Deadly Purpose, page 27
Unbelievable. He had been suckered in like a fucking amateur. The cop must have been in the house for days. They had anticipated him making a move on Merrick. Read him like a book and just waited for him to walk into a trap.
He took deep breaths, jogged back to the Sierra, climbed in and drove off. Once again he had been thwarted in his efforts to kill the lawyer. He pounded on the steering wheel with his fist. He wasn’t used to losing and had no intention of letting Merrick or anyone else best him, but would cool it for a while. Let the mud settle, until it was believed he’d allowed them to scare him off. And then he would finish it once and for all.
Jim rolled on to his side. Pressed a hand to his chest. The Kevlar vest had stopped the bullets. He was in pain, and would no doubt be badly bruised. That was small potatoes. Without the vest he would have been dead.
Vic was sitting up, back against the side of the settee, hands clasped to his stomach. There was a lot of blood leaking out through his fingers, and a large, crimson stain was spreading across the front of his sweats. Gut shot.
Jim made a call. Spelt it out to Liz in the squad room as he stumbled into the kitchen and found a towel.
Back in the lounge he knelt next to Vic. “Move your hands,” he said, and pressed the folded towel hard against the stomach wound when Vic complied.
“How am I doing?” Vic said. “Do you think I’m going to make it?”
Jim hiked his shoulders. “Do I look like a doctor? You should have kept out of the way, Vic.”
Vic managed a smile of sorts. “He was about to put a bullet in your thick, cop head. I didn’t think. Just went for it and hit him with my prized six iron.”
“You should have―”
“Give it a rest. If I’d stayed upstairs, you might be dead now. Christ, it’s cold.”
Vic shut his eyes. Jim shouted “Stay awake, Vic. Go to sleep and you’ll never wake up.”
No response. Jim took one hand away from the towel and slapped his brother-in-law’s face, leaving a bloody print of his palm.
Vic’s eyes snapped open. “You always assault people that can’t defend themselves?” he said, his voice now slurred. “Get me a Scotch.”
“No, Vic. Booze isn’t a good idea, believe me.”
Vic swallowed hard. “You can feel it. You can actually feel it coming.”
“Feel what?”
“Death,” Vic whispered. “Tell Liv that I love her, and that I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to...” His head fell forward, chin on chest.
“Damn you, Merrick,” Jim whispered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Julia liked Olga. She always pigeonholed people within the first thirty seconds of meeting them. And her first impressions invariably proved to be near the mark.
Olga turned up at the bar in Garvey’s wearing a plain black dress that could have been a Bedouin tent. Her hair was short, black in the main, but threaded through with silver. And the only jewellery she wore, apart from a wedding band, was a fine gold chain around her thick, wattled neck.
Julia thought that the Russian woman’s eyes were the most recondite she had ever encountered. Olga Krukov would have made a formidable poker player.
“I am glad we are meeting,” Olga said. “I hope that you agree with me that what our husbands did has died with them, and that we can make better choices.”
“I’m sure that we can,” Julia said. “What would you like to drink?”
“A Jack Daniel’s with ice,” Olga said.
They spent almost three hours together. Enjoyed both the subsequent meal and the conversation. Olga had an enormous appetite and started with a dozen fresh chilled oysters served in the half shell with lemon wedges and cocktail sauce, before tucking into a sixteen ounce steak, complete with a medley of vegetables and a stack of French fries. Julia ordered pan-fried crab cakes with coleslaw, spicy Remoulade, and a calamari salad with crispy wontons.
Having found common ground to agree on, the two mobster’s widows went their separate ways, after arranging to meet at the Spread Eagle.
Ricky Donovan was far from happy. Parked in view of Garveys’ revolving door he could see the Russian who had hurt him and taken him hostage sitting behind the steering wheel of a black Merc parked at the kerb. If it hadn’t been for his mother he would have driven past and emptied his gun in the tosser’s face. But he would have to bide his time. He always got back at anyone who’d crossed him. He’d made it his business to find out who the guy was: Andrey Lavronenko, the nephew of the now dead Vladimir Krukov. Trouble was, Lavronenko was based at the Mayfair penthouse, that was crawling with tooled-up Ruskies. Sometimes you had to have patience, and that was a commodity that, as far as dealing with Lavronenko was concerned, Ricky was feeling woefully short of.
