Capital Punishment (13 page)

‘What about Frank and Alyshia?’ asked Boxer.

‘I can answer that, but only to a certain extent,’ said Isabel, uneasy now, getting up to clear things away, offering him things which he refused. The whisky bottle reappeared with ice and tumblers. She sat back down with a coffee. ‘Alyshia has always been a special child to Chico. He saw something extraordinary in her and gave her his attention in a way that he hasn’t to his children in Mumbai. I’d like to think he saw his better self in her. She, like him, is very beautiful. She’s razor sharp up top, always exceptional at maths and did a degree in economics at the LSE. Chico wanted her to do an MBA before she came to Mumbai, but at twenty-one, most colleges were reluctant to take her. I don’t know what Chico did but the Saïd Business School in Oxford offered her a place and after a two-year course, she went straight to Mumbai to learn the real thing at her father’s side.’

‘He wanted her primed to run a major global corporation.’

‘That’s what he’s building. He already had the Bollywood studio, which he’s expanded, and the films were, and still are, making huge amounts of money, not just in India, but because of Asian communities all over the world, globally, too. He was making the sort of money that meant he could buy whole businesses. He knew cars would be the next big thing out there so he bought a parts manufacturing company supplying TATA. Then he went into tyres and plastics and finally into making cars himself. He also bought a steel works so that he had the whole manufacturing process under his control.’

‘He told us he’s sent some prototype electric cars over to raise interest in a manufacturing base in the UK.’

‘Oh, yes, he was very excited a few years back when he got hold of some new battery technology,’ said Isabel. ‘He’s already making and exporting them all over the world.’

Boxer nodded, made a note. If this kidnap wasn’t about money, maybe it was about forcing D’Cruz to stop a manufacturing process. ‘What about Frank’s family?’ he asked.

‘His parents died before I met him. He had two sisters. The eldest one died of AIDS after years as a prostitute. The other has disappeared and, despite his fame and fortune, has never reappeared.’

‘That’s a dark past.’

‘That’s Chico for you.’

‘So for Alyshia to come back from Mumbai to live in London means that something must have gone badly wrong between her and Frank?’

‘Neither of them will talk about it.’

‘How long did she last at his side?’

‘Two years.’

‘And you’ve no idea what happened?’ asked Boxer, not quite believing her.

‘Alyshia stayed here for a couple of months while she sorted herself out. I couldn’t help myself and I think I badgered her too much. She moved out, rented a flat in Hoxton and got a job in a bank, which is about as far from what she wanted to do as you could possibly imagine. Now she works, doesn’t seem to contact any of her old friends and has a social life that I don’t know anything about unless I invite her here. I’m pretty sure she has no love life, which for a beautiful girl like Alyshia is ... is extraordinary.’

‘Was she happy before she left for Hoxton?’

Isabel sipped her whisky and thought for some moments.

‘She’s not
un
happy,’ she said. ‘If you met her, she wouldn’t be withdrawn. You wouldn’t think her obviously depressed. We’re still very close. We have a nice time together as long as we don’t touch on certain subjects. But...’

‘She’s changed?’ said Boxer.

‘We all do, I suppose,’ said Isabel. ‘I was young and happy myself until at twenty-three I found out what Chico was doing ... what he was like.’

‘Will Frank ever talk to me? I mean, really reveal stuff to me?’

‘No,’ she said mildly, ‘but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.’

‘He’s already told me he’s not too clever with the truth,’ said Boxer, ‘but that he wouldn’t
lie
to me.’

‘At least he’s told you that and you don’t have to go through the painful process of finding out for yourself,’ said Isabel. ‘It must mean he likes you or, don’t take this badly, he’s got you to do his bidding and when it’s done, he’ll drop you like a hot rock.’

‘How do you manage to despise Frank and yet still love him?’ asked Boxer, thinking out loud, unchecked.

‘He’s the only man I’ve ever loved,’ said Isabel, unbothered. ‘Nobody else has come close. The memory of that is still very powerful. It means that—’

‘Approximations won’t do.’

She nodded, as if that was, at least, part of the answer.

‘How old were you when you met him?’ asked Boxer.

‘Seventeen.’

‘That’s Amy’s age,’ said Boxer, holding his finger out to stop her pouring more than an inch of whisky into his glass.

‘Meaning?’

