“Please, go on.”
Despite experience, I could feel my teeth grinding a bit from nerves before I jumped in. Copta’s lupine charm and confidence might be difficult to navigate—especially considering his history.
“Rumour as it you’re helping the police with their investigation?” I asked.
“Absolutely. The Duclos family have been good friends for a long time. This is just terrible about Yannick.”
“Mmhmm,” I said. I checked out the room. King-sized bed, matched neatly with what was an at least queen-sized, high-def TV on the wall across. A desk with a stack of unopened mail, on top of which lay some colourful envelopes. Invitations, I guessed. One had hearts for an upcoming Valentine’s bash, another red postcard featured an ornate crown. In the corner, a couch that looked even softer than the Rolls’ back seat leather. There was the expected art—a couple of framed paintings, and a vase that I assumed was worth a lot more than the calla lilies it housed—but nothing overly personal.
“You on this thing a lot?” I asked.
“Oh yes. Love it. Great for entertaining, great for business.”
“And the cops—they’re interested in what you’re offering?”
“Well, I’m offering them access to my books, specifically the work that Yannick did for me. If there’s anything there that could give them a lead…” He shrugged. “Well, I’m happy to help. We dealt with a lot of money. Could corrupt anybody I suppose.”
I pulled the chair from the desk and sat directly across from Copta.
“These are not going to be nice questions,” I said. “But as I am assisting in the investigation, I would appreciate your forthrightness.”
“As I said—happy to help.”
“Aren’t you worried about the police poking into your business?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Even though you are responsible for bringing considerable amounts of heroin into London?”
Copta rocked on his hands a bit, turning his head away. I could still see his smile.
“Welllll,” he said, drawing the word out. “That was a long time ago.”
“Are you sure the cops will see it that way? And besides, I hear it’s possibly still a side hustle for you”
“I’m confident the tracks of the past have long been covered.”
“Still, though.”
Copta turned his head back to face me, cocking it slightly.
“You think I had something to do with this,” he said.
“I don’t think anything,” I countered. “In this line of work, we just work with theories and trace our steps back.”
“Remove the impossible and anything that’s left, no matter how improbable, as to the answer? Is that how the saying goes?”
“I think Arthur Conan Doyle made this business sound a lot more interesting than it is,” I said. “And I don’t smoke a pipe.”
“This is quite the accusation, by the way. Even if I have acknowledged its veracity, it’s pretty brave to say that to someone.”
“I figure a guy like you doesn’t scare too easily. So, I gotta ask: Do you know what happened to Duclos?”
He leaned in a bit closer. I could smell what I remembered to be expensive scotch mingling nicely with a subtle cologne.
“I don’t know where Mr. Duclos is,” he said. “He did a lot of good work for me. He was, by all accounts, a decent man. His family felt like family to me.”
“What better way to throw off suspicion than offering help?”
“You cannot be serious.”
“Either you—or someone—got rid of him, or, one way or the other, he got rid of himself. And if that’s the case, he’s going to be a lot harder to find.”
“Well then,” he said, standing, smoothing the crease of his narrow black trousers. “I guess you’d better get to work.”
I put the chair back and joined him heading back to the party.
“How long is this thing?” I asked.
“Over 150 feet.”
“Pretty big for one person.”
He stopped, and for the first time his appraisal was truly icy.
“What do you mean?”
“No wedding ring,” I said. “No pics of wife or kids. Looks like it’s just you here. And your money, of course.”
Ayesha saw us coming round the corner and waved. Unsurprisingly, there were two blandly handsome, gym-fit guys flitting about. I wondered what other stories she had made up to amuse herself in conversation. I waved back.
I shook Copta’s hand. He squeezed, tighter than necessary, and jerked me close.
“The fear of being alone is worse than the reality,” he said into my ear. “So why don’t you and your date get off my boat and enjoy your night somewhere else, hm?”
Something about that had stung him. Copta’s manners had faded fast.
“No problem,” I said. “Know anywhere good to get a bite around here?”
Copta dropped my hand
“You push your luck,” he said, a snarl’s edge hiding in the back of his throat.
“Hey, you said to enjoy my night.”
“Côte Brasserie,” he said. “French place. Pretty good. Try not to choke on it.”
21
“So, how’d that go?” Ayesha asked.
We strode briskly down past the water, heading towards Tower Hill Tube station for a lift. Despite Copta’s culinary suggestion, I had suggested we not linger in the neighborhood any longer than necessary, and offered to buy her dinner at a decent tapas place I knew around Trafalgar.
“I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” I said, resignedly.
“But?”
“I do think he is a dangerous man.”
“No kidding.” Ayesha pulled her wrap a little tighter round herself. It was mild, but the second week of February still offered something of a bite in the air. “The company I had wasn’t much more entertaining. Decidedly less threatening, though, I’m sure.”
“Other than that, how did you enjoy yourself?” I asked.
She laughed. “You sure know how to show a girl a nice night out, Mr. Grayle.”
