Mac doubted they ever would.
There was a shout from the lounge. Gondal and Mac headed that way. They knew the tone of that shout. It meant one of their team had found an important clue. The hand of lawful justice might still get a role in this case.
In the living room, a detective stood by the dead woman on the sofa, holding aloft a necklace in a pair of tweezers.
‘Our bad guy is Davey-boy,’ the detective said with a grin, as if the case had already been solved.
Mac and Gondal closed in carefully, stepping on boards placed so that shoes wouldn’t crush evidence, while the slimeball DC Downey took out his phone and sent a text about this new development to someone who had no business knowing. All three stared at the swinging pendant, and understood the detective’s cry of glee. It was the sort of clue that detectives dreamed of: a military identification tag.
Seven
Karl
He’d heard the urban legend of the kidney thieves, but right now wished he hadn’t. What an idea to suddenly pop into his head: that she was planning to drug him and steal his organs to sell on the black market. But the fact that this woman didn’t want the police involved was making him paranoid. He almost blurted out a silly lie that he had kidney cancer.
‘You would be helping me more than you know. I know this is very puzzling for you, and I’m sorry that I can’t give you answers.’
Kidneys on the black market was a wild idea, but stolen goods on a flea market was not. He could imagine the plan. She pretends to be escaping from an attacker and flags down a lone guy in a vehicle, and then asks for a place to stay the night. A lot of guys would find it hard to say no to a beauty in a thin dress. Maybe there would be some sex, maybe not. But during the night she opens a window, and her supposed attacker sneaks in. Their victim wakes from a drugged sleep the next morning with, at best, a need to visit DFS for new furniture. If he wakes.
‘Just for one night, Karl. Please.’
He knew he was being silly even considering that this was some kind of scam. Too much detail in the plan: she could have pretended to be lost, or homeless. But he still regretted saying ‘Okay’ even before the word dissipated in the air. Too late to back out now, especially given how buoyant his news made her. He was glad she was no longer a shivering ball of fear but still wished he’d never met her. Maybe the police would have picked her up and all her problems would have been solved by now. But it was what it was. He shut her out and drove.
The guy in Wilmington waiting for his new fancy car alarm to be fitted would soon wonder what was going on. He might call Karl’s home, and then Karl would have to explain to Katie where he’d been. That was a new damn worry. He could lie, of course, but for all he knew one of her friends had seen him driving with another woman in the van. And he wasn’t going to lie to his wife. Withhold information, yes, but not lie.
Liz, if that was her name, rabbited on. He should have been rid of her by now, yet there she still sat. She should be miles away from him, with his boot print on her arse, but instead they were headed to his shop. Every extra minute he spent with her increased the chances that someone his wife knew would see them together. Bad enough out on the roads, but if they were seen going into his shop while it was closed…
Soon she fell quiet, maybe out of things to say, or maybe finally aware that he didn’t want to talk. They drove in silence. Karl watched the road and tried to pluck up the courage to race to a cop shop before she realised what was going on. Liz spent most of the time staring out the side window with her head on the glass. He figured the talking had helped her forget, which meant the silence was driving it home again. He tried to think of something to ask so she’d talk again. But he discarded subject after subject, and the minutes ticked by. He realised he didn’t want to talk, even if it meant leaving her tense and worried. He went back to the road ahead. She stayed with the world slipping by.
After a while, he caught movement as she lifted his business card again. ‘So what electronics stuff do you sell? DVD players and things?’
He looked at her for the first time in fifteen minutes. He answered with a simple no, and fell silent again. Minutes ticked by. Liz seemed happy with this, breaking her own silence only once she saw Queen Elizabeth II Olympic Park far off to their left.
‘Where are we?’
‘Old Ford.’
‘Ah. I heard this place was getting a makeover because of the Olympics a few years back.’
‘Well, they overlooked the bit we’re going to.’
She seemed relaxed, so he figured she might now be open to visiting the police. And when a police station came into view half a minute later, he prayed she wouldn’t object. But in his peripheral vision he saw her sit up straight and glare into the side of his head.
She said nothing, though. Looking good. As nervous as a guy topping off a house of cards and praying it didn’t tumble down he prepared to make the turn.
And then: ‘Don’t, please.’
And that was that. As he cruised past the station, he cursed his weak soul.
* * *
Sunrise Electronics was nothing but a sign above a large shuttered doorway in a windowless, single-storey building on a tucked-away street. The building was lined with shutters and signs on both sides of the street. The road ended at a high wall covered with faded graffiti and topped with rusted barbed wire. Just the one way in and out.
Karl’s place was second from the end, past a place called Fine Ink’s and before a joint that sold antiques. He pulled up to the kerb and stopped. Across the road a shutter was rolled up at a place called Computerz. Light washed the street and inside Karl could see shelves of machines and bits and pieces, and a desk at the back. A guy was sitting behind it, putting on a white shirt and suit jacket over his coveralls. There was a pushbike leaning against the exterior wall.
‘Wait till this guy’s gone,’ he said, sinking low in his seat.
Seven minutes later the road was dark, Computerz closed up like all the other places.
They got out and walked to Sunrise Electronics’ shuttered door. Karl unlocked it and used a button to raise it three feet. He ducked inside. When Liz didn’t immediately follow, he stuck out a hand and waved frantically. She muttered something about expecting him to open the shutter fully, then bent and ducked inside, taking care to make sure she lifted the hem of her dress with one hand and protected her head with the other, or maybe just her expensive hair.
He told her to wait while he moved through the dark and hit a switch that powered a strip light in the ceiling. The room was like the place across the road: just a desk at the back and a few filing cabinets and wall-mounted shelving bloated with stock.
‘This is just some workshop,’ Liz moaned. ‘I can’t sleep here.’
‘You should have waited a minute, then. The guy driving behind me owned Bedroomworld.’ He had saved her, offered to drive to a hotel, and now offered her a roof for the night, and this was his thanks? A wrinkled nose, as if he’d brought her to a pig pen.
‘Up in the loft there’s a hammock.’
‘A what?’
He tugged a string that hung a few inches from the ceiling. A loft hatch flipped open. She made a surprised sound, and then a pleased sound when he lifted a wooden ladder from behind the counter.
He placed the ladder against the open hatch, and she followed him up; in a dress, there was no way she was going first. The loft was carpeted and had a window in the sloping roof. Wedged in a corner was a TV/DVD combo, with a PlayStation alongside and a bean bag in front. There was a small coffee table with a kettle, cups and Ultimate Fighting Championship DVDs scattered on it. The hammock was strung under the ridgeline of the roof.
She knelt on the carpet and looked around, her head just inches from the roof, and said: ‘What’s crime like around here? Is it likely to be burgled tonight?’