Blood Red City Page 20

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s just no one’s home, I wondered if you’ve seen her. Or Jamie.’

  ‘I don’t really know them.’

  A chocolate Labrador stuck its face through the crack, barking and bobbing around. Lydia knelt on one knee and stroked its nose. ‘She’s beautiful.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ The woman’s face lit up. She took the dog by the collar and pulled it back. ‘On your bed, Minstral.’

  Lydia stood up again. The woman guided the dog away and turned back to the crack in the door. ‘Sorry, she wouldn’t hurt a fly; she just gets excited for new faces.’

  Lydia matched her smile. ‘My cousin had one just the same. Bet she keeps you busy.’

  ‘Honestly – they never stop.’ The woman rolled her eyes in mock horror. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t help but I really don’t know them over the road. We’ve been here thirty years but this street has changed so much – it’s all bankers and lawyers now. We’re a bit out of time.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘The car hasn’t moved for a few days, if that’s any use.’ She nodded towards the house. ‘The sporty one’s hers; he drives one of those big executive things. I haven’t seen that for a while either, actually.’

  ‘Is it unusual for her car not to go anywhere?’

  The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘I hadn’t given it any thought, but I suppose so, yes. I see her in and out all the time. She’s in her gym gear, morning, noon and night some days.’

  Lydia smiled at her again. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’ She held up a hand as a goodbye and went back to the street.

  She stared at the upstairs windows of the Tans’ house. They’d got to Jamie, they’d got to Paulina, they’d got to Tammy. And now maybe Alicia as well. Lydia was the only one who’d walked away from these people – and even that was only thanks to some stranger selling himself as a saviour. His parting shot rang in her ears – ‘I won’t be there next time’.

  ‘Michael’. He claimed he was working for Alicia. It felt for all the world like bullshit – so now was the time to call him on it. She took her phone out and found his email. She thought about the two detectives, Singh and Wheldon, the lies she’d told them to keep him out of it. She wasn’t even sure herself why she’d done it, some grudging sense of gratitude the only thing she could come up with. If they saw him on the CCTV, hanging around the station at the same time as her, following her, it would raise questions. Better to put the pressure on while she was still ahead of them.

  She pressed reply and typed her message:

  I figured out your associate’s name is Jamie Tan. If you really work for Alicia, now’s the time to talk to me.

  CHAPTER 35

  It took Stringer an hour to get to Sir Oliver Kent’s office in High Holborn, traffic at a crawl. He went there straight from

  the hospital, a visit that he terminated early when he saw for himself they’d moved her into the private room – and that the old man was still by her side.

  The hospital bill played on his mind. He’d called Kent’s go-between first thing to demand his money again for the Carlton job, but Simms shut him down. The prick needed cutting down to size, something to take care of if he ever came out the other side of the Tan shit, but right now it was time to go around him.

  The office building was half a dozen stories tall, an index in the lobby listing the different companies that occupied each floor. There were Perspex security gates across the entrance, but the wider one for deliveries was open and Stringer tagged onto the back of a group of people who swept through it with the confidence of employees who knew they belonged.

  He took the lift to the top floor and came out in a small reception area decorated in muted tones. There were three company logos behind the desk, including the one for Kent’s consulting firm. The receptionist smiled a welcome when he came over.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  ‘Nigel Carlton for Sir Oliver Kent.’

  ‘One moment please.’ She picked up a phone and dialled an internal number.

  Stringer spread his hands on the counter.

  The receptionist said, ‘Certainly,’ into the phone and hung up. ‘He’ll be out in a moment. Take a seat.’

  He scoped the glass doors that bore Kent’s logo and went to stand to one side of them, out of sight of anyone approaching from inside. Top-floor office in a flash building, expensively designed logo; he wondered how much consulting Kent actually did – or if he was just milking his developer clients for the real goods: access and influence.

  He counted off sixty seconds until Kent appeared. He was sixtyish and grey, with a gut that spoke of years of lunching on someone else’s money – and a suit cut well enough to diminish it. He came through the doors with a cautious look, ignoring Stringer at first as he glanced around.

  Stringer stepped to him and offered his hand. ‘We haven’t met. I’m Michael Stringer, we have a friend in common.’

  Kent stared at him. Give him his due, he showed no discomfort as they shook. ‘You’re referring to Nigel.’

  ‘That’s right. There’s a small invoice that needs settling.’

  ‘I have staff to deal with those kind of things. Speak to—’

  ‘With respect, I already have.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid you’ll have to take it up with him.’

  Kent pressed a security card to the reader and reached for the glass door.

  Stringer stepped in front of him and took a grip on the handle. ‘We can have this conversation now, in private, or we can have it somewhere more public. At a time of my choosing.’

  Kent stared at him like he’d just pissed up against the wall. Finally, he put his card away and said, ‘Come inside a minute.’

  He followed the man down the corridor to a large office at the far end. A wide desk dominated the room, a glass-and-steel model backdropped by floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a view across the rooftops towards Tower 42. Kent went around the desk and stood in front of his chair. ‘As I understand it, the job is not complete yet.’

