The Bullet That Missed полностью

‘Oh, good,’ says Joyce, and looks over her shoulder, to see if, perhaps, the trolley is on its way. ‘And is this trip to London connected to your adventure?’ Joyce continues. ‘Or are we shopping?’

‘It is connected. I will take you shopping another day to make up for it.’

Another message on Elizabeth’s phone.

Nice day for it, by the way!

Does the Viking have nothing else to do? They both sit back and take in the grey, wet view out of the window. Oh, England, you really know how to be drab when you want to.

Joyce finally cracks. ‘So where are we off to, then?’

‘To meet an old friend of mine,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Viktor.’

‘We used to have a milkman called Victor,’ says Joyce. ‘Any chance it’s the same Victor?’

‘Very possible. Was your milkman also the head of the Leningrad KGB in the eighties?’

‘Different Victor,’ says Joyce. ‘Though they finish milk-rounds very early, don’t they? So perhaps he was doing two jobs?’

They laugh, and the trolley arrives. Joyce asks the woman behind the trolley a series of questions. Was the tea free? Were there biscuits? Were those free? Were those bananas she could spot? Was there much of a trade in bananas on the train, or were the biscuits the big draw? How much hotter would the coffee be at one end of the train than at the other? There were then a few supplementary questions, which elicited that the woman pushing the trolley had recently returned to work after having a baby, and that her husband, who worked in construction at the airport, was not really pulling his weight at home, and that his mother was being impossible and defending him at every turn. At the end of the questions Joyce had decided that, actually she was fine, and wouldn’t have anything, thank you. Elizabeth took a water, and the trolley, and the woman, continued on their way, wishing them both a safe journey.

‘So why are we going to see Viktor?’

Elizabeth makes sure the trolley is out of sight.

‘I’m afraid I have to kill him.’

‘Don’t joke, Elizabeth,’ says Joyce. ‘We’re right in the middle of an investigation. And we’ve been through a lot recently.’

Joyce is right. Elizabeth thinks all the way back to the murder of Tony Curran. To Ian Ventham, and to Penny in Willows, with John holding her hand. It had all seemed a bit of a jape, but it was simply the start of a long series of events which has culminated in her sitting on the 09.44 from Polegate, with her best friend, and a gun in her handbag. ‘Best friend’? That was a new thought. She nods her agreement at Joyce.

‘I know. And I’m afraid we’re going to have to go through a little more, before this is all done.’

‘But you can’t kill someone, Elizabeth.’

‘We both know that’s not true, Joyce. And on this occasion I have to.’

‘Why? What happens if you don’t kill him?’

‘Someone will kill me.’ (Someone will kill you, Joyce. And I won’t allow that to happen.)

‘You really are ridiculous sometimes,’ says Joyce. ‘Since when do you do what you’re told? Who is telling you to kill Viktor?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘MI5?’

‘It would probably be MI6, Joyce, with respect. But no. A tall Swedish man.’

‘They’re all tall in Sweden,’ says Joyce. ‘It was on The One Show. So is he paying you?’

‘No, just the threat of death.’ (Your death, my lovely, kind, hugely over-talkative friend.)

‘OK, well, I’m assuming I don’t have the full picture, but I suppose I’m here to help, that’s what best friends are for.’

‘I rather think we are best friends, Joyce, aren’t we? It hadn’t really occurred to me.’

‘Of course we’re best friends,’ says Joyce. ‘Who did you think my best friend was? Ron?’

Elizabeth smiles again. Has she had a best friend before? Penny? Perhaps, but, really, they just shared a common hobby and a mutual respect. She’s had husbands and lovers. Field partners, cell mates, bodyguards. But a best friend?

‘Wait, is Stoke in Staffordshire?’ says Joyce.

‘Yes,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Then I have been to Staffordshire. We did a coach trip to Stoke, years back. Lovely ceramics. I bought a pot with Gerry’s name on it. It was spelt with a “J”, but it was the closest they had.’

‘Glad to get that cleared up,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Where does Viktor live?’

‘Somewhere you’re going to like very much,’ says Elizabeth.

Joyce nods. ‘You’re not really going to kill him, Elizabeth? I don’t think you’d bring me if you were really going to kill him?’

Elizabeth studies Joyce for a moment. ‘Who on earth do you think I would bring? Ron?’

She hoped that might make her friend laugh, but, instead, Joyce looks scared.

The train begins to slow, as it approaches London.

‘They are going to kill me,’ reads Ibrahim. ‘Only Connie Johnson can help me now.’

‘She was frightened, I can tell you that,’ says Connie Johnson, her feet up on the desk. They have been allowed a private meeting room, because of the importance of ‘good mental health’.

‘Frightened,’ repeats Ibrahim. ‘Frightened of you?’

Connie shakes her head. ‘I know when people are frightened of me. Frightened of someone though.’