Ugley Business (11 page)

“Well, he knows about cars, he knows about cameras, and he’s not a bad shot,” I said. “Boy, this is going to be fun.”

We left a trembling Angel with Docherty, and I suspected his comforting might be slightly more than a pat on the back. I called the hospital and they said Harvey was awake and asking after me and Luke, so I said we’d go to see him as soon as we’d been in to the office to make our report.

“What’s with the ‘we’?” Luke said.

“You’re not coming?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“You’re a miserable bugger,” I said, last night’s kind thoughts about him evaporating.

“I don’t like the guy.”

No kidding
, I thought, and put the car in gear.

Maria was scrolling through files on the computer when we walked in. She looked up, blinked, and got to her feet. “This should be good,” she said, following us into Karen’s office.

Karen was talking on the phone—a lot of yeses, mm-hmms, frowns and a final, “Well, find out. Bye.” She looked up. “I take it you didn’t find Janulevic? I was waiting for a call yesterday.”

“We had more urgent things to do,” I said. “Like make sure Harvey wasn’t bleeding internally.”

“Where is he?”

“Princess Alexandra. He’s going to be okay.”

“What happened?”

We told her about the shoot-out and the car chase, and I felt really, really cool. This was spy film stuff. I was on my way. Look out, Bond.

Only, Bond doesn’t limp quite so much.

Karen sighed when we’d finished. “You don’t know where he went?”

“Or even if it was really him,” Luke said. “We don’t have a description. Really, he could have any number of people working for him.”

“We haven’t heard of anyone else. But then, how would we? Everyone he’s come into contact with has disappeared.”

I read the description of Dmitri Janulevic. Average height, average build. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Age unknown—maybe thirties or forties.

“Well, that narrows it down,” I said.

“Who did you see yesterday?”

I shrugged. “I had my head down. I couldn’t see.”

“Luke?”

He shook his head. “I was unconscious at the time.”

“No excuse,” Maria chided.

“He was wearing a blue shirt,” I volunteered, and got three deadpan looks for it. “And he knows cars. And he has a good camera.” I told her about the pictures and sent a text to Docherty’s number, asking him to scan and e-mail them to the office.

“Do you have anything else on this Xe La?” Karen asked, and we shook our heads.

“I’ve been Googling all day,” Maria said. “Ancient shrines, encyclopaedias, the lot. Not a damn thing.”

“Keep trying,” Karen said. “I have a contact at the British Museum, I’ll see if I can get to him. Agent Four, find out what you can from our American friend. The CIA don’t always share everything. Three…”

Luke looked hopeful.

“Go home. Rest.”

He scowled, and Maria punched his arm. “Fun, huh? Want to help me Google?”

“Oh, joy.”

I followed them out. Maria sat down at the computer and Luke went over to the bookshelf.

“On second thoughts, I’m going to go and see our Russian friend. See if he has anything else for us.”

“Have fun,” I said. “I’m going to see Harvey.”

I found him in a private room, surrounded by adoring nurses and little girls with plaster casts. Everyone loves Harvey. Even lying there with a brace around his neck and a needle in his hand, he looked heroic. Maybe the bandages made him more heroic.

He smiled when he saw me. “The girl herself,” he said. “I was just telling Nurse Robson—”

A plump nurse beamed. “I said, call me Glenda.”

“I was telling Glenda here about your driving skills.”

“Oh God.”

“There’s a rumour there was an old battered Land Rover outside yesterday…”

“That would be Ted.”

“Ted is your car?” I nodded.
I
think it’s normal to name a car. Harvey shook his head. “And it still works?”

“Yep. It’d take more than a Scoobie to bring him down.”

“A what?” Harvey asked, but he didn’t look really interested. I let it drop. “Could we have a bit of time alone?” he asked the nurses, who trailed away, looking disconsolate. The little girls went too, promising to come back and see their Uncle Harvey later.

“Do you have like a magnet or something?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Something only females feel? ‘Cos none of the men I’ve met trust you.”

