To Snatch a Thief

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN



Skye felt a quiver of excitement. She was part of the investigative team. They’d left at first light, flying high, flying fast through the crisp air. Below the Dart’s runners, an ice ambulance skated across James Park marina, a second close on its stern. A second cargo ship lay docked at The Palace. In the distance, a helicopter scrambled from Parliament Tower. Down on the ground, the eerily silent body pods that scooped up human remains from the undertakers and morgues around the city and took them for disposal, were finishing their grisly task.

‘I’ll have audio engaged,’ Hunter informed her with a light smile. ‘Do you want to hear what it sounds like?’

‘Pervy is what it sounds like,’ she muttered, but curiosity won. ‘Okay, show me.’

He reached into the pocket of his bomber jacket, drawing out an oval object that fit snug in his hand. ‘Top section,’ he explained. ‘Tracker.’ A series of intersecting lines pulsed green. ‘Obviously, because the target’s close at the moment.’ He smirked when she spluttered. ‘They’re static, but once you move off they’ll get active.’

‘Bully for them.’

‘Bottom section. When I activate this button…’

The box emitted a faint, but encouragingly regular thuddumph, thuddumph to a background noise of moving air. ‘Holy, hell. Is that me?’ The duet with herself was deafening.

‘I’ll turn it off before you blast our eardrums. We’re nearly there.’

He dropped to street level outside the tube station in Wood Lane, illegally double-parking in a transit lane and ignored the blast of horns. Even at this early hour, the crowds here were thick. Many, Skye noticed, eyed the Dart with dislike, some with suspicion, while others melted quickly out of sight. In her former life, she would have done exactly the same.

She had dressed in her own clothes: worn jeans, thick baggy jumper under an old padded jacket, and a scuffed pair of kickers that had seen better days. As she emerged from the warmth of the vehicle a biting wind had her pulling a green woolly hat down low on her head.

‘I’ll come back for you when you’re ready,’ Hunter said. ‘Here.’ He shoved a package and drink cone into her hands. ‘In case you get hungry. Don’t want to find you on a slab in the morgue.’

Just as well he’d muted the machine, Skye thought, because her heart did a series of flips. ‘Right. Thanks.’ She shoved her hands, with the packages, into her pockets and, shoulders hunched against the weather, merged into the press of bodies, and back into her past. A few minutes later she heard the Dart drive away.

To irritate him, she kept up a murmured commentary. ‘Pedestrian traffic heavy, sir. Taking avoiding action into the curb to avoid grossly fat mother and snotty-nosed kid… Bugger, knew I should have worn boots – gutter’s all slushy. Right, sir, back in the main stream now… Hey! Use the cycle lane, morons. Stupid pedalists… Yeah, you too, zoner. Upping a finger, sir.’ Skye grinned, wondering if Hunter’s eyes were crossed yet. This was fun. ‘Sir, turning off main street, less people, but a seriously solar bum in front – probably gay though as he just checked out another bloke. Okay, soy burger vendor coming up on corner…he’s got hot chestnuts too. They smell awesome. Actually, a cup of tea would really warm me up. Hi there.’ She stopped, spreading her hands over his brazier. ‘Just a tea please, milk, no sugar. Oh, hang on a minute.’

Her klip bleeped. Hunter’s furious face burned a hole in the screen. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

Skye grinned. ‘My job, sir.’

‘D’you want bleeding tea or not. I got a queue waiting here?’ The vendor, standing one hand on hip and waggling a Go-cup with the other, huffed out a breath.

‘Yes, sorry. Um, before you pour it. I’ve got an allergy to some brands of soy milk. Which one d’you use? Sorry, to be a pain.’ She turned to the woman sighing behind her. She had a music bead in her ear so, with exaggerated mouth movements, Skye mimed, sorry. Really, she thought, I should be on the stage.

The vendor rolled his eyes but held up a carton. Skye angled her klip so Hunter would get a good view. ‘Um. Call me picky, but what supplier did that come from?’

‘You having a laugh? It’s a bleedin’ cuppa tea.’

Smiling sweetly, she ignored the impatient mutterings behind. ‘No, seriously, it does make a difference. Some derivative brands – instant eczema eruption. Gross.’

‘You saying I use cheap milk? I get if from Stockland’s, and it ‘aint fake. You get sick, you take it up with them. Now buy it or clear off.’

‘No,’ Skye said, trying to look disappointed. ‘I’d better not risk it. Thanks anyway.’

The klip was almost vibrating on her wrist as she walked away. ‘Don’t ever pull another stunt like that,’ Hunter barked. ‘Use that verbal diarrhoea you’re suffering from to let me know, beforehand, what your intentions are. Is that clear?’

‘As crystal. I was never gonna to drink it, but nobody was keeling over in the street, so it would have been okay.’

