Chasing the Dark (10 page)

I was getting angry. ‘Don't lie. What were you really thinking?'

‘I told you.'

‘Bailey, I'm doing this for Mum. And you owe her!'

I felt bad saying it, but I was desperate.

‘OK. OK.' He crossed his arms and glared at me. He hated being forced into things but he knew he didn't have a choice. ‘There is a Ukrainian Jackson did some business with. Viktor something.'

‘All right. Now we're getting somewhere.'

‘You don't want to go near him. He came round once, brought a couple of heavies with him and left a load more outside patrolling the walkway. They freaked Danielle out.'

‘Where's he live?'

‘Acton . . . Shepherd's Bush, I don't know, somewhere out west. Jackson made me stay in my room but I heard this Viktor going on about his restaurant serving the best Ukrainian food in London and how Jackson should take Danielle over to try it. But the restaurant's not how he makes his money. He's into all sorts.'

‘So I'll find the restaurant and go see him,' I said.

‘I don't think so.'

I picked up his laptop and started tapping. ‘There's three Ukrainian restaurants in London and only one in West London. It's called the Besedka.' I scanned the screen.
‘The owner's V. Kozek. That him?'

‘Yeah,' he said gloomily. ‘Viktor Kozek. But honestly, Joe, someone like that, you can't just—'

‘I'm going, Bailey.'

‘What if Jackson finds out?'

‘I gotta chance it. What else can I do?' I closed the search and clicked through the pages he'd got up. I'd only been away for an hour and he'd already found loads of stuff about Ivo Lincoln and Norma Craig.

‘What's this clip?'

‘A report off yesterday's news about Norma Craig going back to Saxted. Have a look.'

I pressed play and felt a shiver of recognition as old photos of Elysium, Norma and Clairmont flashed on to the screen.

‘Sixties icon Norma Craig has returned to Elysium, the home she abandoned over three decades ago when her husband, Lord Greville Clairmont, was accused of murder. For five years they held court in their luxurious modernist mansion, playing host to a glamorous circle of writers, politicians, musicians, scientists, actors and royalty. However the party came to an abrupt end when Greville Clairmont bludgeoned their housekeeper, Janice Gribben, to death in the darkened hallway mistaking her for his wife.

‘The couple's gardener told police he saw Clairmont stashing the body into his Mercedes and the car was discovered the next day, abandoned on the cliffs at Dover. However, despite a lengthy search of the coastal waters Janice Gribben's body was never found. Soon afterwards
Norma Craig left Britain for Switzerland where she has led a reclusive existence ever since.

‘And as for Greville Clairmont – on the day of the murder he literally vanished without trace. The man who led the initial murder hunt and followed up every alleged sighting was Inspector Keith Treadwell of Scotland Yard. Now retired, he's here with me now.'

The shot cut to a washed-out old guy with deep wrinkles all across his forehead as if he frowned a lot.

‘Keith Treadwell, what do you think of the speculation that Norma Craig has returned to Britain because Clairmont is here and wants to make his peace with her before he dies?'

‘I'd say it's poppycock. I've kept in contact with Miss Craig since the murder and if anything, her desire to see Clairmont face justice has grown stronger over the years. If she had any idea where he was she would have informed the police immediately.'

‘So why
do
you think she's returned to Saxted after all this time?'

‘I'm afraid I have no idea. It's just one more mystery to add to the baffling events surrounding this case.'

‘Keith Treadwell, thank you very much.' The reporter turned to the camera. ‘So the mystery continues and if you want to know more about the murder at Elysium you can find a link to Keith Treadwell's website on our webpages.'

I gave back the laptop, whistled to Oz and headed for the door.

Bailey looked up. ‘Get yourself a new phone.'

‘Can't. I'm skint.'

‘You should sell your story –
Meals on wheels boy tells all! My secret chats with tragic Norma
.'

‘Yeah . . . funny.'

He stopped smiling. ‘I'm not kidding about the phone. You don't want to go walking into trouble without one.'

‘I'll have to risk it.'

He groaned, heaved himself up and pointed to the couch. ‘Tip it up.'

I turned the couch up and squatted down, not sure what I was supposed to be looking at till he tugged back the thick black covering and took out the Tesco's bag stuffed between the springs. I looked inside. There must have been at least ten handsets in there, all with their chargers wrapped round them. In Jackson's line of work you could see how a stash of emergency phones might come in handy.

