Many Rivers to Cross, page 22
Jason looked at her with sulky aggression. “If you say so.”
“Did you ever see that boy Samir around here?” she asked him.
“No.”
“Any other boys around Hollyfield Lane?”
“Sometimes. From Cardigan Drive, like. They’d be coming out of that house where that bloke who died lived.”
“Howard Stokes? You saw people coming from his house?”
“Sometimes. Shifty-looking lot.”
“How did you know it was his house?”
“Saw him coming and going a couple of times. I mean, maybe he was just visiting like the others, but he did hang out in the park. I just assumed . . .”
“What about a fair-haired lad, medium height, sometimes rode a red bicycle?”
“That’s pretty vague. Nobody stands out. Lots of people ride red bicycles.”
“Fair enough. Did you see any activity there last Sunday?”
“No. But I wasn’t around then. I was playing rugby over in Helmthorpe.”
“Did you ever go to number twenty-six Hollyfield Lane, Jason?”
“What do you think I am? Everyone knows if you spend too much time over on the old estate you’re bound to catch something.”
“Did you know the house was used for the sale of drugs?”
Jason turned away. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
“Ever tried drugs?” Gerry knew she was pushing it, with the mother there, but Jason’s immediate reaction was enough to tell her that he had, and that he was lying if he said he hadn’t.
“I think we’ve had about enough for now, don’t you?” Mrs. Bartlett said to Gerry. “Jason needs to concentrate on his revision, and Lisa needs time to get well again.” She tapped Lisa’s knee. Lisa flinched.
“That’s all right, Mrs. Bartlett,” said Gerry. “I think I’ve just about finished here for the time being. Sorry if I’ve upset anyone.”
“It’s not that,” said Mrs. Bartlett. “But . . . well, we’re all a bit oversensitive at the moment, aren’t we?”
IF ZELDA was going to carry out her decision of the previous evening, she realized, she needed to make some preparations before heading to the Hotel Belgrade again.
She still didn’t know whether Tadić had spotted her last night when she knocked over her empty glass in her hurry to escape. True, she had felt his attention suddenly shift toward her, but that was probably just instinct on his part, a natural reaction to any unexpected sound or movement. He couldn’t have caught more than a glimpse of her from behind as she made her way through the crowd. He probably wouldn’t even remember. When it came down to it, she couldn’t even be certain that he would still be at the Hotel Belgrade, or if he would come to the bar for a drink. But Faye had said they hung out there, and they were creatures of habit. The place was some sort of center of operations for the loosely knit criminal gang. The odds were, Zelda thought, that if Goran Tadić was still staying there, he would show up before too long.
Besides, she had appeared very different then from the way she planned on looking tonight. Her clothes had been baggy enough to make her seem frumpy, especially with the cheap glasses she had worn, and her hair had been a mess. Tonight she was going to be elegant, sexy and enchanting, and to that end, she spent a while in the hotel’s spa, visited a nearby hairdresser, then went shopping and bought a new dress. She already had a nice tan from the trip to Croatia.
The dress was important. It was essential that it didn’t look obvious, tarty, or anything like a hooker. Yes, she needed to be sexy and alluring, but in a subtle way. Nothing was to be overdone. It wasn’t that she thought Goran Tadić was a particularly subtle human being—he wasn’t—but that she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. Subtle but sexy. Casual elegance. The way she planned it, she wouldn’t be out of place at the hotel bar. If she got the appearance right, everything else would fall into place.
She found what she was after in Little Black Dress, a shop where she’d had success before. It wasn’t black, but oxblood, knee-length, bare-shouldered, halter-top style. She also bought new underwear, black and lacy. Finally, she bought a jade pendant on a silver chain to go with the new look, and strappy white sandals, with the heels just high enough to accentuate the curve of her calves. She decided to go bare-legged and spent some time in the bath shaving her legs. Her last port of call was John Lewis, where she bought a set of sturdy kitchen knives.
When she was finally ready, she studied herself in the mirror for anything that seemed overdone. She looked like a woman on her way to meet a date, perhaps for a night at the theater or a meal at a good restaurant, which was exactly the way she wanted to appear.
“I DON’T do that stuff anymore,” said Tyler Cleary, when Gerry tracked him down to the college pub that evening. The music was loud, and the bar was crowded, but she managed to usher him to a reasonably discreet corner for a chat.
“That’s good, Tyler,” she said. “This should be very quick then.”
“What is it you want to know? I want to get back to my mates.”
“You used to go to a house on Hollyfield Lane to score drugs, right?”
Tyler stared at her. He was a rather slack-jawed spotty youth with a shock of unruly dark hair falling over his eyes. “You expect me to admit to that? You must be mad.”
“Tyler,” Gerry said. “We know you did. We know you were there. It’s a drug house. We found your fingerprints all over the place.”
Tyler picked up his pint and slopped a little over his jeans before he got it to his mouth and swallowed some. “I don’t have to say anything.”
“No, you don’t,” said Gerry. “But it would be best if you did.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll take you into the station and have a search party down to turn over your flat.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Gerry stared him out. “Try me.”
