The Heights Read online

  ‘He’s not on the list of people interviewed at Clapham Common. Does that mean he just slipped out of the station in the confusion, or where did he go?’

  ‘He switched to another southbound train and got off at Stockwell.’ Milo sounded pleased with himself. Even though Drake was no longer his superior, he seemed to still feel a certain degree of pride in sharing the fruits of his work.

  ‘Did you manage to follow him out of the station?’

  ‘He didn’t get out. He switched to the Victoria Line northbound.’

  ‘Where did he get off?’

  ‘That’s the problem. He exited in Victoria station, and you know how busy that can be.’

  Silently, Drake swore at his luck. ‘Any chance you can find him again?’

  ‘I’ve been working on it.’ Milo hesitated. ‘But we’re being told it’s not a priority.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Pryce is insisting that it’s a waste of time and resources.’

  ‘Well, he’s probably got his reasons.’ Drake suspected he knew exactly why Pryce wasn’t going to pursue the case but appearing paranoid at this point probably wasn’t helpful. ‘One other thing. It might make sense to look up other similar cases.’

  ‘You mean, headless cases?’

  ‘Exactly. Missing heads, or heads minus bodies. That kind of thing. Modus operandi?’

  ‘Modus operandi,’ Milo repeated. ‘You really think there are many people who’ve done this before?’

  ‘I’m counting on that not being the case.’

  Deciding he needed a break, Drake snapped the laptop shut and headed for the door. He stepped between two parked cars, intending to cross the street and buy a sandwich, when the doors of the car to his right opened and two men appeared. Both were in their twenties. The big one wore expensive-looking white trainers and tacky sunglasses. It took him a moment to recognise Donny’s nephew, Zephyr. They didn’t say much. The one with the Hitler Youth haircut nodded at the car.

  ‘What is this?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Someone wants to see you,’ said Zephyr.

  ‘Tell them to make an appointment like everyone else.’

  The other one nudged him from behind. There didn’t seem to be much choice in the matter.

  17

  The Hercules was an upmarket restaurant on the seventeenth floor of a tower just down the road from Southwark station. They brought him up in the service lift and led him in through the back door. He wasn’t sure why. The kitchen looked clean enough. The men and women in there glanced up and then away again, as though they had already learned that there was nothing unusual about people being bundled in through the back door.

  It was only when he saw the name on the menu lying on the table in front of him that Drake knew where he was. He still didn’t know why. The place was deserted. A sea of linen-covered tables stretched out in all directions. The walls were painted the deep blue of the Aegean Sea. Greek letters were dotted about in gold lettering. The Hercules had the kind of inspired mix of expensive and cheesy that Drake always associated with the man who entered through a door on the right.

  Donny Apostolis clapped his hands.

  ‘What do you think? Nice view, eh?’

  ‘If you like that kind of thing.’

  The view of London Bridge and the City across the river was impressive, but Drake wasn’t feeling generous.

  ‘You can even see the Shard if you stand close to the window.’

  ‘You should charge.’

  ‘Oh, I do. Believe me, I do.’ Donny gestured at the table nearest them. ‘What do I call you, now that you’re no longer Officer Dibble?’

  ‘Call me what you like, Donny. You can also just call me instead of sending the gorillas.’

  Donny laughed. ‘You know me, I like a little drama. It’s the Greek in me.’

  ‘Right.’ Drake nodded at their surroundings. ‘Who are you trying to impress?’

  ‘I’m going upmarket.’ Donny gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Life is like swimming. If you don’t move, you sink.’

  ‘I thought that only applied to sharks.’

  Drake was never sure where Donny got his little philosophical sayings. He had a strong suspicion that he simply made them up. He was smartly turned out in a crisp shirt, open at the neck to reveal the tan along with the usual array of gold bracelets, necklaces, crosses, rosary beads and assorted amulets nestling in his chest hair. No matter how far up the ladder he went, Donny Apostolis never shook off his vanity or his old-fashioned superstitions.

