Deadline

by Simon Kernick

  She turned back. 'What does your friend want?'

  'He just wants to talk.' He shrugged his powerful shoulders. 'That's it. Nothing more. I think he might have some information for you.'

  He leaned behind him and opened the back door of the Mercedes for her.

  Tina made a quick calculation. If they knew her name, they knew she was a SOCA agent. That meant it was unlikely they were going to risk hurting her. Especially when their car, and possibly even their faces, would already have been picked up somewhere on CCTV. And when it came down to it, there was no reason for them to hurt her anyway. She didn't owe Daroyce money, had in fact never met him, which meant the guy in front of her was almost certainly telling the truth.

  Those were the pros. There was only one con, but it was a big one. What if she was wrong?

  It was a big decision, but in the end – although she'd never admit it to herself – part of the reason Tina Boyd attracted trouble was that she was always prepared to put herself in situations where encountering it was inevitable. And this was one of them. Taking a long look round so that the people walking up and down the street might remember her face if it came to it, she got inside the Merc and shut the door.

  'Let's go then,' she said, lighting a cigarette.

  Twenty

  They drove through back streets heading west in the direction of Queensbury. Tina tried to make conversation, knowing how important it was to create a rapport with the black guy, who was clearly the senior of the two. But now she was in the car, both men were worryingly reticent. The white guy said nothing at all, his friend either answering her questions with an uninterested yes and no or ignoring them altogether.

  The journey didn't last long, ten minutes at most, before they pulled into a dingy dead-end road lined with brand-new low-rise council flats on one side and a pair of grim-looking tower blocks on the other. The car pulled into a parking space in front of the first of the blocks, next to an overflowing bright orange wheelie bin that seemed to be attracting the flies. A gang of half a dozen kids on mountain bikes were messing about by a rusty climbing frame over to one side.

  'Nice place,' said Tina, wrinkling her nose against the smell from the bin as she got out of the car.

  'Mr Daroyce likes to stay close to his roots,' answered the black guy as they walked over to the front entrance.

  Tina noticed the kids give him respectful looks as he passed, before passing more hostile eyes over her. Jesus, she thought. What is it about me? I might as well be wearing a flashing blue light on my head.

  They went up to the tenth floor in a graffiti strewn lift with black smoke stains running down two sides as if someone had tried to set it alight, travelling in silence with only the creaking of the cables for company. Tina was getting more and more nervous. She didn't much like going alone to isolated places with the kind of men your mother warned you about, particularly when she was unarmed and out of contact with her colleagues. She thought about trying to leave but had a strong feeling that they wouldn't let her.

  As they emerged from the lift into a dingy corridor only partly illuminated by noisy overhead strip lighting, dark shadows flickering at the edges, she was reminded of something that had happened during her backpacking days. She'd been caught in a sudden storm while travelling by fishing boat between islands in southern Indonesia. Huge dark waves had reared up and crashed over the deck, sending the tiny boat spinning and lurching. The fishermen had looked terrified, their expressions terrifying Tina even more as she clung desperately to her seat, genuinely believing she was going to die. Then the friend she was travelling with leaned over and, with a grim smile on his face, had shouted above the noise, 'It's not much consolation now, but you're going to love telling this story one day!' And she had, too. They'd made it across, the storm had passed, and life had moved on. The moral being, things are never as bad as they seem.

  She told herself she'd be out of there soon enough, life would move on, and she'd have a good laugh about it over a long gin and tonic, curled up on her sofa.

  The flat they wanted was at the end of the corridor. She knew which one it was going to be straight away, because it looked like Fort Knox. The doorway was covered with an iron security grille, the door behind it reinforced with a series of home-cut steel plates. No fewer than five separate locks ran up one side, and attached to the doorframe was a tiny CCTV camera, its lens pointing out at head height through one of the gaps in the grille.

  The black guy produced a set of keys and let them in, a process that took the best part of a minute. The interior was cloyingly warm and smelled of dope as they made their way through a narrow hallway and into a dimly lit backroom which was furnished with just a table and two chairs facing each other on either side.

