘Yeah, sure they are,’ he decided. ‘It’s a little late for bluffing,
Kotzenkopf
, especially when we’ve seen each other’s hands. If you went to the cops then she would go to jail. It’s … what do you call it? Mutually assured destruction.’

‘Yeah,’ Parlabane said, putting on an exaggeratedly torn expression and pulling at his chin. ‘
About
that…’

‘I’ll be spending the best years of my life as a prisoner,’ Heike had said. ‘That’s unless anybody’s got a Plan C.’

Mairi was the first to break the silence, offering her idea that they hold back half the money. Parlabane heard her initial suggestion but was barely able to parse anything she said after that, nor any of the brief discussion that followed. It was just white noise, as though all sensory input was being deliberately scrambled by his brain in order to prevent any cognitive resources being diverted.

Everything he had learned in the past few days was being broken down and rapidly reassembled in his mind, a single word from Heike suggesting a possibility so shocking that he had to test it to destruction before he could consider presenting it to anyone else.

He became aware of someone saying his name, a hand being waved impatiently in front of his zoned-out face.

‘Hello?’ said Mairi in irritation. ‘Jack? Looking for some feedback here. Care to tell us what you think?’

Parlabane took in the expectant faces around the table. It was time to file.

‘Aye. I think rather than one million, we give Bodo fuck-all.’

He looked straight at Heike.

‘You’re not going to end up in a German prison,’ he told her, ‘because the prisoner in this scenario isn’t German. She’s Spanish.’

Several faces stared at him in confusion.

‘Heike, you’d better sit down.’

‘I’m good here.’

‘Seriously. You had really better take a seat.’

Heike stood her ground, giving him a look that had no doubt delivered the same message to producers, musicians, photographers and roadies down the years: leave it.

Parlabane shrugged. This was going to be rough on her, but she’d been through worse of late.

‘Jack, what’s going on?’ demanded Mairi. ‘
Who
is Spanish?’

‘Tell you in a minute. Meantime, think about this: any time we saw Bodo he had the same amped-up wankers with him, right?’

‘Not all of them every time,’ she replied, ‘but always two or three from the same pool.’

‘Except there was one guy we saw once and then never again.’

‘Sure. In Alexanderplatz, before it all kicked off.’

‘Somebody tried to push me under a train minutes later, then after that Bodo was desperately trying to get hold of my phone. But I’ve just realised that it wasn’t because I took
his
picture; it was because I had photographed the guy he was with.’

‘What’s so special about him?’ Mairi asked.

Parlabane produced his phone and scrolled to one of the photographs in question, holding it out towards Heike.

‘Ask Ms Gunn.’

Heike took the phone and came very close to dropping it when she saw what was on the screen. A shudder shook her from head to toe, though this wasn’t why he’d suggested she have a seat. That was still to come.

‘This is the cop I shot. He’s still alive.’

Monica grabbed Heike’s arm so that she could see it too.

‘Oh my God. He must have survived it.’

Parlabane took back the phone.

‘He didn’t
survive
anything. He was never shot. Heike, I can absolutely guarantee that you haven’t killed anybody. I can also guarantee that you’re really going to want to in about two minutes.’

Parlabane took a breath, all eyes on him.

‘It’s known as the Spanish Prisoner. It’s a long con that dates back nearly five hundred years, but somebody’s always got a new way of working it. The principle has never changed, however: get a wealthy mark to part with money in the belief that it will secure the freedom of a wrongly imprisoned nobleman or a damsel in distress.’

‘Or a victim of sex-trafficking,’ suggested Mairi, working it out.

‘With most marks, the incentive is the promise of a big reward once the prisoner is restored to his or her rightful riches and power. But with others, they have to dream up a prisoner for whom the mark would be prepared to pay a ransom purely for emotional reasons. Such as a half-sister you never knew you had.’