CAUSE & EFFECT (19 page)

“I’ll drive you home if you direct me.”

“Are you sure? It’s out of your way.” Karl still had the bag in a stranglehold.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” He started up the car and waited to be given his orders.

It wasn’t so much a plan that Karl put together on their journey over to Kilburn, more a collection of jigsaw pieces, incomplete, but telling. Two of them led directly to Sir Peter Carroll: Ken’s meeting and Thomas delivering a weapon, whose purpose was no longer in any doubt. Then there was the choice of Ken as some kind of — executioner? For all his bluster and
Rule Britannia
, Sir Peter had his connections, so why get someone like Ken to do his dirty work? Except that Ken had previously served in the armed forces with Karl.

“What do you think, Thomas? Sir Peter Carroll is surely smarter than that.”

He couldn’t fault Karl’s logic, although he did have one question.

“Despite what you know, you’re still willing to help him?” His gaze went to the plastic bag.

Karl sighed, long and hard. “For the time being. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“What, being a civilian?” Thomas managed a wry smile. “I understand loyalty, but there’s such a thing as morality.”

Karl’s shoulders seemed to broaden. “Let me ask you this: was it moral when you tried to kill Yorgi out on the moors?”

He crushed his hands to the steering wheel. “No question. He had it coming.”

“Some would say the same about a child murderer and a convicted paedophile.”

That was about all the conversation Thomas felt like having for a while. When the car stopped, Karl unbuckled his seatbelt and carefully manoeuvred out of the passenger seat with the bag. “I’ll just grab my other bag out of the boot. Listen, we need to see Ken again soon. Maybe tomorrow morning before work?”

“Can’t — I’m back at the prison.”

“What tangled webs we weave, eh Tommo? Right you are; we’ll rendezvous later and compare notes. Goodnight, and thanks again.”

He drove home with the window open, the breeze cold against his face. It kept his senses sharp and stopped him from drifting. Something was bothering him; something Ken had said. There was only one person he knew, connected with Sir Peter Carroll, who drove a 4x4.

Before heading for the prison Thomas visited the heathland again. It didn’t help much. Jack’s oppressive effect seemed to meet him at the gates and he found himself rehearsing what to say. Although he knew the drill better now, he didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable doing this — especially solo. This time he showed his SSU ID at the reception desk before joining the queue. Christine would likely find out anyway.

John Wright had made it clear that Jack knew all about the missing drugs now and was not a happy man. In the absence of John’s company he eavesdropped and observed the other visitors, mentally filling in the blanks.

“You behave nicely when you see your dad, and remember what I told you — keep your mouth shut and I’ll take you to the zoo later.”

He glanced at the woman’s outfit; a little too alluring for a prison, unless she was trying to show hubby, and the prison staff, what he was missing. Odds on, there’d be a bloke waiting for her at Regent’s Park.

An older woman edged forward, eyes down, a loose fist clutched to her chest. He shifted position until he could make out the beads around her neck and figured she was holding on to a crucifix. Good luck there, luv, if she was hoping God would intervene.

He worked his way through the people around him, putting two and two together. Assumptions dressed up as deductions — it helped to pass the time. John reckoned Jack Langton was becoming paranoid. First the attack on his niece’s boy, then losing half a kilo of coke, and now Andrea Harrison’s gallery had been done over. Idiot’s logic — look for a common denominator and then string everything together. Like Karl had said: correlation is not causality. Still, it suited him to have Jack Langton on the back foot. Hopefully it would make him more manageable.

The visitors’ hall had the same sanitised despondency and dismal decor, only it felt a little brighter. It took him a moment to work out they’d replaced the duff neon strip light in one corner; it didn’t lighten the mood any.

Although he had asked to see Jack Langton on his tod he knew he wouldn’t be the one calling the shots. He pawed at his pocket where he’d stashed his ID and pictured Christine watching him blip on a screen map.

Maybe it was an optical illusion but Jack seemed to have a bigger table and slightly better chairs: king of the mountain. He felt Jack’s eyes on him from the second he entered the arena, weighing him up.

“Thanks for seeing me like this.” Thomas extended a hand, shook and then took his seat.

“Well,” Jack folded his arms and smirked to himself, “it’s not like I had somewhere else to be. So, what’s on your mind?”

Thomas gave a cursory glance around. It wasn’t every day you asked someone for several grand to buy back their stolen illegal drugs.

“Shoot.” Jack leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head.

