Enver and Huss reached the end of the road paralleling the one with the Hanlon address, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out. It was Hanlon herself. Relief washed over him.
‘Where are you?’ he asked. The tone of his question, angry and concerned, jumped the memory of the twenty-seven- year-old Huss back to when she was a teenager, to those few occasions, mainly Young Farmers’ Balls, when she’d worried her father. Enver sounded exactly like him. She half expected him to say something like, ‘I’ve been worried sick.’
Huss watched intently while the conversation continued. She could piece together what was happening from Enver’s side of things.
Fuller, alive, innocent. Michaels, dead, guilty.
Hanlon, about to be taken to hospital for her head injuries, but otherwise OK.
Enver’s face was one of acute concern. ‘I’ll see you there in about an hour. What am I doing? Oh, nothing much. No, I’m having a walk with DI Huss, showing her London by night. Yes, I’ll see you soon. Bye.’
Enver sat down heavily on someone’s wall and passed his hands wearily over his face. When he put them down on his thighs, Huss could see his eyes were wet. She decided diplomatically not to notice.
‘So what do you want to do now, Enver?’ she asked. It was clear that whatever had happened, or was going to happen, Hanlon would be in no danger from this direction tonight. But the decision was Enver’s to make.
She wondered what had happened to Hanlon, what sort of condition she was in. A part of her was extraordinarily jealous of the woman. How could she possibly live up to such a role model in Enver’s eyes?
‘What I want to do is send a message, Melinda,’ he said, with finality. ‘Let’s go and find Curtis’s friend.’
Enver hadn’t been able to protect her from Michaels but the least he could do was protect her from Arkady Belanov.
He stood up and put his hand in his pocket, and took out a pair of soft black leather gloves. Huss looked at him questioningly.
‘We don’t want anything to get lost in translation,’ Enver explained grimly. He took his jacket off and gave it to Huss to hold. His tie followed. Then he slipped the gloves on and flexed his fingers. He looked huge now in the darkness, lit softly by the glow of the energy-saving street lamps.
‘Time for a little chat,’ he said. His voice was quiet with menace, his eyes hard. Huss looked at him wonderingly. This was a side of Enver she had never seen. She knew his history; she knew he’d been a boxer. But she had never considered the innate brutishness that is necessary to reach the top flight as Enver had. When Enver chose to, he could be very violent indeed. They came to the end of the road. Parked diagonally across from them was a white Ford Transit with a huge, burly figure
at the wheel. It had to be Dimitri, thought Enver.
They crossed the road.
‘Wait here,’ said Enver quietly. Huss did as she was told and watched as Enver approached the van. He tapped on the window and the driver lowered it. She could see his face, a white blur, as he peered out at the thickset stranger with the heavy moustache.
Enver would never have made anything other than a good journeyman boxer, but he could hit unbelievably hard.
His best punch was a right hook and it was this that con- nected with the side of Dimitri’s head.
Huss didn’t see the punch, but sound travels at night and she heard it quite clearly. For the second time in just over a week Dimitri’s cheekbone was shattered. Then Enver yanked open the door of the van and dragged the stunned Dimitri out on to the pavement. Another couple of blows and a savage kick to the ribs.
Enver bent over the figure now lying half in the gutter and said something, then turned and walked away.
A couple of metres away, he stopped and walked back to where Dimitri lay.
‘Nearly forgot,’ he said. He kicked Dimitri as hard as he could in the groin, then rejoined Huss.
‘Time to go,’ he said.
They walked a couple of streets away, down to the high street, and caught a taxi to Paddington. Enver was completely silent, wrapped in whatever thoughts he had. Huss respected his right to privacy.
Enver appreciated Huss’s tact. He looked at the stocky young woman beside him and smiled apologetically at her. He hoped he hadn’t alarmed her. Beating Dimitri up had left him feeling cleansed somehow. Huss smiled at him and patted his arm.
They pulled up outside the station and he decided to wait with her, until her train back to Oxford was ready for boarding.
He liked Huss. They sat at a table outside the station bar and had a drink, while they waited for her train.
Now that the earlier tension of the evening was draining away, Enver was funny and warm and considerate. Huss stared at him mistily. Ever the optimist, she thought, it’s like a date, sort of.
‘Do you like ceviche?’ she asked Enver suddenly. He stared at her with some surprise.
‘What, that raw fish with lime juice on it?’ ‘Yes,’ said Huss.
‘No, no, I don’t,’ he said.
‘I don’t either,’ said Huss, pleased. ‘What do you like to eat?’ I wonder what she’s on about, thought Enver. ‘I like köfte and shish kebab, that kind of thing. Stereotypical, I guess, but, well, it’s what I like.’ He paused. ‘Grilled meat, and cake.
I do like cake.’
‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘I like cake too.’
She nodded, satisfied. She stood up to go.
‘I’ll walk you to the barrier,’ he said. There they halted awkwardly. They stood looking at each other, almost in embarrassment.
‘Well,’ said Enver lamely, ‘it’s been lovely to have worked with you.’
Huss smiled at him. Sod it, she thought, then, ‘I like köfte too,’ she said.
‘Good,’ said Enver.
Huss shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. Enver tugged his moustache. The enormous station was brightly lit and had very few people around. It felt almost hallucinogenic. ‘Is it true that DCI Hanlon stabbed a man to death on that island?’ she asked.
Enver looked at her in surprise. ‘Oh no. Not at all. She didn’t stab him. She killed him with a spear. It was there,’ he made a sketching motion in the air, ‘hanging on the wall. She didn’t bring it with her.’ He shook his head emphatically; that would have been weird, the gesture implied.
‘Oh,’ said Huss faintly. How can you compete with that, she wondered. ‘Well, I’d better go.’
She passed through the barrier and walked towards the train. I won’t look back, she thought. She did, though, and saw Enver’s broad shoulders as he slowly lumbered towards the Underground. Off to see Hanlon, she thought bitterly.
With a spear. She shook her head.
She settled down in the carriage and took her phone out. And a book. Fiction is a great consolation, she thought. Huss never gave in to self-pity. She always made the best of things.
To her delight and amazement, a message appeared on the screen of her Samsung phone.
I’m glad you like köfte. Would you like to come to my brother’s restaurant some time, if you happen to be in London? Enver.
Oh, I think I can happen to be in London, thought Melinda Huss. She frowned gently to herself as she answered, and smiled.