by Parker Bilal
‘That’s why you wanted to see me?’
Crane looked at him. ‘What if there’s a connection between this and the work I did?’
‘Look, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You did nothing wrong. You provided psychological support for a group of soldiers. That’s the end of it.’
She tried to read his face. ‘Is it, really?’
‘You have nothing to worry about,’ Mason repeated, attempting a smile.
The question of how far she could trust Mason was a factor in all of Ray’s dealings with the man. The word loyalty wasn’t in his vocabulary. Part of the reason she had asked for this meeting was to sound him out, to find out where she stood. So far, all she heard confirmed her feeling that Mason would throw her under the bus in a heartbeat if he thought it was in the best interests of the country, or more importantly, himself.
‘Did you keep track of them?’
Mason lifted the shoulders of his expensive coat. ‘I’m telling you, it’s fine.’
She pushed her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. ‘I went through my case files.’
‘Did you now?’ She could hear the bristle in his voice. He was growing impatient.
‘I came up with a list of men who might fit the bill. All of them were interviewed. Seven of them I managed to locate. All are settled with families. Two died; one of them by his own hand. One of them is in prison. That leaves five unaccounted for.’
‘I’m impressed.’ Mason let out a low whistle. ‘You have been thorough.’
‘Of the three, one stands out, a soldier who was drummed out of the Light Brigade for getting carried away. He was vicious, had a violent streak.’
‘He was a solider. They are trained to be violent.’
‘They’re also trained to be stable professionals. This one wasn’t. He liked to hurt people.’
‘So why do you need me?’
‘Because I’m trying to find out what happened to him.’
‘What makes you think I can help?’
‘Come on, Stewart. You’re the inside man. You can pull some strings, make some calls.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘I want to know what happened to Brian Hicks. He was drummed out of the military on the basis of my assessment. I want to know where he went.’
‘You’re worried that he’s coming after you?’ Mason’s brow furrowed. ‘Come on, none of this has been aimed at you.’
‘Maybe he’s just getting warmed up.’
‘Believe me, if he comes after you, he’ll be making a mistake.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’
‘You’re taking all of this far too seriously.’ Mason smiled. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’
‘Some other time, maybe. When all of this blows over.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Mason grumpily.
‘So, you’ll make some calls?’
‘Ahh.’ It wasn’t clear from Mason’s response whether this was a yes or a no. As she watched him walk away, Ray wondered if she was wasting her time.
CHAPTER 40
At the Ithaka Café Eleni had made pastitsio. As he sat down, Drake realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him.
‘No ouzo?’ Kostas asked from behind the counter. ‘The way you look, I think you need it.’
‘You may have a point.’
‘No maybe.’ Kostas wagged a finger. ‘Ouzo is for the health. The secret to life is to drink a little, not too much. My grandmother lived to be a hundred and ten. Every day she took an ouzo.’
It sounded like a useful alibi, but Drake’s mind was elsewhere as he watched Kostas setting two glasses on the counter and reaching for the bottle.
‘So, are you winning or losing?’
‘Come again?’
‘The fight against evil.’ Kostas raised his glass. ‘Did the bad guys win or did you?’
‘Right now, I think you can say the bad guys are ahead.’ Drake picked at the bowl of olives Kostas had set on the table.
‘There are days when the devil has to win, otherwise he gets too mad.’
‘Right.’
Maybe that’s what it was, placating the devil. He didn’t want to think about how close Hakim had come to killing Kelly. It wasn’t a good feeling. She would be out of action for a couple of months at least.
Kostas left him to it and Drake sipped his drink and stared at the screen behind the bar. The sound was turned down. A reporter was standing in front of the entrance to West Brompton station. Drake watched as the camera panned round to show the tracks heading north, where Hakim had vanished. They cut back to the press conference where Pryce was sitting on stage with his uniform buttoned up. Behind him was the mugshot of Hakim. He looked crazy enough, but nothing like the way he looked now.
