maw a few inches out of the gutter at feeding time.”
The Farmer spluttered on his whiskey and dribbled some down his jumper. “Hey, steady on. Bloody hell, that’s a bit strong, Banks,” he said, pointing his finger. “You’ll regret that. Whatever happens, you’ll regret that. Ciaran and Darren are in London already, awaiting my instructions.”
“Well, why don’t you call them? We’re not stopping you. But you don’t have any orders to give them yet, do you? You don’t know any more than we do. Probably less.” He looked over at Winsome, who smiled and shook her head.
Fanthorpe stared at Banks for a long moment. “I don’t understand you,” he said finally. “I just don’t understand. I propose a simple deal. I get my money back. I give the thief a slap on his wrist. You get your daughter back unharmed. Where’s the problem?”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Banks said, gesturing to Winsome that they should be going. “That you don’t see it as a problem. We’ll trouble you no more tonight. No need to see us out.”
“Was that wise?” Winsome said as Banks got into the passenger seat beside her. “Winding him up like that?”
“Perhaps not,” said Banks. “I don’t know. But Fanthorpe’s not the answer. If I could arrest him, I would, but we’ve got nothing on him. Not yet. It wouldn’t even do any good to take him in on sus and sweat him in an interview room for a while, either, much as I’d enjoy the opportunity. First off, we don’t have a while, and second, he’s too canny for that. He’d have his team of high-priced lawyers down there like a shot. No, we’ll get The Farmer when the time is right. For the moment I’ll ask the locals to keep an eye on his movements. At least we know now that Ciaran and Darren are in London because that’s where they think Jaff and Tracy are heading.”
“Can we put a tap on Fanthorpe’s phone? Their mobiles?”
“Not enough time,” said Banks with a wistful grin. “Besides, he’s bound to have a throwaway. I suppose we could try hanging him upside down or beating it out of him, or maybe pulling his fingernails out with pliers, but that relinquishes the moral high ground pretty damn quickly, doesn’t it?” Banks gestured toward Winsome’s briefcase. “And at least we’ve got his fingerprints.”
“I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
“I’m not that tired. Well done. They might come in useful, and we don’t have them on record.”
“Well, he’s never done anything illegal, has he?”
“He certainly hasn’t been caught.”
“What next?”
“Back to the station. Regroup. Don’t forget, we’ve got Justin Peverell’s surname and The Farmer doesn’t. We’re not without our contacts, either. I’m still willing to bet that our resources are better than Fanthorpe’s. I also have a sneaking suspicion that Jaff and Tracy are nowhere near London yet. Wasn’t it you who told me that the van they stole was an old clunker? Wouldn’t go more than forty miles an hour? Isn’t that what you said?”
“Yes.”
“Fanthorpe doesn’t seem to know that, either. It buys us time. Let’s go see if Madame Gervaise and the rest have made any more progress with Ian Jenkinson and this Quisling bloke.”
AS SOON as Tracy watched Jaff walk up to the hotel reception desk and start talking to the pretty young blond receptionist in his best posh accent, offering his corporate credit card, the one that couldn’t be traced back to him, her heart sank. He could do no wrong. Judging by the girl’s smile and her body language, she was practically in bed with him already.
Tracy seriously considered making a run for it at that very moment, but Jaff’s words and threats came back to her, and the images he had evoked: a car door opening and someone dragging her inside the dark interior; or tossing her into the boot, smothering her with smelly old blankets; the threat of the unseen pinprick in the thigh or hip, waking up in an unfamiliar country; standing on a sort of makeshift stage with other girls, dressed only in pink diaphanous chiffon fluttering in a breeze from nowhere, the leering eyes of the men on the front row crawling all over her. She realized it was a ridiculous image, of course, but it kept her sitting where she was, only a few feet behind him as he made the booking, glancing occasionally back at her and grinning, but giving most of his attention to the blonde.