  Stringer put his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I did what I was asked.’

  Kent squared a pen on the blotter in front of him. ‘Another meeting’s taking place next week; we’ll be better placed to judge Carlton’s appetite for cooperation after that.’

  ‘It’s fifteen grand you owe me. I imagine you’ve earned that kind of money just while we’ve been talking.’

  ‘I was led to understand you were a professional. Discretion integral to the service.’

  ‘So is getting paid.’

  Kent took his jacket off and hung it from the back of his chair. ‘If I may, how did my name come to your attention? I expected to be able to keep my distance.’

  ‘Your errand boy is careless. Simms.’

  Kent scoffed, nodding. ‘Thank you for your candour.’

  ‘My line of work depends on reputation. I’d like to make this the start of a business relationship, not the end of one. But that cuts both ways.’

  ‘The implication being?’

  ‘I’m a professional. Like I told Simms, without payment I’ll be forced to withdraw my services. If Carlton were to be made aware of that fact, you’d be back to square one.’

  ‘Yes, that would be unfortunate.’ Kent folded his arms. ‘You seem the type who wouldn’t have come here without doing his homework first.’

  ‘Your reputation precedes you.’

  ‘Then you should know the sum you mention is potentially the tip of a rather larger iceberg. If you’re serious.’

  ‘I didn’t come here lightly.’

  ‘No. Quite.’ Kent drummed his fingers on his arm. ‘What else do you do, Mr Stringer?’

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘What other services?’

  ‘Broadly speaking, you could call it corporate intelligence.’

  ‘There’s no need for circumspection, speak freely.’

  Stringer shifted his weig
ht. ‘Tell me what you want and I’ll tell you if I can do it.’

  ‘A useful man to know then. Who else do you do work for?’

  ‘You’ll appreciate that I don’t divulge my clients.’

  ‘Absolutely. The right answer.’ Kent turned his head to look out across the city. ‘Do you work internationally?’

  ‘I have done in the past.’

  Kent nodded, turning back to look at him but saying nothing more.

  ‘So is there something you’ve got in mind?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Kent said. ‘But I prefer to engage on an exclusive basis – reduce the risk of conflicts of interest arising. How would you feel about working for me?’

  ‘I’m not employee material.’

  ‘No, on the same basis as now. A supplier, my firm as your exclusive client.’

  Stringer laced his fingers in front of him. ‘I’d have to think about it.’

  ‘Of course. It’s a hypothetical question at this stage anyway.’

  ‘It would cost you. I’d be turning my back on a lot of work.’

  ‘You risked coming here over fifteen thousand pounds.’ Kent flittered his fingers, dismissing the amount. ‘I think we could come to an arrangement.’

  ‘How many more like Carlton do you need?’

  ‘Nigel is more than enough – if he plays along. I’m thinking of other matters – we’ll talk again.’ Kent moved across the floor to open the door again, signalling his time was up. ‘Anyway, give it some thought.’

  ‘I will.’ Stringer went over to him and shook his hand in the doorway. ‘As soon as I get paid.’

  Kent eyed him, a look on his face between affront and amusement.

  Stringer left him standing there and nodded to the receptionist on his way out.

  The lift felt smaller on the way down, the smoked glass crowding him. Something about Kent’s offer screamed ulterior motive, and his instincts told him to get his money and get out. But with no prospect of more work from Andriy Suslov, he couldn’t afford to alienate a client as big as Kent, and that meant the proposal needed time and thought.

  The doors opened and he headed towards the Perspex security barriers. A face he recognised was coming towards him, and he slowed down. He placed it immediately this time: the man he’d seen at Lydia Wright’s flat – and at her office. Sharp suit, expensive watch. The man breezed past him. Stringer whipped his phone out and held it up as if he was reading a message. He turned around absently so he could snap a picture of him while he was waiting for the lift.

  The man was too busy checking his own phone to notice. Stringer patted his trouser pockets as if he’d forgotten something, then retraced his steps to the lift, standing behind the target. When it arrived, they stepped inside one after the other, and the man pressed the button for the top floor. He looked at Stringer for the first time, his hand poised over the numbers.

  ‘Same, thanks.’

  They rode in silence. At the top, Stringer let the other man out first. The receptionist smiled when he approached the desk. ‘Hey, how are you?’ She’d folded her hands and was looking up at him – big eyes, big smile.

  The man rested one arm on the counter, putting his watch on display. ‘Much better for seeing you.’ She rolled her eyes, but the smile grew wider. ‘Is he in?’

  ‘One sec.’ She picked up the phone, still twinkling at him. ‘Stephen is here for you, Sir Oliver. Okay, thank you.’ She put it down again. ‘He won’t be a minute.’

  Stringer patted his jacket when the receptionist noticed him standing there. He made a sheepish face. ‘Thought I’d dropped my wallet.’ He pulled it out of his pocket and held it up. ‘My mistake.’

  CHAPTER 36

  Lydia crossed Soho Square at half-pace. He’d arrived first this time, was waiting on the same bench they’d sat on two days before, his posture angular and guarded.

