He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pretending not to care, but Caelan saw he recognised the name. ‘And?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll speak to him instead.’
Crowley began to laugh. ‘You must be fucking desperate.’
‘Who’s he working for now?’
Crowley dropped his phone onto the table with a clatter. Moving with a speed she wouldn’t have thought him capable of considering the pain he was obviously in, he stood and stepped forward, grabbing the front of her jacket in his fist. ‘You know, you ask too many questions.’
Caelan fought the urge to laugh as she snapped her hand up and broke his grip. ‘And you watch too many films.’
‘Bitch, that hurt.’ He cradled his wrist, glaring at her.
‘Fuck off, Marcus.’ She turned on her heel, made for the stairs. He made no attempt to follow her, but as she reached the top step, he called her name, her fake name.
Against her better judgement, Caelan stopped. ‘What?’
‘What are you selling?’
She hesitated, turned to look at him. ‘Why?’
He spread his hands. ‘I’m interested. And if I help you sell it, then maybe you’ll want to buy.’
‘You’re offering to do business?’
‘No, I’m offering to think about it.’
‘You liked what you heard about me then?’
A smirk. ‘In a way. Like you said, I’ve had a better offer. I don’t want what you’re selling, but if I can, what, facilitate a deal, I get a cut of the profit with no risk to myself.’
‘Who would I actually be selling to?’
‘As it stands, you don’t need to know. I have contacts.’
Caelan waited. When he didn’t continue, she said, ‘And?’
‘And I need to know what we’re talking about.’
‘I told you. My boyfriend dealt weed.’
‘Bullshit. Tell me the truth.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I was told that when he was arrested, the police were expecting to find a kilo of white in his garage. And guess what?’
‘Surprise me.’ Thank you, Ian. Caelan silently lauded Penrith. He had judged the situation perfectly. If anything was going to whet the appetite of someone like Marcus Crowley, it was a kilo of coke.
Crowley smiled. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but it wasn’t there.’
‘So?’
‘I think you have it. I think you’re sitting on a kilo of coke, shit scared someone will take it from you. And you know what? If I put the word around, no doubt they will.’ He barked out a laugh. ‘Try talking your way out of that.’
‘You’re threatening me. The man who’s almost in tears because he got punched in the gut.’
His face hardened. ‘They’d destroy you, you know that? A kilo. Shit. You’re playing a dangerous game, and you’re as green as fucking grass. I can help you.’
‘You’re all heart, Marcus.’
‘Around here, people will rip your face off for a couple of rocks, never mind what you’ve got stashed away. You’re vulnerable.’
‘And you’re full of shit.’
‘For twenty per cent of what you make, I’ll get the deal done for you. You stay safe and make a shitload of money, and I’m laughing too. No one gets hurt, and we stay friends. What do you think?’
Caelan gripped the banister, her mind whirling. What could she say? To commit to a deal would be insanity. Then again, she had been involved in similar schemes before and come out unscathed. Penrith must have had plans when he told his contacts the quantity to mention. It depended on how far you were willing to go. She would have to speak to Penrith, see what they wanted to set up. She wasn’t concerned about the risk, but about the possibility of making a move too soon, of bringing down Crowley but not the people who were ultimately in charge. And strangely, she didn’t have a spare kilo of coke kicking around at home.
‘Let me think about it,’ she said.
Crowley’s smile seemed genuine. ‘Don’t take too long. If word gets out…’
‘Give me a day.’
He pointed at her, making his hand into a gun. ‘Twenty-four hours. Then it’s game on.’
* * *
Back in the alley, opposite the club that was beginning to feel more like home than the flat she had been sent to, Caelan called Penrith again. He answered on the first ring.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he demanded. ‘Sending me cryptic texts and garbled messages?’
‘Listen, I need someone here.’ Caelan watched the club, hoping Crowley would stay put. He could be on the phone, though, making plans. She should have planted a microphone. Too late now.
‘You’ve got your little friend. Have you lost him already?’
