Back in the sitting room Louise was crying. He left her to it, waited in the kitchen until he heard the tears run out and went back in.
‘You got money?’ he said, sitting opposite her. ‘I should have asked.’
‘I’ve got the hundred grand, all offshore. No record of it in this country. I can access it.’
Boxer’s phone rang. He took down an address. Hung up.
‘This is where you go,’ he said, handing her the paper. ‘I’ll walk you to a cab. Best not to call one here.’
They left the house, Boxer wheeling her suitcase. He had the strange sensation of saying goodbye to someone he’d known for a long time. He hailed a black cab, put the suitcase in the back. She kissed him on the mouth, held his face close to hers.
‘Am I allowed to see you again?’ she asked.
‘Best not,’ he said, but with the feeling of her lips on his.
‘It could have been interesting,’ she said.
He watched the taxi drive away on the black and gleaming road, confused, and wondering at how life never stopped coming at you.
Mercy had answered the questions as best she could with the first homicide team and then left to go to the Catford house. She had to clean all evidence of Amy and Alleyne from the house. She stripped the beds and bagged the linen, which she put in the boot of her car. She hoovered around the beds and wiped down the surfaces. She hated this. She hated subterfuge and lying. There was nothing more difficult than to keep track of a pack of lies. She’d broken too many suspects through their pathetic lies.
She called the second homicide team and gave her report when they arrived. She explained that she’d handed over the weapon used in this shooting to the first team and then excused herself, said she had to keep up with her special investigation into the six kidnaps.
It was a terrible night, with the wind buffeting her car and rain slashing across the windscreen as she made her way back to the Vauxhall office. She listened to the news and heard a full report of what had happened in Victoria Park. She went straight in to see DCS Hines and handed over the evidence bag with Chuck Powell’s mobile phone. A member of the tech team came in to retrieve it, took down the details and left. Hines debriefed her on the afternoon and evening’s events.
‘Anything from the kidnappers since the big giveaway?’ asked Mercy.
‘An email. I quote: “We don’t want to give you the impression that this is a mere redistribution of wealth. As you know we called this money ‘expenses’. We believe that this is the minimum amount that these individuals would have had to pay if they hadn’t enjoyed tax-free or non-dom status and been taxed at the same level as ordinary people.”’
‘Probably right,’ said Mercy.
‘I’ll make that our official quote for the press conference,’ said Hines. ‘I heard you had to kill three people.’
‘My informer and I were attacked during the handover of the phone.’
‘Which informer?’ asked Hines. ‘And why are you using informers for this kind of work? I’d have thought Papadopoulos would have been up to the task.’
‘First of all I don’t reveal the names of any of my informers,’ said Mercy. ‘And secondly, I was using this one in a slightly more inventive way than usual because I was concerned that the kidnap unit might have been compromised.’
‘What makes you think that?’ asked Hines, sitting up.
‘We made significant inroads into the kidnappers’ organisation but they always seemed to be ahead of the game,’ said Mercy. ‘We arrested Reef. They knew immediately and acted: cleared the hostages out of the Old Vinyl Factory and left a little booby trap to make us look stupid.’
‘Somebody in the communications centre?’
‘That would be the obvious place, the hub of all information,’ said Mercy. ‘But then again, they’ve been responsible for circulating that intelligence and it’s gone everywhere, not just to our officers in the field, but to MI5, MI6 and the CIA.’
‘There was a leak to Sky News about the cash, too,’ said Hines. ‘But what worries me more is that we’re dealing with an organisation that doesn’t appear to be motivated by profit. I mean literally blowing a hundred and fifty million is the ultimate demonstration of the ideologue. We might as well be up against religious fanatics.’
‘How did the parents of the victims take it?’ said Mercy, deciding to keep Emma’s revelations to herself.
‘All of them were stunned, some of them were very angry.’
‘Angry?’