“OK,” said Tyler. “Suppose I did talk to you. Are you offering me immunity?”
“I’m not offering you anything. I will say, though, that I’m not interested in your drug use.”
“That’s all in the past.”
“Whatever. Not interested.”
“OK. But how do I know you’re not recording this? Show me your mobile.”
“Screw you,” said Gerry, getting up and taking Tyler by the arm. “If you think I’m going to show you my mobile or let you search me, you’ve got another think coming. Come on, we’re off to the station. And don’t forget your sentence is only suspended, not permanently canceled.”
Tyler struggled, but Gerry’s grip was firm. He bumped into the table and spilled more beer. “Hey, wait, wait a minute!” he said. “There’s no need for violence. It’s cool. OK. What do you want to know?”
“That’s better,” said Gerry.
They sat down. Tyler rubbed his arm. “It’s poison, that stuff,” he said. “Drugs.”
“I already know that,” said Gerry. “I just want to know how it worked.”
“How what worked?”
Had this boy actually been admitted to Eastvale College? Gerry wondered. If he had been, there were serious problems with the admission requirements. Talk about unconditional acceptance. You didn’t even need a brain to get into this place, it seemed.
“The setup. The drug operation on Hollyfield Lane.”
“I don’t do it anymore.”
Gerry sighed. “Tyler. You’re beginning to sound like a stuck record. I’m not after you for drugs, believe me. If I were, you’d be in a cell already. All I want is information. Pure and simple. Of course, if you don’t—”
Tyler put his hand up, palm out. “No, no. It’s all right. I’ll talk to you. It’s just that you can’t be too careful, that’s all. Go on, ask away.”
“Thank you,” Gerry muttered under her breath, and out loud, “How did it operate?”
“You just phoned this mobile number, like, and put in your order.”
Gerry showed him the number she had copied from the scrap of paper Annie had found in Howard Stokes’s wallet. “This number?”
Tyler frowned in concentration. “I’m not sure. But it looks about right.”
Gerry put the number away. “How did you first find out what number to phone?”
“A mate told me.”
“How did he know?”
Tyler shrugged. “Dunno. Internet, I think. Facebook, something like that.”
“How many people knew it?”
“No idea.”
“So what did you do next, after you phoned in your order?”
“You waited until Greg came up with the stuff.”
“Up from where?”
“Leeds, I think.”
“Who was this Greg?”
“Dunno. I just knew him as Greg.”
“Go on.”
“There was this old bloke there as well, but he was always on the nod. I think it was his house.”
“Howard Stokes.”
“I didn’t know his name.”
“How did you know when the drugs had arrived?”
“Easy. It was all done over the mobile. One line. That’s why they called it county lines.”
“I know that,” said Gerry, quickly losing patience. “So, as far as you were concerned, you just phoned in your order, then went to pick it up when the delivery came, right? And you made all the arrangements through the one phone number.”
“That’s right.”
“What happened? How did it end?”
“Greg just stopped coming.”
“How long ago?”
“About a month ago. I had an order in, but he never turned up with it. Pissed a lot of people off, I can tell you.”
“Did you meet any of the other customers?”
“Not that I remember. It wasn’t like a doctor’s waiting room, you know.”
“But you just said a lot of people were angry.”
“Figure of speech. I was, so I assumed others must have been in the same boat.”
“Did you go to Hollyfield Lane after Greg stopped showing up?”
“Once. I just wanted to know what was happening, like, if they’d made alternative plans. I mean, I wasn’t addicted or anything, but you know . . . I was used to it.”
“And who did you see?”
“Just the old bloke in the wheelchair who lived there.”
“And what did he tell you?”
“That there’d been some trouble, and the line was down, but it would be up and running again soon as they sorted out some personnel and supply problems.”
“So what did you do?”
“In the end I found another bloke in Leyburn.”
“What are you taking?”
“Was. I told you, I’m off it now. Just a little coke.”
“That’s highly addictive. Are you sure you’ve kicked it?”
“I was never addicted. Just a snort now and then doesn’t do any harm.”
Gerry didn’t believe for a moment that Tyler had kicked the habit. He was too twitchy, even now. She wasn’t going to take him in, but she would pass on information about a source of cocaine in Leyburn to the drugs squad, if they didn’t already know about it.
“Was Greg the only one you ever met selling the stuff at Hollyfield?”
“Yeah.”
Gerry took out the photo of Samir and showed it to him. “Ever seen this lad?”
Tyler examined the photo. “Isn’t that the kid who got killed last week? Put in a wheelie bin?”
“That’s right.”
“Never seen him.” Tyler passed the photo back. Gerry thought he was telling the truth.
“We think he was Greg’s replacement,” she said. “Or all set to be. Are you sure you didn’t take any deliveries from him over the past month or so, since Greg packed it in?”
“No. I told you, I found someone else. In Leyburn. Then I packed it in. Besides, I’d remember if I had met him.”
“And you never went back to Hollyfield?”
“No. Why would I?”
“OK,” said Gerry. “So you’re saying the old man told you things would be up and running again soon, but they weren’t?”
“Right.”
“What about the line? The phone number?”
“Dead, wasn’t it?”
