The Heights

by Parker Bilal

  ‘You can always get out.’

  ‘Oh, you’re going to save me now?’ She snorted smoke. ‘That didn’t work out too well for Esma, remember? Do you have any idea what they would do to me if they saw me talking to police?’

  ‘I’m not police. Not any more.’

  ‘Same difference.’

  Neither of them spoke and for a time the air was filled only with the sounds of the playground. Children screaming in delight and parents calling to their offspring.

  ‘Did she ever try to contact you while she was away?’

  ‘Esma? Never. All she told me about you was that you were going to help her. She would smile. A stupid smile, like she’d found religion or something. This one is real, Sonja, she would say. You’ll see.’ In the distance, the boy began running towards them. She got to her feet, turning her back on him. ‘Don’t come back here, and don’t come to the club. I never want to see you again.’

  38

  There was no answer at the flat near Drury Lane. Crane stood on the doorstep and peered through the glass until a voice behind her said, ‘Can I help you?’

  Crane turned to find a woman in her forties with mousy hair that needed combing. Under one arm she held a pile of purple binders and in her other a set of keys.

  ‘I was looking for the young lady in the first-floor flat.’ Crane noted the logo on the binders. ‘Are you from the lease company?’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid she’s already gone.’

  ‘Gone, as in moved out?’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I’m here. I only got the news last night. Something to do with her family. She was called home urgently. I was just going to check on the place.’ She brought her chatter to a close. ‘I’m sorry, are you a friend?’

  ‘I’m an investigator. I’m looking for the other woman, the flatmate.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know anything about that. These places are very much in demand, as you can imagine. We need to get it tidied up as soon as possible.’

  By now she had managed to get the front door open and was trying to wrestle the key out of the lock while holding the door with her foot. The folders threatened to escape her grasp, so Crane stepped in and held the door for her.

  ‘Would it be all right if I came up with you, just for a moment?’

  ‘You said you were an investigator?’

  ‘That’s correct.’ Crane handed the woman a business card.

  ‘There’s nothing criminal involved here, is there?’

  ‘Not so far. All I’m concerned with is the welfare of the young lady who used to live here.’

  The woman considered the situation. ‘Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it.’

  The flat was neat and tidy. It looked as though the cleaners had been by. While the estate agent checked that none of the appliances was missing, Crane took a look in the bedrooms. Savannah’s was empty. The wardrobe was bare of everything, including hangers. In the opposite room Howeida’s clothes were still in place and the big silver case was there behind the door. Crane stared at it for a long time before she realised what she had missed the first time around.

  Crane thanked the estate agent and left her to her inventory. It took her ten minutes to walk across the Kingsway to the London School of Economics. She had managed to reach only one of Howeida’s friends, the round-faced Adela, who was waiting for her in the café behind the main building.

  ‘Did you know Savannah was going away?’

  Adela looked surprised, but not shocked. ‘No. She never said anything.’

  ‘Apparently it was something to do with her family.’

  ‘Oh.’ Adela looked askance. ‘Right.’

  Crane leaned forwards so that the young woman was forced to look at her. ‘You don’t like her, do you?’

  ‘It’s not that.’ She dipped a forefinger into the froth on top of her coffee and drew circles. ‘The thing is, Howeida was our friend.’

  ‘You and the other girl, Meena?’

  ‘Exactly. The three of us just got on very well, right from the start. Then Savannah comes along and just sort of … inserts herself. I mean, they were just such opposites.’

  ‘Savannah and Howeida?’

  Adela nodded. ‘They came from totally different worlds.’

  ‘They must have had something in common.’

  ‘Ambition. They both just wanted to be successful. I don’t know, they thought they would rule the world or something.’ She hesitated. ‘They had money. Meena and I were always a little shocked at how much they spent. They didn’t care. I mean, the flat they were staying in. Did you see that?’

  ‘In Drury Lane, yes.’

