Wheel of Fire

Nineteen

Bella took rather longer than usual applying her make-up and drying and styling her hair. She always thought that appearance was important, today it seemed even more so.

Her father had had a saying which, many years ago, she’d taken on board as a kind of mantra. Never let the act drop.

Even now she would try to live up to that for as long as possible, but she was well aware that if she went ahead with her avowed intention to reveal all to DI Vogel, that might become increasingly more difficult.

Once satisfied with her appearance, Bella quickly packed her bag, then sat down with more room service coffee to make some phone calls — mostly to continue to rearrange her London life — and to text her daughter. Her message merely sent love and asked Kim to call her mother as soon as possible. It was lesson time, and pupils at Kim’s boarding school were not allowed to take phones into the classroom. However, Bella knew that her daughter checked her phone as frequently as she could, in free periods and during lunch and other breaks, and confidently expected to hear from her before the day was out. She didn’t know yet exactly what she was going to say to Kim. She did know how much she needed to hear her daughter’s voice.

Bella eventually left the hotel just after ten thirty a.m. She had a fair run along the M5 and M4, and into London, arriving at her Chelsea Harbour apartment just under three hours later. Her phone rang as she was about to pull into the underground car park. The caller was her daughter. Bella pulled to a halt by the car park entrance in order to maintain a signal.

‘Is something wrong, Mum?’ asked Kim almost straight away. ‘You sound funny.’

Bella smiled to herself. That was the trouble with daughters. And sons too, she suspected. They knew you too well.

‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ she lied. ‘Well, except for dealing with the aftermath of the fire. And your grandfather, and everything. I’ve just got back from Somerset. It’s not been easy...’

‘Of course not, Mum, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been upset, too. But it must be really horrid for you.’

Not for the first time Bella wondered how she had managed to produce such a kind and sensitive daughter. These were not known Fairbrother attributes.

‘It’s all right, darling,’ she replied. ‘Just a lot to sort out, that’s all.’

‘And, well, I know you and Grandad didn’t get on, and all that, and we hadn’t seen him in yonks, but the fire was such a shock, wasn’t it?’ Kim continued. ‘An awful way for anyone to die. Are you sure you don’t want me to come home for a few days? Miss Jackson’s already said I could, any time I want. I can go and see her straightaway...’

‘No, Kim. You stay where you are. For the time being, anyway. I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.’

That, at least, was the truth. Unlike much of the rest of what she had said, thought Bella.

After a brief further chat Bella ended the call, having promised that the two would speak again that evening. She knew she might only be delaying the inevitable, but she had chosen to decide then, after her meeting with DI Vogel, exactly what she should tell her daughter.

She carried on into the car park, then made her way up to her penthouse apartment. The river view normally brought her almost instant peace and contentment, to a certain degree, even on a bad day. But there had never been a day as bad as this.

She made herself a mug of tea, sat down at the table by the window, and opened the briefcase Freddie had given her. Their father’s will was on top. She removed it and opened the buff envelope. The will seemed to be exactly as Freddie had described it. The other papers were all neatly stacked below. It would be, as she had always known, a complex job to unravel the tangle of trust funds and investments which she had been led to believe would allow a vast input of cash into the bank once her father’s death had been registered. Then there were the hedge funds. A nightmare in themselves.

But it was a task she had been prepared to undertake, with the help of some of Fairbrother International’s most experienced and able employees. Until the fire. Until three people had died. Until she had, she believed, been made complicit in murder.

She pushed the papers to one side. Their content really made no difference. She’d made up her mind what she must do. Rather to her surprise, perhaps, her conscience would let her take no other course of action. She checked her watch. It was only twenty minutes past two. From what he had said, DI Vogel would be another hour or so at least. She wanted to get their meeting over with as quickly as possible. The idea of waiting more than an hour seemed interminable.

Then the entry phone rang. It seemed she would not have to wait so long after all.

She spoke into it. ‘You’re early,’ she said.

‘Are you expecting someone?’ replied a familiar male voice. A voice she recognised at once.

It was not the voice she was expecting.

‘You?’ she responded in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I have a message for you.’

‘Who from?’ asked Bella.

It was an inane question. She suddenly knew only too well who the message must be from. And so much was suddenly explained. Her caller did not even grace the question with an answer.