‘He’s injured. I need someone fit.’
‘Well, then there’s only one other option.’
Nicky. Caelan suppressed a sigh. ‘Where is she?’
‘Not far. I’ll send her to you. She’s kicking her heels anyway.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘No comment.’
More unnecessary cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Penrith enjoyed it, she was certain. Revelled in the game-playing, the winks and nudges. The smug superciliousness of it all. Not for the first time recently, Caelan was tempted to head for Heathrow and leave them to it. ‘I need to speak to you.’
‘I’ve—’
‘I’ll be there in an hour.’
She ended the call on his spluttering. She needed an update on the Liv Hobbs situation, and she had to speak to him about her conversation with Crowley. It would be better to see him in person, but it would mean trekking across London again.
Her phone was ringing.
‘Kay?’
She was beginning to hate the name.
‘I didn’t know you had my number,’ she said. It was Nicky. So much for them not contacting each other.
‘I was told you were looking for me.’
Caelan shook her head, irritated. Nicky had always liked the idea of playing James Bond. Secrets and subterfuge had once seemed glamorous to Caelan too. Not any longer. ‘I need a chat,’ she said.
‘Where?’
‘The club.’
‘On my way.’
Caelan checked the time. Five minutes before Ewan came looking for her. She hoped he would stay put, keep his head down, but then following orders was what he did best. She doubted today would be any different. She left the alleyway at the far end, and trotted around to the café. The club was out of sight for a few seconds, but not long enough to allow Crowley time to leave. Ewan was at the counter, money in hand. Caelan waited outside, grabbing his arm as he limped through the door.
‘I’ve been worried—’ he began.
‘I’m okay, but I need to run. See you at home.’ Ewan opened his mouth, totally bemused. Caelan bent close to his ear, as if kissing his cheek. ‘I’m going to Westminster. Stay here, watch the club. You won’t be alone, but don’t make contact. I’ll call you later.’
‘But…’
She squeezed his arm and took off. It was a risk leaving him there, but she knew she had no choice. He would slow her down if he came with her, and there would be no point him tagging along. He would have nothing to add to her conversation with Penrith. She hoped Nicky wasn’t too far away and Ewan wouldn’t need to follow Marcus Crowley. Mentioning Ryan Glennister to him had been a shot in the dark, but it seemed drug-dealing circles in Edmonton were close-knit. If Glennister hadn’t been found already, and Caelan didn’t expect he had been, perhaps Crowley would lead them to him. Then a decision would have to be made, but by people well above her own pay grade. From what she knew about Glennister, he was unlikely to be a mastermind. But even a puppet needed someone to work the strings. Glennister was tied up in the whole messy web, and he had questions to answer.
26
Liv’s stomach was rumbling. She hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, which couldn’
t be good for the baby. She didn’t feel hungry, though; she just had the same heavy nausea sitting in her belly that had settled there as she was told the news about her brother’s death.
They had left her alone. She tried to move her feet, the pins and needles in them having given way to numbness long before. The man with the torch and his shadowy companion had promised they would return with more questions, and the tape had been stuck back over her mouth before she could muster up a pithy response. She hadn’t told them anything – not because she didn’t want to, but because they hadn’t seemed to know what to ask her. She’d demanded to be released, promised there would be no repercussions if they let her go. When that didn’t work, she told them about the baby, pleaded with them, said she needed water, food and rest. No chance. They had backed away, left her with her ribs aching and her mouth parched. Her bladder had released at some point, leaving her smelly and uncomfortable.
Furious, she tried to stamp her foot, but could only manage a feeble tap of her toes on the floor. She clenched her fists, trying to test the strength of the restraints around her wrists. She had never worn cuffs before, but had snapped them over the wrists of more criminals than she could remember. These felt like cable ties, and they weren’t going to give. She was stuck, at the mercy of her faceless captors. Surely someone would have noticed her absence by now? She had no idea what time it was, but Adam must have finished his shift. He would be terrified, probably combing the streets. Her colleagues too would rally round, throw everything they had into tracking her down.