  Sitting in one of the chairs, with his legs crossed and his back to them, was a short, well-built black man in a peach-coloured suit and fedora of the same colour. The fedora was set at a jaunty angle and had two small peacock feathers jutting from the rim, giving the man the overall appearance of a 1970s New York pimp. He didn't turn round as the black guy moved out of the way and Tina stepped inside, just motioned with a casual wave of a hand for her to take the vacant seat.

  'I hear you been asking questions about Patrick Phelan,' said the man from beneath the fedora as she sat down opposite him. 'You a cop, yeah?'

  His voice was softer than she'd been expecting, the accent local but with just a hint of something more exotic. As he lifted his head she could see that he was young, probably no more than late twenties, with a round boyish face and dark intelligent eyes. He was definitely not what she'd been expecting, and now that the two men who'd brought her here had disappeared into another room, she felt herself relax a little.

  'Yes,' she answered, 'I'm a cop.' She wasn't technically, she was an agent, but it was never worth explaining it like that since no one ever seemed to understand the difference. 'I work for the Serious and Organized Crime Agency. You must be Leon Daroyce.'

  He touched a finger to his hat and half-smiled. 'That's me.'

  'And yes, I have been asking questions about Patrick Phelan,' Tina continued. 'We're looking for him.'

  Daroyce nodded slowly. 'So am I,' he said softly, hardly moving his lips as he spoke, so that his words came out almost as a hiss.

  He leaned forward in his seat and crossed his hands on the table. They were small and surprisingly dainty considering his build, dwarfed by the gold sovereign rings on most of his fingers. He exhaled slowly through pursed lips and fixed her with a gaze that was almost hypnotic.

  'Let me tell you something, Miss Boyd,' he hissed. 'I'm an entrepreneur, a small businessman. I lend money like a bank, except unlike a bank I don't ask hundreds of questions. I don't make my customers fill out a pile of forms. You know what someone once said? A banker's a man who lends you his umbrella when the sun's shining, then asks for it back as soon as it starts raining.'

  'Mark Twain.'

  He shrugged, uninterested. 'Well, I'm not like that. I don't turn people away. All I ask is you pay me back the money you've borrowed, and the interest on it. That's it. I'm providing a service. And I provided a service to Pat Phelan. Except he seems to have welshed on the deal. He owes me thirty-five thousand pounds, Miss Boyd. And I need to get that money back.'

  'I don't see how I can help.'

  'Because you're looking for him. What is it that you people want to speak to him about?'

  'We think he's involved in a fraud case,' she lied. If Daroyce and his friends were involved in the kidnapping then they'd know she wasn't telling the truth, but she was beginning to think that they couldn't be. Otherwise, why on earth would they have brought her here?

  'That sounds like Phelan. The guy's a snake. Is he likely to get bail?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Listen, Miss Boyd, perhaps you and me can help each other. I need to get my money back from Pat Phelan, because if I let something like this go, then it's going to look very bad on me and my business. Do you understand wh
at I'm saying?'

  'I think so, yes.'

  'Now, if you hear where he is, all you need to do is give me a call, let me and my people get there first, and I'll pay you ten grand in cash.' He reached inside his peach suit and produced a huge wad of used notes, putting it down on the table in front of her. 'Not bad for five minutes' work, is it?'

  She looked at the money, wondered who'd suffered for him to get it, then back at Daroyce. 'I'll see what I can do.'

  'No,' he said quietly, 'that's not good enough. I want you to say you'll do it.'

  His tone was cold now.

  Tina made another quick calculation. She had no intention of helping Daroyce, and she certainly couldn't take his money. However, it seemed prudent to say yes, just so she could get out of there.

  'OK, I'll do it. If we locate him, of course. Have you got a number I can get you on?'

  His half-smile returned. 'Sure.' He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. It was blank except for a handwritten mobile number.

  She put it in her pocket.

  'I still don't understand why you need me, though. It looks like you've got eyes and ears all over the place. You certainly found out about me easily enough.'