‘Rich people care about money: not the status it confers by having lots of it in the bank or visible assets, but the physical presence of cash,’ said Hines. ‘And to see it thrown away like that was infuriating to some of them, especially Uttar Sarkar and Anastasia Casey. Apparently it wasn’t even Sarkar’s money. He’d done a deal with the Indian government and they’d supplied his twenty-five million in exchange for some tax break. It did not diminish his fury.’
‘They think differently to us,’ said Mercy.
‘Wealth is like drinking seawater. The more you have, the thirstier you get.’
‘And we haven’t even got to the ransom yet,’ said Mercy. ‘But if you’re right about Conrad Jensen being an ideologue, it looks like what they demanded of the CIA is going to be the name of the game. Announce this, declare that, name names.’
‘We have to find these hostages,’ said Hines.
‘Any reports of movements in or out of the Old Vinyl Factory?’
‘We’re not hopeful in a run-down industrial zone with little night-time activity.’
‘The lengths they went to in order to retrieve Chuck Powell’s phone show how important he is. Has he come round?’
‘Not yet and it’s going to be a while before he’s strong enough to talk. In the meantime we’ve got to look at all possibilities.’
‘Are the hostages still in this country?’ asked Mercy. ‘Are we looking at the ports? The Channel Tunnel?’
‘There’s a limit to what we can achieve without intelligence,’ said Hines. ‘Trying to check every container leaving the UK might be a bit of an ask.’
‘I interviewed Rylance before he attacked me. His phone had the names of two of his partners, Mark Lee and Jim Ford, who he worked with on Rakesh Sarkar’s kidnap,’ said Mercy. ‘He gave me the address of Mark Lee’s flat where they met up to change clothes for the kidnap.’
‘Let’s bring him in, both of them if we can, but they’ll probably be peripheral like all the others we’ve caught,’ said Hines. ‘The people exposed by doing the kidnap work don’t seem to know what’s going on in the centre. We need to find someone who was in the Old Vinyl Factory when they moved the hostages.’
‘After the kidnap, Rylance delivered Rakesh Sarkar to the factory. He maintains he didn’t see anything. He left the police car, changed out of uniform and was driven back into town,’ said Mercy. ‘Reef delivered Siena Casey to a car, which must have at least gone to the Old Vinyl Factory if it didn’t come from there. Siena was out of her head and it’s unlikely they would have let her travel unsupervised in a highly drugged state. Reef must have gone with her. And he must have had some way of recognising the car he was supposed to deliver her to.’
‘So who are you going to talk to first?’
‘I think I should try to find Mark Lee.’
Boxer felt acutely alone after the strange connection he’d made with Louise. He went to sit in Amy’s room, left the door open so there was a little light from the hall and watched her sleeping. It reminded him of when she’d been small and, on the few occasions he’d been in the country, coming back from work and going upstairs to watch her. The memory, tied up with the evening’s odd liaison and the terrible sense of loss, brought on a crying jag. Tears streaked down his face as he breathed in, shuddering against the emotion. He tried to remember the last time he’d cried and had to go right the way back to when he’d first been told that his father had gone. He’d cried then, but only once.
‘I
s that you, Dad?’ said Amy, from the bed. ‘Are you … are you crying?’
He nodded, wiped his face with the back of his hands and told her what had happened to Isabel, and about the baby lying in an incubator in the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. And then Amy was crying too, and she pulled him over. He lay down next to her and she clasped him to her in the dark.
‘What a life,’ he said.
‘What are you going to do with the baby?’
‘Your mum asked the same thing. And I don’t know. I haven’t got that far. I’m in a strange state. I’ve just lost Isabel, but she’s left me this little life that I’m going to have to fit into my own and I’m not sure how.’
‘I like the idea of a half-brother.’
‘You’ll have to go and see him,’ said Boxer. ‘It was one of the strangest things that’s ever happened to me. To see Isabel, but to find her totally absent, and then to be introduced to this struggling, quivering life in a Perspex box.’
