The third time he tried Lucy, she picked up. She sounded off. Her voice was strained, distant.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘I’ll tell you later.’
‘Serpico,’ he said.
‘Memento.’
If she’d said anything else, it would have meant she was in danger and he would have pressed the big red emergency button. Over lunch after Mischa’s christening they’d been talking about favourite movies when Dan came up with the idea of a safety code for each of them, using movie titles. Lucy had rolled her eyes, but relented, saying ‘Memento’. She was a sucker for thrillers and when she was ill she’d tuck up on the sofa and watch classics like Rear Window, The Third Man and The Conversation back to back.
Since Lucy had given him the right code, Dan’s disquiet eased. ‘I need some ammunition so I can gain access to Tomas Featherstone. Any names you know that might be useful to help lull him into a sense of security?’
‘Why don’t you try Neil Greenhill?’ Her voice strengthened, but the wire of stress remained. ‘If that doesn’t work, try Carl Davies. Let me know if you have any luck.’
‘Who are they?’
‘If there isn’t anything else…’
He hadn’t known Lucy to cut him off like that before. Something was definitely off, but with her code word ringing in his ears, he had to trust she was okay.
‘Later,’ he said.
Dan brought out his phone and looked at Chris Malone’s photograph once more. She was attractive, with long wavy hair and a supple body. She could be in her forties but it was hard to tell. CCTV didn’t take the most flattering of snaps.
With his leather holdall in hand, Dan made his way to Tomas’s apartment block. Walked inside the reception area. Lots of marble. A tinkling fountain. A large chandelier above. Fat red and yellow cushions sat invitingly atop a marble bench should your legs get tired waiting. Security cameras in each corner of the ceiling.
Dan went to the desk where a large man with shiny black skin sat. Muscle and fat bulged against the security guard’s uniform.
‘I’m here to see Tomas Featherstone.’
The man picked up a phone. Raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m Neil Greenhill.’
The guard spoke briefly before covering the mouthpiece with one hand. ‘He don’t know no Greenhill.’
‘Carl Davies.’
The guard blinked, but repeated the name. ‘He’s coming down.’
‘Tell him I’ll be outside.’
It was raining lightly when he stepped onto the pavement, a soft mist descending. A few people were about, but none on his side of the street. He moved to the side of the building and into a narrow alley lined with industrial-sized bins. Nobody down here. Perfect. He tucked his holdall to one side down the alley before returning to peer back at the building. When a man appeared, craning his head left and right, Dan called out, and waved. The man came over, his steps cautious. He wasn’t particularly tall, around five eight or so, and his build was light. All to Dan’s advantage. As he slowed, obviously wary, Dan stepped into view.
‘What the fuck?’ Tomas Featherstone stared at him. ‘You’re not Carl.’
‘No.’ Dan walked forward, hand outstretched. ‘I’m a friend of his. He sent me.’
Tomas took a step back. He was studying Dan’s face, trying to place it. His first mistake. His second was to raise his hand in a defensive position because Dan simply accelerated and grabbed it, twisting it behind him and ramming it between his shoulder blades.
‘Fuck!’ Tomas yelped. ‘What the fuck…’
Dan hustled him into the alley. When he struggled, tried to kick backwards, Dan simply pushed his hand higher. ‘I’ll break it,’ he warned. He wasn’t taking any chances. Not with a man Lucy said was a bit of a hard bastard.
Tomas fell still. He was gasping. ‘What the fuck…’
Dan grabbed the man’s other arm but Tomas tried to twist away so Dan kicked the back of his knees, knocking Tomas off his feet and catapulting him forward. His head hit the pavement with a dull smack and in the second he lay there, seemingly stunned, Dan sat astride his lower back, quickly bringing out a heavy-duty zip tie and binding Tomas’s hands behind him.
He leaned forward to speak in his ear. ‘I just need one thing. And then you never need see me again.’
‘And what the fuck is that?’ Tomas was trying to act the hard man with his aggressive tone, but Dan heard the panic edging his voice.
Dan brought out his phone. Showed Tomas the photograph of Chris Malone. ‘Who is she?’
‘No idea.’
‘Wrong answer.’ Dan leaned across and reached into his brown holdall and brought out a knuckleduster, and then a knife.
‘Jesus, fuck, man…’
‘Bruises, or cuts?’ Dan asked, then, without waiting for an answer, slipped on the knuckleduster and punched Tomas hard in the kidneys. He had to make the man realise he meant business. He had to make him talk.
Tomas groaned. Spittle drooled from his lips.
‘Fuck,’ he choked.
‘There’s a lot more where that came from,’ Dan told him. ‘If you don’t tell me who she is.’
‘Who are you?’ he gasped.
Dan checked the end of the street. A taxi drove past, then a bus. A couple of pedestrians walked on the other side of the street but neither looked down the alley. Dan kept an eye on them.
‘I’m someone who wants an answer. You see, a friend of mine was murdered recently. A very good friend. Her name was Kaitlyn Rogers. She went out with a good friend of yours called Ricky Shaw. Jog any memories?’
‘Shit. You’re here about Kaitlyn? I didn’t know her. I mean yes, I knew of her. But I never met her.’
‘The woman in the photograph I showed you has something to do with Kaitlyn’s death. Which is why I want to talk to her. And I can only do that if you tell me who she is. You can do that, can’t you?’
Dan leaned over to see real fear rising in Tomas Featherstone’s eyes. ‘Hell, I’m not…’
Dan picked up
