The people outside, beyond the window, moved past as blurs and streaks in the vision of her day-dream. But one particular streak caught her eye, and snapped her out of her melancholic daze back to the present. The large, shadowy figure hustled by, clothed in a dark shirt and blue jeans. She hadn’t seen anything else, but even with half an eye of peripheral vision, her body had tensed up all over again.
“Gillespie’s man passed us just now,” said Eva, glancing around the café. She could not recognise any familiar faces, but it didn’t mean one of Marka’s men wasn’t nearby, and it didn’t mean that one of Gillespie’s wide-boys wasn’t outside.
“Are you sure? Should we check?”
“No. They may have missed us. But they must be looking for us. They definitely know we are around.”
“What about the courier guy?”
“Either way, if Bogdanis made it back or called in late, our next step is not going to be a piece of cake. And that’s putting it mildly.”
“You got another one of those master plans?” said Jess, eyeing Eva’s sandwich.
“I’m afraid so. We lie like politicians, so we can get to first base. Then if that works, we’ll keep lying and do whatever we have to until we find him.”
“Now that’s a detailed plan. Lying again? You’re better at that than I ever thought you could be.”
“Then you’ve got a lot more to learn about me. I learned to lie from the master.”
“Dan.”
“Dan’s misguided, and he exaggerates, but he’s no liar.”
“Parker then.”
“No. My father was the best liar there ever was.”
“Eh?”
“I’ll tell you some other time.”
“Hey. I know nothing about you, really. You’ve started so you should finish.”
Eva screwed up her mouth then started quickly. “Drunks like to drink. When it clings to their entire lives, they start to lie. Lying becomes a habit, then a way of life. My father could even pull it off when he could hardly stand up. So guess what?”
“What?”
“Trust me when I say I learned from the best. I have my poker face down to a T.”
Jess wanted to ask some more or express some kind of sympathy, but right now neither seemed appropriate, so she kept her mouth shut.
Near enough every male eye in the café was on them as they made to leave, but Jess ignored them and Eva really didn’t seem to notice. Eva drained the last of her coffee and stuck her head out of the doorway into the sunshine. She looked left and right into the crowds of suits and neat lip-sticked women in summer dresses. There were no gangsters in sight. No heavies. No killers. But the old and new buildings standing close and tall together on Boss Street were full of nooks, windows and doorways from which eyes could watch whilst hidden in plain sight. There was nothing else to be done but give it their best shot. Eva turned right along Boss Street, heading towards the bustling junction with nearby Queen Elizabeth Street. They passed an estate agency that boasted picture frames with photographs of executive properties. Jess noticed a listing for a one bedroom apartment for £750,000. A one bedroom flat for three quarters of a million pounds! At home people paid less than a hundred for the equivalent - similar sized flats near the very same river. Looking around, Jess marvelled at the city of London. The people, the money, the hurry and bustle, and the amazing sights… London- compared to life just down the tracks - was another planet.
“Come on, Jess!”
Eva was ahead of Jess, standing still looking at her with hard eyes. “This is it, Jess. If Dan is in the building around the corner, we have to be prepared, right now, for what’s coming. And if you’re not ready, time’s up. You need to get focussed or you need to go home now. There’ll be no shame. No recriminations whatsoever.”
“I told you. I’m with you, till the end.”
Jess knew half of what Eva had said was a lecture to herself. She was steeling herself for the battle. They were close to the end; it didn’t seem real. But here it was, in the middle of a sultry spring day work day.
On the nearby corner of Queen Elizabeth Street was a pizza chain restaurant with garden tables roped off from the street. A huge man sat hunched over a glass of iced mineral water with his back to the two women. And he heard every word they said. It was here. Now. The big man stood and unobtrusively walked inside to pay at the counter as a svelte blonde waitress offered him a menu. “Sir?”
“I’ve lost my appetite, darling.” His thick fat hand slid a five pound note into the waitress’s hand and he walked briskly into the street, peering through the crowd.
By the time they had reached the front door of The Daily office building, Eva had already picked up a copy of the rag from a street vendor. “Hold on a minute,” said Eva. And she flipped through The Daily’s pages quickly, scanning column to column as if she was looking for a particular piece of print or a classified ad.
“What are you doing?”
“I just need a name, that’s all.”
“Right, of course you do,” said Jess, none the wiser.
The paper contained stories on a political crisis in the States, a suspected royal affair in the younger generation, and the latest government U-turn on some failing policy. But Eva wasn’t reading for leisure, she was fishing for something. And she found one strand of a name throughout. There were many different journalist’s names heading the articles but one frequently appeared by the personal interest and crime stories time and again. The name was Lucy Stroud. The name was engraved into Eva’s mind and as she had no use for the paper anymore, she placed it down on the lid of a street dustbin and carried on walking. The Daily building was now in sight, a building of brown bricks much like those surrounding it, though its walls were superbly clean, the mortar pointing neat and level. The building was not a skyscraper, nor was it particularly striking, it fitted with its neighbours, and so was not among the newest in the area. But it was in a prime location, a stone’s throw from the city, and in fine condition. It was a modest four storeys, tall with a semi-circle of steps spilling from its gleaming glass entrance. Above the glass door was a plain steel logo with backlighting, which read ‘The Daily.’ The doors bore a pair of smaller emblems, one of which was a large stretched capital D, and below it in a shadowed typeface was the name White Star Holdings. They got close to the glass and were able to see the pristine white marble reception behind it.
