Ratcatcher - By Tim Stevens Page 0,63

him was an hour ago. They’re out of town, heading south. He’s sticking with them.’

‘Red herring.’

‘Maybe. Richard’s back at the office, doing what he can with the background we’ve unearthed on Rodina – which isn’t much – and phoning the few contacts we have around the city, trying to get a new lead on Fallon.’ She looked over. ‘So tell me.’

Purkiss took a breath and gave it to her, how he’d got the address from the satnav, his and Kendrick’s investigation of the farm, Abby and the call from Fallon. She absorbed it in silence.

When he’d finished she said, ‘Lots that doesn’t add up.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘This barn.’

‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about it.’

‘And?’

‘It could be a hangar.’ He glanced round at Kendrick, who shrugged.

‘The thought had crossed my mind, yeah.’

Purkiss stared ahead at the rain that was starting to come harder against the windscreen. ‘So they’re planning to, what – fly a plane in and bomb the summit at the War Memorial? Crash into it like 9/11?’

‘They’d never get close,’ said Elle. ‘There’s a ten-kilometre no-fly zone radiating from the site, including over the sea. The airspace will be jam-packed with security. Any aircraft seriously violating the exclusion zone will be shot out of the sky, no questions asked.’

Silence again for a few moments. Elle said, ‘Something else. Not new information, but there’s a possible connection.’

Purkiss waited.

‘Five months ago there was a heist just outside Tallinn. Two armoured vans carrying currency from one of the big banks were attacked in the forest by what must have been a heavily armed gang. There were no survivors, every one of the guards was shot dead. But the sides of the vans had been blown open with RPG rounds. It was huge news at the time, one of the biggest hauls in Estonia’s history. Two hundred and fifty million krooni. That’s over sixteen million euros.’

‘Kuznetsov’s crew, you think?’

‘Possibly. The police made no progress, at least none they disclosed publicly. A well-trained team, carrying out a military-style ambush with sophisticated weapons… Kuznetsov’s definitely up there on the board.’

Through the trees was the glimmer of the horizon’s lights.

‘Where are we going now?’ said Elle.

‘To the hotel where our friend was when she got taken. To ask if anyone saw anybody matching Fallon’s description, and to search her room.’

‘It’s what Fallon would expect you to do.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And he’s probably got it under surveillance.’

‘I hope so. From now on I’m putting myself in harm’s way wherever I can. It’s the only way in.’

They crested a hill There was the city in the near distance, its brightness blurred by the rain, the firefly glow of helicopters sparking here and there above it. She skirted the centre, Purkiss assumed to avoid the roadblocks and detours as he had earlier. Still progress was slow once they reached the commercial hub.

Elle’s phone rang in its cradle on the dashboard. She glanced at the display, said, ‘Rossiter,’ and hit the speakerphone button.

A rasp, a wheeze, and a burst of static. Then, harsh but clear, Rossiter’s voice.

‘Elle. It’s… Teague. Chris Teague. He’s the one…’

‘Richard?’ Her voice rose.

‘He’s… I’ve been stabbed…’

TWENTY-FOUR

He sprawled on the living room carpet with his back propped against a sofa, hands clamped to a wad of bloodied cloth against his chest. The room was a riot of disorder. A coffee table sagged in splintered halves, a heavy armchair lay overturned by what could only have been the impact of a human bulk. Glass from smashed ornaments was splashed across the carpet.

Rossiter’s teeth were bared and clenched, the breath hissing through them in rapid jerks, sweat sheening his face and slicking his sparse hair to his brow. The carpet was a Pollock painting of cream fabric and spattered blood, a broader smudge marking his path across the floor to his current position.

Elle had said, ‘Where are you,’ and he replied, ‘At my flat,’ and she said ‘We’re two minutes away. I’ll call an ambulance.’ He said, ‘No. No ambulance, it’s not that serious,’ the sibilants drawn out like air from a tyre. Elle seemed to Purkiss to be debating. Then she hung up and hauled the wheel sideways. The car crossed the corner of a pavement.

The flat was a second-floor one. They took the stairs three at a time, Purkiss and Elle in the lead, Elle holding the pistol from the car low at her thigh, Kendrick in the rear with the rifle, doing what he could to conceal it across the short distance between the car and the entrance to the