Wouldn’t they?
She blinked, thinking about it. Her parents hadn’t been expecting her, so they wouldn’t miss her. If the men who had taken her put Adam out of the picture, no one would be any the wiser until Tim Achebe or Jen Somerville remembered their colleague and contacted her. Since her brother had just been murdered, and she was on sick leave anyway, they might not be in touch for weeks, especially with their current workload. Tears gathered in her eyes again. Where was Adam? Was he safe? He wouldn’t know where to look, even if he was able to go out searching. She could be anywhere.
Her cheeks wet with tears, Liv squeezed her eyes closed and tried to think clearly. Whatever happened, she had to get out of this unhurt. For the baby to come to harm was unthinkable. She didn’t care about herself, but the child she carried was precious.
Who was she kidding? She was terrified.
What could she tell them? What did they want? She hadn’t recognised the voice of the man with the torch, and the other person hadn’t spoken. Did that mean she had met him or her before? She frowned, thinking about it. Who was involved? If this was about Jackson and his business activities, she would have no idea, but if it was about the deaths of Ben Rainey and Anthony Bryce…
As a detective inspector, Liv might have been forgiven for barely noticing the uniformed constables around the station, but that wasn’t the case. She had always prided herself on treating everyone the same, regardless of rank or what they might be able to do for her career. And Ben Rainey, with his eager smile and obvious enthusiasm for the job, had been a popular figure around Limehouse station. When she had transferred, they hadn’t stayed in touch, but Liv knew the fury and outrage she felt about his death would be echoed by everyone who had worked with him. And whoever had tortured and killed him was still walking the streets. As for Anthony Bryce, he had made different choices in his life, but his death was no more deserved. The agony they must both have suffered was unimaginable. She wondered if it had been inflicted in this place, even in this chair. What had they told their captors? Had what they said led to Jackson’s death? What was the link?
Liv shook her head, tired, angry and frightened. She had no answers, could think of no reason why she should be here.
Unless…
She sat up straighter, her mind hurtling through the implications, then discarding them. It couldn’t be relevant. No one knew, and he would never have admitted it. It couldn’t have any bearing on what had happened. It couldn’t.
A sound outside. Were they back? She lifted her chin, blinking away the last of her tears.
The torch again. She was ready for it, closing her eyes as he neared her. He smelt musty, unwashed. The tape was removed, his warm skin touching hers for a second as he pulled it away. She recoiled. Another scent lingering as he moved away, one she recognised. Interesting. A clue that this was about Jackson? Perhaps.
‘I’m starving,’ she said. Her voice rasped on the words, and she coughed, cleared her throat.
‘I doubt it.’ The rustle of a carrier bag, the torch beam dipping, dancing on the floor. Concrete, oil-stained. A glimpse of his ruined trainers and grubby jeans. The other person was there, but keeping well back, in the shadows.
Liv filed the images away in her memory. They weren’t being careful enough. Either they were confident she wouldn’t be able to track them down, or she wasn’t going to be given the opportunity to do so. She ignored the tightening of her throat. He came closer again, and a bottle of water appeared under her nose. He held it to her lips, and reluctantly she drank a few mouthfuls.
‘You stink,’ he told her.
Liv wrinkled her nose. ‘So do you. I can’t move from the chair, what’s your excuse?’
A muffled sound from the far corner. A stifled laugh? Liv leaned forward, trying to make out the figure of the other person, but it was impossible. Why come if you were going to be silent? Perhaps he or she was here to keep an eye on the man with the torch. Maybe to boil the kettle, heat up the iron. Dole out the beatings. Liv gulped as the bottle was withdrawn and a sandwich appeared, thin white bread with a slice of processed cheese.
‘Here.’ His voice had changed; the remark about his hygiene had hit home, offended him. Liv eyed the sandwich, held in his grubby fingers.
‘Could have washed your hands,’ she said.
