Julia checked her watch. ‘We’re running out of time here – why don’t we just call Nicci?’
Kaz glared at her. ‘You think she knows how to assemble an assault rifle?’
‘Even if you can put it together, what the fuck are you going to do with it?’ Julia shook her head in frustration. ‘You’re going to stand outside a pub in Tottenham with it? Don’t you think that might attract some attention?’
Kaz slumped back on her heels. Her hand was sore, but the real pain was searing through her brain, spinning round her synapses with the image of Yasmin being slowly choked to death. And it was all her fault. She bent double, clasping her arms around her body as if that would somehow help her hold it all together. It didn’t. Tipping back her head, she howled with despair.
50
Nicci lay flat on her back staring up at the hairline crack that snaked across her bedroom ceiling. She was definitely pissed. But in the last year she’d cultivated a hard head. A bottle of wine didn’t finish her off in the same way it would’ve done before her bereavement. She wished it had, at least she’d have an excuse.
She could hear his soft breathing though she didn’t turn to look at him. Rory was dozing after his exertions. The sex had been fast and furious. He was a passionate lover, which was not what she’d expected, given how buttoned-up and cynically detached he was the rest of the time.
The drive home, the ritual coffee invitation, the mild embarrassment at last night’s washing-up – Nicci had observed their courtship dance from some remote part of her own mind. Earlier, when he’d taken her gently by the elbow to shepherd her out of the restaurant, the pheromonal hit had aroused her curiosity as much as anything. What would it be like now? After all that had happened, how would it make her feel? Factoring in the amount of alcohol they’d both consumed it would probably be a washout.
In the event, Nicci had been agreeably surprised. Rory was confident, his desire for her unambiguous but not selfish. Apart from him asking whether this was ‘all right’, neither of them had spoken. She’d allowed herself to let go. The sensations that swept through her body seemed to come from a place far away and long ago. She came quite quickly; it wasn’t earth-shattering, just a simple sense of pleasure and release.
Resting on her back, her mind meandered down memory lane to her early days with Tim. They’d met at Hendon, though they were on different courses. Back then he’d been a joyous young man, handsome, fun; there’d been plenty of girls after him. She remembered their first sexual encounter. He was extremely nervous, a lad of barely twenty, full of jokes and japes with his mates, but shy of the opposite sex.
Nicci was a year older and more experienced – she’d been to uni, had three boyfriends but no orgasms – apart from the ones she’d given herself. Still, she knew how to put him at his ease, stroke his ego, and they’d learnt together. They’d laughed a lot, played a lot; in the bubble of their romance it felt as though dreams could come true.
Coming out of Hendon near the top of her class, Nicci was always headed for CID. Tim was a complete petrolhead. Being a traffic cop, out on the open road, suited his temperament. They were a carefree couple, until the unplanned birth of their daughter.
Nicci never found it that much of a problem juggling motherhood and a career. She had plenty of energy and optimism, she adored Sophie and they muddled along. However, encouraged by his father, Tim got it into his head that having a wife and child meant it was time for him to stop mucking about, step up to his responsibilities and be a man. Which would have been fine except that in Tim’s mind that translated into him being the one with the career and Nicci being a full-time mother.
Tim’s parents were traditional people. Nicci managed to get on with them but had never considered how their narrow views might have shaped their son. As her happy-go-lucky husband gradually morphed into a clone of his father, the rows began. Sophie was five when Nicci finally threw in the towel, picked up her daughter and left.
Under family pressure she’d gone along with various attempts at mediation. But a lecture from the Armstrongs’ family priest had been the last straw. She went out and shagged a young DC from Fraud, who’d been temporarily seconded to her unit. She kept the relationship going just long enough to give Tim grounds for divorce. His family reluctantly acquiesced in the belief that she was a scarlet woman who’d entrapped their naive son.
In the years that followed, contrary to what her former in-laws liked to believe, she’d lived a largely celibate life. It was just her and Sophie, and life as a working single parent had not been easy. Still, compared to now it was a time of bliss.