  ‘Meena lives with her family and I am in a miserable place out in Bethnal Green. Takes me an hour to get in here.’

  ‘Howeida had money from her family. How about Savannah?’

  ‘That’s the thing. It was always a mystery with her. I mean, you said she went home because of something in her family?’

  ‘That’s what the estate agent told me.’

  ‘The thing is, she changed her story so many times. I mean, she would tell you some long story about her father walking out on them, and the next time it would be her mother. I mean, it was like she wanted to be the poster girl for a dysfunctional family.’

  ‘What about money?’

  ‘She had some kind of trust fund that was set up for her. I think she had wealthy grandparents or something. They left her some money. The thing is …’ Again, Adela hesitated. ‘I got the impression it was all a front, that she wasn’t really wealthy, she just wanted to look that way.’

  ‘What made you think that?’

  ‘Like I said, that was just the impression I got. Meena had the same feeling. She was always trying to get Howeida to invest her money in some scheme she had. I didn’t understand it.’

  ‘An investment? What kind?’

  ‘I don’t know the details. Sorry. Anything to do with money and I just switch off. That was the whole thing with Howeida’s uncle. When he came here, they were going to talk to him about it.’

  ‘About her investments? So she trusted him?’

  ‘Sure,’ Adela nodded.

  Crane sipped her coffee. It tasted a lot better than the coffee she remembered from her student days. ‘One thing I noticed. Maybe it’s not important, but when I looked at Howeida’s room I didn’t see a rucksack or a small bag of any kind. Do you remember anything like that?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Adela nodded. ‘She had a really cool backpack that was, like, leather?’

  ‘Okay, so not vegan?’

  The young woman laughed. ‘No, Howeida was a little behind on stuff like that. That was really a sign of her background, where she came from.’

  ‘How about an overnight bag? Did you ever see anything like that?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. We went to Paris for a weekend, all of us, on the Eurostar. That was fun. We drank way too much wine.’ She put up a hand to cover her teeth as she giggled.

  ‘And she had a small bag, not a big suitcase?’

  ‘No, I mean this was like Louis Vuitton or something. Really expensive design? Tan coloured, also leather. I remember holding it for her. It was really soft.’ Adela’s face had grown sombre again. ‘This is not good, is it? I mean, her being away for so long.’

  ‘No,’ said Crane. ‘It’s not good.’

  39

  Drake headed across to Shepherd’s Bush market, where he found Gebelawi busy trying to flog a bright yellow trolley case to a woman in a black abaya.

  ‘Sister, I swear by the prophet, peace be upon him, this is the real thing. Samsonite. You know, it’s a mark of quality.’

  ‘I’m not stupid, you know. That says Sansomite.’

  Gebelawi squinted. ‘It’s all the same. Someone in Guangdong make a mistake, right? So what’re you gonna do? Destroy it? No, instead they come to Gebelawi. They say, help us out mate.’ He beamed as he came to the end of his story. The woman swayed, caught between the silver-tongued salesman and the attractive
price tag.

  ‘I must speak to my husband.’

  ‘Sister, please, take your time.’

  She disappeared out the door and Gebelawi sighed. ‘I swear, they drive me crazy. They come in here and flirt like mad. Then, just before they say yes, they get hit by a dose of guilt. It’s the thrill, innit? Married Muslim women, man. I swear, there’s a sexual revolution just waiting to happen.’

  ‘Dream on.’

  ‘Seriously, they cook, they clean, they give birth to half a dozen little monsters, while their husbands slowly lose interest. The only vice they’re allowed is food and fizzy drinks, which is why they turn into blimps. That one,’ Gebelawi nodded at the door, ‘she’s not interested in food, no sir.’

  ‘They have a special place in Hell for people like you.’

  Drake had known the Egyptian for years. He’d been flogging his wares from one market to another and saw himself as a world-class businessman. He had a wife and five children at home, but that never stopped his womanising. He had a certain rakish charm and eyes that twinkled with mischief.