  ‘Sharks don’t interest me. You, on the other hand, do.’

  ‘Must be my lucky day.’

  Donny sat with his back to the window. Something Drake had never seen him do before. Normally he had his back to the wall, ‘so that when they come to kill me I can look them in the eye’. Who exactly he was expecting to kill him was unclear. Donny accumulated enemies the way most people collect bonus points at the supermarket. Up here, of course, the window was a safe bet.

  ‘So, I hear you’re a free agent now. No more working for queen and country. I approve, by the way. Government work is a mug’s game. Thirty years’ service and they toss you a pension that a dog couldn’t live on.’

  ‘A lot of dogs would be glad of it.’

  ‘You should come work for me. I’m serious. I could use someone like you on my team.’

  ‘It’s a team now?’

  ‘We all have to diversify. My nephew keeps telling me. Diversify!’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Now we are taking lessons from children.’

  Drake assumed this nephew was the same one who had just brought him in. Zet, as he was known, seemed to be gaining importance in the uncle’s little empire.

  ‘What’s all this about, Donny? If I didn’t know you any better I’d say you were worried.’

  ‘Worried, me?’ Donny fluttered his fingers as a waiter appeared. ‘I’m trying to lose weight. It’s crazy, right? You own your own restaurant and you can’t even eat there. One meal a day.’

  ‘You’re trying to lose weight?’

  ‘I know, it’s crazy. Just look at me.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Tight as a bell. I’m in great shape, better than ever, but I have to watch it. That’s the first step.’

  ‘Towards what?’

  ‘Death, of course.’ Donny rattled his bracelets as the waiter arrived with an ice bucket and a bottle of Moët & Chandon. He opened the champagne and poured them each a glass, before setting it back and disappearing. Two more waiters appeared with oysters and a large shell filled with caviar set in ice.

  ‘You know you don’t have to impress me, right?’

  ‘I’m going upmarket.’

  ‘So you say. But what exactly does that mean?’ Drake surveyed the table and decided there was nothing he wanted.

  ‘It means property. Basically that’s where the money is these days. Do you have any idea how much money was invested last year?’

  ‘Something obscene, would be my guess.’

  Donny smiled. ‘That’s right, I forgot, you’re not interested in money.’

  ‘It’s not that I’m not interested, I’m just not obsessed with the stuff the way most people seem to be these days.’

  ‘I grew up poor. We lived on a farm in Macedonia. My father took care of the horses. I would watch the owners of the farm bring their daughters to ride every weekend. I promised myself that one day I would have everything they had.’

  ‘And how’s that working out for you?’

  ‘I have a country house, land. I have horses, but my ex-wife won’t let me take the children there.’

  ‘Life is a bitch.’

  ‘I didn’t bring you here to talk about my ex-wife.’ Donny reached for a cracker and pasted caviar over it. ‘You hear the one about someone on a train with a head in an IKEA bag?’

  Drake waited for the punchline.

  ‘They was taking it back for a refund.’ Donny sniggered at his own joke.

  ‘That’s why you wanted to see me?’

  ‘You st
ill have some pull.’ Donny was pouring more champagne for himself. Drake hadn’t touched his glass.

  ‘Why the interest?’

  ‘You know why.’ Donny levelled a finger at him. ‘You’re thinking the same thing. That business down in Brighton.’

  ‘You mean Zelda.’

  ‘Who the fuck is Zelda?’

  ‘That’s her name, or that’s what I called her.’

  ‘We’re talking about the same person, right? The woman who was going to blow Goran out of the water.’

  ‘Zelda.’

  ‘Is it her?’

  ‘They’re doing tests.’

  ‘Tests, what the fuck do I care about tests?’ Donny picked his teeth with a fingernail. ‘Is it her?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘There can’t be that many cases like this. Headless body and now this.’ Donny’s face scrunched up. ‘What was it doing on the Tube?’

