Perfect Strangers

‘Exactly,’ said Fox, straightening up and holding out his hand to Sophie. ‘Which is why we need to get moving. If Josh went back there, then he’s in danger.’

Ruth noticed the distraught look on the younger woman’s face. Whoever this Josh was, Sophie was in love with him, she could tell that immediately. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and get him.’

Fox drove as fast as the twisting road along the loch would allow; mercifully it was free of traffic, with only one heart-stopping moment when they topped a rise to find a stag blocking their way. Luckily for both parties, Fox went left and the stag went right, disappearing into the bracken.

As they drove, Sophie told them the whole story: her escape from the Russians by the Thames, their journey to Paris and Cannes to track down Nick’s secret business colleague, and her shock when she discovered it was Lana Goddard-Price. And her discovery that her father had been involved in Asner’s fraudulent scheme. Ruth cursed herself for not putting that final piece in the jigsaw. She thought of the whiteboard in her living room and the spidery web of connections. She knew Nick and Lana had both been after something from Sophie: money, most likely. She knew of Peter Ellis’s connection to Lana and Lana’s to Nick – she had even been able to prove that particular one with the CCTV footage. She had even known about Peter’s connection to Michael Asner and their friendship at college. And yet who would make the leap between that seemingly casual association decades ago and being intimately involved in a huge financial fraud? Ruth supposed that was why Asner had asked Peter in the first place. Who would su

spect someone as ordinary as Peter Ellis?

As they closed in on the hunting lodge, Fox’s phone rang. Thinking it could be the Armed Response Unit, he switched it to loudspeaker.

‘Ian, it’s Gilly, how are you?’ said a female voice. Flirty, smiling. Ruth was immediately on edge.

‘Hi, Gill. Listen, I’m a bit busy at the mo, can I—’

‘Won’t be a tick,’ said the woman. ‘Just wanted to let you know we ran those prints from the biro.’

‘Wow, Gilly, that was quick,’ said Fox.

‘I was on the night shift. Besides, anything for a friend,’ said Gilly warmly.

Anything for a friend, thought Ruth, wanting to strangle the woman.

‘Anyway, I ran it through the biometric software analysis. The sample was very poor, and completely inappropriate for court use, but from the shapes of the ridges and grooves of the print, I’d say it was a match with the print on the champagne bottle from the Riverton.’

Ruth felt triumphant. Lana Goddard-Price had killed Nick. It wasn’t exactly a smoking gun, but it proved she had picked up the bottle – an empty bottle, Sophie had testified to that. Even a mediocre barrister could make a jury see that there really was no reason to pick up the bottle other than to use it as a weapon.

Fox cut the forensics woman off abruptly for another call coming through. It was the team leader from the Armed Response Unit saying that three men had arrived at the lodge.

‘Is Lana Goddard-Price there?’ asked Fox urgently.

‘Affirmative. White male, thirties, with her.’

‘Can you identify the three men?’ said Fox.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the voice. ‘They’re on the move. Spotter’s seen a gun, we’re going in.’

‘They must be Sergei’s men,’ said Sophie.

‘Shit,’ cried Fox, banging his hand on the steering wheel. ‘How far do you think we are, Sophie?’

‘Not far,’ she replied. ‘I recognise the farm over there; we can only be a mile away at most.’

‘Let’s see how fast this thing can go,’ he mumbled, adding a burst of speed that jerked them all back in their seats.

They reached the lodge within a minute. It was surrounded by Armed Response Unit vehicles, and at least ten officers in bulletproof jackets and helmets. As the car screeched to a halt, Ruth’s eyes widened as she saw Lana Goddard-Price on the porch steps, being held in a stranglehold by a shaven-headed man.

Fox jumped out of the car and ran to an officer holding a walkie-talkie. Welded to their car seats, neither Ruth nor Sophie dared move. The air was so quiet, Ruth could hear the rustle of wind in the trees.

‘Has he got a weapon?’ hissed Sophie.

‘They suspect so,’ said Ruth, seeing the gentle arch of Lana’s back, as if she had the barrel of a gun pushed into it.

A crackly voice through a loudspeaker pierced the silence.

‘Drop your weapon,’ it ordered through the static.

‘He’s going to kill her,’ gasped Sophie, hearing the loud co-ordinated click of the armed officers cocking their weapons.