‘Get on with it, Forrester.’ He rolled his eyes, much like the vendor had, but she saw his expression change to what might have been approval.

The surroundings grew poorer, the buildings more grimy. The hunched pedestrians splashing through the windy streets moved with little purpose other than to find shelter from the biting cold. She’d grown silent as her steps took her back to her roots.

The sleet eased to a drizzle when, on turning into Falcon Street, Skye slowed. A dozen feelings swamped her: regret, longing and an overwhelming anger. On one side, sad, derelict buildings, burned to the ground during the revolution, remained untouched for over fifty years - a playground for slum-kids and rats.

Directly ahead, an abandoned car, stripped of anything useful and a lot that wasn’t, was slowly rusting to dust. A man uncurled himself from the interior, and started towards her. His clothes hung loose on his thin frame and untidy, matted hair fell over his shoulders. His fierce eyes, glittering in his ravaged face, settled on Skye as he approached. She caught the foul smell of stale beer and sweat. The man sucked the remains of his teeth.

‘Hello, Cricket.’

‘Bleeding ‘ell.’ He stopped in his tracks, blinking hard. ‘If it ‘aint Tanya Forrester’s ghost.’

‘It’s Skye, Cricket. People say I look like Mum. How’s things?’

‘Ranger’s lost to Celtic…again.’ His face scrunched up like a child’s.

She made sympathetic noises, stamping to thaw her frozen toes. ‘That’s too bad.’

‘Yeah. Heard you got snatched.’

‘I did. I got out. Same squat?’ Skye nodded towards the wrecked car. ‘Must be getting cold in there.’

His face took on a sly look. ‘You got enough on you for a jar? Help keep body and soul together?’

He’d aged in the years since she’d seen him: his yellow skin stretched too tight over prominent cheek bones. He looked frail and sick. ‘Maybe. Here, these will do you more good.’ He fell on Hunter’s sandwiches, ferreting them away amongst the folds of his grubby coat. Skye hoped he’d stay sober long enough to eat them.

They glanced over as two skinny boys and a skinnier girl slunk from one of the buildings on their side of the street, rounded the bonnet of the wreck and peered into the interior. Their faces were pinched and blue with cold, but cheeky. With the wobbly gait of an alcoholic, Cricket turned on them. ‘Gerroff! Leave my things alone. Bloody kids, I’ll have your hides, see if I don’t. Go on beat it!’

All three pulled faces and stuck two fingers in the air before racing off, laughing.

‘You used to chase me and Ashleigh like that,’ Skye grinned. ‘You’d nothing worth pinching; we just like to set you off.’ Knowing only too well what was crawling on his skin, she steeled herself to take his arm, ‘Seeing as the pubs aren’t officially open yet… Does Horse still work at O’Malley’s?’

He brightened. ‘Yes. I’m barred from going inside, though. Have to go round the back and whistle. Horse sees me right.’

It was slightly less cold around the back of the pub, although the smell from the bins was revolting. From her perch on a barrel she looked around, remembering hygiene was not Horse’s strongpoint. Garbage, that had probably been there when her father sang for their supper, was piled, mountain high, against a teetering fence. When something moved against Skye’s foot, she kicked out and saw a sewer rat slink away.

‘Sure I can’t get you anything, darlin’?’ Horse, a man the size of a small house, hence his nickname, with coal black skin and a cap of white curls, came striding out of a back door and handed Cricket a tankard. His beaming face was lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘It’s good to see you again, girl.’ The rumble of his bass voice echoed like thunder. ‘You don’t come often enough.’ Giving her a crushing hug that rocked the barrel, his eyes moistened. ‘Your dad was one of the best, we all miss him. He shouldn’t have died like that…’ Horse wiped his mallet-sized hands on a stained apron. ‘Shouldn’t have. ‘Specially so soon after your ma. She was a looker; pretty as a picture, and there you are her spittin’ image.’

When she was sure her voice was under control, Skye nodded. ‘Too many of us dying lately, Horse. Three in my own building only a few days ago.’

Cricket supped noisily. ‘The devil came for me once, but he didn’t get me.’

Horse did the circle thing with a finger to one side of his temple and lifted his eyes, then he sighed. ‘’Aint none of us safe, darlin’. Everybody’s scared ‘cos they don’t know where it’ll hit next or what’s causing it. My Lilly says it’s God’s punishment for us sinners. She’d know more ‘bout that than me; always was one for religion; always prayin’ and singin’ those glory songs. Maybe she’s right, but as I see it, rich folks sin just as much as we do, and they ‘aint dropping like flies. All we can do is get on with it, and hope for the best.’

‘Did you know Sydney Moyer – street performer, dancer, worked the pubs like Dad?’

Horse scratched his head. ‘Black brother, gettin’ on a bit?’

‘Yeah, that’s him.’

