TALLIS spent the next four days being talked through the workings of both the legitimate and illegal side of Kennedy’s businesses. On the surface, Kennedy employed around forty personnel. Tallis reckoned at least half had extra-curricular duties. As yet he’d not been offered a professional role, his only remit to be present during certain hours of the day and night, whenever Kennedy dictated. The incinerators, Tallis discovered, were manufactured in a workshop at the Walsall site.
‘On-site burial of animal carcasses is illegal,’ Kennedy explained.
The farmers in Herefordshire, where Tallis had grown up as a boy, sent their fallen stock to the hunt kennels. He told Kennedy this.
‘Still can but it poses a number of bio-security risks. Nobody wants to take chances after foot and mouth, swine fever, blue tongue, let alone the prospect of bird flu. Incineration really is a much more efficient method. For something as large as a cow, we make this brand,’ he said, pointing out a machine. ‘Comes with a trolley and winch to help load the carcass into the incinerator.’
‘Front loading?’
‘Yes. All the operator has to do is select the appropriate burn programme and walk away.’
‘That it?’
‘Simple.’ Kennedy smiled.
Ashes to ashes, Tallis thought, feeling mildly uncomfortable.
Most of the employees were from Eastern Europe. Asians, he noticed, were conspicuous by their absence. Bearing in mind they made up a large percentage of the population, Tallis felt surprise, something he expressed to Kennedy.
‘Where you’ve got Asians, you have police raids.’ Kennedy gave a shrug. ‘And police raids are bad for business.’
By business, Kennedy meant the brothel that masqueraded as a massage parlour. The quantities of drugs that got shipped through the haulage company that was nothing more than a front, but Kennedy’s real skill was in his list of contacts. He knew what was going on, what was being planned, who was next for the chop. No wonder the police wanted him as an informer, Tallis thought. The constant barrage of visitors to Kennedy’s establishments, some of them known faces, also proved a revelation.
Twice, Tallis overheard Kennedy recommending a particular individual for a certain type of job, the jobs in question armed robbery and extortion. He also listened in as Kennedy gave a masterclass on the most effective method for getting hold of knock-off booze, a fake passport and firearms. A dissertation on drugs went along familiar lines. Kennedy no longer considered the profit margins in cannabis to be rewarding, Ecstasy not cost-effective, cigarettes and bootleg liquor too competitive. Cocaine and heroin, however, were the name of the game.
The real problem, he stated, was taking money from A to B to pay for drug shipments. No longer could you rely on a courier to deliver a suitcase full of notes. More and more, Western drug barons were adopting the centuries-old system of hawala, a means of transferring money without actually moving it, the main advantage being that it’s untraceable. The more time Tallis spent in his company, the more open Kennedy became. Although he had the protection of the police, for a sharp operator he was behaving like an ingénue. Which meant only one thing. Kennedy was on to him.
And still no whiff of terrorism.
That night, Tallis caved in.
The day had been less than satisfactory. He felt as if he was on a trail leading nowhere. Feeling too lazy to cook, he’d succumbed to the instant charm of fish and chips from the chippie and got caught out by a bad bout of indigestion. Downing some antacids, he’d started to read a book written by a couple of Americans on the first Gulf War but, after winding up going over the same paragraph twice and still not taking in the information, switched to the TV. With nothing of consequence to view, he flicked on the radio, catching the ten o’clock news announcing the usual mix of job cuts, death and destruction. He turned it off.
He’d locked the phone Lavender had given him in an old cash box that he kept behind the back panel of his bath. A determined individual could easily find it. Tallis’s precautions against theft, however, were aimed at the opportunist criminal, the less intelligent type who regularly burgled the homes in his area. Taking a screwdriver from a drawer in the kitchen, he walked into the bathroom, undid the screws from the panel and hoiked out the box, taking it through to his bedroom where he held a set of keys.
