The Wreckage - Michael Robotham [110]
At the same time he had accepted the fact that, as a police officer, in all probability, he would become an instrument that delivered irreparable harm to a variety of individuals; some who designed their own destinies; others who were simply bystanders. He could even argue that occasionally innocent people are expedient and might have to die or go to prison for the benefit of many.
What had changed? Why is he now so determined to protect Holly Knight against forces he can never hope to identify, let alone defeat? Maybe there is a bit of Don Quixote in all men his age. They tilt at windmills because they don’t want to grow old.
Joe is still waiting for an explanation.
“Holly saw a TV report—the one about the missing banker,” says Ruiz. “She and Zac robbed him a week ago.”
Joe holds his drink to his lips, but it doesn’t go any further. The information warrants a pause.
“You think the disappearance is related to Zac’s murder?”
“I’m working on that theory.”
“I can’t imagine a banker being the sort who would torture someone. It takes a very special individual to rip off pieces of flesh with a set of pliers.”
“I take it you mean ‘special’ in a negative way.”
“A psychopath or someone wired to the eyeballs.”
“Maybe the guy had a meltdown.”
“Over what?”
“Embezzling funds. Laundering money. Something illegal.”
“That still doesn’t explain why everyone is so interested in finding Holly Knight. What did they steal?”
“Good question.”
“She must have some idea.”
“Maybe it’s not obvious. Maybe she doesn’t know.”
The two men drink in silence, contemplating the path ahead. Ruiz raises his glass and works his throat, wipes his lips, belches quietly.
“I want you to look after her.”
“Me?”
“My phones are being tapped and they’re following me, so you might have to keep her safe.”
“Where is she?”
“A tourist hotel in Bayswater.” Ruiz scratches at his jaw, making a sandpaper sound. “You should talk to her. Do that thing you do.”
“What thing?”
“The mental picturing.”
“A cognitive interview?”
“That’s it. Find out what she can’t remember. If she’s hiding something.” Ruiz glances at a kissing couple. One of the bridesmaids is giving mouth-to-mouth to her boyfriend. “You can’t go home to Rainville Road. Stay at the hotel with Holly. Do you have any cash?”
“A little.”
“Find a hole in the wall and get cashed up. After that don’t use credit or debit cards. Cabs rather than public transport. No Oyster cards.”
“Is all that really necessary?”
“They’re trying to get to Holly through me and they’ll know about you soon enough.”
Ruiz still has the professor’s mobile. He removes the SIM card and hands it back.
“How do I contact you?”
Ruiz scrawls a phone number on the back of a business card. “You call and leave a message with Capable Jones. Use a public call box well away from the hotel. Don’t use my name on an open connection or the computers will kick in. Don’t stay too long on the line.”
“Now you’re starting to scare me.”
“It’s going to be fine. I’m just thinking ahead.”
“I hear that great chess players can think five moves ahead.”
“I’m not a great chess player.”
“How many moves ahead are you?”
“One.”
“That doesn’t seem like enough.”
“It is when it’s the right one.”
28
LONDON
Late evening, the weather has turned. Wind thrashes branches against the sides of houses and rattles rain against the windows. Keeping to the shadows, he approaches the house from the darkest end of the street, using the trees to shield himself. Rain sluices off the brim of his baseball cap as he studies the rear façade, noticing the downpipes and windows. There is a light on in the upstairs bathroom, a woman moving behind the frosted glass. Steam rolling across the light, fogging the mirror, condensing on the tiles.
Leaves cling to his wet shoulders, making him look like an extension of the hedge, more plant than animal, more