In the back of the taxi on the way to Bow, Huss outlined to Enver what Joad had been doing. She had no idea why anyone in the Oxford area might be interested in bribing an officer to find Hanlon’s address. Huss didn’t know about Hanlon and Arkady Belanov; Enver most certainly did. Joad, a corrupt officer operating out of Oxford and interested in Hanlon, was almost certainly their information conduit. Now he knew they had an address for her, Enver felt very worried indeed.
He never felt particularly Eastern in his outlook. The Demirels were fairly Western in their world view, and his mother, of course, was English. But he was acutely aware of the gulf between the sexes, outside of Europe, and he had appreciated what Hanlon had not, the extent to which the Russians would feel humiliated and enraged by her actions. Honour was something that you could kill over, and for the Russians, hardened career criminals, it would be bad business practice not to. Coming from a man her actions would have been bad enough. From a woman, a deadly insult. Or, equally plausibly, Hanlon knew but simply didn’t care.
He suspected the latter.
He could imagine her not caring at all what they thought.
The angrier it made them, the better.
In his mind’s eye he could see her careless shrug. He felt a visceral surge of affection for Hanlon crash over him and, like a wave with powerful back suction, a feeling of acute worry for her. She was stupidly brave in his opinion.
He had been trying since he arrived in London to contact Hanlon, and this was adding to his concerns. He had toyed with the idea of calling her from Leeds, but something had held him back.
He had called Murray and asked to have Michaels picked up for questioning, even though there was, of course, no actual hard evidence against him. Probably there was none whatso- ever. Hanlon had explained to him the philosophical theory of Occam’s razor, that the simplest explanation was often the true one. Who else could have done the murders besides Michaels? He doubted the CPS would be so impressed. From what he had learned from Alison, and from his knowledge of the meticulous planning of the murders, he knew that Michaels would not be the kind of man who would obligingly leave hard evidence around, or crumble and confess at the first sign of trouble.
Anyway, at least Murray had sounded delighted. He tried Hanlon’s phone again.
The lack of an answer led to his decision to try the address in Bow. Maybe she would be there. At least he’d be doing something constructive. He was beginning to feel slightly panic- stricken.
Now he was beginning to regret his not calling from the train. If he had, she’d have met him at King’s Cross, anxious to talk. The fact that she was not answering the mobile was highly worrying. But how could he have known then about this threat to her from the Russians? The fact that he couldn’t didn’t stop him from blaming himself.
He looked at Huss sitting next to him in the taxi, sensibly dressed for town in a stylish lightweight summer Barbour jacket and polished brown ankle boots. Their eyes met briefly.
Huss smiled reassuringly at Enver. God, he looks so worried, she thought. She had been watching his reflection in the glass panel that separated the passengers in the black cab from the driver. Occasionally a thunderous look would pass across his face and Huss intuitively knew that he was thinking about anyone hurting Hanlon.
He tried the phone again. Nothing. His worry for Hanlon ratcheted up a gear. She had no social life. She never left her mobile unanswered. If she was training or running, she’d have had the phone on. Tonight wasn’t a boxing night. She couldn’t be out with friends, she hadn’t got any, or at least they were a luxury she took a morbid pleasure in denying herself. He was unable to shake off the image of Hanlon, injured, or worse, dead. Enver thought, if the worst happens I’ll make sure the
Russians pay, and this bent copper Joad.
He wasn’t quite sure what he hoped to achieve by visiting the address in Bow, other than it was something to do. It was a form of action, and action was infinitely better than doing nothing.
Huss, who had finished telling Enver about Joad and the PNC check, watched as one bearlike hand tugged on his moustache, while the other curled and uncurled into a very large clenched fist. He alternated between frowning in anger and worrying his lower lip between his teeth. She felt a resigned sense of jealousy at his obvious concern for DCI Hanlon, a woman she’d have thought more than capable of standing on her own two feet. It’s always about her, isn’t it, she thought bitterly.
Enver was checking a street map on his phone as they approached Bow, and he leaned forward and told the driver to drop them two streets away.
The taxi pulled over and parked behind a skip. They got out and Huss looked around, while Enver paid off the driver. Bow, she had heard, was a fairly working-class area of London, but she could see what looked like the telltale signs of gentrification starting in the street. Soon, she thought, it would be sourdough, couscous, bicycle shops and chiropractors.
The taxi pulled away and she looked at Enver.
‘We’ll check on the perimeters first,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll go to the house. Keep an eye out for her car.’
Check for what? she thought.
The two of them walked purposefully northwards along the pavement. Enver’s face was like a stony mask. Other pedestrians gave them a wide berth. His muscular girth, but above all his expression, cleared the path for them.
As they drew near to the end of the road where Hanlon’s address was registered, Huss suddenly slipped her arm around Enver’s waist and buried her face in his chest. He could smell her hair and perfume, as she pushed herself into him.
He started in surprise and automatically pulled away, but Huss’s arm tightened around him like a tentacle. He realized that he hadn’t appreciated what a strong woman Huss was.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he hissed into her ear.
‘You’ll see,’ said Huss, with an ominous calm. ‘Keep walking.’