‘About me? What did she say about me?’
I could see Black regretting that she’d opened her mouth.
‘She just asked if I knew you …’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I said I knew of you, I’d seen you around. Look, I didn’t mean to get between you or anything.’
‘No,’ I said, trying to breathe. ‘I’m sorry. Thank you for letting me know.’ I could feel her looking after me as I thundered down the corridor. It felt like the walls were closing in. I walked out into the suffocating heat. Pulled out my phone and scrolled back through various missed and received calls.
Looking for Bateman.
He’d always withheld his number but now we needed to talk. He’d sent me a warning. I stared at the screen, willing him to call me there and then.
‘See ya,’ said Black, passing me.
‘Constable,’ I called after her.
She turned. ‘I’m off duty …’
‘Naomi. What are you doing now?’
‘Why?’
‘I need a favour.’
I told Black that I was down for surveillance on the Palace Hotel, but something urgent had come up. I must have looked desperate, because she agreed to cover it for a couple of hours.
‘If anyone goes in or out, call me. Don’t go near them.’
I wanted to be there, to watch it unfold, but it had sunk to the bottom of my list. Bateman had broken into my sister’s house and trashed it. As far as I knew, Ann’s only connection with me since childhood had come a year before, when she’d seen my face in the papers. My name next to words like corruption, drugs and disgrace. She’d tried to reach me then but I hadn’t responded. I’d been ashamed. I thought of her speaking to Constable Black earlier, probably nervous, daring herself to ask about someone who’d gone out of his way to ignore her.
Bateman had put us back in touch.
I tried to think of anything I had on him. Anything at all. The only connection that came to mind was so objectionable I almost rejected it out of hand. Then I thought of my sister, asking about me after a psychopath had kicked her door in. I hoped she didn’t know what kind of danger she was in. I hoped she never would. I took a breath, got in the car and drove.
8
The first time I’d come to this house it was the beating heart of an empire, and I’d been drawn, briefly, into the orbit of the untouchable monotone man who owned it. He was young, handsome and charming. He had no past that anyone could point to, and a calculating, salesman’s eye for human weakness.
He wore his brilliant white smile like a mask and had a series of questions hanging over his head. Why were the police always so interested in him? What was the source of his incredible, independent wealth? And what happened to the string of young women who chose to spend their time in his company? At first they were worshipped and celebrated, displayed on his arm at restaurants and nightspots, until they said or did or thought the wrong thing and then disappeared from view. Sometimes they’d re-emerge in the sad, industrial satellite towns they’d originated from, perhaps with a black eye or a broken sternum. Sometimes they were never seen or heard from again. The house had been famous for its parties, the bass-driven music pounding through windows and walls like a pulse, but it was quiet now. I was surprised when a young, heavily pregnant woman opened the door. She was beautiful. Black, with the clearest complexion I’d ever seen. She must have noticed my surprise because she was forced to prompt the conversation.
‘Yes …?’ she said.
‘I’m looking for an old friend.’
The house had been transformed from the moody bachelor’s pad I’d known and into something lighter, more respectable. Original artwork hung in the hallway and when the woman took me through to the living room I saw there was no television. Neoclassical music played from an unknown source and the walls were lined with bookcases.
‘I’ll go and find him,’ she said with a smile. I sat and waited, trying to believe what I was doing. When the man entered the room he paused in the doorway for a fraction of a second. He was trying to believe it too. Then he came towards me, pressing a hand into my shoulder, smiling.
‘Aidan Waits,’ he said. ‘How long’s it been?’
‘Feels like a lifetime. I’m sorry to intrude …’
‘No, not at all. Nia,’ he said, turning to his partner as she came in behind him. She smiled in answer. ‘Aidan’s an old friend. Would you grab us a couple of drinks?’
‘Of course. It’s nice to meet you, Aidan. What’s your poison?’
I smiled. ‘I only ever drink what he’s having …’
The man’s look contained every moment of our history.
‘If I recall correctly, Aidan’s a cognac man,’ he said.
‘Two cognacs coming up,’ said Nia, leaving the room. ‘You’ll have to have one for me, Aidan.’ She drew the door closed behind her and the man sat opposite me.
‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘She seems nice.’
‘The fuck’s it mean,’ he said, flatly. ‘You coming here?’
‘I didn’t know you’d settled down.’
He smiled. ‘You didn’t know about her because I didn’t want you to. That doesn’t change because you show up here unannounced. Tell me what you want.’
‘I need your help,’ I said.
There was no other way to put it.
He was thoughtful for a moment. Unlike most criminals I’d met, Zain Carver didn’t operate out of emotional stupidity, but from a comprehensive understanding of it. A terrible empathy. He understood immediately. ‘Things must be bad for you to have come here,’ he said. ‘Obviously, that’s appealing to me. But as you can see, I’m not running with that kind of crowd any more.’
‘What are you doing now?’
‘This and that.’
‘It’s about an old head. I just need to know how to find him.’
He considered this. ‘What was it in our last meeting that made you think I’d be talkative?’ He leaned forward. ‘Was it when I told you about Cath? Was it when I left you crying on the street?’ Catherine had been one of his best girls, once, until she saw the man behind the mask. His lies were such a success because he genuinely believed them, so when his disguise failed, when he saw a reflection of the real Zain Carver in someone else’s eyes, he was as shocked as the rest of the world. His solution wasn’t to fix himself, to feel regret or remorse, it was to fix those people who’d caught a glimpse of his true nature.
‘This isn’t work-related,’ I said. ‘If that’s what you’re asking.’
‘You’re in trouble again, aren’t you?’ The door opened and Nia came back into the room, carrying two cognacs on ice. Carver’s face changed like a screen switching channels. We accepted our drinks and she leaned into the doorframe. ‘So come on, how do you two know each other?’
‘Aidan’s got to tell it …’ he said, like he had as much control over my words as his own.
‘He’s too modest,’ I said. ‘At the time I was working for a local charity, a homeless shelter in the city. Month after month our highest donation came from one man.’ I pointed at him. ‘This guy. I wanted to meet him, to thank him personally. When I did, we hit it off.’
Nia turned to her partner. ‘You’ve never told me that. Wow …’
‘You should check his bank statements,’ I said. ‘All kinds of things coming and going.’
He looked at me, amused, raised a glass and smiled. ‘To the less fortunate.’ We drank and he went on. ‘That’s how Aidan got his nickname,’ he said. ‘Charity Case.’
‘I won’t tell you what we used to call him,’ I said to Nia. ‘And I’m sorry for intruding like this.’
‘It’s no intrusion at all. I’ve still met so few of Zain’s friends.’
‘Well, a lot of them have dropped off the radar,’ I said. ‘In fact, I’m trying to look up one in particular. Luckily it sounds like the big guy’s got a lead on him …’
‘Remind me of his name,’ said Zain flatly.
‘Nicholas Fisk.’
‘The thin man?’ he said. ‘Now that really has been a lifetime. I didn’t think you’d met each other …’