“That’s right,” Tallis said. “We like to make extensive use of the region’s natural resources.”
Iva inclined his head.
“Fishermen are key to the success of the enterprise,” Tallis explained.
“And heroin is so much more lucrative than cod, I think,” Iva said with a slow smile. “Tell me how it works.”
“Drugs are generally imported through larger foreign vessels coming from the usual routes—cocaine either from the Caribbean or Colombia, cannabis from North Africa through Morocco and Spain. We have a deal going on at the moment with one of the cross-Channel ferries, but that’s a separate venture,” Tallis said, hoping that this would tempt Iva to take him seriously and realise that he was playing with someone in a bigger league. “Smaller craft meet the foreign vessels out at sea, take the goods and land them in one of the many coves along the coast. It’s an old-fashioned technique, once used for smuggling contraband, and known as coopering. Goods are recovered and driven up the motorway to wherever you want them.”
“And police?”
“When did you last go to Devon?” Tallis snorted. “Plods are only concerned with boat theft and CD players nicked from cars.”
“I have never been to Devon.”
“Well, now’s your chance. I’ll show you the sights,” Tallis said with a smile.
Iva didn’t react. This bloke was nobody’s mate, Tallis thought.
“I understand you’ve pissed someone off,” Iva said.
“He pissed me off.”
Iva gave a thoughtful nod. “You work alone?”
“Does anyone?”
“What would your colleagues think?”
“About what?”
“Doing business with us.”
“As long as there’s money in it, they’d be happy,” Tallis smiled.
“So you can effect an introduction?”
“Naturally.”
Iva nodded again and asked Tallis where he could be contacted. Tallis gave him his number and they agreed to talk some more the following day.
This time there were no problems. Tallis paid Duka and went straight to room eleven. The girl was sitting in exactly the same place. Only her face was different. A bruise was blossoming on one of her cheekbones and her bottom lip was puffy and split. Tallis moved silently towards her, rested a hand on the top of her head, making her flinch. He kept it there, stroked her hair, talking softly. “Tell me your name.”
She looked up at him. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Elena.”
“Why are you crying, Elena?”
“Nobody asked my name before.”
Tallis crouched down so that his eyes were level with hers. “It’s the perfect name for a very pretty girl. Here, I’ve brought you this.” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a bar of chocolate. She took it shyly, with caution, as if she expected him to snatch it back. “Go on, eat,” he said.
She looked up at him and smiled for the very first time since he’d met her. It reminded him of light on clear water. Reminded him of Belle.
“Where are you from?”
“Lithuania,” she said in a small voice, biting a chunk off and offering the rest to Tallis who politely refused. She ate carefully, with great self-consciousness, as though embarrassed. When she’d finished, she said, “Take me away?”
He didn’t know how he was going to do it but he knew that it was impossible to leave her there. Again, he was reminded of Belle. “Trust me?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
“I have something for you, too,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “The man you are looking for. He is sometimes known as Mickovic. He lives in Belgravia.”
Tallis gently smiled. “Can’t be right. This man has only just come out of prison. It’s a very expensive part of London. How could he afford to live there?”
“It is true,” the girl said firmly. “He travels in a Mercedes, new plates, black.”
Sounded like everyone’s idea of a gangster’s mode of transport. “How do you know this?”
“One of the girls remembered him. He’s very cruel, brutal. He hates women.”
“She say anything else about him?”
“She said he smelt of trees.”
Cedar, a classic fragrance in men’s aftershave, Tallis thought, remembering what Crow had said. “All right,” he said, getting up. “Act normally. I’ll come and get you when the time’s right.”
“Soon?” she said, grabbing hold of his arm, her eyes pleading.
He put his hand over hers. “I promise.”
“She’s just one girl, for Chrissakes.”
“My point entirely,” Cavall said.
“I’m not asking you to send in an army.”
“Look, when I told you to call this number, it was specifically for problems. This is not a problem. This is you thinking with your dick.”
Tallis bit down hard. He wanted Cavall’s help too much to rise to a jibe like that. “The girl’s given me valuable information.”
