“Surprisingly, Samantha went straight back out to make another call,” Laura commented when she came back into the room and had closed the door.
“Odd. Oh well. Let’s go through the schedule for tomorrow and then head off to the hotel. I could do with a break.”
Fifteen minutes later, they walked from the room and headed to the front door. As they picked their way through the operations centre, they were very conscious of the acrimonious looks they were getting and the obvious way in which Samantha rose from her position and stalked off.
Once out of the operational centre, they were alone in the foyer where they were faced with Samantha Wilde walking towards them as though from the ladies’ rest room. She brushed passed Laura, bumping shoulders and hissed “Pick it up!” without missing a step.
Taken aback, Laura turned as though to challenge her. Having heard the hiss and seeing that they were being watched, Rob caught Laura’s arm. “Not now,” he counselled, stooping to pick up Laura’s dropped brief case and Samantha’s piece of paper.
“What was that about?” Laura asked once they were safely inside their car, Rob ready to drive.
“This,” he replied, passing her the piece of paper. Laura glanced at the scrunched up scrap. “Well?” he asked, steering the car out on to the road.
“She’s asking us to meet her later this evening. Her home address is here as well.”
“Interesting. So much for my hope of a relaxing evening!”
“She must know something, but is unsure of what to say and to who.”
“Why to us, then? We are merely auditors. If she wants to share something serious, why not speak to the police?” Rob asked.
“Fair point, but she may not be aware that there is anything criminal going on.”
“No. I don’t buy that. Something’s up. The woman is rattled and rattled badly.”
* * *
Nearly three hours later, a little later than requested, Rob’s SatNav guided them to an unexciting street of identical, terraced houses a few miles from their hotel. It was already dark and the roads were quiet, a far cry from the busyness of London that they were used to. Lights were burning in the windows as they walked to the front door, trying to be serious after their joking and flirting in the car.
* * *
At the same time in northeast London a group of seven young men and two women were drinking heavily in an expensive bar. Quality wines and spirits were being consumed in large quantities. Two of the men took it in turns to peel off bank notes from large bundles of cash to pay for each round ordered. Later, when questioned by police, the bar staff were consistent in saying that the tone of conversation was sometimes jovial and often serious, but overall, perfectly pleasant. They were not regulars, but were known.
Flashy mobile phones were prominently displayed. Rarely did anyone take a call, but frequent texts were traded. On a couple of occasions, three men made as if to leave, but were encouraged to stay. Each time was preceded and followed by a bout of serious discussion in hushed tones and each time the three appeared pleased as a result. Eventually, following a lot of texts and much discussion, they shook hands, as though clinching a deal, and the three men left, one calling over his shoulder that they should have a party at one of his flats.
Once the three men had stepped outside, they stopped, as many people do, to look about and do-up their coats. Suddenly, each man jerked violently as three loud cracks were heard above the steady background noise of passing traffic. The force of the rifle shots threw one of the men backwards, bouncing off the wide expanse of bar window. As that man shook his head and tried to steady his buckling legs, another shot rang out, hitting him in the head before the bullet passed through the window.
Another man was already dead, sightless eyes staring up into the overhead street light. The third man started to stagger down the street. Barely three steps into his attempt to flee, another shot threw the man against the bar window. The glass, already stressed from the bullet hole, gave way and the man fell through, blood trickling onto the floor as he stared blankly at those inside.
Pedestrians ran screaming from the area, many reaching for their mobile phones. Inside the bar, there was a delayed reaction, the initial muffled sounds confusing. There was stunned shock when the first man was flung against the window leaving a small blood splatter. When the second man came crashing through the window, sending glass flying and upturning a table and nearby chairs, the customers and staff ran for cover, screaming. The men’s apparent friends, however, waited and watched unflinching. Upon seeing the three were dead, one of the women was heard to laugh, saying, “Funny if dey waz shot from one o’ his own flats!”
The blue lights of numerous police cars and ambulances soon gave an eerie feeling to the street as police cordoned the street off and diverted traffic.
Armed police started to search the surrounding buildings and area while police constables started questioning people. A member of the kitchen staff came forward to share the comment they had heard referencing the flats and very quickly radios were buzzing and the armed police focused their search there.
Minutes later it was confirmed – signs of where the assassin had based himself had been found. Forensics were called in to start their detailed work. All the while, police were obtaining descriptions of the three men’s companions in the bar and started reviewing CCTV trying to track their escape. Some of the bar staff commented that when the group had met at the bar previously there had been a third, older woman who had influence over the rest.
As luck would have it, the bar’s joint owner had had his birthday there three weeks earlier and the group had also been present. He was quickly summoned and arrived with a memory stick of photos, and the bar staff easily picked out the seven men and two women from earlier that evening, as well as the third woman.
* * *
As they approached the front door, Rob and Laura looked at each other in alarm. Sounds of an argument and shouting could be heard and it was clear that there were more than just Samantha and her husband inside. Rob hesitated, placing a hand on Laura’s arm. “Should we come back? I can’t imagine they will be in a suitable frame of mind for us.”
“But her message was…”
Gunshots interrupted, and moments later two men and a woman came running from the brightly lit house, barging past Rob and Laura.
“You stupid, bloody idiot! I didn’t say kill them!” the woman yelled.
The voice and American accent startled Rob; he recognised it from a few months earlier when he had the misfortune of encountering the Williamson family in Varna, Bulgaria. He swung round seeking visual confirmation and despite only the briefest of glimpses, he was certain that it was Nikki Williamson.
Laura spun round and leaped at the nearest pair of receding legs, tapping the man’s ankles making him stumble. He dropped his gun but his momentum kept him moving, arms flailing. As the trio fled one fired blindly backwards. Laura rolled behind the boundary wall for cover, getting filthy on the damp grass. Rob dived through the front door, scrambling for cover inside the house.
One man with stood behind a car on the opposite side of the road and maintained a steady stream of gunfire pinning Laura down. As he did, Nikki and the other accomplice jumped into the car. “Let’s go,” the driver yelled. The gunman leaped in and the car sped off, tyres squealing.
Once clear, Laura jumped up and collected the dropped weapon, picking it up carefully to preserve forensics.
By the time Laura entered the house Rob had already called for the emergency services and was kneeling beside a barely alive Samantha, tears streaming down her face, one hand stretched out to hold the now lifeless hand of her husband. Seeing that Samantha was whispering something to Rob, Laura waited in the background.
The pause between each clipped phrase gradually became longer. “Needed money… Needed job… Love families… Tell them sorry… Gave information… Urgh… Copies upstairs… Urgh also involved… Had to…”
As the sirens were approaching, Samantha’s life ebbed away. Rob stood up. “They were being coerced by Nikki Williamson,” he informed Laura.
“They what!”
“Didn’t you notice it was Nikki who ran out of the house with those two men?”
“Oh my!” Laura placed a hand over her mouth instinctively. “I thought I recognised the voice, but couldn’t place it. What’s she doing here?”
