Severed (24 page)

There are two young kids, barely ten, messing about with what looks like an old fridge on the strip of wasteground that runs alongside the track. They are doubtless up to no good, but I don't care about that. What I want to know is how the hell they got in there.

And then I see it, about ten yards further on. A small, kid-sized hole at the bottom of the fence. I force myself to slow down, the patter of angry paws right behind me, then at the last second I do a hard turn and dive bodily through the hole, scrambling to my feet on the other side and running wildly for the track. The freight train's almost passed now, but even above the steady, rhythmic clatter of its wheels I can hear the excited panting of a dog. He's feet away and gaining, and I know there's no way he's not going to get me.

As I reach the raised shingle on which the track sits, he lunges. His teeth get an iron grip on my leg, but I've still got just that little bit of
momentum, and as the final cart passes directly in front of me I jump skywards, getting one flailing arm on the cart's lip, and a foot on the buffer. I swing round so that I'm hanging on to the rear of the train, and the dog, a big Alsatian, swings with me. But the thing is, he wasn't expecting this and I was, and he just keeps on going, releasing his death grip at the same time. He flies off, does a very effective rolling landing, then jumps to his paws and stands there with his tongue lolling out, watching me disappear slowly into the distance.

I look towards the fence and catch sight of several men running on the other side of it. They stop as they see me come trundling past at a leisurely twenty miles an hour or so, which is when I see that they're in uniform. I can't resist giving them a little wave, and then they're gone, as the train goes over the viaduct and starts to turn a corner.

Once I get my breath back, I decide that it's surprisingly relaxing hanging on to the back of a train on a warm summer's evening, with the breeze in your hair. Darkness is falling fast and a three-quarter moon the colour of melted butter sits high in the darkening sky. There are
no stars, the haze of neon lights that spreads for miles around smothering them like a blanket, but there's something beautiful about the way the city seems to come to life at night, and something exhilarating too about outrunning people who want to do you harm. It seems right now that the whole world seems to want to do me harm, yet in those moments I feel the best I've felt all day.

But I've got another mystery on my hands now, because it's obvious that Alannah didn't call people to come and kill me. She called the police to come and arrest me instead. Which leaves two very important questions.

Number one: Why?

Number two: Just who exactly is she working for?

I'm on a quiet street in Kilburn roughly a mile or so from where I grabbed a lift on the train, and a few hundred yards from where I jumped off it. As I walk along it, Lucas's torn shirt flapping in the breeze, I review my options.

Time is not on my side. It's twenty to nine. Lucas dropped me at Holloway Road tube more than two hours ago. He will have spoken to the police by now, and after what I'm sure he's said, they're going to be looking for me with some urgency. So I really am going to need to make Eddie Cosick's acquaintance soon. In other words, tonight. The address book I discovered at Ferrie's place is still in the pocket of my jeans, thank God, and it seems that Ferrie knew about
Cosick too, because when I look the name up I get an address in W8, which tallies with Alannah's description of it as being in Notting Hill.

But as I walk, I consider for the first time the possibility of handing myself in and actually telling the police the truth, the rationale being that they're going to catch me eventually so it would be better to pre-empt them. But I swiftly discount this. I'm too heavily implicated in the events of today: the shootings at Ferrie's place and the chaos at the brothel. As well as this, there's still the possibility that there are copies of the DVD out there linking me to Leah's murder.

At the moment, visiting Cosick is my only option. It's extremely risky, but there's nothing I can do about that. I do, however, have a real stumbling block. I'm unarmed. Which means I'm going to have to speak to Lucas. I genuinely don't want to drag him back into this, but I can't see how I can avoid it.

I use the mobile he supplied me with to make the call. He answers on the first ring, as if he's been sitting there waiting for me.

'The police have only just gone,' he informs
me. 'I was going to phone you. I'm sorry, Tyler, I had to tell them that we were doing the job today on your behalf.' He sounds genuinely gutted.

'Don't worry,' I tell him, 'I know you had no choice. How much information did you give them?'

'I tried to keep it to a minimum. I said you approached us out of the blue this afternoon about a job. You wanted a track on a briefcase. You didn't tell me what was in it, and I didn't ask, because I trust you. I gave Snowy the task of following the case, and told him to keep me posted with progress calls every fifteen minutes. We got two, then they stopped. Me and you parted company, and I got on with some other work, namely a job in Islington, assuming that Snowy would phone me back. I was getting worried but obviously didn't think it would be anything too serious, so didn't bother reporting it, and then, bang, the next thing I know, the police are on the phone announcing that he's dead.'

'Won't they know you were talking to him on your mobile shortly before he died?'

'Sure, but when they triangulate my location,
they'll see that I was in Islington just like I said, a good two miles away from where they discovered Snowy.'

'So you're in the clear, right?'

'The only possible concern is if someone saw me pick you up after the brothel fire, and can place me at the scene, but I'm hoping I'll be all right. There are no public CCTV cameras on that street. I checked.'

'Did they ask you anything about the fire?'

'No, I think they believed my story. There was no reason not to. But obviously they want to speak to you. They said that if you made contact with me, I was to call them straight away.'

'Thanks, Lucas.'

'No problem, but we must be getting near quits by now.'

'Yeah, about that . . .'

'Shit. Now what?'

'I've got the name of another man. The big boss. I've got an address, too. I hate to do this, Lucas, but I need one of those guns you were talking about.'

'You're not going to pay him a visit?'

'At the moment I can't see any other way.'

He sighs. 'Which means I'm going to have to come with you, doesn't it?'

'Of course it doesn't. I've already told you, you've done your bit.'

