Black Daffodil (Trevor Joseph Detective series) (5 page)

‘I guessed.’ The bouncer dried his hands on a paper towel and offered it to Trevor. ‘Jude.’

‘Just Jude?’ Trevor shook it.

‘Williams. I work here three, sometimes four, nights a week. It pays the rent and covers my extras at the gym.’

‘And your steroids.’ Trevor didn’t voice the thought.

‘What you selling?’

Trevor lowered his voice. ‘Grass, Charlie, good quality.’

‘Price?’

‘Quantity?’

‘I’ll take five grams of Charlie – if the price is right.’

Trevor knew the street value of good quality cocaine was based on a profit margin of 95%. He reduced it to 80%, but warned Jude, ‘that’s an introductory, rock bottom deal.’

‘I’ll take it.’

From the speed of Jude’s take-up Trevor realised he’d pitched too low. ‘My partner and I represent a consortium …’

‘I only take what I can shift in the gym. If you’ve steroids …’

‘We haven’t. But we’re looking to buy as well as sell. We’ve a …’ Trevor deliberately hesitated, ‘… a captive market. And from what we’ve heard Black Daffodil could be right for it.’

‘Every bugger in town is after that at the moment. You don’t want to go meddling with that stuff.’

‘Why not?’

‘Friend of mine got hold of some. Her wholesaler said it came from a good source. The Tafia …’

‘Tafia?’ Trevor interrupted.

‘Welsh mafia,’ the bouncer explained irritably. ‘The Black Daffodil wasn’t a regular line and there wasn’t a lot of it. But my friend can always find punters willing to experiment if the price is low enough. She bought some and sold it on to the bottom end of the market in good faith. But there was something wrong with the batch. Her customers got a trip of a lifetime. For some it was their last.’

‘So Black Daffodil is tainted?’

‘That’s the only bad lot I’ve heard about. But there’s only one way to test merchandise and I’m not volunteering.’

‘We were hoping that Black Daffodil would be the answer to our prayers.’

‘That depends on what you prayed for,’ the bouncer grinned.

‘Profitable goods for a large and ready market.’

‘I’ve heard there’s Black Daffodil samples on offer. They won’t be plentiful. Word is the manufacturer’s looking to sell the rights, not just the merchandise.’

‘How much?’

‘B D pills wholesale at £2 a pop.’

‘Retail?’

‘I’ve heard of punters paying £5.’

‘A single pill?’ Trevor was sceptical.

‘When they can get them.’

Trevor recalled Bill telling him 48 could be produced for a pound. No wonder every major dealer was after it. ‘I’ll exchange the Charlie for a sample. If I like what I get, there’ll be more orders. A lot more,’ Trevor promised.

‘That’s no good to me unless I’m already doing business with whoever buys the rights. You setting up a stall round here?’ Jude asked suspiciously.

‘Not in competition with the locals,’ Trevor reassured him. ‘When I said a captive market, I meant it.’

Jude looked bemused for a moment before his thin-lipped mouth curved into a smile. ‘The slammer! I done pokey. Dog handlers and wardens are swine.’

‘If Black Daffodil is all it’s cracked up to be, easily transportable and undetectable to sniffer dogs, we’re very interested. But can you get it?’ Trevor pressed.

‘Like I said, I can ask around. When do you want it?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘You interested in the rights?’

‘Possibly,’ Trevor hedged.

‘You’ll have the Charlie tomorrow?’

‘I will.’

A barman walked in, nodded to Jude, walked into a cubicle and shut the door.

Jude motioned his head towards the door. ‘If I can’t get what you want, I’ll have the cash.’

The last thing Trevor wanted to do was play straight dealer. ‘You’ll try?’

‘My gym’s in the city centre.’ Jude fished a card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Trevor, who pushed it into his wallet. ‘I’ll be there tomorrow from four till six.’

Trevor returned his wallet to his pocket.

Jude smiled as they headed back to the bar. ‘Masha’s waiting for you.’

‘It’s a good time to check on my friend’s losing streak.’

‘You don’t gamble?’ Jude asked.