Glancing across the pillow at Rory she tried to recall the last man she’d actually slept with. It must’ve been a holiday in Cornwall that she and Sophie had taken with her parents. Late at night in the hotel bar she’d fallen into conversation with a local fisherman. He wooed her with tales of his valour as a member of the volunteer lifeboat crew. She knew it was probably a chat-up line he used regularly on the tourists. But they’d had several nights of summer sex and dawn walks on the beach. She thought his name was Steve – or was it Sam?
Rory opened his eyes, raised himself on one elbow, smiled and kissed her forehead. ‘I need the bathroom.’
As he got out of bed and retrieved his discarded condom from the floor, she surveyed his naked back. He had a thin white scar following the curve of his torso from the spine round to the front of his ribs. He padded down the hallway and she sat up wondering whether to have a cigarette. He clearly didn’t smoke, but she had a pack in the bedside drawer and it was her flat.
She was weighing the pros and cons when she noticed the screen of her phone light up. She’d put it on silent back in the restaurant. Sighing, she reached over and clicked it on – she had twenty missed calls and five texts, all from Julia Hadley.
51
Julia sat in her car, phone in hand. She was parked in a side street in an area of north-east London that was unfamiliar to her. The houses seemed ordinary, if a little scruffy, but according to Kaz the one they’d pulled up outside was a brothel.
The return trip to London had been at breakneck speed. Traffic cameras flashed and they were lucky not to be stopped. Julia had been scared stiff but at the same time, she had to admit, exhilarated. Despite her best efforts, it had proved impossible to get to Tottenham by eight o’clock.
At Julia’s suggestion, Glynis had produced a laptop and they’d gone on the Net for instructions on how to reassemble the assault rifle. It turned out to be surprisingly straightforward.
The same couldn’t be said for the unspoken bond that linked Kaz and Glynis – that remained impossible to fathom. Glynis seemed a nervous and meek woman, the polar opposite of Kaz, yet she’d been ready to do anything Kaz asked of her. She had even offered them the loan of her dog.
Buster, the Staffie, looked mean in his studded collar but was actually quite a benign beast. He was sitting in the tiny back seat of the Figaro now, occasionally licking his chops and drooling.
Julia glanced at the dog and wondered what the hell she was doing parked outside a brothel with an AK47 in her boot, waiting for a convicted criminal.
Kaz had rung the doorbell a few minutes ago and disappeared inside the house. Julia had phoned Nicci Armstrong for the umpteenth time, but she still wasn’t picking up. She’d given up the idea of calling the police – it was too late for that. Innocent concerned citizens didn’t drive around with guns in their cars and consort with criminals.
An image of Helen’s sardonic smile flashed into her mind. Julia’s predicament certainly would’ve amused her. On one occasion Helen had coldly accused her of being the straightest lesbian she’d ever met. If straight meant upright and honest, she hoped she was certainly that. She’d never broken any laws to her knowledge, although she was feeling extremely uncomfortable about the rifle.
Kaz had slotted a loaded magazine into the barrel, as per the instructions, and as far as Julia could see the gun was ready to be fired. Was
she about to become an accessory to murder? The situation would’ve been surreal if it wasn’t so frightening.
The front door of the house opened and Kaz came out.
She jogged towards the car and jumped into the passenger seat. ‘Okay. I got a possible address.’
‘What do you mean “possible”?’
‘Just fucking drive, Julia. Bottom of the street, turn left.’
The tone of voice didn’t brook any argument. Julia started the car and did as she was told. They navigated several back-streets until they hit a main road. Brow furrowed, Kaz glanced up and down. She had a calmness and concentration about her, even though both fists were clenched.
The road contained a range of shops and fast-food outlets. Drinkers enjoying the summer evening spilled out of a pub on the corner. Kaz scanned the shopfronts and her eye came to rest on a kebab shop next to a Turkish grocery.
She seemed to waver but only for a second. ‘Turn right. Then take that side road down there on the left.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Julia’s palms were sweating.
There was a darkness in Kaz’s eye, a steeliness that scared Julia.
Kaz simply smiled. ‘I’m gonna get a kebab.’