  ‘That’s not clear.’ Drake took a moment to examine the view. It was impressive. Maybe Donny was coming up in the world. ‘Either it was being moved, or someone wanted it to be found.’

  Donny nodded his agreement, as if he had been thinking the same thing. ‘Now why would anyone do something like that?’

  ‘Unfinished business.’

  The finger came up again. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Someone from back then who is trying to make a point.’

  ‘More than a point, if you ask me.’

  ‘Like I said, Donny, you sound worried.’

  That brought a snort of derision as Donny dug the spoon back into the caviar and spread a generous dollop on another cracker.

  ‘It takes more than that to worry me. What I don’t get is that this happened years ago. Where’s she been all this time, hiding in a bag?’

  ‘It’s strange, I agree.’

  ‘Strange is the universe expanding so fast they can’t keep track of it.’ Donny lifted his hands. ‘It was on the telly last night. Point is, this is more than fucking strange. It’s sinister.’

  ‘Let me ask you, why do you think this has something to do with you?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. Did I say that?’ Donny was jerking back and forth, a vein throbbing in his forehead. ‘I’m curious. I don’t like surprises. Things popping up out of the past where they are supposed to remain.’ He ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘That’s why I want to hire you.’

  Drake sat back. ‘That sounds like a bad idea.’

  ‘What? You don’t like my money, malaka? What do you say?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.’

  ‘Because you think I might have done it?’

  ‘Because three weeks after Goran was gunned down you were moving in on his business.’

  Donny held his hands wide. ‘I’m an entrepreneur. I see an opportunity, I’m obliged to take it.’

  ‘But you’re not saying you killed him?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘If you want me to work for you, you’ll have to level with me.’

  ‘What’s that, then, like talking to a lawyer? What I tell you stays between us?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Donny lifted the bottle again. This time he didn’t bother trying to top up Drake’s glass.

  ‘I’m not sure I believe you.’

  ‘But you still want to hire me.’

  ‘I want to find out what’s going on. You have access to the forensics and all that. Police stuff. And besides, you’re a good copper.’ Donny gave Drake a long look. ‘It’s in both our interests to find out what’s going on. Point is, you get paid for your time. Fair?’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘Right, and talk to that foxy partner of yours.’ Donny grinned. ‘Come on, you haven’t touched your drink.’ He held up his glass in a toast and Drake lifted his.

  ‘I’ll let you in on a secret. I would have taken that animal out for nothing.’

  ‘What is this, some kind of speech about honour among thieves?’

  ‘Call it what you like, I draw the line at certain things. All that stuff with children and women being brought in as slaves, that makes me sick.’

  Drake wasn’t entirely convinced he believed him. ‘Let me ask you a question.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Back then, who else was trying to take over Goran’s business?’

  Donny threw up his hands. ‘I don’t know. I’d have to give that some thought. There was some smaller players. Most of them amounted to nothing.’

  ‘Any of them still around?’

  ‘Some.’ Donny tapped his fingers on the table. ‘So, straight up, you really think it’s the same woman who was connected to Goran?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure of it.’

  ‘You think you can find the person who killed her?’

  ‘I’m going to try.’

  Donny tilted his head to look at Drake. ‘She was a friend of yours, right?’

  ‘She was trying to help me.’

  ‘You owe her.’

  ‘In a way, yes.’

  Donny reached down for something on the seat next to him. He set a thick envelope on the table.

  Drake looked at it. ‘I told you I have to think about it.’

  ‘I know what you told me. And I am telling you that when you have thought about it, you will agree to do this. Not for me, not for the money, but for you. You have to do this for yourself.’

  ‘If I’m going to work for you, I need to know everything.’

  ‘You’re not my mother. I hire you to do a job, that’s all.

  ‘Who is it you’re worried about?’