He had the clothes, the voice, the gift of the gab, the air of superiority, all he needed to succeed, despite his mixed race heritage, the golden color of his skin. He was public school and Oxbridge, establishment through and through, and vicious criminal or not, he acted just like one of them, cocksure, certain of his place, of his due, of his worth, sure of his position, a member of the right class. To the manor born. There was no way anyone in this jumped-up provincial hotel, pretentious as it was, was going to deny his demands, let alone mistake him for a dangerous criminal on the run, or associate him with someone wanted for murder. If Annie was dead. Tracy had no way of knowing, as she hadn’t seen or heard any news since they left the cottage. Tracy’s heart sank as she watched Jaff, yet she couldn’t help but admire the performance, if performance it was. There were many sides to him, she suspected, and this was just one of them.
He turned back to her, a key in his hand and a smile on his face, and gestured for her to follow him to the lift. They went up to the fourth floor in silence and walked along the deserted corridor, some rooms with trays of empty bottles and glasses outside, the remains of half-finished steaks and prawn shells scattered on plates.
No one saw them as they entered room 443. The view was nondescript, a back street so narrow you couldn’t really see anything but the low slate roofs opposite, and, beyond them, the windows of an office tower, empty for the night, though one or two lights still burned in the checkerboard pattern of windows.
The thunderstorm hadn’t come yet, but the sky still looked angry as a boil ready to burst. Jaff drew the heavy curtains. Their closing made Tracy feel claustrophobic. Somehow, at least having some sort of view, however mean, gave her some hope, some snatched glimpse of a part of the world that was being kept from her, a place she may never enter again. She told herself to stop being so maudlin, that the fears Jaff had planted in her mind had taken too strong a hold and made her jittery.
Jaff tossed his grip on the bench under the window, then fumbled inside it and brought out the small plastic bag he had prepared for himself. He held it up to her and raised his eyebrows. Tracy shook her head and sat on the edge of the bed, hunched in on herself. Jaff shrugged and laid out a couple more lines on a mirror. When he’d snorted them, he used his untraceable mobile, and Tracy guessed he was calling Justin in London.
“It’s ready? Great…terrific…Hey, that’s a bit steep…No, all right, I’m not arguing…Yeah, I understand…Okay. Look, Jus, we won’t come around to your place, if that’s all right with you, just in case, you know, yeah, in case we’re being followed or something…Yeah. Right…How about we meet somewhere…? The Heath…that’s cool… Highgate Pond. Course I can find it. No problem. We’ll have wheels in the morning…Yeah, early afternoon…I’ll give you a bell…See you then, mate. You’re a lifesaver.”
He ended the call, dropped the phone on the bed, then clapped his hands and raised his fist in the air. “We’re away!” he said. When Tracy didn’t react, he turned on her. “We’re off to London in the morning and then…points exotic. Who knows? Well, at least I am. What’s up, misery guts? Are you planning on sulking like this from now on? I mean, it’s a difficult enough situation we’re in already, without you sitting there with a face as long as a wet weekend in Blackpool.”
“Jaff,” Tracy said. “I’m tired and I’m scared. I’m not here to cheer you up or amuse you. I’m your prisoner, remember? All I want is to go home. Please, just leave me alone.”
“Same old bloody record, isn’t it? Can’t you change your tune? You should do some coke, have some fun while you can.”
“I don’t want any.”
“Have it your way. We’ve got all night.”
Tracy shuddered at the thought. She didn’t think Jaff noticed. The room was spacious, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that it was dominated by a king size bed. Tracy was quite happy to sleep in the bath, if in fact she could sleep at all, but she doubted that was what Jaff had in mind. He wouldn’t want her out of his sight, for one thing. “Can we have the TV on?” she asked.
“Why?”
“I want to see the news. They might say something about…you know.”
“They can’t tell us anything we don’t already know,” said Jaff. “Are you hungry? Shall I call room service? What do you fancy?”
“I don’t know. Whatever you want.”
