DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 6-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network, The Toy Taker and The Jackdaw. Luke Delaney

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СКАЧАТЬ called them “poor bastards”. Like you felt sorry for them.’

      ‘Not sorry for what they are now,’ he told her. ‘Sorry for what made them that way. Sorry for the hell that was their childhood. Alone. Scared to death most of the time. Terrified of the very people they should have loved. Fearful of those they should have been able to turn to for protection. Sometimes, when I’m interviewing them, I don’t see a monster in front of me. I see a child. A scared little child.’

      ‘Is that what you see when you look at Hellier?’

      ‘No,’ he answered without hesitation. ‘Not yet. It’s too soon. I haven’t broken him down to make him face what he really is. When I do, I’ll know if he’s a product of his past or something else.’

      ‘Something else?’ Sally asked.

      ‘Born that way. Whether he was born bad. It’s rare, but it happens.’

      ‘And you already suspect that’s the case with Hellier.’ It wasn’t really a question.

      ‘Go home, Sally,’ he said quietly. ‘Get some rest. I’ll call Dave and set up an office meeting for the morning. We’ll talk then, but right now you need to go home, and so do I.’

      Hellier typed the password fuck them all. The false screen began to break away by design. When it was gone it was replaced by a screen filled with twenty-four different banks’ insignia. Many of the major banks of the developed world were shown, as well as several more specialized ones. They all held accounts belonging to Hellier: some in that name, others in aliases he’d invented. He had excellent forged documents hidden across Europe, Northern America, the Caribbean, the Middle East and South East Asia.

      He’d created this website, which appeared to offer advice to private individuals considering purchasing stocks and shares, particularly shares in financial institutions; its main purpose, however, was to hide his complex network of bank accounts and the locations of the false identities that would allow him to access them. There were so many he could never have hoped to remember them all. But with this hidden guide, no matter where he was in the world, provided he could access the Internet he could access his funds.

      The priority was to empty his UK and USA accounts. The others couldn’t be touched by UK authorities. Fucking Americans, he thought, always happy to slam shut accounts on the flimsiest of suspicions. Always so keen to help Scotland fucking Yard. Sycophants.

      He worked fast. He would be at the terminal for hours, but by the time he was finished the vast majority of his considerable wealth would have been transferred to South East Asia and the Caribbean. Out of the reach of the police. Now, if he had to run, he wouldn’t have to be poor too. There were many places in this world where a man’s tastes were only restricted by the depth of his wealth.

      Donnelly and DC Zukov were hidden in the office building almost directly opposite Hellier’s. Donnelly was half asleep on the sofa when he felt the phone clipped to his waistband vibrate. The display told him it was Sean. ‘Guv’nor.’

      ‘Where’s Hellier now?’

      ‘Still at work, like us.’

      ‘He’s up to something.’

      ‘I’m sure he probably is.’

      ‘I’ve found another murder Hellier may have committed.’

      ‘What?’ Donnelly sat bolt upright.

      ‘About three and a half weeks ago. A teenage runaway found dead out by the Ford factory.’

      Donnelly’s eyes darted left and right as he thought hard. ‘I remember. It was on the news, right?’

      ‘Yeah, but it’s still unsolved. No suspects. I met the DI running the inquiry. They’ve got nothing.’

      ‘How though …’ Donnelly was a little confused. ‘How did you connect it to ours?’

      ‘Long story, bad time,’ Sean said. ‘Phone around and organize an office meeting for the morning. I’ll update you then.’ Sean hung up before Donnelly could ask any more questions.

      ‘Fuck it,’ Donnelly said out loud.

      DC Zukov lowered his binoculars and turned to Donnelly. ‘Problem?’ he asked.

      ‘Aye, son,’ Donnelly replied. ‘But nothing we can’t handle.’

      Hellier sat in the deep leather chair. It creaked satisfyingly. He’d completed the transfers. It had taken him less than three hours to move over two million pounds out of his UK and American accounts. He’d left a nominal few thousand in each, to keep them fluid.

      He buried the account details in the concealed web page and exited the Internet. He was happy with his night’s work. Extremely happy. He couldn’t help laughing. God, if they could see him, sitting here in the dark laughing to himself, they really would think him mad. He was anything but.

      It was time to get home. He cleaned up the desk and took one last look around the room to make sure nothing had been overlooked, then returned to his own office. Leaving the lights on, he went to the window and peeked out the corner of the venetian blinds. They made a plastic tinkling sound.

      He had an excellent view of the road below. It was always busy, no matter what time of day or night. He could still feel the police close by. It was of no matter tonight; there were others of more concern to him than the police. The press. The vile media. They had the power to ruin him merely by rumour. They wouldn’t be interested in proof. They wanted a story to titillate the masses. Something for people to drool over at breakfast. They wanted him. He couldn’t afford to let them take a single photograph. He couldn’t afford to be recognized.

      Sally parked close to the entrance of the building where she lived in Fulham, West London. She let herself in and moved quickly through the communal areas. Dim hallway lights helped her. She tried to keep the noise down. She was a good neighbour. She entered her flat and locked the door.

      Following her usual routine, she turned on the lamp in the far corner first. She preferred its gentle light to the overheads. Next she flicked the TV on, for company, then moved into the kitchen, opened the fridge and scanned the contents before closing it again. Maybe she’d have more luck in the freezer. She did. A freezing bottle of raspberry vodka rested on its side. Grabbing it by the neck, she looked around for a clean glass. There was one by the sink. She poured a good measure of the thick vodka and threw the bottle back into the freezer.

      Sally sat at her kitchen table and rocked back on her chair, kicking her shoes off, the drink in front of her. She pulled the cigarettes from her handbag and lit one. It must have been the thirtieth of the day. She thought about stubbing it out, but hey, cigarettes cost a fortune these days. Covering a mortgage on a flat in this part of London didn’t leave much in the kitty for luxuries.

      Staring at the walls suddenly brought on pangs of loneliness. Being thirty-something and single hadn’t been part of her life-plan. The partner thing had just never happened. There had been lovers, two of whom had been close to measuring up to her standards, only to fall away as the stakes were increased.

      The fact of the matter was most men were simply intimidated by her. Being a female police officer was bad enough, but a detective sergeant – that scared the crap out of them. The only ones who weren’t scared off СКАЧАТЬ