‘It’s a very important message,’ he continued. ‘A message that could change everything. Can I come up?’

A message that could change everything? Bella didn’t think so. But this was a caller she could not turn away, even though she had been taken completely by surprise. And she was, of course, curious. At the very least. What was his involvement exactly?

She pushed the entry button, then walked across her flat and opened the door into the outer lobby to wait the arrival of the lift. Her caller was wearing a dark grey raincoat, its hood loose on his shoulders, boots, and gloves. He looked both out of place in the smart modern apartment block, and as ill at ease as she felt. However, the heavy rain, which seemed to be as much of a permanent feature in London this October as it had been in Somerset, was still falling heavily.

She stood back to let him into the flat, and closed the door behind them.

‘So what is it? What is this very important message which has brought you all the way to London then?’

‘I have to ask you a question first,’ said her caller. ‘I believe you have a meeting with DI Vogel?’

‘How the hell do you know that?’ asked Bella.

Then she answered her own question. ‘Of course. Freddie. As weak and untrustworthy as ever. But why did he contact you?’

‘He didn’t. Not directly.’

‘Not directly? So...’ Bella paused, trying to make sense of it all. ‘So, you’re in on everything, are you?’ she asked. ‘Am I to assume that things have not been at all how they seemed, and that you have been involved all along? That’s it, isn’t it?’

Again, her caller ignored the question.

‘I have been instructed to ask you if there is any chance that you can be persuaded to cancel that meeting?’ he said.

‘Have you indeed, well, the answer is no, I cannot,’ said Bella forcibly.

‘Is there nothing that could be said which might persuade you to change your mind?’

‘After what has already happened? After three people have died? Been murdered? No. There isn’t.’

‘And you are absolutely sure of that?’

‘Yes, I most certainly am. And you can report back that I will not be bullied.’

‘Of course not,’ said the caller mildly. ‘In that case I have no choice. My orders are to give you this message.’

He slipped a gloved hand into his raincoat pocket and withdrew a hand-gun. Ironically a Glock 17, the revolver which is standard issue to arms-authorised officers throughout the UK police force. Only Bella didn’t know that. Neither would she have much cared.

She was numb with shock and disbelief. Yet at the same time her brain was buzzing, as she registered what was happening. She was starkly aware that she had made a catastrophic error of judgement — not for the first time in recent months, but, it seemed, quite probably for the last.

She hadn’t even considered that morning, when she had told Freddie of her intentions to confess all to DI Vogel, that her brother might report back in the way that he clearly had. Indeed, she’d believed him totally when he’d told her that he would cut his losses and run. After all, he’d done it before. But in any case, even had she considered it, had she suspected that he might have other plans, it still would not have occurred to her that she might be in any danger. And certainly not in danger of her life.

Even when her unexpected caller had arrived she had not, in any way, been alarmed. Why should she have been? This was not a man she had ever previously had cause to fear.

She was afraid now. Dreadfully afraid.

A part of her still could not quite believe what was happening. There she was, in her own apartment, in the middle of London, literally staring down the barrel of a gun. It was levelled at her now, pointed at her head. And there appeared to be some sort of extension fitted to the barrel. A silencer. She registered that in a detached sort of way. After all, this couldn’t be real, could it? If it was, if she was about to die, she knew, without any doubt who was responsible for ordering her death. It couldn’t be, could it?

‘No, there must be a mistake,’ she said, in a voice she did not quite recognise as her own. ‘Why are you doing this? Stop. Please. Don’t—’

But there had, it appeared, been no mistake. These were to be Bella Fairbrother’s last words. Her visitor held the gun steadily, professionally, and his aim was deadly. He pulled the trigger. There followed a dull pop.

Bella fell backwards onto the floor. She was dead before she hit the ground.

Her visitor stood for a moment looking down at the body. He stood very still, almost as if he were paying his last respects. Perhaps even regretting, for a moment, the course of action he had presumably agreed to take. Then, being careful not to touch anything, he moved across the room to the window where the briefcase Bella had been given by her brother earlier that day still lay open on the table. Using one gloved hand he replaced the papers Bella had removed from the case, closed it, picked it up, and left the apartment.

As he pushed the front door shut behind him he could hear Bella Fairbrother’s phone ringing. She would never answer it again.