“Checked it out?”
“Not yet, but I’m onto it.” He was sitting in a taxi, heading for Belgravia.
“If the intel’s good, we might be able to do something.”
Might? Tallis stared at the floor. “Forget it. Sorry I asked.”
“Good,” Cavall said crisply. “Glad we’ve got that out of the way. Can’t afford to be sidetracked …”
“But—”
“Put it like this, we send in the cavalry, she goes home, next thing you know she’s retrafficked to Greece. All a bit of a waste of our time.”
“Sure, thanks.”
“Call me soon, Paul. We’re counting on you.”
Tallis closed his phone and looked disconsolately out of the window. Streets and shops and people rushing about in a game called living. Without exception, the women were slim, attractive and well maintained, the men taut and ambitious, the cream of the gene pool. Then he had an idea. He slid open his phone again and called Micky Crow.
Tallis didn’t make it to Belgravia. He was intercepted by a phone call from Iva who told him that they were on for a meet at the pub. Tallis thought it an unlikely venue but didn’t argue. Instructing the cabbie to drop him off at Hammersmith, he walked the rest of the way. A prickly feeling in his gut told him that something was off. As a precaution, he took out the photograph of Demarku, shredded it and pushed it into the nearest rubbish bin.
Goran and Janko were waiting for him at the bar. They went through the usual comrade routine—”Bok, kako si?”, Hi, how are you?—and ordered drinks, though on this occasion Tallis was careful to pick Pepsi. He explained to the boys that he had a bad stomach. After two hours of chatting about cars and football and the fact that the actress Sharon Stone had a home on the Dalmatian coast, Iva appeared. As expected, Goran and Janko made themselves scarce. Obviously, the boss liked to do business alone.
“Drink?” Tallis said.
Iva looked at his watch. “No time. Ready?”
“Sure.”
He followed Iva outside where a black Mercedes with new plates was waiting. Iva opened the door for Tallis in a curiously hospitable gesture that made Tallis nervous. Tallis smiled a thank you and climbed in. Iva, next to him, instructed the driver to start driving, and fell silent. Tallis took his cue from Iva and didn’t utter a word.
They arrived in Knightsbridge, pulling up outside a smart perfumery. Iva got out and Tallis followed. The shop was all bright lights and whiteness, like a space-age pharmacy. A heavily made-up young woman stood behind a counter. She, too, was dressed in white, although there was nothing virginal about her manner: too pouting, too come and get me. Tallis flicked his eyes to the rows of clear glass bottles filled with varying shades of oil and scent and read the names, ylang-ylang, rose otto, bergamot, neroli …
Iva leant towards the woman, murmured something in her ear. Nodding in agreement, she walked to the front of the shop, locking the door, turning the open sign to
closed then led them through a door at the back and into a warren of rooms, each connected like a spider’s web. There were boxes and boxes of top-brand mobile phones. Tallis felt a sense of creeping unease as door after door closed behind him.
He heard the voice of the man before he saw him. “Did you know that musk is gathered from the balls of musk deer, Marco?” The man, who had his back to him, turned round with a blinding smile. Two months in the outside world had put weight on his body and colour in his cheeks. His hair, tinted blond, was well cut. His hands looked manicured, clothes expensive. In short, his manner and bearing were regal. But there was no mistake. This was definitely Demarku. Tallis could hardly believe his luck. “Musk forms the basis for nearly every fragrance,” he continued, speaking in heavily accented English.
“Brings out the animal in us, I guess,” Tallis said.
“Very good.” Demarku let out a laugh. “You speak good English, too.”
“Have my mother to thank for that. She’s British but married a Croat.”
“Unusual,” Demarku said, still smiling. Tallis remembered what Crow had said. He’d as soon as slip a blade between your ribs as look at you. Probably smile while he was doing it. “Does it trouble you that I’m Albanian?”
“Why would it? I have great respect for your people.”
“Our two nations have suffered much together,” Demarku said, his voice sombre.
“What has happened to our people is indeed shameful,” Tallis agreed.
