Untouchable (25 page)

An instant later I see him hurry through the door, phone pressed to his ear. He glances around, spots me, holds up five fingers.

I feel stupidly relieved, as if somehow Tony being here at all is going to make everything OK.

Five minutes later he’s removing his rucksack, dumping it next to the chair opposite. He looks hassled, dishevelled. A little paunchy round the midriff.

Tony checks me out too. Doubtless comes to the same conclusion. ‘Apologies, Stella. Bloody traffic. Unbelievable. I should have got the train.’

‘It’s not the easiest of places to get to,’ I admit.

He sits down. ‘I know. I’m sorry, but that was half the point. I thought we might be better off out of town. And I’ve arranged a meeting in the media faculty later to give me an excuse.’

I nod, trying not to dwell on the reasons for his caution. Glance at his large glass of frappuccino and supersized chocolate muffin. ‘That stuff’ll kill you.’

He eyes it thoughtfully, then looks up. ‘Right now, I’d say my odds are better than yours.’

Something shrinks inside me. The remaining sedative effect from the last week evaporates as the reality of my situation hits me anew.

I fix my gaze on his. ‘Explain.’

He shifts his chair round so it aligns with mine, reaches into his rucksack and pulls out a laptop, one of those super-slim ultrabooks. He presses a button and icons fill the screen. Sliding his finger across the mouse pad, he brings up the browser, scrolling through a folder full of bookmarks. He clicks on one and a picture appears.

‘I’ve been doing a bit of research,’ Tony says. ‘In fact, a lot of research. And it’s not pretty.’

I hardly hear him. I’m too busy staring at the photograph.

Alex.

‘Do you know who he is?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

‘His name is Alex Lennart. I didn’t get anything on that Paul Franklin name you gave me – obviously an alias.’

I nod.

‘I had a devil of a job pinning him down actually, but then I stumbled across this.’

Tony pulls up another website. The
Berkshire Daily Herald
. There’s a picture of Edward Hardy standing outside a modern office complex. The sign to the right of him tells me it’s a company called Palmer Wentworth. Hardy’s shaking the hand of someone I’m guessing is the managing director, while several other men cluster around them, all beaming at the camera.

Hardy seals the deal for a new future for UK defence industries
, reads the caption underneath.

I peer again at the men in the background. Only one isn’t smiling. Alex Lennart. My stomach contracts as I study his face. I can feel his gravitational pull, even from here.

‘What does he do?’ I force myself to look back up at Tony.

He swallows his mouthful of muffin. ‘It’s rather hard to define, and it’s even harder to dig up real information on him. But basically he’s an arms broker.’

‘An arms broker?’ My breath stalls on the inhale. ‘You mean he
sells guns
?’ My mind leaps immediately to the one I saw in his hotel room drawer.

Tony laughs. A hollow laugh hardly designed to put me at my ease. ‘Essentially, yes, but not the type you’re thinking of. More bulk weaponry, the kind of stuff you’d see on the front line in Afghanistan or out in Gaza. Tanks, rocket launchers, anti-aircraft, that sort of thing.’

I make myself breathe out. ‘Christ.’

‘You ever heard of Stephan Kock? He was involved in that arms scandal during Thatcher’s reign back in the eighties.’

I nod. ‘Vaguely. I read something about it once.’

‘Essentially Lennart is Kock upgraded to the twenty-first century. A kind of intermediary, smoothing the way between big arms firms and the government contracts they’re hoping to attract. Some of it legal, in the sense that the deals aren’t breaching any international arms embargos. But he also helps arms manufacturers find a way round international law.’

‘How do you mean?’

Tony slurps at his coffee through a straw and leans back in his seat. ‘Say there’s a ban on exporting arms to Iraq or Afghanistan. People like Lennart get the weapons there by diverting them through countries we don’t have such an issue with.’

I close my eyes briefly, trying to get a handle on all this. ‘So you reckon he’s got an arrangement with Hardy?’

Tony nods. ‘I suspect Hardy’s been helping steer contracts towards the companies Lennart represents, and in return he’s been laying the groundwork for British firms wanting to export arms to places they shouldn’t. I expect Hardy’s been getting some nice little kickbacks along the way – and a few of his ministry chums, no doubt.’

‘So you’re saying this Abstar contract was illegal?’