“Not as big as I imagined,” remarked Eva.
“Ain’t it always that way,” said Jess with a grin.
Eva didn’t bite. “Still – it should make him easier to find, if he’s here.”
“He has to be here, right. This is the last place on our list.”
“Hmmm. We made a shortlist of two locations. I just hope we got it right.”
Eva sucked in a deep breath, took on a steely look, and then headed toward the steps. “Okay, Jess. We’re looking for Lucy Stroud. We have some very interesting information for her. It’s important, serious and we are in a hurry. Just follow my lead.”
“What information?”
“I’ll have that figured out by the time we get there. Just follow my lead.”
Jess gulped and followed Eva’s trail up the steps.
The reception was immaculate and clinical; decorated in white and blue, with two pretty but austere female faces looking out from behind the front desk. Just like Dagenham, these two staff members were answering calls and receiving visitors.
One of the women with big blue eyes reminded Eva of a cat. She looked up at them as the other lady fielded calls. “Hello. How may I help you?”
She was smiling, but the lady exuded nothing but business. It was a polite smile that was no more than skin deep. And Eva recognised her accent too - Eastern European, probably also Russian.
“I am here to see Lucy Stroud.”
The woman looked away and began to type into her computer. She looked up.
“Lucy Stroud isn’t here right now.”
&nbs
p; “No? We can wait.” said Eva. “Lucy will really want to hear what we have to say. This is big. A scoop. It involves an unscrupulous government contracted lawyer and UK financial secrets...”
The woman nodded hastily in an effort to shut this pest up. She didn’t care about any scoop, account or the UK. She had heard it all before.
“Lucy Stroud isn’t in at the moment.”
“No. But I spoke with her before. She knows me and she won’t want to miss this. The only reason I’m going to give her this story is because she’s a friend. Otherwise I’d sell it. This could shift another hundred thousand copies of your paper. Who knows, people might even read it instead of using it as a seat cover on the tube.”
“Lucy Stroud is not in.” she repeated. She’d been trained by Cyber men, she had to be. “Shall I take a message for you?”
“You are going to be personally responsible for Lucy losing this story, do you understand? I need to deal with it now. Lucy understands these things. I’ll go and wait by her desk, just like she told me.”
The woman’s feline blue eyes blinked, narrowed and widened again like she was considering the whole thing. Eva could see the receptionist pondering the risk of throwing Eva out too hastily and whether there was a genuine story here - maybe she would face penalties of some kind. Possibly even the sack. But her first duty was to be a professional barrier.
“When Lucy wins an award for this story, she will have you to thank, won’t she? Just tell Lucy I’m here, when she gets in.”
Eva didn’t wait. She strode to the lifts behind the reception and pressed the button that would allow her to go up to the offices. She waited for the receptionist to shout her back or to tell a colleague to stop her, but it didn’t happen. There was no loud voice to startle her into submission and there was no hand on her shoulder to stop her in her tracks. Instead another reception phone rang and she answered it. The bluff seemed to have worked. Seemed. Who was bluffing who? They were in. The elevator journey seemed to last a lifetime, but in truth it was only a few seconds before the lift dinged and opened to reveal a wall of mirrors.
Jess smirked. “I can’t believe you! You are such a ham, and the receptionist bought it.”
“I don’t know how it worked, Jess. But it worked.”
“So what’s with this Lucy Stroud?”
“A decoy, a distraction. It’s all I had. We could have pretended to be from Environmental Health, Trading Standards or some other government guff, but we would have needed ID to make it look legit. As sources for a story, all we needed was a decent bluff.”
“Now what?”
“There are four floors in this building. We work them, avoiding trouble if we can.”
“You think we can?”
“I don’t know.” According to Eva’s calculations, the value of the protection afforded them by Gillespie’s mob had just fallen to zero. They were inside now. They were on their own. The lift door slid open on the fourth floor, as a steady stream of men and women in suits moved left and right in the corridor before the lift. Eva stepped out. On either side of the lift lobby were frosted glass doors and partitions with The Daily’s big D logo on them. They could both hear chatter and laughter from various mouths; the languages were a mixture of English and what sounded like Russian. Dead ahead, opposite the lift doors was an altogether different doorway – frosted glass with clear borders. Behind this was a gleaming polished mahogany door, dressed with a brass doorknocker and a peephole similar to the ones people have at street level. As soon as she saw it, Eva’s heart quickened. This was one of Victor Marka’s homes - he could have been behind that door at this very moment, watching Dan Bradley’s slow demise. But it was too soon to try that door, too direct at this point. Marka’s door represented the last throw of the dice, when hope was all but gone, or when the evidence was in the bag. Eva turned to Jess with a prompt, like the first act on Whose Line Is It Anyway. “Okay. We’re lost, looking for Lucy Stroud’s desk. We have a story for her, and we’re excited about it. We have an axe to grind with someone. This account guy. Just follow my lead.”