  The narrow space was cluttered with cheap suitcases, mixers, ironing boards, used washing machines, stoves, refrigerators. You name it and he would give you a price. He also ran a little side line in electronic devices.

  ‘Step into my office,’ Gebelawi said, moving aside.

  Office was a glorified term for a fenced-off area behind a glass-topped counter whose interior was stuffed with a range of battered mobile phones. They lent an air of hopelessness to the place. The class of clientele who came in here were not primarily concerned with such matters. Needs overcame their resistance. It was all about the price tag and at Gebelawi’s there was always room for bargaining.

  ‘What can I do you for?’

  ‘Surveillance equipment.’

  Magical words. You had to look closely to spot it, but a little flicker crossed Gebelawi’s eyes. He selected a key from the ring on his belt and slid open a cabinet to reveal an array of surprisingly sophisticated devices. Not exactly what you might expect to find in Shepherd’s Bush market.

  ‘Best thing you ever did, by the way.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Leaving the force, going private. Believe me, you will not regret it. Who believes in all that stuff anyway, for Queen and country? James Bond? You think he’d last five minutes in Beirut? Big sign on his back saying I’m a khawaja, right? You know what I’m talking about?’

  ‘I was a police officer in London, not James Bond in Kabul.’

  ‘Same thing now, innit?’

  Following Gebelawi’s reasoning was not always easy.

  ‘Believe me,’ he went on, ‘from now on you’re gonna be up to your neck in it. Take my word, man, more pussy than you can handle. It’s going to be brutal. Okay, so, what have we got here?’ Gebelawi laid out a selection of devices on the counter. ‘These are Czech made. Very good quality at an affordable price.’

  ‘Czech?’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, bro. In the old days they was busy spying on everybody. I’m telling you. Just have a look.’

  Gebelawi found a packet of Marlboro and lit one while Drake took a closer look at the device.

  ‘Wireless, okay? You can pick up the signal up to two hundred metres away. But even better. I throw in something so you can tap it straight into the telephone network. You can listen from the comfort of your own home. How does that sound?’

  ‘Expensive.’

  The other man rolled his eyes. ‘My friend, listen to me, you come to Gebelawi to solve your problems, don’t think about money. Don’t pay me anything. I just want to help you. That’s all.’

  It was late afternoon by the time Drake drove onto the North Circular Road and skirted east round the city towards Dalston and the solicitor’s office on Kingsland Road. He sat there for half an hour before there was a knock on the window and the side door opened.

  A wiry figure eased himself in to the passenger seat; in his forties, wearing a red beanie hat over greasy, shoulder-length hair. Drake knew Jerry ‘Spider’ Moffat from his early days as a PC in uniform. Spider was a repeat offender. His speciality was breaking and entering and he spread his net wide, working all across London. Small and agile – he was still no bigger than your average teenager – Spider could climb drainpipes and walls with remarkable ease. He could crawl through tiny openings, bathroom windows, even a chimney once. Despite this, he had an odd sense of moral principles – never touched drugs or had anything to do with the seamier side of crime. He had one area of speciality. The rest he steered clear of.

  ‘How’s tricks, Spider?’

  ‘Ah, things are getting more complicated.’

  ‘How so?’

  Spider shifted nervously. ‘I mean, these modern alarm systems. You need a degree in electronics to get through some of them.’

  ‘I thought you were on the straight and narrow?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Spider sniffed. ‘I mean, I’m just being speculative, like.’

  ‘Right. Maybe it’s time to consider an education.’

  ‘Never going to happen, mate. No good with institutions, me. Self-taught. Have been all my life. No point in changing me spots now.’ He nodded ahead of them. ‘So, this is it then?’

  ‘This is it.’

  Spider turned his head to look at Drake. ‘How legit is this, then?’

  ‘Well, it’s like everything.’

  ‘Meaning, not at all.’