“That’s because of the chick magnet the CIA implanted in me. Sophie. What the hell happened yesterday? The last thing I remember is seeing Janulevic stopped in the road—”

“You saw him?”

“Wasn’t that his car?”

“Yes, but he wasn’t in it when I came to.”

“You were knocked out too?”

“We all were. The Subaru is totalled—” which reminded me, someone should really tell the police about that, “—and Ted was on his side. Me and Luke pulled him upright and brought you up here.”

“Luke’s okay? I asked about him but they said he wasn’t here.”

“They wanted to keep him in but he’s too stubborn. He’s okay.”

“What about you?”

“I’m okay too.”

We were quiet a bit, then Harvey said, “You really drove us up here after that crash?”

“Not the first time. Ted makes a good bloodwagon.”

“But you’re hurt.”

I shrugged heroically. “What was I supposed to do? Stay there and wait for someone else to come and crash into us?”

Harvey smiled. “You’re brave, Sophie. I admire that.”

I blushed. I don’t get called brave very often. In fact, “I think it’s called bravado,” I told him. “I’m really an absolute coward.”

He grinned. “So what about Janulevic? He escaped?”

“The car was mashed, but there really wasn’t anyone in it. The only thing I can think of was that he got out and left the car there for us to go into.”

“So he can’t have been far?”

I frowned. “No. Dammit, we should have stayed.”

“Hey, if we’d stayed—”

“I know, you or Luke could have died. I didn’t know how severe his injuries were.”

“Luke could have died?” Harvey clicked his fingers in mock-annoyance. “Damn.” At least I think it was mock. “You win some, lose some.”

“Why don’t you like him?”

“He’s a suspicious bastard. And he doesn’t like me.”

“He’s just jealous.”

“Because you like me?”

That wasn’t what I was going to say, but it was a lot more flattering than “because you have proper secret agent back-up”.

“Janulevic,” I said firmly. “I need to know what you know.”

“You already do.”

“Have you met him? Do you have file photos?”

“One, very grainy. And we’re not even sure it’s him. He just looks…normal. Dark hair. Can’t see his eyes.”

“Height?”

“Can’t tell that either.”

“So you’ve never met him?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. Everyone who’s met him is dead. Apart from Petr.”

“Petr who is as thick as shit.” I thumped my hand on the bed, making Harvey wince. “And no one’s ever been able to catch him?”

“We never know where he’s going until he’s already left.”

“No airline records? Or does he have a private plane?” Strictly speaking, he’d still need to register flight plans and go through immigration whenever he went from one country to another, but that was frighteningly easy to escape.

“He travels by regular plane, by the time we’ve found the records…”

“He’s already gone.” I nodded. “We could alert the airlines to tell us if he books a flight.”

And then I had a brilliant idea.

“Or we could
make
him book a flight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get out some sort of rumour that the Xe La is somewhere else. Or that someone who knows about it is there. Then when he books a flight, we’ll be waiting for him.”

Harvey stared at me, and I wondered if perhaps I’d been very stupid. Then he shook his head. “You’re a bloody genius,” he said, and I preened.

Karen was impressed with my idea too, and decided we should hack into the Louvre database to plant the idea there. Then she added it as a news item to a couple of websites.

“What if he doesn’t check online?” I asked.

“He will.”

“If he’s on the lam, he might—”

“Newspapers?” Maria suggested.

“Would a newspaper run a story about a Mongol artefact?”

“They’d run a story about academics being killed,” Luke said. “Call them up and say you’re a professor of somewhere and you’ve heard the Xe La is in France somewhere.”

I had a sudden attack of conscience. “What if he actually breaks into the Louvre?”

“He won’t,” Karen said, “because you’ll be there to catch him at the airport.”

I deliberately kept my eyes away from Luke. Last time I was supposed to have caught someone I ended up on a flight to Rome by mistake. “Will I get back-up?”

“Of course,” said Karen. “Myself and Macbeth will be there.”

Two of them. Great. “No police?”

