by Mark Eklid
‘Hi,’ said Graham and the man glanced at them over the top of his paper. Reluctantly, he folded the paper and put it down on the table as he rose to his feet.
‘What can I get you fellas?’ he asked, ambling towards the gap at the side of the counter.
‘Actually, we’re looking for someone who lives in one of the flats around here. It’s number 398a.’
The cafe owner stopped, realising his culinary skills might not be required after all.
‘This is 396. There are two flats above these shops which are rented out by a man called Kowalski but I don’t know who lives in them. Are you the law?’
Graham shook his head.
‘No, it’s nothing like that. We’re just trying to find someone. He’s called Ken. Might he have ever come in for a coffee?’
The man gazed at them with suspicion, not persuaded by the assertion of innocent purpose.
‘I don’t know any Ken. The entrance to the flats is down the side, by the flower shop. There’s a bell to ring for the flats.’
‘OK,’ Graham began to back away towards the door. Andreas had already retreated through it. ‘Thanks very much for your help.’
Andreas strode down a gap about the width of a small car between the two buildings. Around two-thirds of the way down was a blue door with two bells fixed to the wall next to it. One had a label saying ‘396a’ beneath it and the other said ‘398a’. Andreas pressed on the one they wanted and waited for a response, his head tilted to pick up any sign of a noise from within.
Ten seconds later, he rang it again, holding his finger on the button for longer this time. Still there was no reply.
He took out his phone.
‘I’ll try calling him again.’
Again, there was not so much as a ringing tone.
‘Pah! Where the fuck is he?’
‘Try ringing the other bell,’ suggested Graham. ‘Somebody might be in who could at least confirm that Ken lives here.’
Andreas pressed the second bell and then impatiently pressed it again a few seconds later.
‘This is useless,’ he snapped and pressed hard on the first bell again.
‘It doesn’t look like he’s around but he must be somewhere,’ said Graham, attempting to keep the conversation in a rational balance. ‘There’s not much else we can do, so how about we hang around here for an hour, just in case he comes back?’
Andreas gave the bell another frustrated push and then looked at his watch.
‘It’s nearly 12 o’clock. There are a million and one other things I had to do today, so I don’t really want to waste more time on this wild goose chase.’
He pressed the bell again, almost as if he wanted to punish it.
‘Half an hour, then,’ Graham reasoned. ‘I can get us coffees from the cafe and bring them back to the car. He might just have nipped out somewhere. I’d hate to think we might have just missed him.’
Andreas drew a deep breath and exhaled pointedly.
‘OK. 30 minutes. Do you think the man in the cafe could manage to cook a decent bacon butty as well?’
They sat in the Jag, sipping their drinks, and Andreas ate his comfort butty but still there was no sign of Ken. Graham disposed of their rubbish in a convenient wheelie bin at the side of the convenience store and they set off back to the depot.
Keeping tabs on Turnbull was considerably easier. They checked the Trams tracking together on the computer as soon as they got back to the depot and confirmed that he and his truck were around midway between Rotterdam and Hull on the North Sea.
All they could do was wait.
Andreas returned to his tasks and Graham picked up on his duties while attempting to avoid the further wrath of Rebecca. It was late afternoon until he felt he dare risk stepping outside for a short break.
It was time to make a call. Another chance he did not want to take was to give Sarah and her heavies any reason to suspect there was a deviation to their plan going on.
He stood against a wall in the yard, well away from anyone else, and stared at the phone for a while before he plucked up the courage to press call on the one programmed number.
It was answered after three rings.
‘Yeah,’ said a voice, tersely. Even with so little to go on, Graham felt sure it was Jason who had answered.
‘It’s Graham. I thought I’d let you know what the situation is.’
There was silence for a second, like a time delay, before the gruff voice responded.
‘Have you got what we want?’
The question sent a shiver down his spine.
‘I don’t know the time or place yet but we’ve got a good idea who’s behind this and we know roughly when the exchange should take place. We’re expecting it to happen sometime between 7.30 and nine tonight.’
Again, there was a painful silence.
‘Don’t even fucking think about trying to put one over on us.’ The threat in the tone could not have been clearer.
‘Look, nobody’s about to do anything stupid here.’ Graham attempted to be as assertive as he was able. ‘Andreas and myself have nothing to do with what’s been going on without our knowledge and, believe me, we want nothing more than to bring this whole matter to an end. We’re starting to put the pieces into place and when we figure out the exact details, I will let you know. You’re going to have to trust me on this.’
It felt like a plea in vain. He did not imagine trust was a trait these people had much cause to exercise very often.
He waited for the response.
‘You’d fucking better,’ it came at last and then the line went dead.
He puffed his cheeks and tried to blow out the tension which had quickly gripped every part of his body.
How did it come to this?
Not so long ago he was a humble librarian for whom gangsters and drug smugglers were merely categories in the fiction section but now... And the strangest part of it all was that the person he most feared might rip out his throat without a second thought was made partly of his own genetic material!