“What do think, C?” Ricky said. “You trust these turds?”
“I don’t trust anyone, Rick. That way I don’t get disappointed. Your mother’s shrewd. She’ll psyche out the Krukov woman. If she thinks that this, ‘Let’s be pally’ stuff is a ploy to put us off guard, then it’ll be open season on reds.”
“I don’t care what she thinks. When the time’s right I’m gonna cut the eyes out of that fucker in the Merc, then gut him like a fish.”
“You’re sore because he got the drop on you. That was your fault. And think on this. If we hadn’t snatched Krukov, you’d be dead. The guy’s a pro. Grudges are pointless.”
“Easy for you to say, C. It wasn’t you that he got on the wrong side of.”
“I’d have seen him coming, son. You still have a lot to learn.”
Ricky sneered and turned his attention back to the Russian. Maybe he was good, but that wouldn’t save him. It was impossible to guard yourself against a threat you were unaware of.
Cornelius spotted Julia leaving the restaurant, eased the car up to the kerb in front of it, and Ricky got out to escort his mother across the pavement and open the rear door for her.
“She wants to be part of the big picture,” Julia said when Cornelius pulled out into traffic and headed back to the Jacaranda. “The woman has the sense to know that there’s strength in numbers.”
“What’d she say about her dumbfuck husband being sniped?” Ricky said.
“Don’t use language like that in front of me, Ricky. I’ve decided I don’t like it. And how Krukov was eliminated didn’t come up. She accepted that it was done because he’d had your father hit. As far as I’m concerned, she gets the chance to prove to us that she can be trusted.”
The meet at the Spread Eagle was an unmitigated success. All parties agreed that the best way to handle business was by closing ranks and maximising their profits, dealing with overseas drug suppliers and the like as one customer; a cartel, purchasing in much larger quantities and driving the price down.
As for Hendricks, Sal ‘the Gimp’ Moscotti suggested that he deal with the problem. He wanted someone taken out, and would ensure that after the hit went down, the now renegade freelance killer would be eliminated.
Helen phoned the SCS and asked for Jim.
“DI Cole is being checked out at the hospital, Dr Sands,” DC Mark Rush said.
“For what?” Helen said.
“He took two bullets in the chest...but he was wearing a vest,” Mark added quickly. “He’ll be fine.”
Helen was at the hospital thirty minutes later. Jim was already dressed and about to leave. She found him sorting through loose change, in need of a caffeine fix from the vending machine he was standing in front of.
“Here,” Helen said, taking a handful of silver from her purse. “Make mine white with sugar.”
“What brings you here?” Jim said. “You got a sleep disorder?”
“I called to get an update on Lesley Keller. One of your DCs told me you were here. He said you’d been shot, but wouldn’t give me any details.”
“I’m okay,” Jim said, picking a few coins out of Helen’s palm and feeding them into the slot. “I was dealing with a problem myself, on my own time.”
“And?”
“I fuc...messed up,” Jim said, clenching his teeth as a tensed, bruised pec complained when he withdrew the first cup of coffee from the machine. But the pain in his chest was no big deal.
“Should you be leaving the hospital so soon?” Helen said, plucking the second cup from the hatch.
“Yeah, I’m fine, just bruised.”
Helen frowned. “You want to talk about it?”
Jim thought it over. “What the hell. I was at my sister’s house with Vic. Hendricks forced entry, and I had him cold, until Vic poked his nose in. Vic’s in surgery now, and the outlook isn’t good. He took a slug in the gut and lost a lot of blood. They’re trying to stop the internal bleeding.” Jim gave Helen the details of what had transpired leading up to the discharge of weapons.
“Does your sister know?”
“Yeah. I had her brought here. She’s upstairs in a waiting room. I’m not her favourite person at the moment.”