“No police, Sophie,” Luke said. “They don’t even know about SO17. Karen, what about Petr?”

“What about him?”

“He could give Janulevic the information.”

“You mean we should release him?”

He shrugged. “It’s a thought. I think we’ve got everything out of him anyway.”

Karen frowned. “Sophie, did he see where you were bringing him?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, realising that he probably had. “It was night, anyway.”

“We blindfolded him when we brought him in,” Maria said helpfully.

“Take him away. Drive about ten miles and let him go. Tell him you’re going to France to check out a lead but don’t tell him what.”

We looked at each other.

“Now,” Karen prompted, and I stood up.

“Alone?”

They all smiled, and Karen said, “You’re armed, and he’s tied up. I think you’ll be all right.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I went and got Petr, put his balaclava on backwards, and lobbed him in the back of my car. Luke stood watching.

“You sure you don’t want a hand?”

No. I can’t do this by myself. I’m too scared.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I can handle this.”

“Be careful,” Luke said, and watched me drive away.

I went up towards the terminal, then turned off onto the little back lanes and drove until I was fairly sure we were in the middle of nowhere. Then I stopped, opened up the back, and had a sudden panic attack.

“Quickly,” I called Luke, “what’s Russian for ‘I have to let you go because I’m going to Paris to check out a lead?’”

He laughed. “Wondered when you’d get to that.” He rolled and spat out a long, complex sentence. Then he waited.

“I can’t say that,” I sulked, and Luke laughed again. He shortened it, and I repeated it to Petr, loudly, knowing this was the worst con ever.

Then I got back in Ted and drove away, leaving Petr on the edge of a field, several miles from anywhere. I got back to the office, and Luke shook his head at me. “Told you you needed someone with you,” he said, and I scowled.

My phone rang and it was Angel. I went outside to answer it, glad for the excuse to escape.

“What’s up?”

“Cabin fever. I need to get out. I need to go shopping.”

“I’m sure Docherty would love to—”

“Don’t you get the feeling Docherty might combust in sunlight?”

I laughed. “Glad it’s not just me. Well, look. I could maybe meet you in town for an hour…”

“More than that,” Angel said, “and you have to pick me up. Can’t go anywhere alone.”

I arranged to pick her up in half an hour and we’d go to Cambridge. It’s hard to feel unsafe in Cambridge. With all the big brains around, it’s easy to feel quite plebeian, but not unsafe.

I went back in, and Karen looked up enquiringly. “Problem?”

“Angel. She wants to go out,” I said. “I’m picking her up in half an hour.”

“What’s wrong with her escort?”

“Have you ever met Docherty?”

Karen shook her head. “He came highly recommended—”

“Oh, he’s a great bodyguard,” Maria smiled, “but not what you might call inconspicuous. Or a great shopping partner.”

Luke stared. “You’re going shopping?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You went on Sunday.”

Maria, Karen and I gave him blank looks.

“How much can you shop? Do you have a secret trust fund or something? Where do you get all your money?”

“The credit card fairy,” I said. “And I need a new watch. Mine’s stuck at three-fifteen.”

Luke was still looking incredulous as I left. Men just don’t understand shopping. They don’t understand how wandering around, buying expensive and undrinkable coffee, looking at clothes you’re never going to buy and torturing your feet in pretty shoes can possibly be considered recreational. But then I don’t understand football, either.

Docherty gave me a dark look when I picked Angel up.

“You’re not supposed to be encouraging her,” he said.

“I did no encouraging at all.”

“You could have said no.”

“And miss a shopping trip? You don’t understand women, do you, Docherty?”

He scowled at me and I smiled happily. I don’t know why I was in such a good mood. I’d trashed my car, lost a suspect and my calf was killing me where the stitches were holding it together. But on the other hand, I’d come up with fantastic felon-bait, had impressed my boss and was going shopping. And— And, okay, it’s shameful, but whenever I thought about falling asleep with Luke yesterday, just curled under his arm so comfortably, watching
Buffy
while my eyelids succumbed to gravity, I felt all warm and glowy inside. It had felt good, really good. Companionable. And I didn’t know where it was going, but I liked it.