How bad a life would someone need to have to make him turn out so evil when his father was totally incapable of harming anyone? Jason must have had an awful childhood and been exposed to heaven only knows what at too young an age to have turned out like this.
Many families have their black sheep. He knew this full well. He had even sold the concept as exciting to researchers when they discovered theirs – a dash of colour in their ancestries they could tell stories about among their friends – but this was far too close to home to be a harmless thrill. This was downright terrifying.
Everybody would have been so much better off if he had simply kissed Sarah goodnight at the door of her digs and walked away back towards Leeds city centre, merrily whistling his Lindisfarne songs.
Better for her and definitely better for him.
26
Graham called in at Janet’s office, taking the long route back to his desk. The door was open and he watched her busily leafing through the contents of a filing cabinet, with her back to him, for a few stolen moments before stepping through.
The phone call to Jason had stirred all the darkest terrors that held him in their clinch the previous evening and had deepened his sense of foreboding over what he and Andreas must face before this day was over. They could see no alternative to their plan to intercept the shipment at whatever handover point had been arranged, but the dangers of the unknown loomed ahead like a treacherous, gloomy threshold and the creeping shadow of the drug gang behind them made it impossible to turn back. The path they had to take was their only option.
Janet was unaware of his presence, just as she was unaware of so much that had happened to him in the last 24 hours. That was the way it had to stay. He hated shielding the truth from her but hated even more the thought of exposing her to harm. She would not like the deceit but she would understand once he explained everything, when it was all over.
‘Hey, love.’
She turned and smiled.
‘Oh, hiya, duckie, I didn’t see you there. I’ll only be a couple of minutes and we can get off.’
Out of her view, he grimaced and braced himself. More lies.
‘Actually, I’m going to hang around here for a while yet. There’s something else I need to do with Andreas.’
Janet stopped what she was doing and faced him again.
‘I thought we were going back to Derby tonight.’
‘I’m sorry, love, can we put that off until tomorrow morning? We’re so close to getting to the bottom of all this now and I think we should have it all sorted tonight but there’s something else we have to do first. I’m sorry.’
He regretted the second apology. He hoped it didn’t betray how guilty he felt.
‘Did you find him earlier?’ she asked. His face must have turned momentarily blank because she felt the need to clarify.
‘Mr Arnold. Did you find him?’
‘Oh, right! No, he wasn’t in and he’s had his phone turned off all day. I don’t suppose you’ve heard...’
She shook her head.
‘What is this about, Gray? You and Andreas were very mysterious about it this morning. If Mr Arnold has done something wrong, I might be able to help.’
He walked over and embraced her.
‘Thanks, love, it’s all in hand. I can’t really say if he has done anything wrong because we still don’t know for sure but we should know by this evening. I’m sorry that it sounds as if I’m hiding something from you but until we really know what’s going on, it’s better that I say nothing. It could be nothing to do with Ken but once I know what the full picture is, I’ll tell you all about it, I promise.’
He kept her in his arms, glad not to have to extend his pretence to his expression as well.
‘You get off. There’s no point you hanging around for me. You take the car and Andreas will give me a lift home later.’
‘OK,’ she replied, more in resignation than reassurance.
‘You’re not in any trouble, are you?’
He closed his eyes. This was unbearable.
‘Me? No! You know me, I never do anything that could land me in trouble. It’s not like that.’
‘But a man was murdered, Gray.’
This was doing little to alleviate the fear she had felt since he first told her Yates had been killed. His next words had to be well chosen if he was to avoid adding to her anxiety.
‘I know, love, I know, but that’s not connected to what we’re doing tonight. We’re not trying to solve the murder here. No doubt the police have got all that in hand but what we’re hoping to get to the bottom of is who was behind those fires they had in the depot yard earlier in the year. We think Ken knows something that might explain it and that’s why we’ve been trying to find him and we think we know where we might be able to speak to him tonight. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.’
More lies. He just hoped they came across as believable.
‘I’ll get something to eat with Andreas and I’ll send you a text when I’m on my way home. I’m not sure when that’ll be but it won’t be too late. If you could pack us a few things tonight we can get straight off to Derby in the morning. Is that OK?’
She did not answer straight away.
‘Yeah, OK.’ She broke away from their hug. ‘Just let me know what’s happening and be careful. I don’t like this, Gray.’
‘I know.’ His heart was as heavy as a stone. ‘It’ll be fine, love. I promise.’
They kissed.
‘Love you,’ he said.
‘Love you,’ she replied and kissed him again.
The unguarded concern in her face troubled him even more. He should go now, while he still could.
‘See you later,’ he said, trying to sound as casual as he was able, and then he left the small office.
Graham sat quietly at his desk, occupying his mind with the comforting distraction of routine tasks. Zoe, Sparky and then Rebecca all completed their shifts and went home, leaving him on his own.
He looked at the clock. It was 10 past six. It was time to check Trams to get an update on Oli Turnbull’s journey from Rotterdam.
