He waited until he was back at the car before phoning Halpin. ‘It’s all in hand,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
‘About half an hour away,’ said Halpin.
‘Okay, I’m going to head to the club. I’ll be there all night. You take the boat out, dump her when it’s dark.’
‘Consider it done,’ said Halpin.
Richards ended the call, climbed into his Porsche and drove to central London.
CHAPTER 57
It was starting to get dark when Halpin arrived at the marina. He was with Sonny Parker, the man that Richards hired to drive the boat. Parker was in his late fifties, grey haired and his skin leathered from years in the sun. He’d been a keen yachtsman in his teens, crewing for wealthy owners year-round, and in his twenties he had sailed around the world single-handed in a thirty-foot yacht. In his thirties, he made a living smuggling cannabis from North Africa into the UK and, as a result, spent most of his forties behind bars, during which time his wife divorced him and the police seized almost all his assets. Now in his fifties, he offered his services as a freelance captain, though he did risk the occasional drugs run if the price was right. Parker worked for cash and never asked questions. He had helped dump the trunk containing Nicholas Cohen for two thousand pounds and had agreed to help Halpin with the second trunk for the same amount. He parked his car and walked with Parker to the boat. ‘Let me have a quick look around and then you can let go the ropes,’ said Parker.
Parker headed up to the bridge while Halpin stayed in the main cabin. He picked up one end of the trunk. It was heavy and would need the two of them to get it over the side.
Halpin went through to the galley, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of lager. He was halfway through it when Parker reappeared, wearing his captain’s hat. ‘All good,’ he said. ‘Untie us and we’ll head out.’ He looked at the trunk and if he had any reservations at all about the fact it contained a body, he didn’t show it.
Halpin undid the ropes that held the boat to the pier as Parker went back to the bridge. The engine kicked into life and, as Halpin went up to join Parker, the boat reversed away from the pier.
The journey from the marina to the Thames Estuary could take between three and four hours, depending on the tide. Halpin sat in the high-backed grey leather chair next to Parker’s and sipped his lager as they headed along the river. Parker took them through the Thames Barrier and onwards to Dagenham, Dartford and Gravesend.
Eventually, they were out in the North Sea. Parker picked up a pair of binoculars and spent ten minutes reassuring himself there were no other vessels close by. He put down the binoculars, cut the engine and nodded at Halpin. ‘This is as good a place as any.’
‘How deep is it?’
Parker looked at the depth indicator. ‘Ninety feet.’
‘Come on, then,’ said Halpin, pushing himself out of the chair. The two men went down to the main cabin. There were handles on either end of the trunk and they grabbed one each. Halpin grunted as he lifted but Parker seemed to find it effortless. They took it through to the stern and heaved it over the side. It went straight under the waves. Almost immediately there was a flurry of bubbles as the air in the trunk burst to the surface but after a few seconds that stopped.
CHAPTER 58
Richards stayed in the club all night, mainly in the corner of the VIP room, drinking champagne and staring into the middle distance. His staff could see he was upset about something so they kept their distance. At just before midnight, his mobile rang. It was Halpin. ‘We’re heading back now,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ said Richards. He ended the call and waved over one of the waitresses.
She came over, smiling nervously. ‘Is everything okay, Mr Richards?’ she asked.
‘Get me a drink,’ he said.
‘More champagne?’
Richards shook his head. ‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘Courvoisier. With ice. And bring me the bottle.’ He stared at the table as she went off to get his drink. He wanted to get drunk and he wanted to get drunk quickly because that was the only way he could deaden the sick feeling of guilt that kept threatening to overwhelm him. He’d had no choice. He couldn’t have allowed Carolyn to live, not if that meant spending the rest of his life behind bars. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t killed before. He’d smashed Nicholas Cohen’s skull without a second’s thought and hadn’t felt one sliver of guilt at the time or since. He’d shot two men and in his teens, had knifed an Asian guy and sat and watched as he’d died, again without a moment’s regret. But Carolyn was different. He’d liked her, he’d liked her a lot. Under other circumstances he was sure he’d have taken the relationship further. But, instead, she was lying at the bottom of the North Sea in a steel chest. And he knew that was an image that was going to stay with him for a long, long time.
CHAPTER 59
Richards spent most of Sunday morning nursing a wicked hangover. He got up just after eleven and made himself tea and toast and sprawled on the sofa in front of the television watching Italian football. He didn’t remember getting home, so assumed he must have taken a taxi which meant he’d left his car in the club’s car park. At just before two he phoned Alistair Cumming, the genial Scot who managed the club.
‘Bet you’re feeling rough, boss,’ said Cumming.
‘What time did I leave?’
‘Three o’clock. You were away with the fairies so I had one of the staff drive you back in the Porsche. I didn’t want anyone taking advantage of you.’
‘I woke up in bed naked,’ said Richards. ‘Please don’t say it was the gay Russian who put me to bed.’
Cumming laughed. ‘Anita took you. And she said she got you to the bedroom, gave you a bottle of water and left you to it. Apparently getting the burglar alarm code from you took some doing but she managed.’
‘Tell her thanks,’ said Richards.
‘Will do. The car’s in the car park, she said. What’s happened to the Bentley, by the way?’
‘Got rid of it,’ said Richards. ‘It was always giving me problems.’
‘The Cayenne’s a cool car,’ said Cumming. ‘Are you in tonight?’
‘Probably not,’ said Richards. He ended the call and went to shave and shower.
As he stood in the shower with water from six high-powered jets spraying every inch of his body, he suddenly flashed to Carolyn in the trunk and he shuddered. The drug he’d given her would have kept her comatose for at least six hours so he was sure she would have been unconscious when she went into the water. Death would have been quick and painless and her last few moments of consciousness were spent drinking claret on his boat. He arched his back and let the hot water play over his face. He’d killed before and never felt like this. He’d smashed Cohen’s skull with the crystal dolphin and hadn’t regretted it. Cohen was a thieving bastard who’d stolen two million pounds from him. And Richards had told Halpin to kill Maxwell Dunbar without a second thought. Dunbar was a nasty piece of work who had been more than happy to betray Carolyn. There had been others who had died, some at Richards’ hand and some because he’d ordered it, but he had never regretted it afterwards. Until today. He took a deep breath and shook his head under the torrent of water. He really, truly, hadn’t wanted to kill Carolyn. If there had been any alternative, he would have taken it. Grabbed at it, even. She was one of the sexiest women he’d ever met, she was smart, she was fun, she was stylish, she was pretty much everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. The only downside was that she had seen him commit a murder and, for that and that alone, she had died.