“And you didn’t get a new one from your mate?”
“No. Nothing. They just, like, abandoned us all. Just like that.” He drank some more beer. Gerry finished her slimline tonic and closed her notebook. She hadn’t learned a lot, but it hadn’t been an entirely wasted visit. At least she thought she had managed to add a bit more evidence to the mounting pile that showed Samir hadn’t turned up in Eastvale until the day he was killed. Or if he had, he had been lying very low. And she knew his predecessor’s first name was Greg. But she still didn’t feel any closer to knowing who had killed him.
10
ON SATURDAY NIGHT, ZELDA WAITED UNTIL NINE O’CLOCK before she entered the bar and grill at the Hotel Belgrade. As luck would have it, there was a vacant seat at the bar between two couples, both far too interested in their respective partners to pay her any attention. She was also pleased to note that her style of dress was not at all out of place. The dressed-down crowd might be sitting at the tables, but up there at the bar, most of the men and women were dressed for an evening out. She looked just like a woman waiting for her date.
When the barman asked her what she wanted, Zelda ordered a vodka and tonic. The only thing she really missed was smoking. She wished she could light up while she was sitting there with her drink. Not only was she feeling a nicotine craving, but her nerves needed calming. The barman placed a bowl of mixed nuts and nibbles in front of her, but that wasn’t quite the same. She tried one piece; it tasted like salty cardboard.
There was a flat-screen television behind the bar, and Zelda half-watched The Voice with the sound off. It was better that way. She could hardly sit and read her book at the bar tonight. She was too nervous to concentrate, anyway. She kept glancing at her watch. The knife was in her handbag, and she felt so conscious of it she was certain the whole place knew about it, that everyone knew what she was planning to do. What if he didn’t come? What if he didn’t pay her any attention? Was she attractive enough?
Then, around the same time he came in the previous evening, she saw the familiar figure reflected in the mirror behind the bar and held her breath. He paused in the entrance from the hotel lobby, straightened his tie and surveyed the bar. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought his eyes may have lingered on her a fraction longer than on anyone else. She hoped it wasn’t because he recognized her.
There was no room at the bar, and she could hardly move somewhere else. Besides, it would be too obvious. If he was interested, he would find a way to her. It shouldn’t be too hard to attract him, as she was the only unaccompanied female at the bar. Their eyes locked in the mirror, and Zelda thought she noticed a glimmer of interest.
She noticed him studying her back as he walked toward the bar in a direct line, perhaps making sure she was alone. She made a point of looking at her watch and drumming her fingers on the bar, appearing vaguely annoyed. She held her breath as he stood slightly behind her and the couple beside her, leaning forward between them to catch the bartender’s attention. He caught her eyes in the mirror again and gave a little smile. As he leaned, she felt his arm brush against her bare shoulder, nudging her just enough to jar the drink in her hand.
“Sorry,” he said. “It is very crowded here tonight, yes?”
Zelda remembered the voice, though the accent had smoothed out, become more Americanized, over the years. She felt her throat constrict. She somehow managed to smile and nod.
“Please, let me buy you a drink,” he went on.
“It’s not necessary.”
“But I insist.”
“Well, in that case . . .”
He was wearing the same white suit as he had last night, though this time with a purple shirt and yellow tie. She guessed he had been in his late twenties when he and his brother abducted her just over thirteen years ago, so he had now probably just turned forty. He seemed to be on familiar terms with the barman, who didn’t even need to ask him what he wanted but served him a large measure of whisky along with another vodka and tonic for her. The whiff of peat from his glass told her it was an Islay single malt.
For a while he stood there beside her drinking and chatting easily with the barman. It didn’t take him long to get through his first whisky. Then the couple to Zelda’s right left. Tadić took the seat next to hers with the slow, easy motion of a confident man and signaled for another drink. He glanced toward her, raised an eyebrow in question and nodded toward her glass. Zelda shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m still working on this one.”
“Are you waiting for somebody?”
“Is it so obvious?”
“You were looking at your watch.”
“Yep,” she said. “He’s late.”
“Have another drink with me while you wait. Go on. One more won’t do any harm.”
“OK,” she said, pushing her glass forward. “Thanks. You’re not from around here, are you?” She was hoping he wouldn’t catch on to her accent. Most people didn’t.
“No,” he said. “Zadar. Croatia. Goran is my name.” He held his hand out to shake.
Zelda shook it. Her little hand was lost in his, and she could feel the strength in his grip. She was five foot six, and he must be at least six inches taller. She began to have grave doubts about the success of her mission. There was no way she could put the pills in his glass here in the crowded bar, she had already realized. They would have to wait until he got her up to his room, which she predicted from the look in his slightly hooded eyes wouldn’t be very long. Not one for extended conversation, Goran Tadić.
“Cathy,” she said. “Lovely country, Croatia.”
“You go there?”
“Once. Just the tourist spots—Split, Dubrovnik. But I remember Zadar. Isn’t that where the sea plays music? I was on a cruise with my husband.”
He seemed thrilled that she knew Zadar. “Yes, is sea organ. Beautiful music.” Then his face took on a disappointed expression. “You are married?”