‘She’s young, crazy and impressionable. How old was Frank?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Did your parents like that?’

‘No, they didn’t, until they met Frank and that was it. He won them over. They didn’t want me to marry him until I was twenty-one. He persuaded them to let us get together two years earlier. By the time I was twenty, I’d already had Alyshia.’

Boxer did some calculations in his head.

‘So you’re telling me you got divorced from Frank when you were thirty-three and you haven’t had a relationship since?’

She shrugged.

‘There’s been no lack of opportunity,’ she said. ‘It’s just...’

The phone buzzed in his pocket. Mercy. Damn. He was going to have to take it. He excused himself, left the kitchen.

‘I’ve got her,’ said Mercy. ‘We’re at home. She’s up in her room, sulking.’

‘And? What was it all about?’

‘Karen’s new boyfriend is in a cigarette smuggling ring. They send groups of girls out to the Canaries where they give them suitcases full of cigarettes to bring back to the UK. The girls have a good time away, all expenses paid, and they bring back 8000 ciggies each. Price per pack in the Canaries three euros, price in UK seven quid. Even with the crap exchange rate and price undercutting that’s three quid a pack profit. Twelve hundred quid a girl. Flight, hotel, clubs, drinks—can’t come to more than a couple of hundred. Six girls, six grand. Thanks very much.’

‘It’s not going to take Customs and Excise too long to work that out.’

‘I’ve told them they’re lucky not to be banged up with a criminal record before their eighteenth birthdays.’

‘How did Amy take it?’

‘Badly. Very abusive,’ said Mercy. ‘But you know, I was watching her before she saw me. She was in the station waiting room talking to a couple our age. She was fantastic. Lovely. Entertaining. I mean, completely dazzling. I didn’t recognise her. Perhaps it’s just us, Charlie;
we’re
the problem, or maybe it’s just me?’

‘It’s both of us.’

‘What are we going to do with her?’

‘Whatever you do, don’t lose it, Mercy,’ said Boxer. ‘The first thing is that somebody’s going to have to keep an eye on her while we’re on this case.’

‘I’ve been calling round,’ said Mercy. ‘None of the usual suspects can do it.’

‘Do you want me to talk to my mother?’

‘The drunken hag?’

‘At least they get on with each other,’ said Boxer. ‘And she doesn’t seem to drink so much when Amy’s around. It could be good for them both. Mum will calm her down and give her some self-respect back.’

‘And Amy will do the cooking.’

‘I’ll call her,’ said Boxer. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Mercy. We’re all part of it. Amy, too.’

‘I love her and I just get hate thrown back in my face. It’s wearing me down, Charlie,’ she said, and he imagined her, forehead against the wall, wishing it was easier.

‘Where are you now?’

‘At the girl’s mother’s house in Kensington,’ said Boxer. ‘You’re coming here tomorrow to meet her?’

‘I won’t get there until 11.00 a.m. I’m seeing the DCS first.’ ‘I’ll call Amy.’

‘Good luck. I doubt she’ll take your call.’

They hung up. Boxer tried Amy. No answer. He went back to the kitchen.

‘Trouble at home?’ asked Isabel.

‘It’s complicated,’ said Boxer.

‘I’m used to that.’

‘Mercy Danquah isn’t just my co-consultant. The photograph I showed you earlier is our daughter. She and I conceived Amy and then split up soon after, but we stayed good friends. It looks as if Amy is expanding her horizons a little quicker than we’d like,’ said Boxer, and gave her a recap of his phone call.

‘I can’t believe you could sit here talking to me so calmly with all that going on in the background.’

‘It’s the nature of the job,’ said Boxer.

‘Never showing your emotional state?’

‘Just controlling it,’ said Boxer. ‘And over the years, I’ve developed a nose for when things have gone really bad.’

‘How did you meet Mercy?’

‘I was in the army, she was at college,’ he said, making mental notes of the lies that were building up. ‘We had a fling, she got pregnant. We lived together for about a week until we found we were friends, rather than lovers. We separated and shared Amy.’

‘How did you find out you were just friends?’

‘We revealed everything to each other,’ said Boxer, ‘and found we were too alike. There was no attraction of opposites. We had nothing to hide and nothing more we were desperate to know. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t protect her with my life if it came to it, but it means we could never be lovers.’

‘And you found that out before Amy was born,’ said Isabel. ‘So what’s Charles Boxer been doing for the last seventeen years?’