‘Haven’t seen ‘im in a while.’ Lips pursed, Horse frowned. ‘Few years ago, used to come around, set up outside, but his act was way passed its sell-by. Didn’t make much of a living.’ Staring into space as he concentrated, Horse asked. ‘Didn’t he have a boy? Yeah, there was a boy he used to bring with him. Now he could hold a tune.’ His eyes suddenly focussed. ‘Tell you where I saw the ole bugger last…it were down the charity clinic, Ivy Lane.’ Horse scratched his chin. ‘Yeah, that’s where I ran into him. I’d had the runs for a fortnight, and with not having insurance for no proper doctor or hospital, Lilly packs me off to the volunteers. Says I’ll put paying customers off, if I’m dashing to the loo every five minutes. Anyway, being free, it’s always packed down there; everyone coughing, bleeding, kids crying, junkies hanging around…’ He paused, patted Skye’s arm. ‘Well, you know the place, well as I do. Sidney was there, waiting with the rest. Said his knees were paining something awful; been there all day, hoping to get seen. I got in eventually - they never turn anyone away… Don’t know how they stick it; all them sick people, day after day. That doc down there could be treating knobs in Harley Street, but he don’t. Saint that’s what he is, a saint. You ask anybody round here, they’d all say the same. If he’d had all the new fangled stuff they got down there now in your dad’s day, I reckon…’ Shrugging, Horse patted Skye’s arm again. ‘But they didn’t so…’

‘I don’t think anyone could have saved him, Horse. He was just worn out with the struggle of it all. But I’ve been down there. It looks good. Here.’ To hide her swimming eyes, Skye dug into her jeans and offered Horse some dollars for Cricket’s beer. He waved them aside.

‘No. You keep your cash, darlin’. I’ll bung the poor old bugger this one on the house like always.’ An arm the size of a small tree reached for the tankard Cricket was sliding into his pocket. ‘But I’ll have my pot back.’

Warmed, Skye smiled. It was good to be amongst them again. People here might be too poor for medical treatment, but they cared about one another.

A woman’s voice calling from inside had Horse sighing. ‘Time to prepare the lunches, but don’t be a stranger, you hear. You come back and see old Horse soon.’ As he turned to leave, she jumped down, caught his arm.

‘Those cartons over there with the crown logo.’ She pointed to the outer heap of rubbish. ‘Have you always used Royalty Trading?’

Horse scratched his head again. ‘I have for the past few years. Used to buy from Stocklands ‘till a little bird told me about all the fiddles going on at Royalty.’ He elbowed Skye in the ribs and she was sure one cracked. ‘Got a deal going with the freight tram drivers. I slip ‘em a few kegs the brewery don’t need to know about, and a coupla extra boxes get dropped off here.’

‘Do they supply Nutrasoy?’

Horse wiped a drip off the end of his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Among other brands. Why?’

‘Just curious. Saw your cartons and wondered if that’s what you use.’

‘I use whatever gets dropped off.’ Now Horse tapped the side of his nose. ‘Royalty’s got that huge warehouse at the old Palace; difficult to keep track of things when you’re that big. Plenty of scams going on.’

Cricket’s blood/alcohol level had obviously been topped up by the tankard of beer. He mumbled softly to himself as they walked back to his squat. In the circumstances, she figured he wouldn’t think her strange if she appeared to do the same. ‘I take it Horse’s activities won’t find their way onto your report, sir.’ She murmured. ‘That wasn’t part of my plan.’

‘Seen the devil,’ Cricket suddenly said out loud. ‘The pods’ll take me away, so they will.’

‘Not yet, Cricket.’ He stumbled, grabbed her arm more tightly and wheezed into her face. ‘Jesus!’ She gagged, recovered then slapped a hand over her mouth and nostrils.

‘I tell ya I seen ‘im, but he didn’t see me. I kept me ‘ead down, so he didn’t see me.’ ‘Seriously bad case of stink-breath, here,’ she muttered through her fingers.

‘Took little Billy Timmins instead of me. Should have been me… Should have been me, but I hid from ‘im and he took the boy instead.’ Watery eyes wheeling, Cricket’s head swung from side to side as though searching for an imaginary monster. ‘But he’ll be back…He’ll be back to claim wot’s his.’

He became more and more jumpy the nearer they got to his squat, so to try to distract him, Skye asked, ‘So what did he look like, the devil?’

Cricket’s face crumpled. ‘Dark ‘e was, tall and dark, with cold, cold eyes that’d pierce straight through yer. But I kept me ‘ead down as he passed me squat, and I saw ‘is shoes… Fancy they were. You could buy a whole brewery with the devil’s fine leather shoes.’

‘Why’s he called Cricket?’ Hunter was trying to catch her eye but every time she looked at him her stomach turned to jelly.

‘Because he loves football.’

‘Ah. It’s sad when they get to the stage of hallucinating.’

She said nothing.

