His presumption got my back up, and I snapped back, ‘He is a she, actually, and I don’t betray my clients. If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone else who can, and perhaps they’ll be the one to get Grady behind bars where he belongs.’
There was a long silence from the other end of the line. I dug my fingernails into my palm, hoping I hadn’t pushed him too far.
When he finally spoke, his voice was steely, impatient. ‘Fine. We’re watching him because he was caught with a large quantity of illicit drugs, but there was no evidence that he was actively dealing. None of the punters we spoke to on the streets had seen his face. Usually these guys won’t sell out the head honcho or the guy above them, so it was no surprise that Grady was quick to take full responsibility. But my suspicion is that he was much higher up the chain and staged the whole thing to make it look like he was just a low-end dealer.’
‘But you haven’t got any evidence he’s still involved?’
‘He’s been careful since he got out, but there’s been a huge influx of coke on the streets, and Interpol intelligence tells us the trend is happening right across Europe. No matter how many dealers we catch, we can’t seem to get any higher in the cartel. We’ve been tracking his phone records, but officially he’s a band manager and his only calls have been to people in the music industry. For all intents and purposes he seems legit, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s back in the game.’
‘What do you think his role is?’
‘My hunch is that he’s responsible for new recruits. He probably targets young musicians with promises of making them big in the industry, so they won’t go to the cops. By the time they realise he’s playing them, they’re in over their heads and couldn’t give him up if they tried.’
I remembered Jack’s words about Angus Bright. So Grady had introduced him to the business—a smart move considering he could call him night or day without raising suspicion. But what had happened to Bright? Had he threatened to go to the police? I shuddered as I remembered that photo. The vacant eyes, the bloodstained shirt.
‘Have you known any of these dealers or transporters to just disappear?’ I asked.
Harrington didn’t reply straight away and I regretted my question. If the National Crime Agency was watching Grady and had links with Interpol, they probably already knew about the tip-off and had made the connection. I’d revealed too much and now there was the risk that my own investigation would be swallowed up in government bureaucracy.
‘I think it’s time you told me what you know,’ Harrington said coldly. There was no way I was going to get any more out of him now.
But what to tell him? If I pointed him in the direction of the bar in Paris, he’d certainly get there before me and Ford would probably disappear again. If he wasn’t arrested. Either way, I’d be left without a story.
‘According to my client, he’s currently on his way to Paris. I believe he operates his part of the business from there, but I haven’t been able to find out the exact location.’
Harrington gave an impatient sigh. ‘There are 2.3 million people in Paris and you expect me to find him without any specific information?’
‘That’s not all. My client also mentioned a warehouse in Amsterdam. Perhaps that’s where the drugs come in.’
‘Amsterdam?’ He gave a derisive laugh. ‘And how do you think they get the drugs into the city, sweetheart? Do you think Father Christmas flies them in on his sleigh? Amsterdam is the most watched city in the world. No international cartel would risk using it as their centre of operations.’
‘I’m just telling you what I know.’
‘What you’re doing is wasting my time.’ His voice was laden with contempt. ‘I’ve got better things to do than listen to a naive lawyer shrieking about matters she knows nothing about. Good day.’
He hung up on me.
‘I wasn’t shrieking, you fucking fuckface!’ I hurled my phone onto the bed. If there was anything I hated, it was exactly that brand of arrogant chauvinism. But before I had a chance to process what he’d told me, my mobile rang and I prepared myself for another onslaught of abuse from Katrina.
But it was the Australian consulate telling me my new passport was ready for collection. Perfect timing. I went straight there to pick it up and returned to the hotel to find Nick in the breakfast room, tearing a sweet pastry apart and shoving the pieces into his mouth.
‘Morning,’ he said through a mouthful of croissant.
I sat down across from him and held up my passport. ‘We’re out of here. I’m legit again.’
‘That’s great!’ His face broke into a smile and my stomach fluttered.
Jesus, Sarah. Get a grip.
I told him what I’d found out about Grady and my conversation with Harrington. When I got to the part where he’d ridiculed me and hung up, Nick looked confused.
‘Hang on, Amsterdam?’
I showed him the entry I’d read in Ford’s notebook last night.
He laughed. ‘No offence, beauty girl, but you can hardly blame him for being sceptical based on one crappy line that doesn’t actually say anything.’
I glared at him. ‘These lyrics are obviously about Angus Bright. And if Ford believes he’s involved with this cartel, then maybe Amsterdam is the headquarters of the operation. Maybe we should just go straight there.’
‘That’s all well and good, Burrowes,’ Nick said. ‘But we both heard that dude tell Ford to go to Paris. And he is the story, remember? Doesn’t it make more sense to go there first?’
I struggled between logic and the need to argue with him.
‘We can always go to Amsterdam afterwards if we don’t find anything in Paris,’ he added.
I stood up and slung my bag over my shoulder, annoyed with him both for his presumption that he