  'I've looked everywhere for Phelan, but he seems to have done a better job at disappearing than he ever did at gambling. He was supposed to give me a fifteen grand down payment last Sunday. He didn't turn up; neither did it. He asked for a few more days. I told him he had twenty-four hours. But he didn't come through again. So, I've been hunting for him. I know where he lives, but his car hasn't been there, and from what I hear, neither has he. But,' he added, regarding her almost playfully, 'I've got a little clue that you might be able to use.'

  'What's that?' Tina sat forward, interested.

  'The thing is, Miss Boyd, can I trust you?' Tina met his gaze, held it firmly. 'Yes, you can trust me. If we find him, I'll let you know. What you do after that is your concern.'

  Daroyce nodded, seeming to accept this. 'Phelan's got a girlfriend. Good-looking chick. A little bit old for my tastes, but she carries it well.'

  'Are you sure it's not his wife?'

  He shook his head. 'No, I know what his wife looks like. It's not her. She's been here, too. The girlfriend. She came with him to deliver a five grand down payment on the debt a couple of weeks ago. I don't know who she is, or where she lives, but they were definitely close, and I had the feeling that, you know, the five grand was her money.'

  'Can you describe her?'

  'I can do better than that. I can show you a picture.'

  He leaned down behind the table and picked up an envelope which he handed her. There was a single photograph inside, a still from the security camera outside Daroyce's door. It showed the faces of a man and a woman, both of whom looked nervous. The man's face was in the foreground, and Tina recognized him as Pat Phelan. The picture quality wasn't fantastic and the woman's face appeared slightly grainy, but even so there was no mistaking who it was, since Tina had seen her picture on the website of Feminine Touch Health and Beauty Spas only hours before.

  It was Isobel Wheeler. Andrea Devern's business partner.

  Twenty-one

  'Do you know her?'

  'No, but I should be able to find out.'

  Tina was a good liar. She knew how to wear a poker face.

  'Good.'

  Leon Daroyce smiled properly now, and Tina had to fight to maintain her poker face as she saw his teeth for the first time. There was enough gold in there to stock a small jewellery shop, but it wasn't that which grabbed her attention. It was the fact that every single one of them was filed to a razor-sharp point. Daroyce's mouth was a lethal weapon, those jaws easily capable of murder.

  Seeing her reaction, he chuckled – a strange, high-pitched little sound that made her skin crawl. 'You like them, baby? The girls always get a little frightened at first, but when they see what I can do with them, they always come back for more.' He waggled his tongue at her, running it along the points of his fangs.

  Tina needed to get out of there. The room suddenly felt hot and claustrophobic. She picked up the envelope, slipped the photo back inside, and stood up.

  'Let me get on with things, then.'

  'Haven't you forgotten something?' He motioned towards the wad of money.

  'I can't take it now. I haven't done anything yet.'

  'But you're going to, though. Aren't you?'

  'If we find him, yes.'

  'You look thirsty,' he said, changing the subject. 'Do you want a drink?'

  Tina took a sharp breath. 'Thanks, but I need to get going.'

  'Sit down there for a couple of seconds. I want to show you something. Go on,' he said, waving towards the seat, 'it won't take long.'

  Reluctantly, she did as requested.

  'What is it?'

  'Power,' he whispered.

  'Sorry?'

  He mouthed the word again, then turned towards the door. 'Woman, bring me water!' he called out, and a few seconds later a skinny mixed-race girl, no more than eighteen, with unkempt hair, hurried into the room. She was dressed in a dirty white T-shirt and a black thong, and Tina noticed that there were bruises on her bare legs. Avoiding their eyes, the girl put a small bottle of Evian on the table in front of Daroyce and quickly turned to go, but his hand whipped out like a flailing cord and grabbed her wrist in a tight, visibly painful grip. The girl looked scared, but didn't say anything.

  'You know what power is, Miss Boyd?' asked Daroyce, tightening his grip on the girl's wrist, making her wince. 'Power is when you're respected; when you're feared; when people will do anything you tell them. Let me show you what I mean.' He looked up at the girl with gleaming eyes. 'You're mine, aren't you, woman?'

  'Yes,' she whispered.

  'You're hurting her, Mr Daroyce. Why don't you let go of her arm?'