‘I could tell how much it upset you. Your heart rate went off the Richter scale.’

‘I expect it did.’ Skye was attempting to keep her voice normal, but her throat was so tight even if she hadn’t slipped Cricket the sandwiches, she doubted she’d have been able to swallow them.

Hunter flipped the Dart to auto-pilot, then turned to face her. ‘What’s wrong?’

How to begin? How could she tell him the ridiculous thing she was thinking? It was insane, but the more she’d tried to put it out of her mind the worse it’d got. Cricket’s words had haunted her all morning. She stared out of the side window watching the snarled sky traffic. Without turning, she didn’t trust the accusation on her face not to give her away, she rolled a shoulder. ‘Got to me a bit, going back there, that’s all.’

‘Skye.’ Her arm jerked at his touch, but she wasn’t sure it was only from fear. ‘You did a good job today. Every place you visited; every shopper you chatted to; those grieving relatives you spoke to…’ He squeezed her hand when she didn’t respond. ‘Every tiny bit of information helps build the whole picture. You did well.’

‘They didn’t all use the same suppliers,’ she muttered. ‘So we’re no further on.’

‘You might like to know that when we looked into Stocklands, we found they are a subsidiary of Royalty Trading although they trade under the different name. Palace warehouse has things pretty much sewn up. I’m meeting one of their board members this afternoon. They’ve agreed to an inspection without the need of a warrant.’

Yeah, a favour from your girlfriend, she thought. Her heart thumped in response. And her reaction to that was another confusing issue.

Too pre-occupied to listen properly, she faced him. ‘Can I ask you something? Something personal?’

‘Depends on what it is and how personal.’

For a moment, she chewed her lip, then sucked in a breath. ‘Why hadn’t you been home the night before I found Shiralee?’ It came out in a rush, and she felt herself cringing.

He looked surprised, as though he’d expected something else, then a shadow crept into his eyes. Turning away he took back manual control. ‘For your information, the night the Abbot’s died, I was up all night consoling a friend. Corporal Blake died on my watch. I have to live with that, but she left two small children and a devastated partner whose struggling to cope. He needed a shoulder, I lent him mine. As the crow flies I wasn’t far. Like the Dart, Skye, my car has flight function.’ His voice took on a hard edge. ‘Where did you think I’d been?’

‘Oh!’ The relief washed through her like a flood. She should have realised there’d be a simple explanation. ‘Nowhere. I just thought… but only for a minute… I actually thought…’ Shaking her head at her own stupidity, she let out an audible sigh as the knots in her stomach unwound. Of course there was more than one pair of solar shoes in London. She’d let her idiotic imagination run riot.

‘You thought what?’

‘Nothing, forget I even spoke.’

His mouth turned up in a faint smile. ‘Happy to.’

Skye didn’t go down to the canteen on their return. Instead she sat at her workstation, head down but watching Hunter from under lowered lids. She could see him in his office, pacing back and forth as he spoke into his communicator. He’d tied his hair back from a face that blazed with temper. She pitied whoever it was on the other end of the line.

He disturbed her on so many levels.

She dropped her eyes as Hunter finished his call and briefly glanced over. When she looked again, he was studying the map, one hand holding his weight as he leaned against the wall.

Skye pressed the heel of a hand against her forehead. She had more urgent worries to think about and she was letting Hunter distract her. Know thine enemy. She’d heard that expression somewhere. Okay, putting things in some sort of order. At the moment she knew squat about the person threatening her, but they seemed to know a lot about her movements. What had started out as warnings had turned into this sinister game – one she was losing. So who knew she visited Royalty? she wondered - any number of people. Willow’s boss, Vincent, knew she was asking questions. Skye added him to her mental list. Who knew she talked to Robyn? Again, it was a public place. But they’d known where Lexie went to school, and that they’d be in the park – easy enough if she was being watched… or tracked.

The thought floated, unbidden, into her head. Shit.

She rubbed the back of her neck. The beginnings of a migraine hovered behind her eyes. Why would he bother, she asked herself? Hunter could bury any information he might not want brought to light on a case without resorting to violence. And, if she went down that path, the question was, why would he need to? What would he be hiding? She’d met a few bent cops, but instinct told her Hunter wasn’t one of them. He was crabby and domineering and bad tempered at times, but there was another side to him too. And then, she thought, letting her mind wander, there had been a couple of occasions when she’d watched his eyes soften, seen the ice melt away. She closed her eyes and for a moment, just one moment, imagined what could have happened on the night of her birthday when she’d been ready to let down her guard.

Success was in sight, he could almost taste it: the culmination of nine years of waiting. It would be the end of his career, of course, in this country at least, but the comfortable property he’d purchased abroad would be a fresh new beginning. He’d let himself be distracted by playing with the girl – a mistake he intended to rectify. He’d dispose of her quickly, and soon.