The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(62)
‘I think I do.’ O’Neil tried for a smile but it failed to show up. ‘Turns out Stephen screws anything in a skirt, the shorter the better. If he hadn’t moved away from the area, I might have seen him on the Fish Quay earlier this evening. Young Gloria would have been right up his street.’
Grace laughed and then cried.
When O’Neil’s bottom lip quivered, Grace squeezed her hand and left the apartment without another word, giving Newman a dirty look as she passed him on the way out. The spook tripped over his apology, then followed his wife, leaving Ryan to clear up in their wake. He stood there for a moment, unable to tell Eloise how very sorry he was that she’d been forced into such an invidious position.
‘Guv—’
‘Don’t!’ She walked away.
For a while, he stood there – ineffectual – staring at her bedroom door, willing her to walk back through it so they could talk, all night if necessary, so he could make it right. It remained firmly closed. No sound from within. There was no way back from this.
36
There was something delicious about killing on a Sunday, traditionally a day of worship for believers, a day of rest for those with more sense. However people chose to spend it, church, family get-together, pub roast or lazy day in the garden, these were not activities on her agenda. She had more important things in mind. There were scores to settle and she wasn’t done yet.
None of her victims had been that hard to overcome. The chosen rarely looked over their shoulder, even though they had every reason to. Take this one across the road, talking to the big fella with the dodgy moustache. He looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Well, think again, Mr Robin Charlton. Your worst nightmares are about to come true.
It was such a thrill, watching him. She liked this part. In fact she enjoyed the anticipation almost as much as the kill.
She was becoming quite the voyeur.
Meticulous research. That’s what she was about. Since her mission began, she’d learned much and with each step she’d grown in confidence. More relaxed now than ever before, she’d established that most busy professionals went about their business blinkered to the world around them, preoccupied, eyes on mobiles, attention focused on other things.
The initial execution had been challenging, of course, but not because she was new to it. She’d ended a life once before – a very long time ago – an event she could never have predicted. It was of no consequence now. She was wiser and therefore better equipped to meet new challenges. The only downside had been that the executions weren’t being reported in the press. That wouldn’t do. She’d have to think of a way to make them sit up and take notice.
Ooh! Boy Wonder was on the move.
She was facing the other way, watching his reflection in the window of a bookshop, the perfect place to linger and browse. She turned, nodding to her accomplice to follow, while she kept her distance on her side of the road. It was important to get to know the area before they made their move – Copenhagen had taught her that. Foreign landscape. Identifiable victim. Unfamiliar logistics. Escape routes were complicated, high on her priority list, nothing she couldn’t handle, once she’d done a little homework.
Then as now, a quick stroll around Google sorted her out. In the end, the Ambassador had been dispensed with swiftly and efficiently. Still, a foray abroad and out of her comfort zone had acted as a stark reminder to take it slow.
As she kept pace with her target she remembered the heart-stopping moment when the wheel almost came off. The date was etched on her memory: Friday, 26 July. She’d been watching the embassy when a security detail appeared, heading in her direction – a situation she found as exhilarating as it was alarming. Not so her accomplice. His bottle went completely. Daft sod had actually looked at her, a terrified expression under his peaked cap. How many times had she drilled it into him: No eye contact. Act like a tourist. Take photos. Pretend you’re on the phone. Whatever you do, keep your distance. If he did it again, she’d have a decision to make. It would leave her short-handed, but she could ill afford to carry someone who wasn’t pulling their weight. She wouldn’t think twice about ending their association. Period.
As things turned out, the threat failed to materialize. The security patrol moved away, apparently unconcerned about two strangers lurking in the vicinity. From then on she was more careful. With patience came a lucky break, a change of security staff alleviating her problem, lessening the chances of being clocked in close proximity to the perimeter fence.
Some things were just meant to be.
Two days later, her target walked out of the building into bright sunshine, not a care in the world. The diminutive figure was instantly recognizable from images she’d found online. The Internet really was an offender’s best friend. He was a handsome man with greying hair, a touch overweight, gait on the sluggish side, his attire more casual than she’d expected, given his lofty title and status within the Danish community. With the confidence of a statesman, he nodded to the officer on the gate, donning a pair of sunglasses, a relaxed pose. Swiping his access card, he stepped out onto the pavement, leaving behind the safety of the embassy.
No bodyguard.
No shit!
A tingle of excitement ran down her back. Boy Wonder had stopped at a pedestrian crossing. She raised her camera to her face, loving the sound of the shutter as she captured his image. Like the diplomat, this target didn’t have a fucking clue that his demise was imminent.