He gave it to him straight, both barrels. If Jack was perturbed about his merchandise going missing he didn’t show it.

“I’ve talked with Natalie, erm, Mrs Langton. She’s gonna set up a meeting with Ray.”

“Was it Janey?”

Now it was Thomas’s turn to play poker.

“Nah, course not.” Jack did his thinking aloud. “Janey wouldn’t do that to me — she’s loyal.”

Thomas said nothing; not every problem was his to solve.

“Greg, eh?” Jack sucked at his teeth. “Well, that’s for another time. Who’d he sell it to?”

“Charlie Stokes.”

Jack’s jaw tightened.

Thomas swallowed. “Natalie said Ray thinks there’s a reasonable chance of buying it back.”

“Right.” Jack changed demeanour, bringing his arms forward to rest on the table. “Offer him fifteen K then. It’s worth more because of the purity, but Charlie won’t want any bad blood between us again.”

The word ‘again’ pinged on Thomas’s radar. Talk turned to Mrs Langton, which threw him off balance.

“She’s a good girl, is Natalie. And Ray will look after you. You can trust him.”

Maybe, Thomas thought, but
you
can’t.

“So what’s your next move — with the boy?”

He could tell Jack was enjoying this. Maybe the telly wasn’t up to much. He trod carefully.

“Well, I’ve ruled out any connection to Andrea Harrison. I also met your artist mate from Spain, RT. He’s clean too.”

Jack cracked a broad smile. “Bit of a poser, eh? Dependable though. I couldn’t see him biting the hand that feeds him — I’d break his jaw. But that’s good to know.”

“Of course, you have to check these things out.” There was a lull in the conversation, so he made good use of it. “Jack . . .” He strung the word out to suggest subservience. “What do you know about Charlie Stokes? Anything we can use?”

“Lemme see now.” Jack rubbed his hands together slowly. “Ex-army; some fancy regiment — don’t ask me what. Marines or something. His patch borders mine and we have an understanding; we keep out of one another’s way. His delivery service is mostly a side line.” Jack’s voice, low anyway, now sounded like an ad for throat lozenges.

“Do you know the Dolans?”

Jack stretched back and sniffed. “Kevin Dolan used to do some work for me, until Ray showed up. Last I heard Kevin had gone up north — apparently he got into some bother with a skirt. He was like that. Why d’you ask?”

He shrugged. “No reason. One of the twins does deliveries for the pizza place.”

Jack’s pupils enlarged; this was new information to him. “Yeah, I’ll bet he does!” He cracked a smile. “That’ll be Roland. Charlie took the place over a year or so ago. It sounds like you’ve taken an interest in Mr Stokes?”

“I’m just following all lines of inquiry like you asked me to.” He could feel his pulse jumping in his throat.

Jack smiled again; a gold tooth gleamed under the strip lights. “Good.” He folded his massive arms. “You’ve got your head screwed on. What’s your dad do for a living?”

He didn’t have time to make up a lie. “He was a miner; drives a minicab now.”

“A grafter. Like father like son, eh? My ol’ man worked down the docks. Long hours and shit conditions. He used to see all sorts coming in under the table and he wised up in the end. Taught me a lot, my dad.”

Debrief over, the talk became more casual. Jack did a nifty line in the lives of those around him. “Geezer two tables back, over my left shoulder?” Jack didn’t even bother to look round. “What do you see?”

Thomas glanced over. “Bloke talking to his mum?”

“She’s there cos his wife refuses to come . . .” Jack winked and then dished the dirt on half a dozen fellow inmates.

Thomas breathed a little easier when one of the prison staff called out, “Five more minutes!” He asked Jack what he planned to do when he got out, seeing as they were mates now, and all.

Jack was clearly a man full of ideas. “. . . And I thought I’d take Natalie and the kids away somewhere — Marseille maybe, or Gambia. The bloke I share a cell with was talking about it this week. Course, she’ll probably wanna bring her mother along. Then again, she can look after the kids, like now.”

Jack found his own musings hilarious, so Thomas let him get on with it. Like his French teacher at school used to say: ‘It’s your own time you’re wasting.’

They shook hands at leaving time and to Thomas it seemed they were both prisoners now.

“Listen, how’d you like to earn a few extra quid?”

“You’re paying me plenty.” Thomas shrank back into his chair; it was starting to feel like a hostile takeover.

Jack nodded. Thomas wasn’t sure whether he’d passed a loyalty test or dodged a bullet.