  Unrelenting sunlight, but the square was dead – the offices empty for the weekend, too early for the shoppers peeling off to escape the crowds on Oxford Street. She stepped over a smashed pint glass on the path, its shards undisturbed from where they’d first scattered, some of them reduced to powder. How brittle everything was; how easy to slip unnoticed past the point where things could still be fixed.

  She came to a stop in front of him. ‘Are you here to talk this time?’

  Michael kept his gaze straight ahead. ‘You’ve got his name now, so what else do you want?’

  ‘Did you have him killed?’

  He shook his head. ‘You know I didn’t, so how about you dial down the hostility?’

  ‘I think we’re beyond small talk.’

  ‘You asked me here, tell me what you want.’

  ‘I want to know why that fucker tried to kill me the other night and why you were following me. I want to know what’s going on.’

  ‘How did you get Tan’s name?’

  ‘How did you get hold of the video?’

  He looked up at her then, resignation creeping across his face – a giveaway that he’d worked out what she was going to say next.

  ‘You had me robbed,’ she said.

  He sat back, glancing at her but looking away again as if he was ashamed. ‘You got your purse back.’

  She laughed once, incredulous. ‘Am I supposed to be grateful?’

  ‘No. I’m making the point it was just business.’

  ‘What business? Who the fuck are—’

  ‘The same as you. Information.’

  ‘You’re not a journo.’

  ‘That’s not what I said. Information – what we’re both interested in.’

  ‘How did you know about the video? No one knew it even existed then, so I can only think of one way, and it says you’re up to your neck in this.’

  ‘I had nothing to do with the attack.’ He was working his left thumb with the right. ‘I was waiting to meet Jamie Tan the night he disappeared. I saw you at High Barnet station.’

  She found herself taking a step back. ‘You were … How long have you been following me?’

  He set his eyes on a point across the square.

  She waited but he said nothing. She stepped forward again, retaking her ground. ‘Why did you come here if you’ve got nothing to say?’

  ‘To hear you out.’

  ‘Then you need something to trade. I’ve got everything now, all I see on that bench is a suspect.’

  He took his phone out and brought something up on the screen. Then he turned it around and showed it to her.

  She couldn’t make out the image in the sunlight at first. She cupped her hand around it, wary of getting too close to him, and saw a picture of a man sticking his head through a doorway. ‘Who is he?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. But does the room look familiar?’

  She bent closer, seeing—

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘That’s your kitchen.’

  She felt the blood draining from her face. They were in her flat…

  ‘I ran them off. You want another quid pro quo – how’s that?’

  She snatched the phone out of his hand, resizing the image to get a better look at the face. They were in her fucking flat. Just like Tammy—

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Last weekend.’

  Her legs were shaking. ‘They could’ve…’ She looked up at him.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You could have warned me a week ago. They tried again at Brent Cross and you let them—’ She stopped herself when she got it. His eyes were on hers and she realised he was waiting for her to catch up. ‘That’s why you were following me that night. To protect…’

  He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but took a breath instead.

  ‘This is too much.’ She thrust his phone back into his hand. ‘I can’t…’

  ‘We both stumbled into this mess, so maybe we can help each other out.’

  Her eyes wouldn’t focus. She saw the face in the picture, moving through her flat. The kitchen, her bed
room—

  Her laptop. The day she found it open when she’d left it closed – thinking Chloe had done it. ‘Who are these people?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m working on it, but for now I don’t know.’ The uncertainty in his voice was plain, and his words rang true for the first time.

  Her thoughts raced to another place: Neighbourhood Watch man on Paulina Dobriska’s street, his description of the men watching her flat from their car. ‘Let me see that again.’

  He swiped and held it up, not letting go this time. She spread her fingers on the screen to zoom in.

  The man’s hair – a skin fade on the sides, longer on top and sculpted. A description that resonated.

  ‘You recognise him.’

  She shook her head, still staring. ‘No.’

  ‘But something.’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘I’m serious about helping each other,’ he said. ‘This runs deep.’

  ‘How the fuck am I supposed to trust you?’

  ‘After what I did?’

  She started to move away, not sure which way to turn.

  He called after her. ‘Wait.’

  ‘Send me that picture,’ she said. ‘Email.’

  He held her stare a long moment. Then he nodded.

  ‘Now, I mean.’

  He tapped the screen quickly and looked up at her again.

  She heard the chime for a new email and turned to go.

  ‘Lydia.’

  She stopped.

  ‘Be careful. If there’s somewhere else you can stay, you should.’

  ‘It’s a bit late for warnings.’

  Stringer’s car was parked a few minutes away, the other side of Oxford Street. He called Angie on his way there, checking his watch as the dialling tone buzzed. She didn’t answer immediately and he felt his temper fraying, stoked by unfair thoughts that she’d got bored in Soho and found a dealer.

  She came on the line. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘She’s just left the square via Frith Street, you got her?’

  ‘I’m right behind.’

  ‘Don’t get too close—’

  ‘Shit, Mike, let me work, yeah?’