BooksBarbecue
Back The Dead Line
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

‘And are you working on anything special at the moment?’

Delacroix inclined his head thoughtfully. ‘I suppose I’m selling an oil refinery.’

‘An oil refinery?’

‘Well, the machinery inside the refinery. It’s old, so it will fail the strict new regulations where it is at the moment. Red tape, you know. So tedious. But we can dismantle it, ship it, and then put it back together again. So I have to find a country where they don’t care so much about these petty rules. Nigeria, maybe. Angola, possibly. Lebanon, probably.’ His teeth gleamed for a second. ‘Yes, Lebanon.’

‘You’re impossible.’

‘If I don’t do it . . .’ he shrugged. ‘I saw you got Kuznetsov, in the end.’

‘Yes.’

‘I knew it was you.’

She had waited for a week, in a small café close to where the tender docked in Monaco. Sat there, quite invisible, in her plaid shirt and rolled-up jeans.

She had followed the girls the morning after, as they staggered off the tender, tottering away up the narrow Monaco streets.

The first three wouldn’t talk. The fourth would, trailing behind her to the police like a deflated helium balloon. When the police shrugged, she brought in the fifth the next day. Kuznetsov was arrested two days later.

‘But you never wrote about it.’

‘The women I spoke to didn’t want anything in the Post.’ Casey tilted her head to one side. ‘And he’s in jail anyway now, so it doesn’t matter. Our Paris correspondent wrote up the basic trial stuff. Not the story I wanted, but you wrecked that one . . .’

She didn’t tell Delacroix that she had come down to Monaco to find the girls on her holiday. South of France, they said in the office. Very nice.

‘Kuznetsov had it coming.’

‘Who,’ Casey asked, ‘took over his businesses?’

‘Who,’ Delacroix grinned, ‘do you think?’

‘You’re a disgrace,’ she said, and he half-winked at her in the hot twilight of the club.

‘So.’ Delacroix waved away a waiter trying to top up her glass, and poured the champagne himself. ‘What do you need, Cassandra?’

‘I want to know who bought a ship for scrapping in Bangladesh. It was sold a few weeks ago, the Tephi,’ Casey spelled it out. ‘And another one called the Beauvallet. They were probably bought by the same person or company.’

Delacroix narrowed his eyes as he stared across the club. ‘It should be possible to find out. This ship is in Bangladesh at the moment?’

‘Yes. It’s being taken apart right now. The Tephi used to belong to the Alexakis family.’ Casey named one of the Greek shipping dynasties. ‘But it was sold to a cash buyer in Hong Kong a few weeks ago, and I can’t track it any further. The Beauvallet belonged to a BVI shell company, and it operated under the Liberian flag.’

‘And you need to know soon?’

‘Tomorrow.’