‘Only on dead certs.’

‘After two years here I don’t even put the odd tenner on a gee gee any more.’ Jude turned to the main door.

Trevor’s phone vibrated in the pocket of his jacket. He moved to the edge of the crowd around the blackjack table and discreetly checked the messages. There was only one from Chris.

HIT GOLD

Trevor smiled. There was nothing he or Peter could do before morning, but it was good to know that they didn’t have to rely on Jude to come up with the goods. He fingered the keys and sent a return message.

C U SOON

Peter pulled off his tie as they walked into his suite. ‘At one stage I was five grand up.’ He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it beside his tie on to the bed.

‘A wise gambler told me the only number that matters is the one you are up at the end of a session.’ Trevor handed Peter a malt whisky, sat in a chair and lifted his feet on to Peter’s bed.

‘I said that?’

‘You did.’ Trevor lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to a speedy wrap.’

‘And the fall of bloody wise arses.’

‘How much you down?’

‘What makes you think I’m down?’ Peter demanded.

‘How much?’ Trevor repeated.

‘Two hundred.’

‘Given that you played for four hours you could say that was cheap entertainment. And the dealer was pretty.’

‘Very.’ Peter smiled.

‘Drink up, we have places to go and people to see tomorrow.’

‘Our gofers?’

‘Sent a message. They hit gold.’

Peter whistled. ‘Well done, gofers. I’m amazed.’

‘Only because you don’t want to believe anyone is as good as you when it comes to marketing.’

‘I give credit when it’s due.’

‘I also want to call in the estate agent’s.’

‘You want to move to
Wales
?’

Given the theatrical emphasis Peter had put on the last word, Trevor thought it would be disappointing if their role-playing didn’t have an audience. ‘This city is booming. The right property here would be a gilt-edged investment. A penthouse with rental prospects appeals. It’s a sin to leave hard-earned money lying idle.’

Peter opened the balcony doors and stepped outside. Trevor joined him. The sky was navy blue, punctuated by golden lights on the ground and silver stars above.

‘If the gods smile on us, we might also personally pick up the first batch of our preferred merchandise tomorrow.’

Peter faced him. ‘You …’

‘Made contact and put in an order for a sample.’

‘Major player?’

‘Minor but …’

‘He has connections,’ Peter finished for him.

‘He confirmed that the merchandise rights are up for sale.’ Trevor finished his drink. ‘I’m for bed.’ He left Peter’s bedroom.

‘First one up rings down for breakfast. Fried bread, black pudding – the works,’ Peter shouted after him.

‘I heard you. Muesli, skimmed milk, porridge, fruit juice …’

‘There’s only so much winding up a man can stand.’ Peter returned to his bedroom and reached for the bottle of whisky Trevor had left next to his bed.

‘He who dishes it out must also learn to take it,’ Trevor called back.

‘Always have to have the last bloody word, don’t you.’ Peter poured himself a generous measure of malt.

Chapter Five

The offices of Jones, Jones and Watkins were on the second floor of a mezzanine walkway, sandwiched between a Thai restaurant and an exclusive dress shop. Trevor knew it was exclusive because there were no prices on the garments in the windows and Lyn had taught him the meaning of the word ‘exclusive’ in relation to women’s fashion.

He glanced at the properties on offer in the estate agent’s window. Apart from two commercial units, both small and on the Bay, they were all apartments ranging in price from studios at a hundred and eighty thousand to penthouse duplexes for millions.

Peter pushed open the door. Trevor followed. A smartly dressed young girl left her desk and greeted them.

‘How can I help you, sirs?’

Peter smiled at her. ‘In many ways, darling. Would you like me to list them?’

The girl blushed and Trevor pushed Peter aside. The girl had used the standard – ‘there’s no get out, you have to answer me one way or another’ – opening Masha had used; a transatlantic greeting that had found its way into every supermarket and fast-food outlet in the UK. Trevor hated it but it didn’t warrant Peter’s quip.

‘We’re interested in the new tower block penthouse development.’

‘That is a very popular development, sir. Our Mr Horton is dealing with it. He is with another client at the moment. Have you registered your interest?’

