Bad Boy (27 page)

“Not specifically, no. He just said he was in a spot of bother and he had to get away. It was only later, when I watched the news…heard about Erin…”

“You know Erin?”

“Met her a couple of times. Crazy bitch. I told him she was trouble.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“Just gave me that knowing smile of his and said he could handle it.”

“Why was she trouble?”

Mallory scratched his temple. “She was dead jealous. Impulsive, fiery. And obsessive, too possessive. It’s a dangerous combination.”

“Sounds like a young woman in love to me,” said Banks.

“But Jaff doesn’t like to be tied down. He likes his freedom. Likes to come and go as he pleases, with whom he wants.”

“So I gather. Did he tell you where he was going?”

Mallory sipped some Rémy and looked away. “Not specifically, no.”

“But he gave you a general idea?”

“Well, he said he needed to lie low for a while, ring a few people and get some business deals organized. He had some bonds he wanted to sell. He said he was going to London, that there was a bloke he knew there in Highgate, name of Justin Peverell. I remember him vaguely from uni, but I wasn’t part of their scene. He was a foreign student, I think. Somewhere in Eastern Europe. Anyway, this Justin can fix things like fake passports and that. I knew Jaff was in with some pretty shady people, but I wasn’t involved in any of that. I didn’t want to know about it.”

“What business deal was he talking about?” Banks asked. “What are these bonds he mentioned? Do you know anything more about this Justin Peverell other than that he lives in Highgate and deals in dodgy passports?”

“No. Honest. That’s all I know. I lent Jaff my car, and he said he was going to London to see Justin. He’d get it back to me somehow, he said, and in the meantime I could use his.”

“Where’s Jaff’s car?”

“In my garage. He asked me to keep it out of sight for a while.”

“Did you tell Ciaran and Darren about Justin?”

“Yes. I
had
to. They were going to cut me to pieces, man. But I didn’t tell them his last name. I just remembered it.”

So Fanthorpe had almost the same information and about five hours’ start, thought Banks. That didn’t bode well. Fanthorpe would also have the resources to find this Justin—the criminal network. In fact, it would probably be a damn sight easier for him than it would be for Banks if Justin hadn’t registered on the Met’s radar yet. And no doubt Ciaran and Darren were down in Highgate already awaiting instructions. Still, this sounded like the same Justin of whom Erin had spoken, and they not only had his last name, Peverell, but also the name of his girlfriend, Martina. It might just give them the edge they needed. They could check the electoral rolls, the phone book, even. Of course, if Peverell was from Eastern Europe he probably wasn’t using his real name, and if he wasn’t a British citizen or resident, that might make him difficult to track down.

But where the hell were Jaff and Tracy? Banks wondered. They could be in London themselves, by now. They’d certainly had enough time to get there. Victor’s car had been found on the moors only two or three miles from Banks’s cottage where Annie had been shot, and from there on they must have been on foot for a while. They could still be up there, wandering in circles. People had been lost for days on the moors, had died there. It didn’t even take a bad storm or a major snowfall. On the other hand, Tracy knew something of the lie of the land from their walks up there, and if they had got hold of another vehicle they could be anywhere. It was one thing to know where they were going, but it would be much better to know where they were. Especially as Tracy’s value to McCready declined with every mile
they got closer to Justin Peverell. Jaff certainly wasn’t going to fork over for
two
passports. Did he even know who she was? Who her father was? And if he did, how would that affect his strategy?

“I want to know about the gun, Victor,” Banks said.

Mallory seemed nervous. “What gun? All I did was lend my car to a mate in trouble. I don’t know anything about any gun.”

“I don’t know if your last visitors asked you about it or not. They probably weren’t interested once you’d told them about Justin. But I am. Very interested. We don’t know if Jaff had a gun with him when he left his flat, but we think it’s very unlikely, partly because Erin Doyle had already run off with it and her mother had found it and handed it over to us. Which is the main reason why Jaff was running away in the first place. He was certain she’d name him and he didn’t want the police poring over his dodgy business deals. So if he didn’t have two guns at home to start with—and why would he?—then he must have got the second one from you. Stands to reason. As far as we know, this is the only place he stopped before he…” Banks was about to say “went to my house,” but he pulled himself up in time. “Before he went on the run. That gun was used to shoot a policewoman, Victor. The gun we think
you
gave him. A Baikal, in all likelihood.” And, he might have added, it is probably now being used to threaten my daughter into doing what he wants. “That makes you an accessory.”

