Revenger

88

Carver was still on his park bench. He had just wired more than sixty thousand pounds from the account of one of the Panamanian-registered shell companies he used to hide the very large amounts of money he had earned from killing bad men — and the much smaller amounts obtained by keeping good ones safe. He had made the deal that would secure his escape. But where was Novak? Why hadn’t she replied?

Celina Novak gave considerable thought to the tools she would need for the job she had in mind. She selected a knife: the very knife, in fact, with which Petrova had just so feebly attacked her. To that she added a pair of secateurs, found in the same cupboard as the duct tape. There were large ceramic flower pots arrayed on the terrace outside. Perhaps the American had liked to fill them with plants in the spring and summer and tend them himself. Perhaps he’d fancied that he had — what was the English saying? — green fingers. How apt.

Novak found the sharpening steel that the American had used to sharpen his precious knives. She turned on the gas hob to full flame and laid the steel on top of it. She was just wondering what to do next when she heard a groan from the hall. Grantham was waking up.

Novak walked back to him and kicked him in the head again, but that wasn’t exactly a long-term solution. So she got down on her haunches and took off Grantham’s shoes. Underneath were two sweaty, stretchy black woollen knee socks. Perfect.

Grimacing slightly at the smell, she took the socks off, too. Then she rolled one into a ball, pulled the end back over the ball to hold it in place, forced open Grantham’s mouth and shoved the sock in. Before Grantham could spit it out, Novak pulled the other sock across his face, and, stretching it to the utmost, knotted it tight round the back of his head. The tied sock pulled hard against Grantham’s mouth, shoving the rolled-up one deeper down into his throat, making him retch, and pulling his lips back in a grotesque parody of a smile.

She went back to the kitchen and turned the sharpening steel so that both sides would be heated equally. It was almost time to begin, but if she wanted her party to go with a swing, she needed a full complement of guests. Carver wouldn’t be far away, she was sure of it: no more than five minutes, ten at the most.

She called the men in the car outside.

‘Carver will be coming here soon,’ she said. ‘He will be in a hurry and therefore more likely to be careless. Remain alert and let me know the second you first see him.’

The only issue now was time. There was a lot to do, and only a few minutes in which to do it. She hurried to the cleaning cupboard, took the most powerfully caustic drain-cleaning fluid she could find, and brought it through to the bedroom. Then she went to get the rest of her tools, except for the sharpening steel. That would stay on the gas hob gathering heat until the very moment that it was needed.

Before she began she wrote a quick text: ‘Hello, Sam. I have your bitch. Just about to leave my mark on her. Gingerxxx’

Novak sent the message. Then she took the top off the drain cleaner and placed the plastic bottle right under Petrova’s nose so that she could not escape its powerful, ammoniac vapours. Immediately Petrova started coughing and gasping for breath, only to find that the duct tape across her mouth was making it impossible for her to do so. That jolted her into consciousness. Unfortunately it also put her in danger of suffocation, and Novak was obliged to loosen the tape for a few seconds until Petrova could calm her breathing again. Before she had recovered enough to scream for help, Novak stuck the tape back down again.

Then she smiled and said, ‘Hello, Alexandra. I’m so glad you’re awake. I think we’ll have so much more fun together if you know exactly what I’ve got planned…’