“Keep an eye on Natalie for me, will you? I’d like to be kept informed.” Jack held his gaze in a chokehold.

* * *

The grey skies of Acton were a welcome relief from Jack’s spidery lair. He walked quickly to put some distance between him and the Scrubs. Karl was quick to pick up the call.

“How goes it, Tommo?”

“Let’s just say if you are ever banged up in prison, I won’t be visiting you very often. Incidentally, Natalie’s mum came up in conversation. How was your morning?”

“Productive and disturbing, in equal measure. I met with our friend and he explained a few more things. Not on the phone — I’ll tell you when I see you.” The call tailed off, although he could still hear Karl breathing. “I’ll pick you up at Dalston Junction, soon as.”

* * *

The Dalston pick-up was short-lived. He wondered whether Natalie’s mother should join the list and Karl had an interesting take on it.

“Get someone else to do it; it’s just background. Learn to delegate.”

He was about to ask for suggestions when the penny dropped. They were in Dalston, home to a bona fide private investigator by the name of Thurston Leon. Perfect, if the bloke could get over the beating he got on the last job Thomas had given him.

“Mr Leon has never let me down yet.” Karl was reaching into his jacket.

No, Thomas thought, and thanks to mugs like me he’s never even met you.

“You’ll be needing this.” Karl pulled out an unsealed envelope filled with notes. “£200, to be going on with.”

“So you knew about Natalie Langton’s mother?”

“Much as I would like to claim omniscience, Tommo, I was thinking more about Charlie Stokes, but let’s work our way up the food chain. You go and charm Leon; I’m going shopping.”

The receptionist was new, or filling in. Her blonde hair looked like an explosion in a
Clairol
factory. The earrings and lipstick was 100% celebrity magazine. If she were waiting to be discovered, she’d made it as difficult as possible by hiding in Dalston. She looked like she had somewhere better to be and, simultaneously, had no chance of getting there.

“Can I help you?” Her clipped attempt at culture had the opposite effect.

“I’d like to see Mr Leon.”

“I’ll check if he’s free.”

He drifted off to the waiting area, glancing between the lettering on the window, and set himself down in a cane chair. The magazines on the table were an eclectic mix — old editions of
Caribbean Times
,
The New Yorke
r and some computing mag with the cover missing. Someone had made a trip to the charity shop.

He heard half a conversation. Celebrity Girl’s accent seemed to have slipped a couple of notches.

“Woz he like? I dunno; he’s a bloke. See for yourself.”

The office door opened a crack. Thomas looked up and the door widened.

“Well, brudder; I never expected to see your face again. The only reason I’m not throwing you out on the street is because of the bonus you sent me after our last . . . adventure.”

Thomas smiled, realising that Karl must have sent the cash. The last time Thurston Leon had kept tabs on Jack Langton he had suffered a beating; while Thomas had fared little better, with his car getting crowbarred while he was still in it.

“So what ye want?”

“I have some business — if you’re interested?”

Leon let go of his door and it creaked open.

“You better come inside.”

It wasn’t exactly the espionage job of the century, and even then Thomas played it down. Just a simple case of keeping an eye on Natalie Langton’s mum for a few days, albeit with a few conditions. He picked up Leon’s business card.

“I want everything by email. I’ll be in touch with my email address.”

That is, once he’d created one.
It was all done and dusted in ten minutes, and he left there £200 lighter. Karl wasn’t around when he got back to the car, so he checked his mobile. There was a text from his sister and an update on the Yorkshire bairn — happy families everywhere he looked.

Karl finally put in an appearance with two carrier bags.

“Sorry, too good a chance to miss. I thought I’d treat myself to something special tonight. Fancy joining me for dinner?”

“Your place is tiny.”

“I know; that’s why I thought we could use your kitchen.”

He glanced at the bags. “That looks like a lot of food.”

“Yeah, about that. I thought it might do Ken good to get away from his usual patch. And without alcohol on tap he might open up a bit. What do you reckon?”

It all sounded like a done deal. “Okay, you better let him know.”

Karl shifted from foot to foot. So that had already been taken care of then.

“Any more surprises?”

“Er, well, I took the liberty of inviting Miranda as well.”

“Fuck me, Karl; why not make it a party and have done with it?” He smiled a little, to let Karl know he was kidding, but Karl’s face was hard as marble.

“Thing is, Thomas, I might need her help.”