‘You shouldn’t be watching this, you know?’ Eleni said as she put down his food. ‘It’s not good for the soul.’
‘That’s what this is for, right?’ Drake lifted his glass.
‘That’s only what that old fool says,’ she nodded towards Kostas who was fiddling around behind the counter. She took away Drake’s ouzo and replaced it with a glass of wine. ‘Goes better with the food,’ she assured him.
On the screen the woman with the dyed rhubarb hair was addressing a crowd. The tape underneath identified her as Jayden Delaine, leader of the Hope and Glory party. A group of unhappy, greying men stood behind her waving the St George’s flag. Among them, Drake spotted the now familiar face of Stephen Moss, the neo-Nazi he had seen at the Alamo.
For a change, the Ithaka was not empty this evening. Drake sat back against the rear wall at his usual table. There was a family in the centre of the room. They looked like tourists who had lost their way. Adventurous Scandinavians by the look of them. Long-haired kids looking around the place nervously and parents whispering to them to finish their food. The Airbnb Experience. Spend a few days in the urban jungle. Catch a glimpse of the unknown before racing home and bolting the doors.
Drake was thinking back to his conversation with Waleed. Not the most reliable source perhaps, but he had sounded sincere. There was someone else. The murshid. Someone who was guiding the operation. Up until now, Drake had assumed that Hakim would lead him to this ideas man. The guide. Now that Hakim had slipped out of their grasp, they needed another strategy.
The only other customers in the place were a couple. Kostas had put them over in the corner, by the window, away from Drake and the family. He’d turned the lights down low on that side and even managed to find a candle. Old romantic that he was. The woman looked over at him and Drake realized he had been staring. She was pretty, with long dark hair that hung over her shoulders. It gleamed in the candlelight. Drake picked up his phone for something to do and flicked through the messages. One from Wheeler claimed that Pryce had spoken to him about excluding Drake from the investigation. There was to be a meeting early the following morning. Not exactly good news, but not unexpected either.
‘No dessert?’ Eleni asked as she cleared the plates away.
‘No, thank you, that was delicious.’
Kostas appeared with a bottle of Metaxa. ‘One for the road?’
‘Some other time. I need to sleep.’
Drake managed to make it through the door without looking at the woman in the corner, but as he climbed the stairs the loneliness hit him and he found himself leaning his head against the door of the flat below his. He was still trying to decide whether to knock when the door opened by itself.
‘I wondered where that heavy breathing was coming from.’
Maritza was wearing her baggy overalls, covered in paint stains. In her left hand she held a glass of red wine.
‘Want some?’
He didn’t really, but he said yes anyway as he followed her through to the living room. The walls were covered in paintings, most of them in the middle of some process of change that he had difficulty following. The room was cluttered with painting
materials, glass jars filled with brushes, rolls of canvas, empty frames stacked against one wall, covered ones against another.
‘You were working?’
‘Just fiddling around, adding a few touches.’ She smiled back at him. ‘I’m celebrating.’ She waved the bottle and refilled their glasses even though Drake had hardly touched his. ‘I sold one today.’
When she smiled her whole face lit up. Wrinkles appeared in the corners of her eyes which made him think that once upon a time, long ago, she must have smiled a lot more.
‘Congratulations.’
‘On days like this, I think perhaps it’s possible to survive.’
‘There will be more days like this,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ Their eyes met over the rims of their glasses. ‘I hope so.’
She took his hand and led the way down the hallway to the bedroom. They passed a door with a stuffed gorilla stuck to it.
‘Where’s Joe?’
She turned to smile back at him. ‘He’s with his father tonight.’
He wondered if that was a coincidence. On the wall of the bedroom there was a picture of Frida Kahlo in an antique wooden frame. Maritza had told him once that it was a picture she’d had since she was sixteen and living in Mexico with a painter twice her age. It showed water stains, what might have been blood or wine, and pressed between the glass were dried flowers, which might once have been bright colours, jacaranda, hibsicus, all faded to the same brown. She had explained this picture to him the first time they had spent the night together in here.