‘Pick one. They're all charged up with money on the SIM.'

Voices sounded on the walkway, followed by the rattle of keys. I stuffed the nearest phone into my backpack and tipped the couch back. Bailey threw himself across the cushions, reached for the remote and turned the TV up loud.

‘Not a word,' he croaked as footsteps thudded down the hall.

Was he kidding? I was desperate, not suicidal.

CHAPTER 13

I
felt bad leaving Bailey on his own but he seemed all right stretched out in his favourite spot by the window, with Treadwell's website on his screen and his bird's-eye view of the estate. While he was off school there wouldn't be much happening on Farm Street that he didn't know about.

I got the tube to Shepherd's Bush and walked down Goldhawk Road, keeping a constant watch for anyone following me. Oz was wary too, staying close, keeping his head down and his ears pricked.

The Besedka was a big glass-fronted restaurant with its name picked out in flickery blue lights above the window. The inside was decked out with cheap plastic tables and chairs and faded photo murals of mountains and forests. It was pretty packed and there were four or five harassed
waitresses scurrying around balancing trays. Trying to look like I dropped in on Ukrainian gang bosses on a regular basis I pushed through the crowded tables and asked the big guy at the till for Mr Kozek.

He laughed but you could see the joke was on me.

‘Get lost, kid. And get that dog out of here.'

I scooped Oz up and tried to stop him wriggling. ‘It's business. It's important.'

‘I said, get lost.'

When I didn't budge he slammed the till shut and started moving round from behind the counter. Oz let out a low growl and bared his teeth. I clamped my hand over his muzzle.

‘Tell him . . . tell him I'm a friend of Jackson Duval's,' I said.

I didn't have much of a plan but mentioning Jackson definitely hadn't been part of it.

The man eyeballed me for a second, then he called something to the waitress heading through the swing doors. Seconds later she came back with a hulk with a greasy black quiff, poached egg eyes and a tattooed neck. When I say big I'm talking at least six foot six, and when I say neck I mean a solid slab of muscle that sloped from the top of his arms straight to his ears. Just looking at him made me want to pee myself and run. Too late now. The Hulk had already joined in the laughter. He grabbed me by the neck and next thing I knew I was being shoved into the kitchens and hustled past rows of sweaty cooks and bubbling saucepans, spitting steam.

My bad case of jitters turned into a full-blown
freak-out when he made me put Oz down and frisked me. Did I look like I'd got an AK47 stuffed down my trousers? He even jerked Oz's head up and felt under is collar, raising a big menacing hand when Oz snapped at him.

‘Stop it Oz, It's OK,' I said quickly.

Once the Hulk had satisfied himself that neither of us was armed he took me upstairs, knocked at a door and shouted something I couldn't understand. I heard a click and a whir. The door swung open. Viktor Kozek obviously didn't like visitors barging in unexpectedly.

The Hulk pushed me into a plush-looking office with a red carpet, wood panelling and no windows. Above the desk hung a big wall-mounted screen, chequered with grainy, ever-changing CCTV shots of a warehouse, a garage forecourt, a bar and a row of railway arches. The man sitting at the desk was about fifty. His pudgy cheeks, short grey-flecked hair and natty pinstriped suit made him look like everybody's favourite uncle till you saw his eyes, which were very blue, very scary and very busy taking in every detail of my face.

‘Who are you?' he said. His voice was low and suspicious and his accent was similar to Yuri's.

I swallowed down the sick taste of panic and said the first name that popped into my head. ‘Erm, Erroll Potts.'

He pointed to a flashy red velvet chair. Oz was agitated, letting out grunty little whines. He wanted to leave. Me too. I sat down and pushed him onto the floor next to me.

‘Lie still. Keep quiet.' I hissed.

He dropped his nose on his paws and cowered there glancing warily from side to side.

‘Did Jackson Duval send you?'

‘Not . . . exactly, Mr Kozek.'

Viktor's frown got deeper. ‘What do you want?'

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Then I remembered I was doing this for Mum and my tongue loosened up.

‘I'm looking for someone,' I said. ‘A Ukrainian called Yuri. I don't know his second name but he's been in the UK a couple of weeks and I think he's in London.'

