The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

but it was often talked about,” Ryan Beard paused like he knew he shouldn’t reveal more, but it was going to come out now regardless. Caroline didn’t try to stop him, so he continued. “There was an embassy man, old school, long time serving. He managed to skim money from SIS over the years. It grew to treachery and selling secrets. He was beyond the realms of even Kim Philby, because unlike Philby, he remained undetected for so long. His treachery was never made public. He cost the British GDP billions, he set NATO back decades, because the shift in North Korean, Chinese and Russian technology shifted so quickly as a direct result of the secrets he sold. We lost our edge. He levelled the playing field, so to speak.” Beard slowed as he negotiated the on-ramp then accelerated. They joined the highway and the road felt like silk under the vehicle’s tyres. “The Reaper knew this man. And the man knew The Reaper. He knew his reputation. He killed the man with a cup of coffee…”

“What?”

Ryan Beard nodded. “He found this man. Found him in Switzerland. He waited until the man was drinking coffee outside a café on Lake Geneva and he sat down at the neighbouring table and ordered a coffee. He waited until the man looked at him and caught his eye. The story goes that he sipped his coffee and stared the man in the eyes. Those eyes are cold, so severe.”

“I like them,” Caroline commented sharply, then feared she’d looked and sounded foolish. It was true, they could be cold, but never with her.

“Well,” Beard paused, unperturbed. “Let’s just say they would never lose a staring contest. Not even with a rock.” He smiled. “Well, he stares this traitor down. His saucer in one hand, an espresso cup in the other, and he nods slowly at the man. The man looks away, and when he looks back, The Reaper has gone.”

“Bullshit!” she laughed. “Who was watching this? It’s like a scene in a film!”

“It’s a story,” Ryan said defensively. “I’m sure it’s been elaborated upon.”

“Well, I make the man’s breakfast and I can tell you, he drinks tea. I’ve never made him a coffee. Not once. Tea in a mug and he dunks his biscuits.”

“Well, the story says that it was a coffee,” Beard continued, unperturbed. “But the point is, the man looked at him and knew he was as good as dead. He wasn’t going to get away, he wasn’t going to beat him, it was over. All he could do was choose an ending. The Reaper’s, or his own. He wasn’t going to win a fight against him. He wasn’t going to get the drop on him, shoot him first. It was over. The embassy man went back to his apartment and he got very drunk and had a very hot bath and he sliced his wrist open with a very sharp kitchen knife. Right down to the bone. So deep, he couldn’t even hold the knife to cut the other wrist. Severed the tendons and opened up the arteries.”

 Caroline shuddered. “Really?”

Beard nodded. “That’s how the story goes,” he paused. “The Reaper.”

21

 

“I have to be getting back to the pathology suite to do the post-mortem.”

King ignored her. The police cordon was wrapped around the property. They must have used a whole reel of tape. He had a key, wouldn’t be long. Technically, he should have told someone he was re-entering the scene of a murder, but he didn’t know who, was still learning on the job. He just wanted to check a few things out, satisfy his curiosity. It was a long-range sniper’s bullet that had killed Sir Ian Snell. There was little to go on in the house. But he had a feeling, and he had learned to trust those over the years.

“Whose car is that?” Amanda asked. The driveway was so large, the Bentley Continental looked lost beside the fountain.

“My thoughts entirely.” He didn’t need to check the Glock tucked into the waistband of his trousers. He knew he’d loaded it and that it was within easy reach, but as he got out of the car, he casually adjusted it for a better fit. He turned to Amanda, who was reaching into the backseat for her satchel. “What’s the procedure for re-entering a crime scene after the initial investigation?”

“Seriously?” She shook her head. “I thought you had…”

King shrugged. “We’ll just have to wing it then.”

King didn’t know if the security system was in place, but he doubted it judging from the arrival of the car, which had not been here yesterday. He tried the door handle and it gave. He eased the door inwards and listened. He could hear a motor of some sort. Soft and in the background, like a washing machine on a fast cycle. He frowned at Amanda and held a finger to his lips before stepping inside.

“Worth calling out?” she whispered.

King shook his head. He could hear movement, voices upstairs. He walked across the hall and looked up at the mezzanine above. The stairs were a prominent feature, chrome and glass and marble. He started to climb the first few treads. Solid marble, utterly silent.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, but this time it was shrill and far from quiet.

“Taking a look,” he said quietly. He had long since grown to realise that whispers carried further than merely lowering your voice. “You can wait down here.”

She looked worried, shook her head. “No, I’ll stay with you.”

King carried on. He could hear more noises the further he climbed, the mezzanine echoing and carrying the noise further. He could hear the types of noise now. Not voices, not a conversation at least. Softly spoken words, instructions. A woman’s voice. There were grunts and sighs and moans. Now at the top of