He turned to see her set down her glass on the bedside table. There were candles on the dresser. She smiled as she put both hands to the opening of her jumpsuit and pulled gently. He heard the snap fasteners pop one by one as they came apart. She slipped her shoulders free and let her jumpsuit drop to the ground. She was naked underneath.
Making love with Maritza was always an almost spiritual experience. She gave herself to the moment completely. Drake found himself drawn in, feeling her move in his arms as she brought herself and then him to climax. Afterwards, he lay there gasping for breath. She rolled over on her side.
‘I’m not sure how much longer I can keep doing this,’ she said quietly.
He lifted a hand to stroke her back. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean you, me. I don’t know what all of this means to you.’
‘Does it have to mean something?’
She turned to look at him. ‘Is this all you want, a warm body at night?’
Drake rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
‘I understand, it’s difficult for you. Your childhood. It can’t have been easy. But this could be a new beginning, for both of us.’
Her words echoed in his head long after she had fallen asleep. In the early hours, he slipped out of bed and took his clothes out into the hall where he dressed quietly. Then he let himself out.
It was cold and dark on the stairs. The light had gone out and he had to feel his way up. Inside his flat there was enough glow from outside for him to move around without switching on any lights. Drake lay down on the sofa fully clothed and slept for all of three hours. He woke in the middle of the night needing to take a leak. His mouth was dry and he was sweating all over. He stripped off his clothes on the way to the bathroom. Then he stood in the darkened kitchen in his boxer shorts and drank a glass of water. Through the window the lights on the skyline resembled gas flares on the surface of an alien planet.
What did he want? What did anybody want? A place to hide? A million dollars? A penthouse apartment? He used to care about this city. Perhaps he no longer understood it. Who lived here, what did they do? What did they dream? Everyone wanted a pathway up to the stars, a tower like in the fairy tales, where nobody and nothing could touch you. Where you could look down at the little people moving around far below, as insignificant as ants. Somewhere away from it all. He lay back down and closed his eyes. Somewhere in the building there was music playing. The steady throb of a bass line that vibrated faintly through the walls. A moment later, or so it felt, the phone rang. It was Milo.
‘They’ve found Hakim,’ he said.
CHAPTER 41
It was raining when Drake arrived at St Mary’s Cemetery. A thick layer of icy mist hung in the air, taking away his breath. A young uniformed officer stood off to one side, bent over at the waist, retching. Milo stood next to him holding a handkerchief.
Akbar Hakim was lying up against a stark tree, bare of leaves, that leaned over to one side, bent like a lightning bolt arcing towards the ground. The body was strapped to the tree trunk with baling wire that had dug into the flesh drawing lines of blood across the bare torso. A loop of the same material around the neck held the head back and offered a possible cause of death.
Drake’s eye followed the length of the arms to where they came to rest in Hakim’s lap. He swore under his breath. Both hands had been cut off at the wrist.
‘Ever see anything like that?’ Milo asked.
‘Can’t say I have.’ Drake glanced over at the uniform. ‘How’s he doing?’
Milo looked back. ‘He’ll survive.’ He nodded at Hakim. ‘What does this mean?’
‘The hands?’ Drake shook his head. ‘Generally it’s for stealing.’
‘That’ll put a stop to it.’
Drake wondered where this deadpan version of Milo had come from. Maybe it had always been there, but was usually overshadowed by Kelly. Maybe he just missed her.
‘You need to get out of the office more often.’
‘Sorry?’ Milo frowned.
‘Forget it.’
Drake bent down towards the body again as something caught his eye.
‘What is that?’
Before anyone could answer a fat raven dropped from the sky and settled on the man’s shoulder, causing everyone to leap back. All except Drake. Fixing a beady black eye on him, the bird jerked forward and dug its beak hard into the man’s cheek. Celia, Fast Eddie’s second, let out a cry, as if it had pecked her, and immediately stepped forwards, shooing it away.