“But it wasn’t your fault that her husband was shot.”
“Don’t throw logic into the mix, Helen. Liv’s confused, and only just holding it together. All that’s happened has turned her life upside down. She’s shocked, suffering and angry.”
“Would you like me to have a word with her? Maybe I could put it into perspective, or at least give her a shoulder to cry on.”
“You can try if you want to. But don’t patronise her. Liv is nobody’s fool.”
“What will you do?”
“Go and face the music. My guv will be waiting to put me up against a wall and shoot me for going it alone, again. Worse, he might even suspend me.”
“So one way or another, you should be at home in a couple of hours?”
“Yeah, give or take. Why?”
“I reckon you could use some company.”
Jim searched Helen’s eyes. Couldn’t read her. Maybe she was just being thoughtful. Or perhaps it was a way of getting closer to him. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t her type. “I’ve got your address,” he said, tossing the still half full plastic cup into a nearby waste bin. “I’ll drop by your place for coffee, later, if that’s okay.”
Helen nodded and gave him a small smile, before heading off in the direction of the lift.
A not unpleasant tingle ran through Jim. He expected nothing, but hoped for everything. Reckoned that Dr Helen Sands might just fancy him, and even if she didn’t, nothing ventured... He wanted to be in her company. Going back to the flat was not something he relished doing.
Helen identified herself to the female SCS officer standing outside the waiting room and was allowed in to where Olivia Merrick was pacing up and down the foot-worn grey carpet. She introduced herself as a psychologist attached to Jim’s team. Took a seat next to the highly agitated woman, when she eventually settled, and was pleased when Olivia opened up and started talking.
“I trusted my brother to keep Vic out of harm’s way,” Olivia said to Helen. “I was wrong to. Vic is in a critical condition. One of the doctor’s told me to be prepared for the worst.”
“Do you know what happened?” Helen said.
“Yes. The man that has been trying to kill me broke into our home and shot Vic. Jim was there, armed, supposedly ready to deal with the situation, but let...” Olivia dropped her head, put her clenched fists together and brought them down hard on her knees.
“You should know that Jim put his life on the line for your husband, Olivia,” Helen said. “He’d told Vic to stay upstairs, out of the way. When Jim was about to disarm Hendricks, Vic appeared out of the blue and got himself shot.”
“Why are you here, telling me this?” Liv said.
“Because you should know that your brother has your best interests at heart, and that he risked his life and career by trying to protect Vic. He isn’t the one you should be mad at for what has happened tonight.”
“Meaning I should blame Vic?”
“You should try to see it as it is, that’s all. Remember that Jim is one of the good guys.”
“You know him that well, do you?”
“I know that he tries to do the right thing. That he’s the type of man I would want in my corner if I was in trouble.”
Olivia began to cry. Her usually rock solid composure crumbled, and she appeared to physically shrink in the chair. She had needed someone to be responsible for her present tribulations, and Jim had been the perfect scapegoat. But she was wrong to attach any blame to him for what had happened, and knew it. He was a good man, with scruples and morals. It was Vic that had been tainted by the lowlife he’d gladly, willingly served for so many years, letting greed erode the qualities he had presented as a younger man. It was no use trying to kid herself that Vic was without guilt. She knew deep down that he had brought this on himself, and her, and that he wasn’t deserving of her continued love or loyalty. She hoped that he would recover from his grievous wound, but would no longer be there for him. It was over.
Helen talked to Olivia for over an hour, mainly about Jim. It was apparent to Helen that his sister basically thought the world of him and had always held him in high regard.
“What will you do now?” Helen said.
“Stay here until I know that Vic is out of the woods, or...”
“And then?”
“Get on with the rest of my life. Jim will catch the man that shot Vic, and after he does, I’ll be able to go back home and start over. I have interests and friends. The trick will be finding the strength to dust myself down and get back on the horse, because at the moment I feel as though I got thrown off and landed hard.”