‘That’s why we’re here,’ Trevor informed her.

‘Could I have your names please?’ She poised a pen over a notepad.

‘Brown and Ashton.’

She made a note and gave them another empty smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see how long Mr Horton is likely to be.’ She disappeared into a back office and emerged a few seconds later.

‘He will only be another ten minutes. In the meantime, perhaps you’d care to look at our brochure.’ She pointed to a seating area at the back of the open-plan office and offered each of them a leaflet. ‘Can I get you coffee? Or would you prefer tea?’

‘Coffee, strong, black, four sugars.’ Peter took the brochure from her.

‘And you, sir?’ She turned to Trevor.

‘Black coffee, no sugar, thank you.’ Trevor sat beside Peter.

Peter opened the brochure. ‘Something strike you about the room dimensions on the cheapest option?’

Trevor checked them. ‘Not particularly.’

‘They’re half the size of the rooms in the council flat I grew up in with my Mum and six brothers in Birmingham.’

Peter had never lived anywhere near Birmingham and only had one brother. But when Trevor checked the sizes against the photographs of the rooms, he realised the mock ups had either been taken with a very clever camera or furnished with child scale fittings.

‘Mr Brown, Mr Ashton, so sorry to keep you waiting.’ Andrew emerged from the office. The front door opened and Trevor caught a glimpse of Alfred Harding leaving.

‘Your secretary kept us amused.’ Peter held up the brochure.

‘I have detailed plans and models in my office. Hold all calls, Judy.’

‘Yes, Mr Horton.’

Andrew shut his office door as soon as Trevor and Peter were inside. He held up a gadget and switched it on. ‘No bugs, no eavesdropping devices. This building is squeaky clean.’

‘I saw Alfred leaving. Did he pick up anything last night?’ Trevor asked.

‘Rumours that the club is being used to launder money.’

‘Knowing Darrow, I believe them.’ Peter finished his coffee.

‘Belief doesn’t constitute evidence,’ Andrew retorted.

Peter gave a cold smile. ‘Well done. I didn’t know you could bite back, T-off.’

Because his office was the opposite end of their home station to Peter’s, Trevor rarely saw Andrew and Peter together. He had forgotten about the ongoing feud between them. A feud that was so old he couldn’t remember the origins of it – if he had ever known them. ‘Did Alfred say anything else?’ Trevor knew there was no point in asking Peter to cool it.

‘The Darrows are running massage parlours and brothels through dummy companies.’

‘That is old news,’ Trevor sat back in his chair.

‘His staff aren’t old. According to what Alfred was told by one of the hostesses in the casino last night, in Darrow’s down-market parlours, locals have been replaced by girls trafficked by gang masters. The hostess, who goes by the name of Alice, picked up Alfred and asked him to help her. Gave him the usual sob story, she’s Jamaican, and was conned into coming to this country to take a nanny’s job. When she reached Heathrow she was sold to the highest bidder, gang-raped and ended up in one of the downmarket brothels. It took her six months to graduate to the casino. She told Alfred she’s watched all the time. She also said she’s paid in drugs not cash. Most of the girls are users but she insisted she was clean and sold her ‘cut’ to one of the bouncers for cash.’

‘Did Alfred get the name of the bouncer?’ Peter dumped his empty cup on Andrew’s desk.

‘Fred, he’s Asian. This Alice lives above a massage parlour. She works there by day and the casino by night. She told Alfred that she owes the gangmaster who brought her in five grand in expenses, which is why she works twenty hours a day and more.’

‘Alfred believed her?’ Trevor checked.

Andrew shrugged. ‘It’s an old story but believable. Lee was here at nine. On his way home after an all night session. Upstairs must have given him good references. He tapped into a private poker game. Said all the players could talk about was laying their hands on the merchandising rights to Black Daffodil. Officers using dogs busted two of the Triad shipments last month. Half a ton of heroin packed into Chinese knick knacks being shipped in from Taiwan and Hong Kong.’ Andrew pushed his chair back from his desk and lifted his feet on to the corner. ‘Servini and Patel called in briefly. They both said the same thing. The Mafia and Asians know about Black Daffodil but haven’t a clue who’s making it, haven’t bought samples and aren’t interested in the auction.’