‘What makes you think I can help you?'

‘He's in trouble. I think he's involved in some . . . stuff.'

‘What sort of
stuff
?'

‘Bad stuff. He's on the run.'

He rocked forward slightly in his chair. ‘Who from?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Why do you want him?'

‘He's . . . got something I need.' I wasn't going to tell Viktor it was information.

‘Something valuable?'

‘Only to me,' I said, quickly. ‘So if you know anyone who could do some quiet asking around I can pay with this.' I pulled out the tie-clip.

He took it, curling his lip.

‘What is this?'

‘It's gold and that's a real diamond.'

He sucked his teeth and tossed it back to me. ‘Secondhand diamonds aren't my line. But I have to admit, you intrigue me, Erroll. I was about to have some Russian tea. Will you join me?'

‘Erm . . . OK,' I said, hating the wobble in my voice.

‘Bogdan!' He shouted something to the Hulk, who grunted and lumbered off. Then he got out a little digital recorder, pressed a couple of buttons and laid it on the desk between us.

‘Nothing personal, Erroll. Whenever I have an
interesting
conversation with someone I don't know l always find it pays to take a few precautions.' He settled back in his leather chair, ‘So, What does this Yuri look like?'

I took a deep breath and started to describe him. I'd just got to the gash on his leg when Bogdan shouted to be buzzed in. He came back followed by a girl carrying two steaming glasses of black tea in silver holders on a fancy silver tray. She was maybe a bit older than me, pale, skinny and not very tall, with a slightly crooked mouth and long, dead straight hair that was this weird silvery colour. I guessed she was Viktor's daughter, till I noticed she wasn't dressed like a rich man's kid and saw the look he gave her, which wasn't exactly bursting with fatherly affection. She had a right sour face on her, didn't smile or even look up. She served Viktor first. Then she turned, and as she got to me she glimpsed Oz's head poking round the other side of my chair, missed her footing and slopped boiling tea all down my hand and on to the carpet.

Three things happened. I let out a yelp. Viktor bawled
Nina!
and the girl looked me in the eye. She wasn't sour. She was terrified.

‘Hey, my fault,' I said, wincing with pain. ‘Sorry about your carpet, Mr Kozek. I've . . . always been clumsy.'

Viktor snapped something at the girl. She scooted away and came back with a cloth, a bowl of water and a little
dish of ice. As I held a lump of it against my hand she mouthed me a silent
thank you
, rolled up her sleeves and started scrubbing at the stain. It was then that I saw the purple bruises. Rings of them like bracelets. As if someone with powerful fingers had grabbed her wrists and squeezed very hard.

‘Does this Yuri have tattoos?' Viktor said.

‘Yeah,' I said, tearing my eyes away from the girl's arms. ‘All over.'

‘Describe them.'

He sat forward, nodding slightly when I told him about the spiders and the snarling wolf on Yuri's back, and pressing me for numbers when I mentioned the domed turrets.

‘What's it matter how many?'

‘They are jail tattoos. One dome, one year in prison.'

I shuddered. There'd been twelve, maybe fifteen turrets, rippling between Yuri's shoulder blades.

‘What do the others mean?'

He shrugged. ‘Every prison, every gang, they have their own variations. But if you know how to read them they can tell you a man's whole life story.'

I glanced at the little tattooed snake peeking out from under his cuff, and looked away as he adjusted his sleeve.

‘What tattoos does he have on his chest?' Viktor said.

For all he was trying to look bored, something shifted when I told him about the one-eyed skull and the barbed wire. When I asked him what it meant he shrugged again but his whole body was tense.

‘Where did you last see him?'

A warning light flashed in my head. ‘Er . . . Brixton. He was just passing through. Not sure where he was headed.'

‘He speak English?'

‘Yes. It's a bit rusty but he understands everything.'

‘So you think he's been to UK before?'

‘Maybe.'

‘And you are hoping he has made contact with old friends.'

‘Yeah.'

Viktor switched off his tape recorder.

‘Erroll, I have enjoyed our little chat and as a favour to Jackson Duval I will ask my people to keep an eye out for this Yuri. But it is very hard to find a man who does not want to be found, especially in a place like London.'

Nina had been so quiet I'd almost forgotten she was there till she picked up her bowl and cloth and backed out the door.