“But what if this Lucy Stroud turns up?”
“There’s a lot of ifs here, Jess. Let’s deal with them as they come.”
To the left and to the right on this floor were open-plan offices full of smartly dressed reporters, sales people advertising space, office admin guys and girls, and with some brash media-type stress-heads thrown in for good measure. There was one main man with a pair of red braces who clearly saw himself as some kind of stylised newspaper editor. He was loud and liked to put his hands manfully on his wide hips as he barked at the room. The right hand room was open-plan, occupied by a call-centre filled with sales staff. It was easy to see they were sales people. They were well dressed, talking quickly, loudly with confidence and urgency, seriously glued to their phone headsets. There was an air of stress and competitiveness Eva had noticed before in recruitment agencies, estate agents and double-glazing merchants. There were reporters up here too, mainly of the junior variety, insignificant enough to warrant only a smidgen of hot-desk space next to an unpleasant bunch of sales loudmouths. Eva and Jess were able to push into both rooms with a minimum of fuss. The reporter room barely noticed them as the editor lorded over the floor like a Roman emperor issuing decrees over his minions. On the other side of the building the sales team ignored them, eyes sizing them up like lizards before meal time. Eva let the door close behind them, and no one pursued them into the lobby.
“He’s not held on this floor. There’s no appropriate space. Nothing visible or safe for stashing a secret prisoner. It just wouldn’t happen up here unless they wanted everyone to know about it.”
“Maybe they do.”
“No way, that’s too many people, and journalists have loyalty to no one but themselves.”
“Then he could be in Marka’s place?” asked Jess.
As they talked, Eva and Jess lingered in the lobby. The doors of the left and right offices opened a few times while they chatted and people passed them towards toilet doorways and to the lifts. No one paid them attention yet, but she was an intruder, and a stiff smile wasn’t going to cut it when someone finally noticed them.
“The boss man is an egotist, but he wouldn’t keep him in his apartment. Vain he may be, psychotic, yes, but there is no way he would want to be directly associated with such a pointless murder in his own home. He’s too cold and calculating for that.”
“You sound like you know him well.”
“In a sense I do. Dan pursued this man for a year. Dan was obsessed. I remember hearing Marka keeps firewalls around him to keep any problems from touching him personally. The blame stays elsewhere at all times. No, Dan’s not up here. We’ll try the next floor down.”
The second floor was a mix of small open plan offices and side offices where different types of reporting and editorial work seemed to be taking place. The staff was eclectic, mixed age groups and different kinds of people, unlike the top floor. Here it wasn’t a case of teams or groups, but individuals working on their own tasks. For this reason maybe they took much more notice of the open door with two striking women appearing in it. A man with sideburns and a pinstripe suit nodded and stepped towards them. He was fiftyish, non-threatening from a physical perspective, but his furrowed brow and spectacle-enlarged eyes made him look officious and unpleasant before he opened his mouth.
“Yes? What can we do for you, ladies?”
“Which department is this?”
“Which Department? This isn’t Selfridges, madam, it’s a newspaper.”
Eva felt Jess strain at the leash, her urge to impale the man on the thrust of her sarcasm was in the air.
“Where can we find Lucy Stroud?”
“What do you want with her?” There was a half-hint of bitterness in his voice, as if he was envious or simply didn’t like Miss Stroud.
“I’d rather tell Lucy, thank you.”
“What’s your department?” said Jess.
&n
bsp; “My department is business affairs and legal news, if that’s what you mean. Lucy’s does the entertainment shite and all the tittle-tattle. Have you got some tittle-tattle for the plebs? You don’t look like A-list to me, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Likewise. Although I do like your Antiques Roadshow chic. You work the look very well. The suit and glasses. Très cool.” Jess. Who else?
The man’s face reddened and he took a step back.
“Where does Lucy sit?”
“Her desk is over there in the far corner by the window. But as for Lucy, she’s out in the dirty streets. Tittle-tattle stories are ten a penny in this town. You should know we don’t pay much for scoops or grasses. That’s not how we do things at The Daily. If you have dirt to sell, you’ll have to peddle it elsewhere.”
“Do you write the fashion section, or the history section?” said Jess.
“We’re here for Lucy. That’s all you need to know, thank you.”
He looked at them both in turn, weighing them up like they were both remarkable and strange, which they were. The Lucy story was all the cover Eva had, and it had been good enough to ward off other questions that could have easily exposed them up to now. Two random women were walking around a newspaper building and needed some kind of reason to be doing so. Making it loud and clear they were looking for said journalist helped substantially. Until the moment Lucy Stroud turned up. They would have to carry on hoping she wouldn’t be back for some time.
Crossing the Line Page 2