52
A concreted alleyway leading to a line of lock-up garages ran behind the parade of shops. It was barely wide enough for a car to squeeze past the row of overflowing dumpsters.
Kaz moved cautiously, keeping to the shadows, but she was pretty well concealed. In the summer twilight the alley was already quite dark and lights were on in the back windows of the flats and offices above the shops.
She’d left a nervous Julia parked in the adjacent side street with instructions to set the dog on anyone who hassled her. Julia had stared at her mutely, but Kaz had to admit the woman had some bottle. She’d expected her to simply bail after they’d dug up the guns. However, Julia’d shown no sign of that, although she did keep bleating on about Nicci.
There’d been no time for niceties during Kaz’s visit to the brothel. She’d seized Hanna by the throat, held her against a wall and demanded to know where she could find Mr Kemal. Before leaving, she took the precaution of trashing the girl’s phone. Hanna had been surly. The kidnapping of Yasmin had obviously meant a promotion for her and Kaz didn’t think it would take her long to find another phone to alert the boss.
The back door to the kebab shop was ajar and the smell of meat and hot fat wafted from the bright interior into the yard behind. Kaz gently eased the door open a few more inches and peered inside. There was a stairway on the right, then a corridor that appeared to lead to the kitchen. Two men in chefs’ whites could be glimpsed moving back and forth. The kebab shop was doing steady business.
Kaz had the gun resting against her right shoulder, muzzle tilted down, safety catch on, hand grasping the pistol grip. She drew a breath to steady herself then stepped through the doorway, turned to the right and crept slowly up the stairs. Under duress, Hanna had told her that Mr Kemal had an office above the kebab shop. She reached the top of the stairs and found herself on a landing facing two doors. Light was seeping from under both. She hesitated. She had a fifty per cent chance of being right. Assuming he was here in the first place.
The decision was taken out of her hands as one of the doors opened.
At the sight of her, Sadik Kemal froze in the doorway. His lips twisted into an amused sneer. ‘What the fuck?’
Kaz flicked the safety catch off and pointed the rifle. ‘Don’t think I won’t shoot. I’ll fucking cut you in half. You won’t be the first bloke I’ve killed. So back up! Nice and slowly.’
Sadik raised his palms. ‘You’re one fucking crazy bitch.’
‘Yeah. I am. So do it.’
He edged back through the open door into the room behind. The office wasn’t large but it was smartly furnished. Several filing cabinets, two newish desktop computers, a couple of high-back, leather swivel chairs. Seated in one of them, a grey-haired man was staring straight up at Kaz over half-moon glasses.
Sadik mumbled something in Turkish, but the other man seemed unfazed by the invasion. He looked much older than Sadik. He wore a polo shirt and a diamond-patterned cashmere sweater as if he’d just stepped off a golf course.
Wearily he removed his glasses. ‘Miss Phelps, I presume.’ The Turkish accent was still there, but less pronounced than Sadik’s.
Kaz took up a position in the corner of the room away from the door, back against the filing cabinets. ‘Where’s Yasmin?’
‘Doing business, I should hope.’
‘You need to call your scumbag of a son and get him to bring Yasmin here now. And if she’s dead, you’re going to be joining her.’
Mr Kemal leant back in his chair. He spoke in Turkish to his brother. The tone was one of mild annoyance. Sadik’s reply was accompanied by a shrug.
‘There seems to have been a misunderstanding.’ Mr Kemal waved his hand dismissively. ‘But I’m sure we can sort it out.’
Kaz found that her breathing was remarkably steady; the adrenaline was pumping, but nevertheless she felt sharp. The gun rested lightly in her hands, tucked snugly against her shoulder. She had no real idea what the outcome would be if she pulled the trigger. She presumed it would be messy and that gave her confidence.
She directed her gaze at Kemal. ‘Just call him.’
The man behind the desk sighed and picked up his phone. Kaz knew she was on dangerous ground. He could be calling anyone. Half a dozen armed meatheads could come storming up those stairs. The conversation was short, but the tone sounded very like an exasperated father lecturing his son.