'I can't let you go there alone. If anything happened to you, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.'

I try to protest, but he tells me not to bother.

'I'm coming, and that's it. Where are you now?'

'I'm in Kilburn. A place called Heaver Street.'

'I'll come straight over. I should be there in about half an hour.'

'Before you do, can you run a background check on this guy? His name's Eddie Cosick. I need to know what we're up against.'

'Sure. So make it forty-five.'

'Fine. And one other thing. Can you bring me over another shirt? I had a little accident with the other one.'

'I'll be sending you a bill for this,' he tells me with just a hint of exasperation, then hangs up.

There's an old-fashioned street-corner pub opposite me. The door's open, and I can hear the buzz of conversation from inside. A notice-board out the front says that they do good food.
They're hardly likely to say any different, of course, but all the activity of the past few hours has given me something of an appetite.

I step inside, figuring I've earned a break.

When I step out of the pub pretty much exactly forty-five minutes later, having eaten a high-quality chilli con carne with garlic bread and a mixed leaf salad, washed down with a pint of orange juice and lemonade, Lucas is just pulling up in his BMW.

I jump inside.

'You've been in the pub?' says Lucas, his tone incredulous. He's wearing a black sweater and dark jeans, along with a pair of leather gloves. With his chiselled good looks, he reminds me a little of the Milk Tray man.

'Don't worry,' I answer, 'I haven't been drinking.'

'But in that shirt? The thing's in pieces. Here, I've brought you this.'

He reaches down and produces a sweater similar to the one he's wearing, and a navy Foster's baseball cap. I put them both on as he pulls away and thank him once again for coming. He tells me that that's what friends are for, although I think he's gone well above and beyond the call of duty on that particular score.

I give him Eddie Cosick's address, and he feeds it into the car's GPS system.

'Did you find out anything about him?' I ask.

'A little. Like a lot of these guys he tries to keep a low profile, but I talked to a police contact, and it seems he's got his fingers in a lot of very illegal pies, not just people trafficking and prostitution. There's heroin and arms smuggling as well. And if you cross him, you pay for it. Last year, one of his people stole some money from the organization. The story goes they fed the guy feet first through an industrial mincer. Turned him into sausage meat.'

I think about my chilli con carne. It's not a pleasant thought.

'But there's nothing that might suggest what's in that case I was delivering?'

He shakes his head. 'Everything I found out about him is supposition. Cosick doesn't get close to the coalface, and he's got no convictions. I can't get hold of a photo of him either.'

'It's all right,' I say, 'I know what he looks like.' Although I wonder if I actually do, since I've only got Alannah's word for that. 'What about the guns?' I ask after a pause.

'We've got a slight problem there,' Lucas tells me. 'I've brought them with me, but they're not loaded. I thought I had bullets somewhere, but I don't, and the ones that were in there originally are rusted to shit. We'll look the part, but we'd better hope that no-one tries to call our bluff.'

'It's the way I want it anyway,' I answer. 'I don't want to have to shoot anyone else.'

Although, I have to admit, I'd feel a lot better knowing I had a fully functioning weapon if the bullets do start flying. My gut feeling is they won't. We're going to the guy's house, after all, and no-one wants their humble abode turned into a shooting gallery. But if nothing else, the experiences I've had today have taught me that you should never, ever bet against things going wrong.

'So, what's the plan?' Lucas asks.

'We go in nice and quiet, guns drawn, round up Cosick and any security he's got, secure them, and then I ask the questions.'

'That's it? Jesus, Tyler, you like to keep it simple, don't you?'

'Can you think of something better?'

'Not off the top of my head,' he admits, 'but then you didn't ask me to come up with anything, did you? And if Eddie Cosick is the guy who's behind Leah and Snowy's killings, and if he's the one who set you up, what are you going to do about it?'

'I'm going to ask him why.'

He doesn't try to argue. 'OK. Then what?'

'I'm going to make sure I'm in possession of all the evidence against me.'

'OK. Let's say Cosick tells you why, and gives you all the evidence he's got linking you to the murder. What do you do then?'

'I get him to tell me where the briefcase is. We know it contains something extremely valuable to him, so I'm sure he's still going to be in possession of it. I take it off him--'

'He's not going to want to give it up.'

'He'll give it up with a gun against his head.
Then I'll hide it somewhere, and since it's something that's obviously incriminating to him, I'll put an anonymous call in to the cops. And then that'll be it. Job done.'

Lucas nods, not looking too sure, and we fall silent as we drive through Kilburn and down into Paddington before passing into the fashionable enclaves of Kensington and Notting Hill. The streets here are wide and brightly lit, and crowded with the young and the loaded who've come to play among the pavement cafes and wine bars, and enjoy this last, balmy burst of summer.

The atmosphere on the streets may be easygoing and vibrant, but in the car we're both tense as we prepare for the coming operation. We're going into the unknown. All we can predict for certain is that it's going to be dangerous. An attacking military force should always have a numerical superiority over the force it's attacking, but with only two of us involved, that's almost certainly not going to be the case. If anything, we're going to be outnumbered, so the scope for things to go wrong is immense.

When Lucas picked me up, he was making jokes and seemed fairly laid back, but as we get
nearer to our destination I see that this was nothing more than an act. He chain-smokes cigarettes in short, angry drags, and sweat glistens on his forehead. I'm glad he's with me, but his presence emphasizes my own selfishness in involving him in someone else's battle. I know he doesn't want to be here, and I can't blame him. His army days were a long, long time ago, and since then he's grown to enjoy the good life of decent money and easy work. An op like this is going to be a major shock to his system and he's had very little time to prepare himself.