“Yeah, thanks. I don’t hear that as often as you might think.”
She nudged me towards a bench near the station, intent to finish our conversation without the rattling of the train barreling through the Underground. She took of her shoes and wiggled her toes.
“Four days,” she said.
I squeezed my hands together, leaning forward slightly.
“Yep,” was all I said.
“You gonna ask for more time?”
“Nope.”
We sat quietly then, watching the people heading in to hop on either the District or Circle lines. I wasn’t really a fan of either. Thanks to my flat’s location and my inclination for a few jazz clubs, I was mainly a Piccadilly or Victoria guy.
“I don't have the money,” she said. “Not handy. I take care of my mother—”
I raised my hand.
“I get it. It's OK. I wouldn't have even asked.”
Pause.
“I hope you have a plan,” she said.
I let a little air slip through the corner of my mouth.
“I usually find my response to crisis in the moment,” I finally said.
“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped this might all wrap itself up on the USS Gentleman Heroin Smuggler back there.”
“I don’t think he would be the roll over and confess his sins type.”
“I can be pretty convincing.”
“Helps if you have, you know, actual evidence. Knowing he moves H is not the same as him knowing where our missing man is.”
“I’ve never seen a drug dealer so blasé about his job,” I said. “I’m kind of impressed.”
“So, what’s your next move?”
I sat back, looking skyward, but pulling my fingers apart to avoid looking like I was in a state of prayer. I felt pathetic enough.
“Still have to work the wife. And
I’m going to go to his office, talk to people who worked with him. My gut says this plays itself out there. You don’t quietly amass 4 million pounds without someone knowing what was going on.”
“The wife won’t roll.”
“No, but it’s gotta be in the approach. I mean, she might not know anything really about where Yannick is, but it’s worth rattling her. Something might shake loose.”
“Could be Yannick’s buddy Elmore just didn’t like her.”
“This seems a bit too big for a guy to be just calling out his buddy’s wife.”
“Did you like all your ex-wife’s friends?”
I considered this, likely for the first time.
“She didn’t really have any. She wasn’t great at it. It was like she could just kind of pretend to care about other people, enough to get through a work party or a night at the pub, at least.”
Ayesha looked at me.
“That’s the saddest goddamn thing I ever heard,” she said.
I shrugged.
“It’s like everything else,” I said. “Family, jobs, relationships. You don’t see those things until you’re no longer in the middle of it. I’m sure I had my faults.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. I was prone to moodiness. Arrogance. An astonishing capacity for alcohol. Chewed my food too loudly. You know—the full gamut, really.”
We both laughed a little then, softly, in the dark.
“What about you? You have anybody?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Once. It was pretty serious.”
“I get it. You’re afraid of commitment.”
She shook her head again, a bit slower this time.
“No, not really.” She sucked in a bit of air. I realized she wasn’t sure if she was going to say anything further.
“It’s OK,” I said. “None of my business.”
“He died,” she said.
I let that sit between us for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It was a few years ago. Anyhow.” She leaned forward, slipping her pumps back on. “All in the past.”
“You still up for dinner?”
She shook her head. “Nah. Appetite’s shot. Sitting in the dark, feeling sorry for ourselves—imagine how maudlin we’d get over olives and chopitos.”
I stood too. We shook hands.
“I’ll follow up tomorrow,” I said. “Thanks for this.”
“Hey, you’re footing the bill. Don’t sweat it,” she said. She wanted to be glib, of course, but her eyes were tender. Kind, even. I gave her forearm a quick pat.
Her phone buzzed. She reached in, opening a text.
“Hunh,” she said.
“What’s up?”
“It’s a guy I know, does a little bookmaking and runs a card game for a lot of people we might have met on that yacht.”
“Rich and bored, then.”
“Gold star for you, Mr. Teacher,” she said. “Anyhow, we go back a bit. I asked him and a few others to keep an eye out on for that Raynott kid and his flatmate.”
I dug deep, but pulled it up after a second. “Fenske?”
“Yeah. Fenske. Our aspiring tough guy slash dealer. Fenske hit up one of my mate’s games. Apparently, he works the room now.”
“Seriously? Where’d that guy get that kind of traction?”
“No idea,” she said. She held up her phone. “This was the invite. Seen it before?”
I squinted.
On the screen was a crown, five arches and bright red.
Same as was on Duclos’ desk.
“Yes,” I said, pulling my Oyster card loose and heading towards the station, giving her arm a light tug. She fell into step, matching my pace. “Where’s this game happening, then?”
She gave me the details.
“Want to make some overtime?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said, pulling her own ticket loose. “If I get my appetite back, you can offer me dinner again, too.”
22
Ayesha’s source, Max, met us outside. For now, we had the alley to ourselves, but there was no guarantee that would continue. I shuffled my feet, keeping my eyes moving from left to right onto the night street.
“I can’t just let you guys in,” he said.