He clicked the phone off and smiled. ‘He’s on his way.’
Sadik flopped down in the other chair, the sneer never leaving his lips. Mr Kemal picked up a pack of cigarettes from the table, took one out and lit it. Then the brothers both stared at her. Presumably they were hoping to unnerve her, but their attitude only fuelled her anger and her resolve.
‘Y’know, it should never have come to this.’ Mr Kemal drew on his cigarette, smiled at her through the smoke. ‘My son is young and sometimes foolish. But I’m a businessman. I’ve seen your product. It’s very good.’
Kaz met his eye. ‘What fucking product?’
He flicked ash from his cigarette into a small ceramic ashtray. ‘“The best weed in London” – isn’t that your slogan?’
‘I’m not here to do business. I don’t do business with people who kidnap my friends.’
‘And what about Sean? Maybe I should be talking to him.’
Sean again? What was that all about? Perhaps he was being used as a front to continue Joey’s cannabis business. If so, who the hell was running things? Questions flashed through her mind. Too many questions.
She brushed them aside, forced herself to concentrate. She knew Kemal’s purpose was to distract her.
‘Right now I’ve got the gun. So you’re talking to me.’
The two men exchanged looks. If one of them made a move, Kaz expected it to be Sadik.
‘You ever shoot one of those things?’ he smirked. ‘It’s a big gun for a woman.’
Kaz returned his gaze with her own piercing stare. ‘The advantage is you don’t have to be a particularly good shot. I can tear your balls off and rip your stomach open with one short burst. At this range, I can hardly miss.’
That wiped the smile off his face. He mumbled something in his own language. It sounded like a curse.
They remained in silence for the next five minutes. Kaz didn’t let her eyes waver and they gave up trying to stare her down. Finally a car could be heard pulling up outside in the alley. Mr Kemal sat with his back to the open window, smiling to himself. Kaz knew he was waiting for her to make a mistake.
Footsteps in the downstairs hallway were followed by a voice floating up the stairs. ‘Baba?’
Mr Kemal turned his palm upwards. He had the same hooded eyes as his brother. ‘You want him, he’s here.’
Kaz adjusted her
position so the gun was pointing straight at Kemal. ‘Call him. Just Yasmin and him. No one else.’
Sadik shouted something in Turkish. He was getting fidgety, which made him dangerous.
The boy downstairs replied, but only briefly. He could be heard retreating down the hall and into the alley. The car door opened and that’s when Kaz heard Yasmin’s voice drift up through the window. She was alive.
And she was begging: ‘Nah, please! I call her. I do what you want. She’ll come if I call. She will.’ The tone was desperate, punctuated with sobs.
Mr Kemal turned his head slowly towards Kaz. He gave her a sardonic smile. ‘Friends, eh? Sell you down the river every time.’
Kaz eyeballed him. ‘Only ’cause that scumbag son of yours tortured her.’
Heavy thumping footfalls could be heard as Tevfik propelled Yasmin up the stairs. As he thrust her through the door she was crying and pleading. Tevfik saw Kaz first and his arm went round Yasmin’s throat.
His face crumpled into a scowl of pure rage. ‘I fucking break her neck, you fucking bitch!’
Mr Kemal sighed. ‘Let her go.’
Tevfik replied angrily in Turkish.
Kemal shook his head wearily. ‘How is it I am cursed with such a stupid son?’
Giving his father a petulant look Tevfik released her. Yasmin simply stared at Kaz. Relief and fear mingled in her battered and bleeding face.
Kaz took a breath. ‘Now I want everyone to listen carefully to my instructions. ’Cause if you wanna stay alive, you follow them.’
53
Taking the Kemals by surprise was one thing, but Kaz had known from the outset that getting out of there unscathed with Yasmin would be another matter entirely. And Yasmin was a trembling wreck. One eye was closed up completely and she was limping. She had problems just standing upright.
She continued to cry and mumble. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Kemal. I’m really sorry.’
Kemal glanced at Kaz and shrugged. ‘You see? She has the mentality of a whore. What can you do?’
The Mourner Page 22