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

“Her last contact was with me in that bathroom,” King corrected him. “In person. I’ve told you this. I’ve told the damage containment and limitation team this. And I’ve said the same thing to the police.”

“But there are no witnesses, Alex. Amanda Cunningham’s body was found in the mouth of the Thames. She didn’t drown. Post mortem showed suffocation, but no DNA after water submersion. Sir Hugo Hollandrake suffered a fatal cardiac arrest and Viktor Bukov was found shot to death on top of a high-rise building.”

“With a loaded rifle in his hands aimed at billionaire Gipri Bashwani’s office window. The containment team cleared his body away, made the right call, I imagine?”

“Of course.”

“So, what are you saying?” King glared at him. “Because it sounds a lot like you are accusing me of knowing what happened to Caroline…” King was angry, but he felt a wave of emotion, forced himself not to breakdown. He had searched for her to the point of exhaustion, grieved without a body and while the crisis team had investigated, he had taken his suspension in total isolation from civilisation.

“I can read between the lines, Alex,” Mereweather said.

“You’re reading from the wrong page, then. I got to Caroline in time to save her. I left the parabolic microphone running. You would have heard the conversation between Amanda and Caroline, of myself and Caroline when I reached her. It’s all in my report.”

Mereweather nodded. “You had better come back with me, Alex,” he paused. “There was no microphone found in your car.”

King shook his head. “The man called Giorgi, you have his body.”

“When you returned to the house, saw that Caroline was gone, was his body there?”

“Of course!”

“There was no body, Alex. Now, I’m not disputing gunplay, but there was no body, and the area had been bleached, so no DNA.”

“They covered their tracks…”

“So it would seem.”

“What about Helena?”

Mereweather pulled a face. He reached into his jacket’s inside pocket, froze when he saw the small semi-automatic pistol in King’s hand. He held it low, almost resting it on his hip. “Take it easy,” he said. “It’s just a letter.”

King nodded. But he did not move the pistol. “While we’re at it, let’s see what you’re carrying.”

“For God’s sake, Alex!” Mereweather said. He stared at him, but couldn’t begin to match the intensity he met. King was gaunt, hollowed out and it showed in his glacier cold eyes. Mereweather unbuttoned his jacket, lifted it up and turned a full circle slowly. “Happy?” he asked, but regretted using the word.

“Not remotely.” King pocketed the pistol and took the letter from him. He read it, noted the handwriting. Then he studied it, broke it down line by line, hoping he could infer something tangible other than spite.

May 19th

Mr King,

You have cost me everything. You took away my security, my claim to a fortune rightfully mine. You cost me my freedom. And you ruined my future. You know what happened to my lover, while I lay awake, not knowing of his fate, and that I will likely never see him again. Never feel his touch on my skin, hear his voice.  

But I have changed your life too. What a month you must have had! You must ache for your lover. The uncertainty of what happened to her hurts you inside like an infected wound. You are viewed with suspicion by your employers. You have nowhere to go, no friends to turn to. I did this to you. I changed your future also.

I want you to know who did this to you. I want you to picture me in your sleep. In those darkest of hours, where demons goad you, rule over you, control you.

And now to Caroline. Your beautiful, feisty Caroline. I am enjoying her company. You will, by now, know of my past. Forced into becoming a whore. Passed around to filthy men, a prize, a sweetener for business deal after business deal. I escaped that life, but ended up in the same trap, before meeting my husband. Oh, and what a brute he was too. Like the men on the Black Sea coast, those casino goers who would win at the roulette and buy me, my body – though my heart was never for sale. You see, he would beat me and bully me, and no amount of his money was worth that life. Viktor gave me the love and affection that my husband never would. And now, as I look at your beautiful Caroline, I see a woman who has seen none of this. A woman who gives herself to a man only when she is loved. A pristine example of a privileged life. She has loved few, and she has done so with all her heart. Shall I take this woman and make her a prize? Shall I see that she spends the rest of her days chained to a bed, screwing men for her own survival, or drugs, or perhaps just for food? Or shall I use her to gain more. Maybe if there were a man who would do absolutely anything to save her? Maybe if there was a man with skills I could use, manipulate for my own gains?

But there is such a man. And now I own him also. Because I know that you will do what is asked, because for you, Alex King, your payment is here, and I can control you in a way you have never known. I have your life in my hand. I can give it to you, I can take it from you, or I can destroy it in front of you.

There is a post office in the town of Sodertalje, near Stockholm, Sweden. It is on a crossroads with a coffee shop to its right and a sweet shop to its left. There