“I hate the pig-eating Serbs, and their ethnic-cleansing campaigns,” Demarku said, his eyes dark with hatred. For a moment, he seemed lost in time. Was he thinking of all the days he’d spent helplessly in prison when his fellow countrymen in nearby Kosovo had been slaughtered? Tallis didn’t know.
“Drink?”
“No, thanks,” Tallis said. “Unless you have water.”
Demarku flashed another smile of approval. Without order or invitation, the woman scurried off, returning minutes later with a tray of bottled mineral water and three glasses. After obediently pouring, she left the room. Iva, meanwhile, took up a position at the back, one foot resting on the wall. Tallis wondered whether it was intended as a veiled warning.
“Please, sit,” Demarku said, indicating one of two leather chairs. There was a weird graciousness about the man, Tallis thought. He seemed capable of exuding warmth but in the same way an electric fire heated a room while sucking all the air from the atmosphere. “Iva tells me you have an operation in place that might interest us.”
“Correct.”
“We have our own suppliers,” Demarku said—rather sketchily, Tallis thought. “But we’re always looking for new ways to import.”
“I understand.”
“I gather you use small craft to land the catch.”
“Yes.”
“And you have runners in place to do the pick-ups? We wouldn’t want some beach bum freeloading on several kilos of amphetamines.”
“This can all be arranged—for a price.”
“Ah, yes,” Demarku said. “Everything and everyone has its price.” He studied Tallis for a moment. Tallis was reminded of the great Brazilian footballer, Ronaldhino. He had a wonderful knack of looking one way while kicking the ball the other. “We like to build good working relationships with the people we decide to do business with,” Demarku continued. “Trust is essential. Can we trust you, Marco?”
“I think Iva can vouch for me,” Tallis said, glancing over his shoulder.
Demarku laughed. It was strangely high-pitched. “Iva trusts no one.”
“Don’t blame him.”
Demarku threw back his head and laughed again. Tallis found it contrived. There was no humour in the man, only vanity.
“Agreed, but enough business,” Demarku said, getting up. “I understand you enjoy women.”
For fuck’s sake, this was getting beyond a joke, Tallis thought. “Well, I …”
“I’ve planned something special,” Demarku said, sharp-eyed, the sub-text: do not disappoint me. “Please, join us.”
Tallis felt his smile wasting away. He didn’t like the sound of us.
He felt nothing but horror.
The room was small and airless. Even Demarku’s aftershave couldn’t mask the smell of sweat, blood and fear. Throughout the entire ordeal, Tallis was in conflict: save the woman or punish the men?
Apart from two chairs and the camera spotted when he first entered, there was nothing else. No need. Everything was attached to the walls—restraints, whips, handcuffs, knives.
The woman was absolutely terrified. As they ripped her clothes from her, she pleaded and begged then screamed, and the more she screamed, the more Demarku smiled.
Tallis was invited to join in with the rape but he fell back on an old excuse he’d learnt while undercover. “Sorry, some tart gave me the clap. I’m on pills the size of an ostrich egg.”
“And why you’re not drinking,” Demarku commented shrewdly. “Another time, then. Take a seat. Watch. Enjoy.”
Iva took his turn first, followed by Demarku. Then they ‘spit-roasted’ the woman, one having sex in front while the other sodomised her. It was cold, savage and brutal.
Skin crawling, bile rising from his gut, Tallis used every mental weapon to feign enjoyment, knowing that to fail would blow his cover. When they started on her with knives, he feared they were going to kill her, that he was watching a snuff movie in the making. What would it take to make them stop? he roared inside. Could he rush Iva, by far the more dangerous, and take on Demarku? Could he bag him and call Cavall? Should he die trying? When approaching a dog, if you surprise it, it’s more likely to bite. It was the same with humans. He didn’t want either of them reaching for a knife or a gun, and the brief stated that the handover should be with absolute discretion and a minimum of fuss, with no other parties involved. No other witnesses, Tallis suspected grimly. Like it or not, he felt forced to sit it out.