The phone, a tiny, functional, no-frills brand, sat like a grenade in the palm of his hand. Switching it on, it immediately sprang into life, ready and primed for action. Why am I doing this? Tallis thought. I’m here if you need me. That’s what Charlie had said. But what sort of need did she have in mind? To the point, what sort of need did he have in mind? He wasn’t about to call to enlist her professional help. His motivation didn’t stem from a feeling of guilt for snubbing her. He wasn’t even interested in discussing her sleight-of-hand technique for dropping the phone into his jacket pocket. No, he was calling her for the worst of reasons: because he felt incredibly alone. Checking the call history, he punched in the number. Lavender answered after three rings.
‘Hello, Tallis.’
He could hear the smile in her voice, made him feel glad. ‘Neat trick, the phone. I’m impressed.’
‘That was the idea.’
‘Liked the outfit, too.’ Christ, why on earth had he said that?
‘Didn’t think you noticed.’
‘It’s my job to notice things,’ he said, recovering with cool.
‘Naturally,’ she said, gracious. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Fine.’
‘Just checking in, then?’
‘No.’
‘Oh?’
She sounded slightly wrong-footed, he thought. Made him smile. ‘The day after you went to the fight club, was that you in the belfry, watching Kennedy’s place in Lye?’
‘You have to be kidding. I was catching up on my beauty sleep. Is there a problem?’
‘No.’ Possibly one of Napier’s oppos, he thought, or someone from the original organised crime team running Kennedy.
‘Simply eliminating me from your enquiry,’ she joked.
‘Something like that.’ He laughed.
‘Then I’m glad I could be of help.’
He could have asked whether she was under Asim’s control, whether he’d gone ahead and put her on the job anyway. He could have asked what her orders were. He asked none of these things.
‘That it?’ she said, breaking the silence.
‘I guess it is.’
‘Goodnight, then.’
‘’Night, Charlie.’
The following evening, Tuesday, Tallis was invited to Shakenbrook for dinner. Samantha answered the door. She was wearing a dress of royal blue that matched her eyes, cinched in at the waist, the neckline demure. With her hair pinned up, she looked elegant without being studied.
‘Come in.’ She beamed. ‘Johnny sends his apologies. Been held up, but promises to be here as soon as he can. What can I get you to drink? A glass of wine, soft drink?’
‘Tonic water?’
‘Ice and slice?’
‘Terrific.’ He felt torn between surveying the sway of her hips and the incredible grandeur of his surroundings. The hall was the same length as his bungalow. Triple-height, it was dominated by a pair of ornate, wrought-iron staircases that led up to a galleried landing. The floor was tiled in cream upon which sat two enormous thick Chinese-style rugs. The walls were painted crimson and were decorated with works of art. There were several studies of Samantha, clothes on, clothes off. He wondered whose idea that was.
Samantha guided him into the drawing room, a place with which he was already familiar. As he sank into the nearest sofa, Melissa, Kennedy’s daughter, popped her head around the door.
‘Hello, again.’ Tallis smiled.
‘You should be in bed, Liss,’ her mother said reprovingly.
‘But Daddy’s not home.’ Melissa scooted into the room. In a pair of pale lilac pyjamas, she looked utterly cute, Tallis thought, feeling a dark pang of guilt for deliberately exposing the little girl to danger.
‘And won’t be for some time,’ her mother said.
‘Look, Tallis,’ Melissa said, proudly showing him a mobile phone.
‘This yours?’ Tallis said, taking it. Brand-new, a Samsung. What on earth did a little girl need a mobile phone for? he thought. He made all the right noises and handed it back to her.
‘Come on, school night,’ Samantha said, taking her daughter’s hand. ‘Say goodbye to Tallis.’
‘Can I give him a kiss?’
Tallis wasn’t sure whether it was a ploy to evade bedtime, or whether Melissa was giving her tiny female feathers the chance to flutter. The modern world continued to confuse him. Little girls played hard to get, lads hard to ignore. Perhaps it was the horrible onslaught of evolution. In fifty years’ time, he imagined there’d be four-year-old boys with five o’clock shadow.
‘Think you ought to ask Mr Tallis,’ Samantha said, a smile playing on her fabulous face.
Tallis inclined his cheek, felt the soft brush of the child’s lips against his skin. ‘Goodnight, Melissa,’ he said with a smile.
