‘Very early in the money trail a hundred and fifteen thousand pounds is paid into an “Absolute Construction” in Panama,’ says Henrik. ‘That money is still there, as far as I am able to tell, which is actually quite far, because I am very good at this sort of thing.’
‘Not so good at killing pensioners,’ says Joyce, and gets a ‘Hear, hear’ from Viktor.
‘When “Absolute Construction” is set up, it seems that a web of subsidiary companies is set up beneath it, but no money was ever paid into them, so we have ignored them up to now. There is an “Absolute Demolition”, an “Absolute Cement”, an “Absolute Scaffolding” and, in Cyprus, a company called –’
‘“Absolute Dynamite”,’ says Ron.
Elizabeth looks around her. She puts a hand on Mike’s shoulder. ‘And when you look into “Absolute Dynamite”?’
‘You find two named directors,’ says Henrik. ‘One is our old friend Carron Whitehead, so that doesn’t really lead us anywhere. But finally we have a new name. The other director is a Michael Gullis.’
‘Michael Gullis?’ says Elizabeth. ‘Pauline, Mike? Anything?’
They look at each other, then back at Elizabeth, and shake their heads.
‘There was a Michael
‘Thank you, Ron,’ says Elizabeth. Pauline taps Ron’s hand.
The room falls quiet once again, save for the
‘Elizabeth,’ says Joyce. ‘I don’t suppose you could join me outside for a moment?’
Elizabeth gestures that she certainly could, and they wander out to Ibrahim’s hallway.
‘Ask me,’ says Joyce.
‘Ask you what?’ says Elizabeth.
‘Ask me if I know the name Michael Gullis,’ says Joyce.
The team digging up the garden at Heather Garbutt’s old house had dug up the gun this afternoon. They were still digging now, under the searchlights as evening turned to night. Andrew Everton thought they had enough evidence at least to talk to Jack Mason. Chris and Donna had got the call.
‘You were so good again, I mean it,’ says Chris, reviewing Donna’s latest appearance on
‘You just have to be yourself,’ says Donna. ‘Ignore the cameras.’
‘I’ve never been good at being myself,’ says Chris. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘Mum says you cried last night when you were watching
‘I did,’ agrees Chris.
‘Well, don’t start there,’ says Donna.
Chris especially loves his Ford Focus now there are no empty crisp packets in the footwell. He even had it shampooed the other day. Was that being himself?
‘How is Jack Mason going to take it, do you reckon?’ asks Chris. ‘An assault rifle and a hundred grand is tough to talk your way out of.’
‘He’s a pro,’ says Donna. ‘He’ll be charming. It’ll be tougher for him if they find Bethany’s body.’
‘He’ll walk away,’ says Chris. ‘Don’t you think? Doesn’t matter if he owns the property; there’ll be no forensic evidence after all this time.’
‘I saw this Polish film where they dug up a body after thirty years or something, and a tattoo had imprinted itself on a leg bone,’ says Donna.
‘You’ve been to see a Polish film?’ Chris asks.
‘It’s left here,’ says Donna. They had given up on the sat nav some time ago. Jack Mason’s house was on a private road, leading off a private estate, leading off a small track, leading off a country road. Deliberately hard to find, especially in this pitch darkness. As they take wrong turn after wrong turn, Chris thinks it would be easier to approach by boat and climb the cliff face.
Also, Jack Mason would be able to see anyone approaching from a mile away. Has he seen the lights of the yellow Ford Focus yet? Is he waiting for them? Does he know what’s in store?
They finally reach a pair of iron gates. The gates remain firmly shut as they approach, so Chris leans out of his window and tries the intercom. He buzzes intermittently for thirty seconds or so, but there is no response. So perhaps Jack has seen them coming after all.
Old Chris would have got back in the car and driven the perimeter of the property wall, looking for a way in, tutting all the while. But new Chris, slim, athletic Chris, starts to climb the gates instead. This brings Donna out of the car. He feels the pleasing burn of his muscles as he climbs, the gratifying response of muscles doing what they’re told. He must look great, he thinks, just as he snags and rips his trousers on an iron spike. Donna climbs up after him, at twice the speed, unhooks him, and they both clamber over the top of the gates and down onto Jack Mason’s driveway. New security lights flick on with almost every step.
Chris’s trousers are ripped beyond repair, and Donna gets full sight of a pair of Homer Simpson boxer shorts.