By the time they finished, the white-painted walls were spattered red. The woman, in great pain and barely conscious, was like a piece of raw meat.
Afterwards, both men having showered and changed, Tallis walked with Demarku out onto the street. Rain lacerated the pavement. The air felt dense with traffic fumes, but it felt good, so good to be out in the open, to be back in the real world instead of the stuff of nightmares.
“You look pale, my friend,” Demarku said.
“Really?” Tallis smiled. He took Demarku’s hand, clasped it in both of his, thanked him warmly and promised to be in touch.
Demarku wished him goodbye, turned to leave then turned back. “Oh, Marco,” he called.
“Yes?”
“Something you haven’t asked me.”
Shit, Tallis thought. He’d slipped up and Demarku was on to it. “What’s that, then?”
“My name.”
“Never remember names,” Tallis bluffed. “Now faces, especially memorable faces …”
“My friends call me Agron,” Demarku said, obviously delighted by the implied compliment.
As soon as Tallis was clear of the perfumery, he vomited into the gutter.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE next morning, haggard from guilt and loss of sleep, Tallis returned early, and staked out the perfumery from a café on the opposite side of the street. Rain was pouring down, making the roads look like polished slate. He’d followed Goran and Janko’s example and thrown on a hoodie, not because of the weather but to protect his identity.
At eight-thirty, a white van drove up outside the shop. Goran and Janko got out, went in, came out an hour later with a roll of carpet under their arms, struggling with it before throwing it in the back of the van. Tallis’s alarm bells rang. As the two men drove away, he thought the poor, unfortunate woman from the previous afternoon had been inside. What to do? Stick rigidly to the brief, risk upsetting Cavall, or contact Crow again? And tell her what?
He pulled out his phone. Demarku had to be picked up. Nothing could jeopard
ise the plan. But neither could he simply leave the woman to the tender care of Goran and Janko. After a moment’s deliberation, he made an anonymous call to the police, giving the registration of the white van.
At ten, Demarku arrived, spent an hour talking to the woman in the shop then left. Tallis followed.
Demarku’s first stop was a jeweller’s shop where he spent fifteen minutes trying on several watches before leaving empty-handed. He spent an hour in a gent’s outfitters and walked out with a pale grey single-breasted suit and several shirts. Next, he asked to see a pair of black shoes with a two-hundred-pound price tag. After he’d tried them on he paid for them in cash. The man was an out-and-out narcissist, Tallis thought. He didn’t simply care about looking good—it was his reason for being. As for funds, either he’d managed to acquire some wealth before he’d gone inside and had hung onto it, or there was a big fish somewhere, acting as Demarku’s paymaster.
Tallis dropped back, heart racing, and followed Demarku down Lowndes Street. The rain was lighter now but still persistent, yet Demarku was walking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. For all his guile and cunning, Tallis thought grimly, Demarku was oblivious to the man stalking his every move.
There were more trees, more greenery, giving him cover as he followed his prey through leafy Belgrave Square through streets that were tranquil and moneyed. He passed four-storey Georgian houses with chandeliers and huge drapes at the windows and black-painted railings outside. How many millions of pounds would it cost to live in a place like this? Tallis wondered, incomprehensibly. Then Demarku turned. Instinctively, Tallis turned, too, cupping his hand, pretending to light a cigarette, watching out of the corner of his eye as his man ran up three stone steps to a house and let himself in. Now what? he thought. Make the call or wait? He knew from his time on close-target reconnaissance that if an arrest was to be carried out, it’s imperative you got the right premises. And he just wasn’t sure.
Tallis crossed over the road, hoping that Cavall’s people were ready to move in, that they were on permanent standby. But there was every chance that this was not Demarku’s home. Perhaps he had powerful friends or a rich lover, someone with a heavy taste in S&M. Either that or he was squatting. While Tallis was deliberating, the front door swung open. Out came Demarku. He’d changed into jeans and a black roll-neck sweater, the shopping left behind. Looking left then right, he turned back the way he’d come. Tallis waited ten seconds then slowly picked up the chase.
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