‘Hang on to that, Dad, it’s a good thing.’
He held her close, kissed her head and relaxed.
‘I’ve been thinking about Siobhan,’ said Amy.
‘What happened there?’
‘I don’t know. I just got drawn in by her … charisma – or his; she was more of a guy than a girl. Fucked up as she was, she had the force with her. She didn’t care. I suppose that was it. She didn’t give a damn. It got her into trouble, but she experienced life. I admired her for that. I can’t get over her taking that bullet for me. Did you know I wasn’t part of the original kidnap plan? Taking me was her idea and Conrad liked it and approved it.’
‘Did Siobhan know why Conrad involved me?’ asked Boxer. ‘Why did he get Siobhan to hire me to look for him? I don’t get that. It’s the last thing he’d want to happen: to have people on his trail.’
‘She didn’t say. She was obsessed with Conrad. She called him her father, but he wasn’t, you know. She told me that. He’d rescued her from a shitty situation, which was why she did all his dirty work for him and took no thanks for it.’
Boxer got to his feet in a single sudden movement and stood in the middle of the room, staring into the dark.
‘What?’ asked Amy.
‘Are you and Marcus going to be all right on your own?’ he asked. ‘The doc said you were OK, just exhausted. She gave me some tranks if you need them.’
‘I’m fine. Marcus might like them for recreational purposes. Where are you going?’
‘I’ve got to go home to get a phone number and make a call.’
He left a note for Mercy, went back to his flat. He found the encrypted file on his computer and the number of Dick Kushner, who ran a rehabilitation centre for war veterans close to Worcester, Massachussets. He raised money for this centre by finding work for able-bodied vets and he had an encyclopedic knowledge of the best and the worst of types that operated for American PMSCs. Boxer had his secure number, which was the only way Kushner would talk about anybody in the business, and he was one of very few people Kushner trusted with it.
Boxer called him and went through the usual apologies for not having been in touch. He gave him as detailed a description as he could of the London kidnappings and concluded by asking him about Conrad Jensen and Chuck Powell.
‘I know the names and I know they worked together on interrogation teams in black sites during the extraordinary rendition programme. I don’t use Chuck Powell because he has an ugly rep. He’s very strong and he kills people. As for Jensen, he’s disappeared off my radar since those bad old days. Haven’t heard anything about him in the last five years.’
‘I heard through a friend of mine in MI6 that Jensen worked in a black site near Rabat in 2005.’
‘There was one in Temara so I don’t doubt it, but I don’t know it.’
‘What I need to know is whether he and Powell worked in any other black sites and if there was any other person they worked with regularly who could be described as a close personal friend,’ said Boxer.
‘I can’t tell you that off the top of my head, Charlie. And anyway, I thought you said the CIA was involved in this,’ said Kushner. ‘They must be able to help you with that stuff.’
‘I’m not officially in this business,’ said Boxer. ‘I’m just trying to find Jensen and the hostages and I’m not sure how friendly the CIA are.’
Kushner said he’d get back him.
They pulled into the parking area amongst the blocks of flats off the Portobello Road. The squad car that had followed stayed outside. Mercy was back working with Papadopoulos. She didn’t fancy tackling Mark Lee on her own with no weapon. On the way to Lee’s flat she’d filled him in on the reason for the visit. Papadopoulos hadn’t said a word. There was an uncomfortable atmosphere of distrust.
Papadopoulos got out of the car and checked the address, pointed to the flat, which had a balcony with a short drop to where they’d parked. Mercy beckoned him back to the car.
‘We can’t work together like this,’ she said.
‘Hey, look, Mercy, you were the one who gave me the accusing look back at the Old Vinyl Factory. What was that about?’
‘I’m sorry. I was nervous.’
‘Of me? What did you think?’
‘That somebody was feeding info to the gang.’
‘And you thought it was me? We’ve haven’t even worked together on this job.’