‘I’ve had girlfriends, but being in the army, then homicide and then this job, which can send me to Mexico or Yokohama at a moment’s notice, has made a home life tricky. Women don’t like that. Or rather, they like it for a bit until they find plans destroyed, holidays in ruins, life on hold.’

‘So why do you do it?’

‘I’ve found that I need to be in situations where life really matters,’ said Boxer. ‘In the army I saw action in the Gulf War and after that normal life seemed monotonous and dull. So I became a homicide detective, which I soon realised was a mistake. Finding out why somebody had been killed was not the sort of intensity I was looking for. It was post-life. Historical. Redundant. The victim beyond help. Kidnappings gave me what I was missing. Everybody intensely wanting the victim to survive. The extreme pressure of ensuring that survival. The reward of the victim’s safe return to life and their family.’

‘And has that always happened?’

‘Almost always,’ said Boxer, mind shuddering at the thought of Bianca Dias.

‘And what about Alyshia?’ asked Isabel Marks, her face breaking apart with a sudden onslaught of fresh worry.

‘From what you and Frank have told me about her, she has the perfect profile for surviving well,’ said Boxer, serving up his professional patter rather than the brutal truth. ‘The gang is professional. They won’t harm her. All we have to do is keep calm, be patient and they will tell us what they want. We’ll take it from there.’

She came round the table to him, stood by his chair.

‘I know we hardly know each other,’ she said, ‘but would you mind holding me?’

He stood, put his arms around her. He was nearly a foot taller and her head fitted into his chest. Her arms hung by her sides at first, like a child in shock. Then they found his waist and she drew herself in.

11.45 P.M., SUNDAY 11TH MARCH 2012

Grange Road, London E13

‘What did I tell you?’ said Skin, who was wearing dark blue Umbro tracksuit bottoms, a red England shirt under his blue fur-lined jacket, and black trainers, which he had up on the dashboard of the van.

‘What
did
you tell me? You’ve told me so much shit over the last few days,’ said Dan, looking right, turning left, ‘I can’t remember.’

‘About it not being over?’ said Skin, smoking viciously. ‘And here we are...’

‘Tidying up loose ends,’ said Dan.

‘That’s what I mean,’ said Skin. ‘Think about it.’

‘You mean, at what point does someone decide that
we’re
loose ends?’

‘Got it in one.’

‘That would mean Pike would have to find someone to do you,’ said Dan. ‘And then someone else to do his killing for him.’

‘All I’m saying is that if he gets shot of us, there are no more connections to the leading players.’

‘And all I’m saying is that it’s not so easy for him,’ said Dan. ‘I know Pike likes having me around. Medical advice on tap.’

‘What use is medical advice if you’re back in the Royal Suite?’ said Skin. ‘Don’t underestimate Pike. Underneath all that fat there’s a skinny, ruthless little bastard, screaming to get out.’

‘Have you taken something?’

‘’Course I have,’ said Skin. ‘We’ve been told what we’ve got to do this time.’

‘What did you take?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘I just want to know what I’m dealing with.’

‘A little dexy, that’s all,’ said Skin, lighting a cigarette from the one he’d just finished in less than a minute. ‘Got to be sharp for this.’

‘You worried about anything, Skin?’

‘Like what?’

‘I mean to do with this job?’ said Dan.

‘That fucker, the cabbie, he’s not going to be alone, not after what we did to those sheep the other night,’ said Skin. ‘He didn’t like that.
I
didn’t like that. He was having the same thought we were when we dumped them in the river: I’m fucking next.’

‘So you think he’s going to have company.’

‘I know he’s going to have company. Pike does too,’ said Skin. ‘Are you as handy with a gun as you were with the needle?’

Dan shrugged.

‘I thought not,’ said Skin. ‘In that case, you deal with the cabbie. Get behind him. Point blank in the back of the head. Don’t think about it.’

‘Don’t
think
about it?’

‘I can see we’re going to have a problem,’ said Skin.

‘And you?’

‘I’ll deal with the help,’ said Skin. ‘The unexpected help.’

‘Who’s going to give him the money?’

‘I will,’ said Skin, beckoning it over.

Dan gave him the money taped up in a plastic bag.

‘Just get behind him and
pop.
The money’s in plastic, so don’t worry about the mess.’