‘Obviously not in the running to widen their business interests. Markov and Lebov call in after their success at the tables last night?’ Peter took his cigar box out of his pocket.

‘So you weren’t just playing blackjack,’ Trevor observed.

‘Buggers won two grand playing craps. Used their own money too so they don’t have to hand it over,’ Andrew said enviously.

‘They called in?’ Peter repeated.

‘Ostensibly to register interest and report that they got wind of an auction. The manufacturer of Black Daffodil is offering the formula to the highest bidder. The Albanians have come in at twenty million. The Russians, fifty.’

‘When’s the deadline?’ Peter questioned.

‘They’re trying to find out. You two got anything?’

Trevor glanced at his watch. ‘Chris struck lucky and picked up merchandise. We’re on our way there now.’

‘I knew that boy was ambitious the first time I laid eyes on him.’

‘I’m surprised you recognise ambition, given that you’re lacking in that quality yourself, T-off,’ Peter baited him.

Andrew bit back. ‘One day I’ll punch you on the nose.’

‘Promises, promises,’ Peter mocked.

‘Hopefully, at four o’clock this afternoon, we’ll pick up our own sample of 90 Black Daffodils, wholesaling at £2 a piece,’ Trevor steered the conversation back on course.

‘Big dealer?’ Andrew looked interested.

‘Small cog. But there’s always the hope he’ll lead us to someone bigger. Now we know there’s an auction, I’ll ask him to put in a bid for us.’

‘With monopoly money?’ Peter jeered. ‘Whoever’s behind this will want to see gilt-edged securities.’

‘Andrew, get back to Dan and the super, and see if they can doctor something up that will bear scrutiny by the seller.’

‘Will do,’ Andrew nodded to Trevor. ‘And, if your man leads you higher up the chain …’

‘It won’t be the top,’ Trevor broke in. ‘Whoever’s manufacturing and marketing this stuff has the sense to lie low and let minions do his dirty work.’ He left his chair and walked to the window. He peered through the blinds and looked down on their car parked in the street below. ‘If Black Daffodil is being manufactured on that council estate, Chris or Sarah might have heard about the factory.’

‘Let’s hope they have. Then we can wrap this case and get back to real life. This is my first taste of undercover work,’ Andrew divulged, ‘and I’m glad it will be my last.’

‘Serious police work too rough for you?’ Once Peter started needling his colleagues he never knew when to stop.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ Andrew snapped.

‘A present if reluctant hero,’ Peter agreed. ‘I thought it would take a crowbar to prise you away from the golf club. Don’t tell me you had a sudden attack of conscience and volunteered for this job.’ Peter left his chair.

‘It’s no secret that Dan promised me a pension upgrade if I stayed on to see this case through.’

‘Ah, money,’ Peter nodded.

‘Unlike you, working solely for the love of the job?’

‘The perks,’ Peter smiled. ‘All expenses paid in a five-star hotel is just about bearable.’

‘I thought the chance to live in a luxury flat on the Bay, a short drive from an exceptionally good golf course, was too good to miss. But that was before I discovered that I don’t have any free time to drive to the course, let alone play on it.’

‘Free time is something we’ve all kissed goodbye for a while.’ Peter went to the door. ‘I’ve a funny feeling about this one. Usually we face a stone wall at the beginning of an operation. There’s too much information flying around.’

‘Given the number of operators upstairs has put out there, I’d be more worried if the information wasn’t coming in.’ Andrew stacked their cups.

‘That’s all you know, “Mr first time undercover”. Take it from a superior who knows. There are way too many leads.’

‘The trouble with you is you like the difficult life,’ Andrew mimicked Peter’s taunting tone.

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, T-off. I don’t like the difficult life, but undercover operatives have no choice but to live it. And it’s the kind of life you know nothing about. Experience has taught me – and Trevor – that fortune doesn’t smile on the likes of us unless she’s lulling us into a false sense of security before splatting us like flies.’