The system refreshed and showed that he had arrived in Hull. The truck engine was running. He must be waiting to disembark the ferry.
Graham jumped from his seat and stepped quickly down the corridor towards Andreas’s office. He was at his desk, looking at his computer screen, but stopped what he was doing.
‘He’s landed,’ said Graham.
Andreas nodded. ‘I’ve just seen. Everything is on time for now. I think we should make a move.’
‘OK.’ Graham’s stomach churned with a surge of nervousness but he tried not to show it.
‘I’ve been thinking about this,’ added Andreas. ‘We have to assume that the old industrial estate is still a possibility for the rendezvous point, but we can’t assume that it will definitely happen there, so I suggest we drive to the services on the M18, as I said earlier, get on to their WiFi and monitor his progress on my laptop. If he stops at the industrial estate, we’re 15 minutes away, but if he drives past, we have to anticipate his next move. I don’t think they would use the services we’re going to because it’s not really geared up for artics and there will be too many people about. I can’t believe that he will divert too far off the motorway because they must know that their route will be traced on Trams and on the tacho and it will look too suspicious if he pulls off the most direct route for no good reason. That’s why I think this is their only realistic alternative.’ He gestured for Graham to come round the desk to look at the computer screen. ‘Here, look.’
He waited until Graham was at his shoulder before clicking to bring up a map.
‘See, there is a large truck stop at this end of the M18, close to the junction with the M1. It’s usually very popular with the truckers and the parking area is normally just about full because they pull in for the night, get some food, have a couple of pints and get some sleep, then it’s up in the morning for breakfast and away again.’
Graham looked at the satellite image of the map. It did look like a big place.
‘But if it’s so popular, surely it’d be hard to do something as obvious as take goods off the back of the trailer and load it onto another without attracting suspicion? With so many truckers about, somebody would be bound to realise what was going on.’
Andreas almost anticipated the objection.
‘I said usually very popular,’ he added, with a flourish. ‘Most trampers finish their runs on a Friday and head home, so the truck stop is quiet on Friday nights. The parking area is big enough to pull in well away from anyone else and then do what you need to do unnoticed. They will know that. They serve food until nine, so it’s easy to explain away a stop there, even though it’s so close to the depot, by saying you wanted to call in for a meal before it got too late. See?’
Graham nodded. It sounded plausible.
‘And there’s nowhere else you know of where he might pull in?’
‘Not unless he stops right on the motorway and that’s far too risky. It has to be here if it’s not the industrial estate.’
It was a guess but it was as good a guess as they had. With the advantage of Trams, they could always react and head elsewhere if they needed to.
‘Right. Let’s set off for the services, then.’
It was around 10 to seven when they pulled off the motorway and parked at the services. Andreas opened the rear door to retrieve his laptop bag from where he had cast it onto the back seat and set off towards the glass-fronted main building.
There were plenty of people about. The two children of a family were skipping eagerly towards the promise of a fast-food treat while their parents stretched out the fatigue of their journey, walking slowly behind them. A group of five men in their twenties at an outdoor table, all in shorts and sunglasses, were laughing loudly as one of their number cursed the ill-fitting plastic top on his large cup whic
h had leaked his soft drink down the front of his t-shirt.
Graham followed Andreas reluctantly, his trepidation growing, into the main food court. The centre of the court was dominated by a large tree, replanted, presumably, in a valiant attempt to temper the ugliness of its surroundings with the simple beauty of nature. Chairs scraped across the tiled flooring as diners rose from their tables and other people milled around the outside of the dining area, trying to pin down their best options from the usual big-name food outlets circled around the outside of the building.
A big screen behind them was booming out the build-up to the night’s big match as Andreas led them to one of the booths where a listless staff member was about to clear away a tray left by the last occupant.
‘We’ll set up here. I’ll make sure I can get on their WiFi.’
Andreas took out his laptop and started it up. Two minutes later, he had connected and was waiting for Trams to load.
‘Now let’s see where our man has got to,’ he said, clicking impatiently and waiting with a puff of the cheeks as the links took him to the information he wanted to see.
‘Ah ha!’ he pronounced at last and Graham gathered closer to look.
‘We have him on the A63 around North Ferriby. That’s at least another half-hour or 40 minutes out. Do you want something to eat?’
Food was low on Graham’s wanted list.
‘Just a coffee, thanks. I’ve no appetite right now.’
‘Really?’ Andreas appeared bemused by the suggestion. ‘Thinking makes me hungry. I need to feed my brain. Keep an eye on this, will you?’
He rose and headed towards the food outlets.
Graham watched the progress of Turnbull’s truck as the system automatically refreshed every 12 seconds. As he followed the red blob of the signal on his screens at work, it always seemed so satisfyingly positive – the sign of a job on its way to being well done – but this was different. This time, it felt like watching the advance of a predator closing on its prey and they were about to put themselves in the way of its widening jaws.