And then they were both gone.
Tallis scoped the room. Nothing busy, muted colours, traditional furniture, many, many photographs. To his surprise, only one subject was portrayed, from baby to toddler, from boyhood to man. Tallis picked up the nearest frame. The lad was smiling to camera. He was wearing football kit, arms crossed, knees spattered with mud, one foot resting idly on a football, looking the business. Tallis replaced the photograph and picked another. This was different, the subject older. The dark-eyed, troubled expression on the young man’s face bothered Tallis. He wondered if the eyes conveyed some horrible premonition of what would be.
‘Billy,’ Samantha said, handing him a glass.
Tallis put the photograph back. ‘Is this him on graduation day?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What degree?’
‘Architecture.’
‘Clever guy.’
‘And not afraid of hard graft. Have to have a minimum of seven years’ training, five as part of a full-time degree then another two years spent working in an architect’s office. Johnny wanted him to join the family business.’
Tallis wasn’t sure how to respond. Which bit? he thought. Billy didn’t look much like an enforcer. Samantha saw his dilemma and laughed. ‘The construction side. This was all before Johnny went down.’ Went down. Tallis smiled inside. So much more elegant than went to jail.
‘Hungry?’ she said.
‘Yes, but shouldn’t we wait for Johnny?’
‘He told me we should go ahead.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tallis said.
They ate in a dining room with arched windows, giving it an ecclesiastical atmosphere. The table was long and dark, as were the furnishings. Place settings for two were laid at one end. As Tallis sat down, he noticed a slot machine, big and brash, tucked into a recess. Baffling.
The woman Tallis had seen with the clipboard when he’d been carrying out surveillance on the house waited on them. It transpired her name was Stephanie. He wondered what conversations she’d been party to, what secrets she could tell. The food was simple but good. Asparagus soup to start, Johnny’s favourite, followed by chicken roasted with garlic.
‘How did you two meet?’ Tallis said, this time accepting a glass of wine. He glanced at the bottle. Côtes de Nuit Villages.
‘Through Billy. I was his date for the night.’
‘Blimey!’
She threw back her head and laughed. ‘Wasn’t as weird as it sounds. It was a formal arrangement. He wanted an escort to go to a posh dinner in London and I obliged. After that, it became a bit of a regular thing. He wanted eye-candy and I wanted to be wined and dined. One night, he brought me here and I met Johnny.’
‘Love at first sight?’
She smiled, said nothing.
He studied her. She didn’t look like a gangster’s moll. He wondered how long it had taken for her to discover what Johnny really did, whether it had been too late to pull out by then, or perhaps she’d fallen for him and it didn’t matter. ‘What did Billy think?’
She broke into a fond smile. ‘He was pleased. His dad had been on his own for a long time. Johnny and Billy’s mum got divorced when he was little,’ she explained. ‘She was a drunk, so Johnny had custody of Billy.’
If you believe that, you’ll believe anything, Tallis thought. ‘Father and son must have been close.’
Samantha raised her hand, crossed her fingers. ‘Like that.’ The smile faded. She didn’t come across as being dominated by Kennedy, but there was definitely caution in her eyes. The photographs said it all: Kennedy was consumed by what had happened to his son.
The door suddenly swished open, revealing Kennedy on the threshold. Tallis had the impression he’d been standing there for some time. Kennedy’s wife stood up, walked towards her husband, kissed him lightly. ‘I’ll ask Stephanie to organise some food.’
‘A sandwich is fine,’ Kennedy said, picking up a glass from a side-table and helping himself to wine. ‘Is she looking after you?’ he said, pulling up a chair.
‘Royally. It’s been very nice, thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ Kennedy’s smile was so genuine and affecting, it made Tallis feel uneasy. Again, Tallis felt an unfamiliar emotion tugging at him. He guessed Kennedy was just old enough to be his father. Time to wrong-foot him.
‘Can I ask you something?’
Kennedy nodded, took a slow sip of his drink, clearly giving himself time to prepare.
‘What’s with the slot machine?’