  He ignored her, pulling the girl towards him.

  'Now, get on your knees.'

  The girl knelt down.

  'You don't have to do this,' said Tina firmly, horrified by what might be about to take place. 'I believe you.'

  Daroyce backhanded the girl across the face. Hard. The slap rebounded around the room. Tina flinched as the girl's head snapped sideways under the blow before quickly righting itself. She didn't cry out or make a sound. Instead, she remained kneeling, staring straight ahead, her jaw quivering as it tightened against the pain. The fear had gone from her eyes now, replaced by the submissiveness of the defeated.

  Tina stood up and addressed the girl. 'I'm a police officer,' she said, pulling out her warrant card and showing it to her. 'You can leave with me now. You don't have to stay here.' She didn't add that the girl could also press charges if she wanted to; they could talk about that later, when they were in a safer location.

  The girl said nothing, continued to stare straight ahead.

  'Come on,' said Tina, putting out a hand. 'You can come with me now.'

  Daroyce chuckled. 'Tell her to fuck off, woman.'

  This time the girl looked at Tina. There was a red mark covering the entire left side of her face, several small cuts on the cheek where Daroyce's rings had made contact.

  'Fuck off,' she said, without feeling or passion.

  'Please. I can take you home.'

  But Tina knew it was no use. Even the girl's eyes were blank.

  Daroyce's smile grew wider, the teeth showing, as he saw Tina's frustration. Then it disappeared altogether. 'Get out, woman!' he snapped, and immediately the girl got to her feet and hurried out of the door.

  Tina shoved the warrant card back in her pocket. 'I'm leaving, and I want to take her with me.'

  'You don't get it, do you, Miss Boyd? She won't go with you. Not in a thousand years. Because she's mine.'

  'Slavery was outlawed in this country two hundred years ago, Daroyce. Maybe you missed the bicentennial celebrations.'

  'She can leave if she wants to, Boyd. But she won't. Because she owes me, and she's paying her debt.'


  'I don't care about—'

  'Enough!' His hand slammed down on the table, silencing her. 'The reason I showed you that is so you know I don't fuck about.'

  'You're a bully.'

  He wagged a finger at her. 'No, I'm no bully. Bullies only pick on the weak. I'm prepared to take on everyone. And I'm also a man of my word, so when people break theirs, I take great offence. And I make them suffer. That little whore fucked me about once, and now she's paying for her stupidity. Just like Pat Phelan will pay for it when I get hold of him.' He stood up, and even though at full height he was still shorter than Tina, he radiated the kind of cruel, low menace that would have intimidated men twice his height. 'Now you've made me a promise as well,' he said quietly, making a point of showing his teeth as he spoke. 'So, if you find the whereabouts of Phelan, I want to hear about it. Otherwise, Miss Boyd, my people will come for you too. Do you understand?'

  Again, Tina held his gaze, but she was finding it hard to keep her nerve. She was scared, and he knew it.

  'I understand,' she answered.

  'Good. Would you like my men to drop you off where they picked you up?'

  She shook her head. 'No, it's OK. I'll walk.'

  He moved aside to let her pass, and she caught a subtle waft of expensive and very nice cologne that almost made her pause to take in more of it, until she thought about what he'd just done.

  'Watch yourself out there,' he whispered. 'The streets round here can be very, very dangerous.'

  She ignored him and kept walking, out into the narrow hallway. The big black guy in the shades materialized from a room ahead of her, unlocking the front door for her in silence. She couldn't see the girl anywhere, but if she was honest with herself, she wasn't looking too hard, so eager was she just to get out of there.

  There were all kinds of things Tina could have taken from the conversation she'd just had: the large amount of cash Pat Phelan owed Daroyce; the way he'd recently asked Daroyce for just a few more days to pay the money; the fact that he was having an affair with his wife's business partner . . . But she couldn't seem to concentrate on any of them as she walked rapidly through the back streets, going in no particular direction, haunted by the face of an anonymous girl who got down on her knees and waited to be beaten by a thug – a man who'd just threatened to turn on Tina as well if she didn't do what she was told.