Angel perked up a bit in the car—her car, since mine had no CD player and was looking like Homer Simpson had just driven it in a demolition derby. “Those photos,” she said, “they just freaked me out.”

“Well, photos of us sleeping are scary.”

“No, you know what I mean.”

I did, and whenever I thought about it my warm glow dimmed a little.

“But you have Docherty now,” I said, and watched her carefully. But there was no reaction.

“It’s very comforting to have someone like that around,” she said carefully. “But he’s a little scary.”

“He is?”

“Well, yes. He never seems to even sleep. Or eat. Or anything. Sophie, I’m not sure I’ve even seen him outside in the daylight. Maybe he is a vampire.”

I rolled my eyes. “Angel, you live in a church.”

“A religious vampire. I don’t know.”

We parked up and headed for coffee. Angel started making lists of all the pointless things she wanted to buy—something sweet for the bath, candles, yellow shoes since she didn’t have any that colour, new underwear…

“Angel,” I put down my Americano, “are you aware you’re buying fuck-me things?”

She looked offended, or at least tried to. “Coincidence.”

“Candles, scented bath oil, pretty underwear? Are you going to try it on for Docherty?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

I didn’t think I was being ridiculous. “You don’t find him the littlest bit sexy?”

“No,” she said. “Not at all.”

I sighed and shook my head. “Angel, Angel, Angel,” I said. “You should have admitted to a little bit. Even Tammy would find him a little bit sexy. Now I
know
you’ve got the hots for him.”

“Does anyone even say ‘got the hots’ any more?” Angel side-tracked. “It’s kind of an Eighties thing…”

I raised my eyebrows and shook my head. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“That’s practically an admission anyway. You fancy Docherty.”

Angel sniffed and licked up some of the cream on her white chocolate mocha (How does she stay so thin?
How
?). “Well, you said yourself, he’s very sexy.”

I was pretty sure I hadn’t said that, but I let it go.

“Have you been in his car yet?”

“No…”

“Ask him for a ride. Go on, ask him.”

“Just like that? Those words?”

I had a blinding flash of asking Luke the same thing, and shuddered. “It’ll work,” I promised her, and she smiled a little feline smile.

Feline? Oh, shit, Tammy! I hadn’t been back to feed her. She’d be starving!

“Oh, my poor baby,” I said, grabbing my phone and dialling Luke while Angel looked on, mystified. “Where are you?” I asked when he picked up.

“Office. Why?”

“I need you to do me a favour. I didn’t feed Tammy this morning and she’ll be absolutely starving. Can you just go over and—”

“Sophie,” Luke cut me off, “were you not present yesterday? Arm in sling. Knee in splint. I can hardly bloody walk, let alone drive.”

I made a face. “But she’ll be really hungry…”

“And I really can’t drive with one arm and one leg. Can’t you ask your mum to do it?”

“No, ‘cos then she’ll want to know why I wasn’t there this morning.”

“Tell her you were working.”

“I always feed Tammy before I go.” I drummed my fingers on the table. Angel sipped her drink.

“What’s up?” she mouthed.

“I didn’t feed Tammy this morning,” I said, “and Luke can’t do it because he can’t drive.”

“Ask Docherty,” Angel said, and I beamed at her.

“Genius.”

“Me?” Luke asked.

“No. Not you. Bye,” I said, and called up Docherty’s number.

He answered on the first ring. “Sophie?”

“I need a favour.”

“What kind of favour?”

“I need you to feed my cat.”

There was a long pause. I glanced at Angel, and she suddenly started laughing. I was about to ask her why, when I realised.

“Are we talking four legs and a tail here?” Docherty asked. “Or something kinkier?”