‘A reminder of my roots.’ Kennedy beamed effusively. ‘Used to spend hours in amusement arcades. Loved the noise, the rattle and hum, the thought of getting rich quick. You want a go?’ He pulled out some change from his pocket.
By the time Samantha returned with Kennedy’s favourite bacon and sausage sandwich, Tallis was quite enjoying himself. He was revisiting that old boyhood thrill of seeing a row of cherries line up and yield a clatter of coins. He handed his winnings to Kennedy, who politely told him to keep them.
‘Got any plans for Saturday?’ Kennedy said, walking back to the dining table.
‘Not especially.’
‘What do you normally do?’
Tallis didn’t do normal any more. He shrugged. ‘Get up late, pick up a paper, have a pint down the local, chat with the lads, either watch the sport on the telly or go to a football match.’ He hadn’t actually had a Saturday like that ever, but he knew plenty of blokes who had.
‘Which team do you support?’
Tallis hesitated, sipped his wine. What would Kennedy expect? Birmingham City, Aston Villa, Wolves? ‘West Bromwich Albion.’
‘Top man.’ Kennedy smiled broadly. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a little job for you.’
What sort of job? Tallis silently wondered.
‘Up for it?’
‘Sure.’
‘Good,’ Kennedy said with a slow, satisfied smile. ‘Keep Saturday free.’
By Thursday evening of that week, Tallis was glad to be released from duty. Reports had filtered through in the morning about the fate of the unfortunate bully and his dog. Both had been found dead with multiple injuries, brains splattered out, below a large multi-storey car park not far from the garage at which the dead man had worked. Apparently, the victim’s distressed wife had informed police that her husband suffered a history of depression. Tallis didn’t like to speculate on the nature of the type of threats used against the poor woman for her to come up with a tale like that. He felt genuine shock at what was, on every level, a spectacular and unrestrained demonstration of force. He didn’t like to think about a son who’d lost a father. Maybe it was a bad sign. Maybe he was becoming desensitised.
He’d arranged to meet an old schoolmate in Wether-spoons. Barry worked in the demolition industry. Mad, obsessive and continually looking for the bigger bang, demo guys, like scaffolders, were a breed apart. For them, demolition was the ultimate buzz. Big boys’ toys. In common with firearms officers, they remained ‘dry’ when working. Barry, by the look of him, was making up for lost time.
‘Paul,’ he said, staggering a bit. ‘Wha’ can I get you?’
Tallis asked for a soft drink.
‘Fuck me,’ Barry said, shaking his head in disapproval. He was as thin as a stick, pale-cheeked with a scrub of short, dark hair. ‘You haven’t got God, or nothing?’
‘Antibiotics,’ Tallis explained, falling back on a tried and tested ruse.
Didn’t work. After disappearing through a scrum of people, Barry reappeared. ‘Ditch the pills, and drink this,’ he said, pushing a pint at Tallis, some of the beer sloshing over his hand. Tallis hadn’t the energy to argue and took a gulp. It tasted terrific.
‘There,’ Barry said, delighted he’d got a convert. ‘You’re looking muscled up. Been working out?’
‘Not really,’ Tallis said, taking another pull of his pint.
‘Seen Griggsy?’
‘He’s here?’ Tallis said, glancing around for Barry’s mate from work, the noise in the bar pounding his ears and apparently affecting his eyesight. The place seemed inhabited by fifteen-year-olds pretending to be twenty-five-year-olds.
‘Fuck knows why. He’s become a fuckin’ vegan, given up booze completely.’
No wonder his desire for a soft drink had caused alarm. ‘No kidding.’
‘Got into all that Eastern mysticism lark. Meditates and all.’
Tallis made a sympathetic grunt. Nothing surprised him any more. ‘So how’s business, Barry?’
‘Good. Just taken down a tower block, a shit thing thrown up in the ’70s.’
‘How do you go about something like that?’ Tallis said, drinking his beer, feeling his body limber up and slip into relaxed mode.
