Dead Man's Gift 02 - Last Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

table.’
    He booted it up before logging on to the Hotmail address he’d given T Rex. There was a new email from an unknown sender, and Scope opened it and stared at a photo of the top half of a fat man with an egg-shaped head topped with a few desperate strands of sandy hair. He was wearing the kind of confident, slightly superior expression you saw on club doormen, and he was dressed in a well-cut suit that looked too expensive for most coppers.
    ‘Christ, who’s he?’ said Orla, looking over his shoulder.
    ‘You’ve never seen him before?’
    ‘Definitely not. I’d remember an ugly sod like that. Is he something to do with Phil?’
    Scope deleted the email and turned to face her.
    ‘You don’t need to know. All I’d advise you to do right now is keep your head down and wait for all this to blow over. Let me worry about finding Tim Horton’s son.’
    Orla looked up at him, her expression serious. ‘Look, I know I messed up with Tim. He was actually quite a nice guy, and I’m gutted that my actions got his son kidnapped, I really am. Whatever you think, I’ve got morals, and I want to help.’
    Scope eyed her as dispassionately as he could under the circumstances, even though a part of him just wanted to tear off that gown and make love to her. It struck him that she could be a useful assistant as long as he made sure to keep her out of danger.
    He nodded. ‘Okay. But do me a favour. Get some clothes on. We need to get back to my car, and fast.’

14
    The hotel room was small, bare and cold. Outside the window, Tim Horton could hear the low, rhythmic rumbling of the early morning commuter trains as they made the final approach into Paddington Station.
    He’d been here for more than two hours now, sitting on the unmade single bed, staring at the wall. Alone and waiting. He looked at his watch constantly, knowing that each passing minute brought him closer to the end. It was less than four hours until Matt Cohen – the sports agent who purportedly knew more about match fixing in English football games than anyone else – appeared at the select committee hearing. He was sure they wanted him to kill Cohen before he made any dramatic revelations. But how? He was a career politician, not ex-SAS. He was incapable of killing anyone. Even with his son’s life at stake.
    On the way here, he’d thought about calling Scope again, this time to find out how close he was to locating Max, but had stopped himself, not just because he didn’t want to risk it, but also because, if Scope hadn’t made progress, then in a way it was better not to know. He needed a sliver of hope right now, however small. Guilt was weighing heavily on him, but only because he wasn’t angry with himself for requesting Scope’s help. Ultimately, he felt he’d had no choice. Not when the alternative was … death. The word was so harsh and final. Just the thought of it made him break out into a cold, nauseous sweat.
    The phone rang in his suit pocket. It was a blocked number. He answered on the third ring.
    ‘Hello, Mr Horton,’ said the kidnapper, his voice calm. ‘I see you’re in the room.’
    ‘I got here a few hours ago,’ Tim said wearily.
    ‘I want you to know that your son is sleeping soundly. He’s fine now, and if you do what you’re instructed to do, he’ll be back safe and sound with your wife this afternoon. That’s what your sacrifice will achieve. A chance for your son to grow up and have his own children.’
    Tim didn’t say anything. There was really nothing to say.
    ‘In the cupboard opposite the bed, there’s a coat hanging up. Remove it from the hanger.’
    ‘I want to speak to my son. I need to check he’s okay.’
    ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
    ‘Look, if I’m going to do this –’
    ‘You
are
going to do this. And you’re
not
going to speak to your son. Now do as you’re told.’
    The kidnapper’s words exposed Horton’s impotence. Feeling exhausted and beaten, he slowly got up