“Four legs,” I said, colouring, and Angel laughed even harder. “My actual cat,” I said. “In my flat. I didn’t feed her this morning and she’ll be starving and you’re the only person I can think of who could get in and feed her without scaring the shit out of her.” Macbeth could have broken in, but Tammy wouldn’t have accepted so much as a compliment from him. She didn’t like men, especially big men.

Apart from Luke. Traitor.

“Okay,” Docherty sighed. “I might have to call in the favour from you another time, though.”

Whatever. I couldn’t believe I’d neglected my baby that much. I was a bad mother. Poor Tammy had been a rescue kitten. She’d think I didn’t love her.

“Okay,” I said to Angel when I put the phone down. “I’m traumatised now. I need to go and buy something to take the guilt away.”

“She’s a cat, Soph,” Angel said. “The most vicious little cat since Jerry’s Tom. She’ll have eaten something.”

“Something very un-nutritious,” I grumbled, draining my coffee and standing up. “Come on.”

I went to a pet shop and bought Tammy one of those automated feeders so I wouldn’t have to go through this again. Then I bought her a wind-up mouse to apologise. And a tin of fancy, hideously expensive cat food.

“Better now?” Angel asked, as we were leaving the shop.

“Slightly,” I said, and picked up my phone, which was ringing. Docherty. “Is she okay?”

“The cat? I can’t see her.”

“She’ll be outside. Shake the biscuit tin and call her name—”

“Is she a vicious cat?” Docherty interrupted, and I smiled.

“You’re not scared of her? Docherty, she’s smaller than your foot.”

“Does she kill a lot?” he wanted to know.

“Well, only recreationally.”

“Big things?”

I knew what was coming. “What has she left on the floor?” She’d brought down squirrels twice her size before. Pigeons. Giant rats. She’d even had a go at the neighbour’s small yappy dog but I’d called her off, fearing the worst from said neighbour.

“It’s not on the floor. It’s on the sofa.”

Ew. “What is it?”

“Petr Staszic.”

Luke was already there when I pulled up, having left Angel in Docherty’s custody back at her own place.

“So
now
you can get a lift here?” I said, slightly shakily.

“Docherty picked me up. Sophie, I’m not sure you’ll want to go in there.”

“Is he really dead?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“How dead? I mean, how long?”

He shrugged. “Can’t have been that long because he was alive two hours ago. But he’s cold.”

I started to shudder and Luke put his good arm around me. “You want to come back to mine?”

Probably that would not be a good idea. “I need to see,” I said, and pushed the door open. Petr Staszic was lying on the sofa, his eyes open, a small bullet wound in his temple. There was a knife stuck in his chest, pinning a note there. I stood and stared for quite a while before getting the courage to go closer and read the note.

There were letters, and they were grouped together in a way which suggested words. Other than that, it could have been in Martian for all the sense it made.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” Luke said. “I think it’s in Czech. You got a notepad?”

I crossed to the desk and gave him the pad of paper there. Luke gave me a heavy look and waggled the fingers coming out of his sling. “Could you possibly write it down?”

Numbly, I did, hoping I’d got all the accents right, not wanting to get too close to check.

“I’ve called Karen,” Luke said. “She’s going to come and pick him up, do an autopsy. But I guess the cause of death is pretty obvious…”

I nodded.

“Sophie, are you all right?”

Jesus, stupid question time.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I need a new sofa.”

“Yep.”

“I’ll get my things,” I said, and walked past the body into my bedroom, pushing the door to so Luke couldn’t see how much I was shaking when I let my guard down.

A couple of months ago someone started sending me the fingers of someone who’d been killed for helping me. I’d pick up the post and there would be a fat envelope with a smelly, decaying finger inside. The first one had been bleeding, all over the doormat.

Then, after we’d found out who the bad guys were, I went after them. Well, we all went after them, but it was me and Macbeth who fired the shots that killed two of them. The other is in jail for a very long time.

I’ve killed a man. I’ve seen one mangled by the baggage belt system. I’ve picked up dead fingers. But I’ve never had a dead body just turn up in my apartment. Not the body of someone I was talking to a couple of hours ago.