Tony shakes his head. ‘Not in this case. We’ve been selling stuff to the Middle East for years, especially to the Saudis – over four hundred million pounds’ worth per year, on average. The issue is more why Abstar got the contract over other bidders who looked better on paper. There’s been a lot of grumbling and rumours. Hence the select committee.’

I digest this for a moment.

‘So where does Harry the banker come in? He was the one who was so cock-a-hoop over the deal.’

‘Think about it. These contracts are huge. Multiple millions of pounds, enough to significantly boost a company’s share price when it’s announced. All Hardy or Lennart need do is give Harry a little advanced notice, and he can buy up shares ahead of the announcement. Then make a killing when their price goes through the roof.’

I close my eyes again. Inhale slowly.

‘It’s basically a win-win-win situation,’ says Tony, breaking off another piece of muffin and stuffing it into his mouth.

I open my eyes. ‘And Rob?’

‘Robert Mulligan. Harry Elliot’s sidekick at Trellum Bailey. He’s bound to be in on it, but I doubt he’s pulling any strings.’

I chew the side of my cheek for a few seconds. Then force myself to make eye contact with Tony.

‘So what happened with Elisa, do you think?’

He sighs and wipes crumbs from his lips with a napkin. ‘I reckon our lovely friend stumbled into a minefield. I’m guessing she discovered something about one of these guys, or had something on them. Somehow or other made a nuisance of herself. Lennart in particular is not somebody you would want to piss off.’

I drop my gaze. Run my palms across the leg of my jeans. Should I tell him about Amanda’s files? The figures without dates?

It’s all beginning to make sense. She must have sent the usual blackmail package to Harry, expecting him to cough up like the rest. After all, she’d heard him bragging at the party about the money he’d made. No doubt had him down as an easy mark.

An image of Amanda wiping Harry’s spunk from her eye. ‘
That fucking pig. I’ll make him pay for that
.’

But she hadn’t counted on his friends. What effect her little party trick might have on them. ‘I think possibly she upset Harry,’ I say guardedly. ‘I suspect it was something to do with money.’

Tony’s look is appraising. He knows I’m holding out on him. I can see him wondering whether to pursue it. ‘Well, I’m guessing he didn’t like that.’ He takes another slug of his coffee. ‘So he called in his friends. Difficult to say who might have set special ops on her. Could have been Lennart or Hardy – or both.’

‘Special ops?’

Tony shuts the lid of his laptop. Shifts his seat back round to face me. ‘That bloke, the one that came round and tried to freak you out. I made some enquiries. Sounds like special ops, one of the elite covert units working under the Foreign Office.’

I stare at him. ‘Special ops? Since when is screwing escorts part of their remit?’

Tony grimaces. ‘Everything’s part of their remit, Grace. Whatever gets the job done.’

I swallow, reliving the pressure of his thumb on my throat. Those bruises on Kristen’s neck. ‘So you reckon this … this elite unit, they were the ones who killed Elisa?’

‘Quite possibly.’

I think it through. Amanda probably contacted Harry via email. It would have been easy for them to set up a meeting with her, under the guise of handing over the money. Only it wasn’t Harry waiting when she arrived, but them … that man.

Christ, what did he do to her? I don’t even want to ask myself the question, but answers manhandle their way into my consciousness. Questioned her. No,
interrogated
her until they were sure she’d given them everything. Then took her to the hotel and killed her, making it look like a client.

Which would explain why there was no DNA found anywhere on Amanda’s body. I’m guessing these people know how to clean up after themselves.

I examine my tea. I’ve barely drunk any of it, but suddenly the idea of swallowing anything feels impossible. She held out, I realize, filled with a surge of admiration. Amanda. She didn’t tell them about the SD-card.

Though they must have suspected there was something – hence ransacking her flat.

I raise my head. Tony is studying me as he chews his way through the rest of his muffin. I screw up my courage to ask him what I can no longer avoid. ‘This special ops force. Why would they turn their attention on me?’

Tony sucks the chocolate from his teeth. ‘You were at the party. They may suspect you were involved with whatever she did that so got under Hardy’s skin. That, or they know somehow you’re on to them.’

I mull this over for a minute. ‘I went to the police,’ I tell Tony. ‘And Hardy, when details from Elisa’s death didn’t add up.’