“Max,” Ayesha said. She reached out, giving his shoulder a playful squeeze, his face a good view of her wide, dark eyes. He was having none of it.
“Ha ha. Nice try. This is high roller time, kid.”
“What’s the buy in?”
He jerked a thumb towards me.
“Who’s the stiff?”
“Hey,” I said. “You can talk to me directly, you know.”
He ignored me and Ayesha rolled her eyes, mainly to placate Max. Maybe.
“He’s cool,” she said. “Look, come on. You know we’re getting in. We’re just negotiating now. What’s tonight’s buy in?”
He shot me another look, then turned to face Ayesha.
“Five thousand.”
“Wow, Max,” she said, impressed. “Moving up in the world, hunh?”
“I do OK.”
“No kidding. Last time we ran together, you were fencing laptops and mid-range jewelry.”
“I’m saving up. Gotta get on the property ladder. Invest in my future.”
“You ever see this guy?” I said, showing him a pic of Duclos on my phone.
He didn’t even look at it.
“Ayesha, I gotta get back to work. Great seeing you. Give me a call sometime, yeah? We’ll catch up proper.”
He turned, but Ayesha grabbed his arm.
“Max,” she said. “C’mon. Look at the picture.”
“I’m not looking to stitch up any of my players. The people who play here enjoy their anonymity.”
“This guy is missing,” I said. “We know he played here. We’re trying to find him for his wife. And his kid.”
Max looked at the picture, then shrugged.
“Max,” Ayesha said, her voice low as a prowler. “We need to get inside and meet some of these guys. For all we know, he’s in there right now, burning through his son’s inheritance.”
“He’s not in there.”
“So you know him?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, fine, OK? Your man’s Yannick D. Comes in about once a month.”
“When was the last time he played?” she asked, voice still low and cool, none too fussed. I could feel my own heart stating to pick up a bit, the RPMs building.
“Two weeks ago.”
Ayesha and I exchanged a look. I nodded.
“We need to get inside,” she said. “What’s it going to take?”
“What, besides five grand? Not much.”
“OK, how about this: You let us in, and spot us the money,” she said.
Max reacted predictably, but Ayesha cut him off in mid-snort.
“Max, you let us in, and give us money to get in. We aren’t going to play much. We just need some info. You get it all back. But we need cover. You do that. And I’ll tell you what I know about when you got rumbled by the cops back in ’16.”
“Nothing to know. Seller got sloppy and the cops tracked the stuff.”
“It was a smash and grab, right? You had to move the jewels fast. How’d the cops find it that quick, though?”
Max was trying to pull a look somewhere between bored and non-committal, but he was lagging.
“You want know who sold you out?” she asked.
Max flashed his teeth, the whites pressed tight against each other here in the alley’s lone lightbulb’s glare.
“This better be on the up-and-up,” he said through that savage smile.
She nodded. “It is. Want the name?”
“Yes,” he said, the ‘s’ spaced out in a hiss.
“J-Block. Guy who did some driving for you.”
“What, that kid? He wouldn’t dare.”
“He got picked up on a warrant. Rolled on you to get lo
ose. Remember he wasn’t around for a while?”
“Nah,” Max said. “Nah. He was solid.”
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to ask him,” she said, opening her phone and showing him a number. “Maybe you give him a call tomorrow. Ask him out for a proper catch up, yeah?”
Max smiled in spite of himself.
“You better be telling me the truth,” he said, turning towards the door. Ayehsa shot me a c’mon look and I quickly stepped to it.
“It’s golden, trust me,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked. We were in a closed Chinese restaurant’s kitchen. He headed to a door in the back, leading towards the cellar.
“We haven’t seen each other in a while,” she said. “Besides, it’s always best to say less than you know. Keeps people guessing.”
We came to the bottom of the stairs. Max banged on the iron-wrought door ahead with two hard thumps, then another. A latch clattered from behind.
“Cute,” he said to Ayesha as the door opened. “You’ll need a better poker face than that tonight. These guys aren’t messing.”
“This the part we we’re supposed to say, ‘Neither are we’?” I asked.
Max sighed.
“Yeah, sure. If it were true,” he said. We stepped inside.
23
“You know what you’re doing?” I asked. It was more a hopeful observation than a straight-up question. Ayesha was calmly counting out two stacks of chips as I drummed my fingers on the bartop.
“Oh yeah. I played a lot.” She checked one of the pillars against some loose chips in her hand. “Back in the old days.”
I was going to make a crack about how her old days were maybe three weeks ago, but then recalled Ayehsa had likely seen some of the heaviest shit anyone under 30 has a right to endure. I instead decided to wisely keep my mouth shut.
“You see Fenske?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“OK. I’m hanging here. If you see him, let me know.”
She looked up from her chips.
“How?” she asked. “It’s not like I’m allowed to use my phone out there.”
“I dunno, you’re the, ah, physical presence in this working relationship. Improvise.”
“Wait—I’m the muscle?” she asked, mock incredulously.
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