Helen recognised the strength of character that Olivia obviously shared with Jim. They both had a high level of grit in their genes. This woman had what it took to forge a new life. Some people found it hard if not impossible to adjust to situations that drastically altered the way that they had been used to living. A long-term relationship was like any other habit, and breaking free of it could be an almost unattainable task. There was a period of transition to contend with; a rehabilitation of sorts, from which everyone emerged with scars, emotionally altered beyond reparation: all part of life’s rich tapestry.
“I’ll be fine, honestly,” Olivia said. “You don’t have to stay here. Did Jim ask you to talk to me?”
“No, it was my idea. I thought you might need a friendly ear.”
“Thanks. I need to speak to him. Where is he? I was out of order and said some things I need to apologise for. A large slice of humble pie needs to be eaten.”
“He’s gone back to the Yard. But I’m seeing him later...er... to run through what happened and discuss the case.”
“Do you fancy my kid brother, Dr Sands?”
“Of course not,” Helen replied, too quickly. “Like I told you, I’m working with his team on a case.”
Olivia dredged up a small smile from somewhere.
“What?” Helen said.
Olivia shrugged. “You’re the psychologist, not me. But I get the feeling you’ve been a little captivated by Jim’s...charisma. And being so quick to deny it reinforces that.”
Helen felt defensive. Didn’t know why. Just shook her head, not able to find the right words to answer the astute woman.
“Do me a favour,” Olivia said. “Be gentle with him. When Jill died, he lost the plot. It was as if he’d been put in a sack and had all his bones broken up with a sledgehammer. It’s taken him a long time to heal up, even partially. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s still extremely fragile.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Olivia. But the fact is we aren’t an item, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”
“I get the feeling you will be. Just―”
The appearance of a doctor in the doorway silenced Olivia in mid sentence.
Helen saw the woman draw back in the chair as the bearded, balding man in a white coat approached her.
“Mrs Merrick,” Dr Harold Pierce began, his manner purely professional, with no hint of what news he bore.
Jim got the call as he left Ken Bradley’s office. The bollocking had been short, sharp and sour. He’d been suitably chastised over the incident, but knew he could dig himself out of it. He’d lied to Ken and told him that it was coincidental that he was at Victor Merrick’s house when the hitman broke in. Ken didn’t believe a word of his story and told him so, but had no way to prove that it was fiction, and didn’t want to.
It was Helen on the phone. The news was, to Jim, bittersweet. Vic had not made it off the operating table, which to Jim was sweet, but Olivia was traumatised and in a bad place emotionally. That was the bitter.
“What’s happening?” Jim said to Helen.
“Olivia wants to see Victor. Then I’ll go back to your flat with her and stay for as long as she needs for me to be there. You should come home, Jim.”
“I’m about the last person that Liv would want to see.”
“Wrong. She was going to call you to apologise for trying to put the blame at your door. She knows that you did everything you could.”
“Trouble is, it wasn’t enough. I let her down and got Vic killed.”
“He didn’t do what you told him to, Jim. He got himself killed, and put your life at risk at the same time. If he’d followed your instructions, you’d have done what you set out to and arrested the man that came to murder him.”
“I should have allowed for unpredictability.”
“You can’t predict what variables may or may not take place in any given situation, Jim. You know that.”
“Yeah, I suppose, but it sucks.” He hung up. Felt empty of words, and more than a little helpless and out of control. There were no guarantees in life, he knew that. Liv’s safety was still on the line, and somewhere out there was a pissed-off killer with an unknown agenda; a psycho whose motives couldn’t be outguessed. This wasn’t just another case, it was the most important one he’d ever had, and he was without a single tangible clue as to the identity of the man he had to apprehend or kill. The trap had been sprung and the intended prey had escaped its jaws. Surely Hendricks would not make another mistake. The upside was, Jim had seen the man, and his features were now burned into his brain. The face had been unremarkable; short fair hair, intense dark eyes that were brimming with alertness and intelligence. He had been approximately five-ten or eleven, slim, and obviously physically fit and extremely quick-witted, judging by the speed and athleticism he had displayed in rolling across the floor and shooting with such accuracy.