‘I know, which is why I’m going through the process of reconciliation,’ said Mercy, feeling terrible, having only just got out from under her own obligations. ‘Once something’s in your head, everybody’s a potential suspect.’
‘It’s been a trip, this investigation,’ said Papadopoulos. ‘I thought I was going to get fired, then I was ostracised, accused of spying and finally brought back into the fold. All I need now is to get shot.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s bad luck.’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Papadopoulos. ‘Things have been piling up on me.’
‘The mortgage you and Josie just signed up to?’
‘I’ve been meaning to tell you,’ said Papadopoulos. ‘She’s pregnant, too.’
‘Put it there, partner,’ she said, and held out her hand.
They shook hands. Mercy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. The contact seemed to make things better in the car.
‘It happens to all of us,’ said Mercy. ‘Everything comes at the same time.’
‘The convergence of shit, I think you call it.’
‘Except that’s not shit. It’s joyful. You’ve moved into a new home, the first one you’ve owned together …’
‘With the bank in the spare fucking room.’
‘And now you’re starting a family.’
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ said Papadopoulos. ‘It’s not been three months yet.’
‘It’s great news. Now cheer up and let’s decide how we’re going to play this,’ said Mercy. ‘Just looking at the way the flat is laid out, maybe I should go in there on my own to start with. He might take one look at me and do a runner. It’s not much of a drop from that balcony and God knows how many ways out of this warren there are.’
‘What about the lads in the squad car? Can’t we spread them around?’
‘These flats back on to four different roads.’
‘Two on the corners, two in the car in case of pursuit?’
She radioed the squad car, told them the plan.
‘Are you going to call me in?’
‘I’ll set up a text and send it when I want you to show.’
They got out of the car. Papadopoulos stood at the foot of the balcony. Mercy went to the front door of the block, rang a bell, said she was police and asked to be let in. The door was buzzed open. She hammered on Mark Lee’s door.
‘What’s up?’ asked a male voice, through the closed door.
‘Police,’ said Mercy. ‘I want a chat.’
‘About?’ he said, opening the door.
He beckoned her in. Mercy went into an open-plan kitchen/diner and living room with the balcony to the left and bedroom and bathroom to the right.
‘We don’t get much trouble up this end of the Portobello Road,’ he said. ‘Down Westbourne Park Road and beyond is where you want to be. Cup of tea?’
‘Thanks. I was thinking more about crime in these blocks of flats.’
‘Nah, they’re all good people here.’
‘In this flat in particular.’
He turned the kettle on, looked at her from the kitchen area.
‘There hasn’t been any. I’ve lived here nearly ten years and never had a break-in. Even with this balcony. Like I said, they’re good people.’
‘I was thinking more about you.’
‘Me?’
‘You are Mark Lee, aren’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Where were you just after midnight on the fifteenth of January?’
He poured boiling water into the cups, squashed the tea bags, lifted them out, added milk. Thinking all the time.
‘Sugar?’ he asked.
She shook her head.
‘Never been asked that question,’ he said, handing her the mug. ‘Surprisingly difficult to answer. That was a Tuesday night, wasn’t it?’
‘You’d remember, because you were in here changing into police uniforms with Michael Rylance and Jim Ford.’
Everything in the room was audible in the silence. The kettle cooling. The fridge gurgling. The pipework moaning.
‘I know what happened that night,’ said Mercy. ‘Rylance told me everything before I had to shoot him. You kidnapped Rakesh Sarkar. He last saw you overtaking him in Sarkar’s Porsche.’
‘Michael Rylance?’ he said, puzzled. ‘I’m not sure I know a Michael Rylance.’
‘And Jim Ford.’
‘Draws a blank too,’ he said, getting up, going back to the kitchen with his mug. ‘These guys told you I was involved in a kidnap? That’s interesting, because that night I was working but not kidnapping people. I was at my regular job as the night concierge at the Flemings Hotel in Mayfair. You want a phone number you can check that …?’
Stealing People Page 33