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

official, bring the police into the mix and place her in the openness of the system. But if someone was willing to sanction the assassination of a British intelligence officer, there would be others. She knew that trusting the South Africans was now a risk. All she could hope for was to do the job she’d been sent to do and get back on her flight home.

23

 

King led the way down the stairs and across the hall. Amanda followed, still carrying her medical bag. King turned and watched her, she didn’t look confident and carried the bag like a child carried a satchel on their first day at school.

“What now?” she asked. “You fought that man, beat him up. He might press charges.”

King said nothing. He made his way into the kitchen, hunting the source of the monotonous sound. The dishwasher was running, nearing the end of its cycle judging from the light display. King squatted down and studied the display. He gave up, simply opened it to disrupt the cycle. The steam clouded his face and some drips of hot water splashed out. He looked at the load. Nothing but a few coffee cups. He looked past the steam and water dripping from the spinners. It was a set of six cups, large, a curious curvaceous shape to them. Most likely an expensive set, but in one of the homes of the fourth richest man in the world, King supposed they were bespoke and made by a prominent up and coming artist. He doubted they were from The Range.

King got back up, left the door of the dishwasher open. He walked to the cupboards and started opening them. At the third wall unit, he found the coffee pot and milk jugs, even a small creamer.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the man said from behind him. “You pulled a gun on me. You do that again, I fucking kill you!”

King turned around and smiled. “Shall we see?” He smiled. “Back off, Ivan. The gun can come out and play anytime.”

The man squared up obstinately. He had pulled on a loose-fitting shirt and a pair of jeans. They were fashionable, expensive. King thought they would look more suitable on a man ten-years younger. He turned his eyes to Helena Snell. She had barely put on anything at all. A slip and a silk dressing gown. It was short and barely covered her dignity. For what little she had.

“Why are you here? Why are you trespassing?” Helena asked.

“I’m asking the questions,” King said. “Do cousins do that where you come from? It gets cold in the Ukraine. Do you keep warm at night doing your own cousin?” Amanda frowned, but both Helena and the man glanced at each other. King leaned back against the counter top. “So, you met Snell, fell in love and married. Sweet. Then you brought over your cousin,” he paused, looking at the man. “Ivan Kerchenko. Ex-army captain and a former bodyguard to Vladamir Putin, no less. So perfectly qualified to look after the wife of one of the richest men on the planet.” King shook his head. “Ivan Kerchenko, your cousin.” Helena looked at the man beside her. She bowed her head, was about to speak, but King cut her off. “Except, it’s not Ivan Kerchenko, and he’s not your cousin.” He turned and stared at the man. “Viktor Bukov. You served with Helena’s cousin in the military and borrowed his identity. You had similar skills and experience, except you later served in Spetsnaz.”

“Spetsnaz?” Amanda asked. “What’s that?”

King smiled. “Russia’s best of the best. Their equivalent to our TA. That’s territorial army.”

“Your SAS!” Bukov screamed.

“If you say so chum.”

“Except we’d eat your SAS!” Bukov sneered.

“Of course you would,” King smiled. “It looked that way when you were butt naked and unconscious upstairs.”

Bukov took a step forwards, closing the gap between them. “Watch what you say!”

“I’m right here, mate. No need to stop walking,” King said coldly.

“Viktor,” Helena said quietly. “Calm down. They are here to ask questions. To investigate Ian’s murder. We must cooperate.”

King winked at Bukov. “Do what your boss says, Viktor. There’s a good lad. You’ve had knock on the head, maybe you should take a seat and have a mug of warm milk and a cookie.” He looked at the cupboard with the remainder of the of the set of cups. “Oh, hang on, you seem to be out of mugs.” He looked at the open dishwasher. “So, what’s that all about?”

“You’re here to talk about coffee cups?” Helena scoffed.

“And you’re here to have sex with your long-term lover less than twenty-hours after someone blew your husband’s brains all over the patio,” King paused, looked at Amanda. “Are they even meant to be here?”

She hesitated, looked at them both, then back to King. “No,” she said. “The tape meant it’s still off-limits. There was a non-admittance order taken out. There was meant to be another twenty-four hours to allow for the autopsy and subsequent findings before anyone was granted access.”

“So, washing dishes in the middle of a murder investigation would be a bit of a no-no then?” King said, off-handed. “Well, to me, that would look like cleaning up something you didn’t want found in an investigation.”

“We had some coffee,” Helena said, tiresomely. “So, sue me, that is, if you can afford to,” she scoffed.

“And the sex?” King mused.

“I fuck who I want!” she snapped.

“I suspect your husband wasn’t aware he was employing your lover to look after you in that way. He had his own protection team, you must have had to convince him to circumvent it, have your own personal close protection. And from what I’ve seen, you don’t get any closer than that.”

“You know shit,” she replied. “Have you read Lady Chatterley’s Lover?”

“It never made my