Mallory turned pale. “Jaff did that? No. I can’t believe it. You can’t lay that on me. I never gave him any gun. I’ve never had a gun.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Banks, “but I don’t have the time right now to thrash it out of you. If I find out that you’re in any way connected with that gun, or that you’ve lied or withheld any information from us, I’ll be back, and I’ll prove it. In the meantime, don’t even think of going on your holidays.”

Banks gestured to Winsome, who put away her notebook and stood up. When they left, Mallory was sitting in ashen silence with his glass of Rémy in his slightly trembling hand. Outside, the watchers were still sitting in their Skoda, plumes of smoke drifting out through the open window. Banks walked over to them and leaned on the roof.

“We’ve finished for now,” he said, gesturing with his thumb back toward Vic’s house. “But if I were you, I’d get your guv to send in a
search team and take his house apart brick by brick. You’re looking for handguns and possibly an illegal lab of some kind. If you don’t find anything there, then try to find out if he’s got another place, a business property, perhaps, or a secret lockup somewhere, maybe under another name. You never know, it might earn you a few Brownie points, and by the looks of you both, you could do with them. Bye.”

When Banks got back to the car Winsome was listening to her mobile, frowning. She said good-bye and folded it shut. “I’ve asked Geraldine to check the electoral rolls and telephone directories for a Justin Peverell,” she said. “And there’s good news.”

“Do tell.”

“We’ve got a report from the local police station at Baldersghyll. A white builder’s van has been stolen from the car park near Rawley Force, about three miles away. It’s a national park spot, and apparently people park there and do the circular walk. It takes about three and a half hours.”

“So what happened?”

“Couple came back a bit early, after only about two hours—seems they hadn’t a lot of time so they did the short version—and they found their van gone. Madame Gervaise has acted quickly, and all units have the number and description. It makes sense. Too much of a coincidence that someone else would have just come along and nicked it. It was in the vicinity and general direction Jaff and Tracy would have been heading.”

“Good,” said Banks.

“There’s more. Seems the van’s a bit of an old clunker. According to its owner, it doesn’t go more than about forty.”

Banks smiled. “Not having a lot of luck with his motors, our Jaff, is he?”

IF THE
speedometer of the stolen van crept up toward fifty, the chassis and engine block started shaking so much that Tracy feared it would fall apart, or that the wheels would drop off. This only increased Jaff’s frustration, along with the Wetherby roadworks on the A1, and now an accident blocking the southbound lanes to the M1. It was starting to get dark by the time they finally crawled onto the M1 east of Leeds,
and already it was close to two and a quarter hours since they had stolen the van. Time was definitely not on Jaff’s side.

Tracy noticed that he was getting edgier by the minute. It was partly the frustration and partly the coke he kept stuffing up his nose. The motorway was plagued by more CCTV cameras and police patrol cars than anywhere else, he complained, and an old white builder’s van hobbling along in the slow lane couldn’t help but attract unwanted attention. These days, too, he told her, many of the motorway cameras used the ANPR system—Automatic Number Plate Recognition—which meant that they automatically informed the police if a car was stolen. Pretty soon, he was certain, they wouldn’t stand a chance on the M1. And it would be at least a five- or six-hour drive at the speed they were going now. More likely, the van would clap out before Sheffield, and they’d be stuck on the open road.

“Fuck it,” Jaff finally said, thumping the steering wheel. “We’re not going to make it. At this rate we won’t even be south of Wakefield by the time the van’s reported stolen. We’ve got to get rid of this piece of shit before they find us. They’re bound to know we took it pretty soon, if they don’t know already. Maybe those people were fast walkers, or they didn’t do the whole route for some reason. The cops could be on to us at any moment.”

“But where can we go?” Tracy said. “They’ll have the railway and bus stations covered.”