‘Let me guess. The police didn’t take it any further.’

I nod. He’s right. I never did hear back from that detective.

‘Most likely they’ve got someone in on the investigation, keeping an eye on it for Edward Hardy.’

‘Then why not just get rid of me, like Elisa? Wouldn’t it be safer for them?’

Tony leans towards me, resting his hands on the table. ‘I’m not saying they won’t, if pushed, Stella. But I’m guessing they’d rather not. One strangled call girl can be brushed under the carpet; two starts to attract more attention. They’d have to pass it off as a serial killer or something, and that would mean the police cranking up their investigation. And there’s the chance somebody might uncover the connection between you and Elisa, and that would stir things up for them.’

‘I met him,’ I say. ‘Alex Lennart. He offered to set me up with an exclusive contract – conditional on me leaving London.’

Tony gives me a measuring look. ‘I take it you turned him down.’

‘It didn’t make any sense. I mean, I hardly know him.’

‘Sounds as if he was trying to protect you, Stella. Offering you a “Get Out of Jail Free” card.’

That was before I went off to meet his ministerial chum. Poked my stick further into the hornet’s nest.

I briefly squeeze my eyes shut, watching the stars spark and dance in the darkness behind my lids, then stare at all the guileless faces around me. ‘Christ, I remember being in their place, everything ahead of me. How did I fuck up my life like this?’

‘You came here?’ Tony asks.

‘No. But close enough.’ I clamp my hands between my knees. ‘So what do I do?’ I ask Tony. ‘How do I deal with this?’

He glances at me, then his empty plate. ‘Fucked if I know, Stella.’

I sense he’s backing off, trying to put distance between himself and this whole sorry mess I’ve got myself in. Or maybe he’s simply afraid. Scared of straying into the firing line.

‘Do you think if I went to the police, told them everything, showed them all this,’ I nod at his laptop, ‘they’d act on it? Surely they’d have to do something. I’d get protection, wouldn’t I, as a witness?’ Though that wouldn’t help Kristen, I realize.

Tony raises an eyebrow. ‘Not my best advice, to be honest. I don’t imagine you’d get very far. And then you’d really be in the shit.’

He leans forward again, lowers his voice. ‘Think about it, Stella. You still need proof. Everything I’ve told you, it’s all conjecture – we don’t have any hard evidence. And for the police to act on it would mean opening the biggest can of worms this government has ever faced. You’re talking a major investigation into corruption, not only at Westminster, but in the arms industry and the banking sector. And right on the heels of the select committee inquiry.’

‘What came of that? Do you know?’

‘Not much. Clearly people have their suspicions – it’s near impossible to prevent things leaking out. But Hardy and his cronies seem to have convinced everyone there’s nothing untoward going on.’

I consider the SD-card, tucked deep in my purse. ‘So even if I had firm evidence connecting Hardy and the others with Elisa, you don’t reckon it would be enough?’

Tony blows air into his cheeks. Releases it. ‘You’d be taking a huge risk, Stella. And even if by some miracle the police and the CPS did manage to drag Lennart or Hardy into the dock in a murder trial, you’d be a key witness. You’d have to testify.’

He pauses. ‘And then everyone, I mean
everyone
, in the country … in the whole world … would know about you and what you do.’

And what I
did
, I think, heat rising to my face.

‘Consider your credibility issues in the witness stand,’ Tony adds. ‘They’d crucify you.’

He knows. He knows I’m Grace Thomas and he knows about Michael and the trial. He knows no one will believe a word I say.

I clear my throat. ‘Thanks, Tony, I owe you one.’

He smiles and drains the last of his drink. ‘I might have to take you up on it one day. Especially if the girlfriend ever finds out what I’ve been up to on your behalf.’

‘My lips are sealed.’ I stand and pull on my jacket.

‘As are mine.’ He puts his laptop away in his rucksack, then pauses and looks me over.

‘My advice, Stella, if you don’t mind me offering it, is to get the fuck out of here. Preferably abroad. And not for a week, not even for a month. As long as you can manage. Get as far away as possible for as long as possible and keep a low profile. You need to send these people a clear signal.’

‘Saying what?’

‘That you’re no threat. That you have no intention of pursuing this any further.’

Follow Kristen’s example. I chew this over for a second. Imagine running away. Finding that island.