‘Preparation,’ Barry said, suddenly quite lucid. That was the other thing about demolition men. Get them on their favourite subject and there was no stopping them. ‘Can’t afford to have any margin for error. You’re putting people’s lives at risk if you cock it up. And gone are the days when you got out your ball and chain and accidentally on purpose knocked down a wall.’
‘Why would you do that?’ Tallis said, perplexed.
‘Usually to give someone a bit more land. Anyway,’ Barry said, taking a slurp of his beer, ‘with this particular job, we set off a small explosion to scale first to find out what we need explosives-wise for the bigger job. No point going in half-hearted,’ Barry said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Then we cut out holes in the structure to weaken it so that when it comes down, it comes in one piece. Beautiful it was,’ he said, eyes glinting with excitement.
‘Done this factory in Leicestershire couple a weeks ago. That was good. Proper smash and mash.’
‘Smash and mash?’ Tallis frowned.
‘Smash anything of importance before you blast it. Windows, chimneys, knock out stud walls. Not rocket science. I mean, if you’re tearing down a bridge, stands to reason you remove the supporting girders first.’
‘You must have to work with police and council officials.’
‘Oh, yeah. They help with evacuating people. Don’t want anyone killed, or property and cars damaged. Health and safety.’
‘Going back to the tower block, how much explosives you use?’ From the corner of his eye, Tallis registered Griggsy moving their way. He was short, no more than five-six, big smile on his face like always. Fortunately, some things never changed.
‘One-twenty pounds in all.’
‘And two miles of detonation cable,’ Griggsy chipped in.
‘Talk of the devil,’ Barry said amiably.
‘Wotcha!’ Griggsy said.
‘What’s all this?’ Tallis joshed, looking pointedly at Griggsy’s glass of tomato juice.
Griggsy’s grin grew wider. ‘Barry told you, then.’
‘He has. When did you take the pledge?’
‘A year ago, since I found Vishnu.’
‘Vindaloo?’ Barry said, frowning.
‘Vishnu,’ Tallis repeated louder, voice competing with the ear-bleeding sound of techno-pop.
‘The Hindu god, you daft tart,’ Griggsy bellowed.
‘Happy for you, mate,’ Tallis said, ‘but don’t you find it a bit of a strain? I mean, no more pies, no fish and chips—’
‘No beer,’ Barry broke in, his face a picture of misery.
Griggsy let out a laugh. ‘It’s a way of life.’
‘Must be hard,’ Tallis said.
‘If something’s difficult to do, it’s more difficult to let go of,’ Griggsy said, draining his glass.
‘Another?’ Tallis said.
‘Nah, catch you lads later.’
‘Probably going home to bed,’ Barry muttered reproachfully, watching Griggsy push his way through the crush. Tallis wasn’t listening. He was thinking about what Griggsy had said. Some things were difficult to let go of.
After another couple of hours, Tallis meandered back home. He’d been in bed three hours when his mobile rang. Immediately awake, he picked up. It was Kennedy. Another drive around the cityscape, Tallis thought, unimpressed.
‘Gabriel is missing.’
Good, Tallis thought.
‘Police turned up outside his home and took him away.’
Tallis scratched his head. Kennedy wasn’t making sense. ‘He probably jumped a red light.’ Or pushed somebody off a high building.
‘You don’t understand. They weren’t real police officers.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I know.’ The hard edge in Kennedy’s voice could have pierced sheet metal.
Tallis reached for his jeans and started putting them on. ‘Any ransom been demanded?’
‘No.’
‘Any ideas on the players behind it?’
‘Fuck’s sake, that’s what I want you to find out.’
Tallis had never heard him so tense. ‘Johnny,’ he said, ‘how much does Gabriel know?’
Long pause. ‘Fucking everything.’
‘All right,’ Tallis said, doing his best to calm Kennedy down.
‘Get over to the storage depot. Justin will be there.’
Terrific, Tallis thought. He wanted brains, not brawn. But he’d been right about Justin’s place in the great pecking order. Gabriel’s disappearance meant the equivalent of a promotion.
‘And when you do find Gabriel,’ Kennedy said, his voice suddenly quite cold, ‘I want you to kill him.’