“I need time to think and make some calls,” said Jaff. “But first we’ve got to dump this van.” He drove on in silence for a few more minutes, then indicated a turn at the next junction.

“What are you doing?” Tracy asked.

“I’ve got an idea. We’ll go to Leeds.”

“Leeds? Are you insane?”

Jaff shot her a hard glance. “Think about it. Leeds is one of the last places they’ll be looking for us. They’d never expect us to go back there in a million years.”

But Tracy knew they would. The police didn’t always think in quite so linear a fashion as Jaff seemed to imagine when he thought he was being clever. Especially her father. “Fine,” she said, a glimmer of hope now flickering inside her. Leeds. She knew Leeds. It was home turf. “Your place or mine?”

“Neither. I’m not so stupid as to think they won’t be guarding
our
places, or that the neighbors won’t be vigilant and report any sounds. Vic’s is out of the question, too. They’re bound to have traced the other car to him by now.”

“What if he talks?”

“Vic? He won’t talk. He’s an old mate. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Like what? Cross-country running with your backs to the wall, or showers with games teacher after rugger?”

“You don’t know fuck all about it, so just shut the fuck up. Besides, Vic doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know where we are.”

“I’ll bet he knows where we’re going, though, and who we’re going to see.”

Jaff just glared at her, which told her she was right and he was worried. The coke paranoia was kicking in. There was a short stretch of road through a desolate industrial estate in Stourton between the M1 and the M621 into Leeds, and Jaff concentrated on making the correct turns at the roundabouts, then he pulled into the entrance of a deserted warehouse yard.

“What are you doing?” Tracy asked. “Why are you stopping?”

“No need to piss yourself. We’re getting out of these filthy clothes and putting some clean ones on. You go first.”

Tracy crawled into the back of the van and opened her bag. It was a relief to change out of her old clothes and put on some of the clean, fresh ones Jaff had bought her at the Swainsdale Centre just the other day. Hard to believe only such a short while ago things had been so good between them. Now he was like another person: Jekyll and Hyde. She changed her underwear, too, and only wished she could have a bath first. The best she could do was get back in the front and use the mirror to put on a little makeup while Jaff changed quickly after her and then climbed into the driver’s seat.

“That’s better,” he said, laying out another two lines of coke on a mirror and snorting them through a rolled-up twenty-pound note. “Sure you don’t want any?”

“No, thanks,” said Tracy. “Where are we going now?”

“First off, we’ll dump this piece of shit in Beeston. It won’t last five minutes there. Then we’ll find a nice hotel in the city center, and I’ll
make some phone calls. There’s no on else I trust up here, but I’ll work out a plan, don’t you worry.”

“How are we going to get to London?” Tracy asked.

“So many questions. I think I know where I can get us a clean car first thing in the morning. Bloke I know owns a garage in Harehills. MOT, road tax. No questions asked. Then we’ll be down to London in no time.”

Tracy was thinking furiously. Leeds might be her best chance yet if Jaff got a bit too cocky about their safety there. She had been hoping for her break on the moors, but it hadn’t come. Now she couldn’t see an easy way out at all, no matter where they went or what they did. They would either get to London, in which case she would be at the mercy of Jaff and his friends, who would certainly want to leave no witnesses behind, or they would run into a police roadblock and Jaff would try to shoot his way out, or put the gun to her head and use her as a hostage. Whichever way she looked at it, things were bad, and her only possible hope was her father, if they had got in touch with him. It was Thursday, and as far as she could remember he was due back in the country today. He was planning on staying the weekend in London, but surely someone must have got news of Annie’s shooting to him by now?

“They’ll be looking for two of us, you know,” Tracy said. “An Asian male and a white female. We’re making it easy for them.”

“So what do you suggest? I bleach my skin white? You tan yours brown?”

“I suggest we split up. They’ll never find you alone in Leeds. You could probably even take a train down south and they wouldn’t find you. Not on your own.”

“You don’t think they’ve got my picture out everywhere? And you a copper’s daughter.”

“Maybe they have,” Tracy argued. “But they’re still looking for the two of us. Police get blinkered like everyone else. Some of them are pretty thick, too, as a matter of fact.”