  Drake shrugged. ‘It’s low risk. You get in and out, you leave things as they are.’

  ‘And if anything goes wrong?’

  ‘Then you’ve never heard of me.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’ Spider rubbed his nose. ‘Okay, well, I’ve had quick shufty and it looks doable. Old-school alarm system, so shouldn’t be a problem. There’s a toilet facing onto the back. They leave the window open. I can get through there.’

  Drake reached over into the backseat for the holdall with the items he had picked up a few hours earlier in Shepherd’s Bush. Spider zipped it open and went through it with a meticulous eye.

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘You know how to set these up?’

  Spider cocked an eye at Drake. ‘Give me a break. You want microphones in the main office?’

  ‘The boss’s office is at the back.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  Drake watched Spider cross the street and disappear into the shadows between two buildings. He hadn’t told Ray about this little plan of his. He was pretty sure she would not approve, so better to wait and see what the outcome was before crossing that particular bridge. It took less time than he thought. Twenty minutes later Spider could be seen cutting over the road again.

  ‘Did you manage to get in?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’ Spider peeled the latex gloves off his hands. ‘The microphone is voice activated. You’ll be able to pick up the signal remotely on your smart phone once I install the app.’

  Drake was impressed. ‘Are you sure you didn’t go to college for this?’

  ‘I told you, man, I’m against institutions. Matter of principle.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Drake leaned over to start the engine. ‘One more job and then you’re free to go.’

  ‘So long as you’re paying I’ll go where you like.’

  They drove across town, more or less following the route taken by the minicab the other night. The traffic was heavy and it took them more than forty minutes before they were parked in a side street looking at the red-brick building in Pimlico where Barnaby Nathanson lived. The lights were off in his flat on the second floor.

  ‘Funny, him living all the way over here and his office in Dalston. You’d think it would be the other way around.’

  ‘You’d think.’

  Spider spent a couple of minutes selecting and packing everything he needed into a neat little black bag that he slung over his shoulder and strapped into place.

  ‘Might take a little longer with the locks and all.’r />
  ‘I’ll call if he shows.’

  Drake watched Spider as he crossed the street. He pressed a number of buttons on the door panel until someone buzzed him in. Then he disappeared from sight. Drake kept his eye on the windows of the flat on the left-hand side of the building, watching for any sign of light. The minutes went by. Spider would be picking the Yale lock on Nathanson’s door. Then he would have to attend to the alarm system, for which he had his own tried and tested method. Although it was hard to believe, Spider had spent a couple of years working for a burglar alarm company. He knew everything there was to know and still kept in touch with some of his old mates, who were happy to give him updates. One thing you had to say about Spider, he was resourceful.

  Drake looked at his watch again. He was beginning to worry. This part of the job should have gone smoothly. No alarms had sounded and no sirens or flashing lights were going on. So there might have been a problem with the locks, or Spider might have been challenged by someone inside the building. Drake resisted the temptation to go over there and take a look.

  Then, just when he was about to get seriously worried, he saw the front door of the building open and Spider appeared. He looked left and right, and then without a sign to Drake or a word of explanation he turned and took off running.

  Drake sat up. ‘Now what …’

  40

  The entry phone on the wall beside the front entrance displayed some forty-odd numbers. Drake ran a finger down one side, pressing all of them until he heard a voice. An elderly lady who sounded surprised, as if she didn’t get a lot of visitors.

  ‘British Gas, we have a report of a leak. Would you mind letting us in?’

  ‘Oh my goodness, what happened?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about, love, but better safe than sorry.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Of course.’

  The buzzer sounded and Drake stepped into the vestibule. It was carpeted and brightly lit, with gilded stucco around the ceiling and mirrors on the walls. Altogether a very respectable kind of place to live. Avoiding the lift, Drake climbed the stairs carefully. He hadn’t gone far before he heard a chain being removed, a lock turned and a door opening somewhere high up. The same wavering voice called down.