‘Go! Go on, get lost!’
The large bird flapped its wings but did not budge. An urban bird, indifferent to humans. Another landed next to it, perching itself on Hakim’s head. This one went for an eye. The woman screamed again, prompting a couple of uniforms to leap forwards, instinct overcoming protocol, ignoring the fact they were trampling over evidence to shoo the birds away.
‘Great!’ muttered Drake, stepping out of the way. ‘Could we all please back up a little?’
He waited for them to clear before squatting down again in front of the body. He leaned forward to get a better look. As he did so, something wriggled out of Hakim’s nostril and fell into his lap.
‘What the hell?’ As he rose back up in a hurry, Drake bumped into Archie as the coroner came up behind him.
‘Ah, interesting.’
‘He’s got worms coming out of him.’
‘Fascinating.’ Archie had the happy smile of a man who loved his work.
‘Did nobody hear anything?’
The uniform standing nearby shook his head, amused by this lack of common sense.
‘Even if somebody had heard screaming they wouldn’t come out to take a look.’
‘So, who found him?’
‘Local man, on his way to work. A Mr E . . .’ The uniform squinted at a notebook he held in the palm of his hand. ‘E K . . .Wednesday?’
‘Tell me he at least speaks English?’
‘Better than I do.’
Drake shot him a wary look and the officer shrugged defensively.
Mr Ekwensi was a concert pianist, on his way to the Albert Hall for a rehearsal. Under his coat he wore a tweed suit and a burgundy bow tie..
‘We’re doing Rachmaninov, with Dudamel?’
‘Right, and what is that again?’ Drake didn’t have a clue what he meant.
Ekwensi was in his forties. Shaved head and eyes as sharp as cue balls behind horn-ri
mmed spectacles. His flat expression showing how little he expected from a police officer.
‘Dudamel is a conductor,’ he breathed slowly. ‘From Venezuela.’
‘I’ll take your word for it. Tell me again what you saw.’
‘I already told the other policeman.’
‘I’m sure you did, sir, but I need you to tell me again, if you don’t mind.’
‘Look, I’m late as it is . . .’
‘I appreciate that, and I suppose our friend over there can wait.’
The man sighed. ‘Point taken, officer.’
‘Just tell me what you saw.’
‘I understand.’ Mr Ekwensi let the air out of his lungs slowly. ‘Corroboration.’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself. Now, what exactly did you see?’
‘Nothing. It was raining heavily. I thought it might turn to snow, which would be nice.’
‘Just the pertinent details, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sorry, yes, of course. I know this area well, this spot. I could recognize it with my eyes closed. That’s how I knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘When I saw the tree. I knew something was wrong. Just from the shape of it.’
‘You didn’t see anyone? You didn’t hear anything?’
‘No sir, I saw a shape that didn’t belong. Even in the fog, I knew. I realized it was a body. I was shocked. I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, why? Why would anyone do something so . . . cruel?’
‘Why indeed?’
The two men gazed at the macabre picture for a moment. Drake didn’t feel much sympathy for Hakim, but this was a nasty way for anyone to go.
‘Thank you, Mr Ekwensi, that will be all. Give the officer your details, in case we need to contact you again.’
‘Of course.’ The pianist’s Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘Can I just ask, is this gang related?’
‘It’s too early to say. Thanks for your cooperation.’
‘Not a problem. I hope you catch whoever did this.’
‘So do I,’ said Drake. The quizzical look he got back told him that this was probably not the most diplomatic thing to say under the circumstances.
Forensics were setting up a shield around the body. The publicity had panicked someone. And they had decided Hakim was a liability, better out of the way. Here was evidence of the man who had planned Magnolia Quays. He had chosen to rid himself of a problem, and then decided to capitalize on it and turn it into another spectacle. A public place, a macabre end. Drake found himself wishing Crane was here. He would have liked to have heard her thoughts.