‘Don’t you want it?’ He moved it away slightly. ‘Thought you were hungry.’
‘Didn’t say I didn’t want it.’ Liv thought of the baby as she took a mouthful, keeping her lips well away from his hand. The fact that they were feeding her was a good sign, surely? If they had been going to kill her any time soon, why would they bother giving her something to eat? She chewed, swallowed. ‘Mmm. Delicious. Is there any pickle?’
He didn’t comment, just moved the sandwich so she could take another bite. She thought about savaging his fingers, but knew it was pointless. She was incredibly vulnerable, and while they were keeping her fed and watered, she might as well play along.
‘Will you tell me why I’m here?’ she said.
‘No.’
She chewed. ‘Then what’s the point? I can’t tell you what you want to know if you don’t ask questions.’
‘Who says we want to know anything?’
Last mouthful. As she swallowed it, the water bottle reappeared. She drank. ‘You’ve just decided to keep me as an exotic pet, is that it?’
He actually laughed. ‘We’re doing as we’re told.’
‘You’re just the monkeys? Well I’d worked that out for myself. Is this about Jackson?’
‘You haven’t figured it out yet?’ He held up the bottle again.
‘Being tied to a chair isn’t doing much for my thought processes. Let me go. I’m pregnant, you bastards.’
A sigh. ‘So you keep saying. Makes no difference. Have we hurt you?’
‘Well…’
‘No, we haven’t. Play your cards right, and we won’t have to.’
‘Is it about Ben Rainey?’
Silence. ‘Who? Never heard of him.’
‘You’re a crap liar, you know that? I can’t see your face, and I can still tell that’s bullshit. Okay. What about Anthony Bryce?’
He said nothing, but the beam dipped again and the bottle disappeared. Liv snarled. ‘My husband will find me, you fuckers. My colleagues will be searching all over London. Let me walk away now, and you’ll be forgotten about. I’ll pretend I got lost for a while.’
‘Your husband? Your colleagues?’ Laughter. ‘Yeah, okay.’ He had the tape in his hand again, ready to cover her mouth.
‘Just tell me what you want.’ Her voice shook.
‘Want?’ He leaned closer, his mouth warm, damp against her ear. ‘What we want is to keep you out of the way.’
Liv told herself to stay calm, though the urge to scream in his face was overwhelming. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you know? I was expecting a detective inspector to be cleverer.’
‘If you want money…’
Laughter. ‘What, you’ve a few million tucked away? Come on, think about it.’
Liv closed her eyes, exhausted, struggling to give a shit what they did with her as long as she could sleep. ‘Mad bastard.’
‘You think I’m crazy?’ His eyes flicked towards the figure in the corner. ‘Wait until you meet the boss.’
27
Penrith was eating a crusty ham roll, crumbs decorating his lips and chin before drifting down onto his desk. He held up a finger as Caelan barrelled into the room. ‘I’m on my lunch break.’
‘Fuck off, Ian. When was the last time any of us had one of those?’
He gave a serene smile. ‘If you’re asking, I make sure I have one every day. Sit down. Start talking.’
She did as she was told, summarising the conversation with Crowley.
‘Don’t suppose we found the two men who gave him a kicking?’
‘Not yet.’ He took another huge bite, spoke with his mouth full. ‘London traffic.’
‘What about Ryan Glennister?’
‘Nothing. We’ve more chance of finding the Loch Ness monster holidaying in the Thames. He’ll be hiding in a doss house somewhere.’
‘No news on Liv?’
Penrith shook his head, more crumbs flying. ‘No. Nicky found nothing, as expected. Liv’s parents weren’t helpful; her husband’s raging around the house demanding to be allowed to join the search. Achebe’s wringing his hands, bleating at Somerville, who’s coordinating everything.’
‘At least we haven’t found a body.’
He pointed a thick finger at her. ‘Knew I could rely on you to look on the bright side. Let’s talk about Crowley.’
Tell No Lies Page 25