‘Breakfast, or rather brunch, is ready.’ Chris forked the oven chips and chicken burgers he’d cooked in the frying pan onto plates. Kept awake half the night by their noisy quarrelsome neighbours playing their televisions at full blast, he and Sarah had fallen into a deep sleep as dawn broke. As a result they’d overslept.

Sarah walked into the kitchen from the living room where she had been watching TV. She stared in dismay at the plate Chris handed her. ‘Do you call that breakfast? I don’t even call it food.’

‘There was nothing resembling food in that shop. I’d like to see what you would have come up with if you’d gone in.’

‘I guarantee I would have found something better than this and the beefburger sandwiches we had yesterday.’ She took the plate he handed her. ‘One week of your idea of a diet and I’ll put on a stone. Where’s the salt and vinegar?’

‘There isn’t any.’

‘No salt and vinegar?’ she echoed in disbelief.

‘Forgot, sorry,’ Chris apologised.

‘After our bosses call, I do the shopping.’

‘Only with an escort.’

‘Why? Sneezy wasn’t so bad and no one else would talk to us.’

Chris dumped the frying pan in the sink. ‘Is that the name of the boy who sold you those four Black Daffodils?’

‘The only one he would give me.’

‘I can’t wait to see Doc, Happy, Dopey …’

‘You’ve been spending way too much time with Peter.’ She held up her plate. ‘Want to watch the news? It might make us forget we’re eating cardboard.’

‘By immersing ourselves in the troubles in the Middle East and gang warfare in London?’

‘I found an old film on one of the channels. It’s a weepie.’

‘News will do. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve fed the dog.’ Chris tipped a generous helping of the dry dog food into the stainless steel bowl he’d brought up from the car. He refilled the water bowl but he didn’t have to call the German shepherd. Tiger recognised the sound and smell of his food being poured. He ran in and stood patiently, tail wagging, waiting for Chris to set the bowls on the floor.

‘You know that dog food doesn’t look half bad,’ Sarah watched Tiger wolf it down.

‘Would you like it with skimmed or semi skimmed milk?’ Chris followed Sarah into the living room, sat on the sofa and balanced his plate on his lap.

‘How about freshly squeezed orange juice?’

‘They didn’t have oranges. And stop complaining.’

‘Soon as we’ve eaten, I’ll take another walk to that shop. I won’t be gone long and you never know. They might have had a delivery from a greengrocer.’

‘Or we could wait for our visitors and leave after they’ve gone. The dog could do with a walk and we could drive back via Asda,’ he suggested.

‘That would be cheating.’

‘No one said anything to me about where we should buy our groceries.’ He pulled a black bit from an oven chip before forking it into his mouth.

‘These aren’t wonderful at the best of times, but they are better cooked in the oven than a frying pan. As the manufacturer advises,’ Sarah criticised.

They stopped eating at a timid knock at the door of the flat.

Chris turned down the TV. ‘Sneezy?’

‘He said he’d stop by if he tracked down more Black Daffodil.’

‘He might have been here sooner if someone hadn’t been soft enough to give him half a gram of cocaine for four pills. Unlike us, he probably had a great evening.’

A disembodied voice wafted through the keyhole. ‘Dog girl. I got what you want. Let me in. Quick!’

‘Dog girl?’ Chris left the sofa. ‘As opposed to cat woman. Who am I, Batman or the Joker?’

‘A Peter clone,’ she retorted irritably. ‘Go easy on Sneezy. I feel sorry for him.’

Although Chris wouldn’t have admitted it to Sarah, he pitied the junkie, and probably for sounder reasons. During his stint patrolling a council estate he had seen first-hand the effects of the despair long-term unemployment caused and the moral bankruptcy and crime it led to. Along with his colleagues he’d faced daily battles with an army of social rejects who’d taken the easy route out of society that pills, alcohol, bongs or syringes offered. ‘Family’ was too strong a word to describe some of the groups drawn together by accidents of birth and the need to remain together so they could receive maximum state benefits.