  ‘If I pay a woman to fuck me I don’t expect her to start asking questions.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the difference. I don’t intend to get fucked, by you or anyone else.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Donny leaned forwards to refill his glass. ‘In my game you make enemies. People you never suspected one day grow a set of balls and decide to cut your head off.’ Donny pushed the envelope across the table. ‘You report to me and no one else. As soon as you have something, I want to know. Is that clear?’

  ‘As mud.’

  ‘We both need to do this,’ said Donny. ‘You’ll see that as soon as you get off your high horse.’

  18

  The Imperio Romano had a touch of old-fashioned respectability about it. The kind of place your father-in-law might invite you to, assuming he liked Italian food and didn’t mind spending money. Everything on the menu posted by the front door looked reassuringly familiar, while there was nothing reassuring about the prices. That didn’t matter since Crane wasn’t there to eat. It was mid-afternoon. Lunch was over and the place was dark and deserted as it collected itself for a few hours before the theatre crowds began to appear for a bite to eat before and then after the show.

  The thickset woman behind the bar looked tired the way a centuries-old Roman wall looked tired. Dressed in black, she carried on polishing a glass while watching Crane approach. She listened as Crane went through her story, but was already shaking her head long before she’d reached the end.

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to do anything illegal.’ Crane traced a fingernail across the marble counter.

  The woman lifted her shoulders. ‘I still can’t do it.’

  ‘Sure,’ Crane said. ‘Nice place you have here. I used to work somewhere just like this, over in Soho.’

  The woman nodded but clearly this was not something that interested her. Still, Crane thought she detected something underneath that world-weary demeanour, so she pushed on.

  ‘Have you had it long?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not my place.’ The woman set the glass she was holding on the counter and reached for another.

  ‘The thing is, if I don’t sort this out my boss is going to kill me, and I know he’s not joking.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that, love.’ The woman put down the glass and dishcloth. ‘Look, if it was up to me �
��’

  ‘It’s just that this is my last chance. I promised I would take care of this, and he’s not big on excuses. I could lose my job.’

  ‘Like I said, I wish I could help, but …’

  ‘We just need a copy of the receipt, for his taxes, otherwise he’ll fire me. I’m sure of it.’ Crane allowed her voice to spiral upwards. In the back of her head somewhere she was asking herself if she was capable of actually faking tears.

  The woman rested her hands on the counter. They were swollen and red. ‘Look, I’ve told you, I can’t do anything. My own boss will kill me if he catches me chatting with you.’

  Crane rested her hand next to the woman’s. There was a rolled-up bundle of twenty pound notes underneath it. There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘Tell me again.’

  ‘A table of three. About a month ago? Two of them ordered swordfish. The man had steak.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how many receipts I would have to go through?’

  ‘They ordered wine. A very special bottle. It had to come up from the cellar.’

  The woman sniffed, her curiosity piqued. ‘What kind of wine?’

  ‘The expensive kind. Three hundred pounds a bottle.’

  ‘Ohh …’ The woman’s chin lifted and stayed like that. Crane lifted her hand. There was a moment’s hesitation before the money disappeared. ‘Let me check.’

  Someone who is willing to fork out absurd quantities of money for a bottle of wine is the kind of client nobody wants to lose. Crane enjoyed a glass of wine as much as the next person, but she was convinced that most people couldn’t tell the difference between a fairly good bottle and a really expensive one. She was willing to bet that Howeida’s uncle was among them. In all likelihood, he had been doing what people with money always do: judge the bottle by the price tag, which was fine if you could afford it. He was probably more concerned about making an impression on his niece and her American flatmate.

  While she waited, Crane turned around to rest her elbows on the counter and study the room. It was disappointing. There were stock photographs of the Coliseum, Sophia Loren and other statuesque figures. The kind of thing meant to entertain clients as they ate. To remind them that they were in the right place. It gave the impression they were dining with celebrities. They could tell themselves they were in a place that had some real connection to Italy. Even though anybody could hang a few pictures on the wall. Crane knew this was the way of the world. Everything was about the creation of illusion. Even the wine.