‘OK,' I said, ‘but . . . if it's all right with you can we keep Jackson out of this? He thought I . . . shouldn't get involved.'

‘You can trust me, Erroll.'

His smile was slow, lingered just a little too long, and brought back the panic.

‘Bogdan will show you out.'

I didn't mention that he hadn't asked for my number. What was the point? We both knew he was never going to call.

Oz skulked along at my heels, keeping well clear of the Hulk. The kitchen was even steamier and nosier than
before, full of shouting people blocking the narrow space between the counters. I swerved to avoid a waitress, nearly braining myself on a row of dangling saucepans.

Nina cut past me, lugging a tray piled high with dirty plates. I nodded at her. She didn't nod back, just gave me this strange look, like she was sussing me out. Then she blinked down at the tray and back up at me. I thought she'd got something in her eye. She did it again.

I followed her gaze. A tiny strip of paper was poking out from under the plates, all curled up like a little white worm.

She stared at me, willing me to pick it up. I palmed it and kept walking through the swing doors, speeding up as I followed Bogdan across the restaurant. By the time I hit the street I was running. I didn't stop till I was well clear of the Besedka and everybody in it. I darted down an alley and stood with my back to the wall breathing fast, trying to imagine the story that the one-eyed skull on Yuri's chest was telling. Kozek knew what it was, that was for sure. But the rings of bruises on Nina's scrawny arm kept blotting out Yuri's tattoos, hinting at a pretty miserable tale of their own.

I flattened out the strip of paper. She hadn't taken any chances. The pencilled letters were so faint you had to know you were looking for something to even see they were there.

Tonight 10 p.m. Tina's burger van. Shepherd's Bush Market
.

Half of me wanted to chuck it in the nearest bin and keep running; the other half was desperate to know what she wanted. I was so confused I called Bailey and told him
about my meeting with Viktor. He went ballistic when I admitted I'd mentioned Jackson. Who could blame him? I kept telling him it was OK because Viktor wasn't going to help me anyway and when he finally calmed down I told him about Nina.

‘What's she playing at?' he said.

‘She's got bruises, all round her wrists.'

‘Doesn't mean you can trust her.'

‘I bet it was that creep Kozek who gave them to her. She wouldn't risk upsetting him unless it was really important.'

‘Or he put her up to it.'

‘Either way, I've got to find out what she wants.'

‘Maybe she fancies you.'

‘What? No. She's not like that. She's . . . I dunno, kind of angry.'

I hung up, bought some chips and joined the rest of the homeless hanging out on Shepherd's Bush Green. Most of them had scraggy dogs and looked like life had given them a good kicking. Me and Oz fitted right in.

After an hour or so of trying to figure out why Nina wanted to see me, why Viktor Kozek had got so uptight about Yuri's skull tattoo, and what Jackson would do to me and Bailey if he found out where I'd been, my brain was hitting overload. But I didn't want to stop. Whenever I did, the thought of Mum reaching out to that fireman rushed in to fill the gap and the name Lizzie echoed round my head, pitching me into a bottomless blur of pain. The only way to stop falling was to keep going.

*

I didn't like it. I didn't like the broken street lamps, the boarded-up railway arches or the unfamiliar tags on the walls. Most of all I didn't like the groups of kids hanging round the entrance to the market looking for trouble. I put Oz on the lead and slipped down a shadowy alleyway that led into the main part of the market. It was deserted, lit only by a few yellowish street lamps, and everything was locked up, chained up or battened down. I kept walking between the rows of empty stalls, listening to the tarpaulins flapping in the wind and searching for Tina's burger van.

When I found it, it was nothing special, just a dirty old caravan with a scabby-looking burger and a couple of hot dogs painted on the closed metal shutters. Nina wasn't there. I hung around for a couple of minutes watching for movement in the shadows, jumping every time Oz's ears pricked up or the wind rattled an awning till I got so freaked out I backed between a couple of skips and called Bailey.

‘What's happening?' he said.

‘Nothing. She's not here.'

‘Get out of there, it might be a trap.'

‘I'll give it five minutes then I'll . . .'

‘Hey, Erroll.' It was a thin, sharp girl's voice that made Erroll sound like earhole. Didn't bother me, it wasn't my name.

I leant out and took a look down the line of stalls.