mixture of hazel and green, which betrayed a definite maturity. This was a girl who probably wanted you to take her lightly but knew you'd be making a mistake if you did so. Like a lot of journalists, really, and more than one or two coppers.
'Mr Kane?' she enquired above the noise.
I put out a hand and she took it. 'How did you know? Do I really look that out of place?'
She smiled broadly, showing deep dimples. 'You want me to answer that?'
'Probably not.' I gave her one of my old rueful smiles that years ago used to really get to the ladies.
'It's not that. It's just you do actually look like you've been beaten up. But you didn't tell me you'd be wearing glasses,' she added.
I hadn't known myself until an hour or so back, but had decided to put them on just to add a little to my disguise. It pays to be careful when you're in the vicinity of journalists.
'I've only started wearing them recently,' I answered, 'so I tend to forget. Anyway, I'm pleased to meet you. I thought your articles were very interesting.'
'Do you want to go somewhere else?' she asked, moving close enough so that I could smell a subtle dab of perfume. 'There's no way I can make myself heard in here.' Which wasn't strictly true. Her voice, though not loud, was strong and clear, the northern burr less obvious now than the fact that she'd obviously been educated at a school considerably higher up the educational scale than the one I'd spent my youth in.
To our left, a table full of drunken students were doing an atrocious version of some rugby song, banging away on the wood with open palms in an effort to find a rhythm. It was fair to say they weren't succeeding.
I nodded. 'Sure, lead the way.'
We stepped outside into the relative quiet of the night and walked across the road to a smaller, less crowded pub on the corner. Emma found a space at the bar, and I asked her what she wanted.
'A bottle of Beck's'll be fine, thanks.'
I got the barman's attention and ordered her Beck's plus a pint of Pride for myself, not knowing quite what to expect. It had been three years since I'd drunk English bitter and I wasn't sure whether it was going to taste like nectar or warm piss.
'So, how come we met in that other pub?' I asked as we found a spare table in the corner, a good few feet away from the nearest customers. 'Were you checking me out to see if I was worth talking to?'
'I didn't know you from Adam,' she said with a smile. 'What did you expect?'
I took a sip from my drink. First impressions were veering towards warm piss. 'You still don't know me from Adam.'
'That's true, but I watched you when you walked in and you seemed genuine enough. I can usually tell, I meet plenty of people who aren't. If you'd looked too shifty, I'd have just slipped out of there and you'd never have realized.'
'Fair enough,' I said, thinking if only she knew the truth.
'How did you manage to get beaten up?' she asked, changing the subject as she slipped a notebook and pen out of her handbag. 'What did you find out?'
'Well, first off, let me say this. I want you to help me, and I want to help you, but can you do me a favour and keep what we find out of your articles until we've got somewhere?'
'Why?'
'I've got a feeling that the last article you wrote was right — that there's more to this case than meets the eye. I just want us both to be careful, that's all.'
She nodded. 'OK, but if I turn up something that's a real scoop, I might have to change my mind. I don't want to be at the North London Echo all my life.'
'I understand, but please tell me if that's what you're going to do, all right? At least so I know.'
'Sure.' She took a pack of Marlboro Lights and a cheap lighter out of the handbag. 'Do you smoke?' she asked, pointing the nearly full pack in my direction. One of the cigarettes had been placed upside-down, with the tobacco end sticking out.
I told her that I didn't any more, but didn't mind if she did. Then I asked if she'd put the cigarette upside- down in the pack intentionally.
'Apparently it brings you luck,' she said, lighting up. 'I've always done it.'
I nodded. 'My first girlfriend always used to do it too. She wouldn't even accept a cigarette from someone whose pack didn't have an upside-down fag in it. A lot of people used to do it in those days.'
'And did it bring her luck, your girlfriend?'
'She ended up falling in love with a representative from the Seventh Day Adventist Church who knocked on her door one day when she was a student. She became a born-again Christian, and ran off with him to America. My brother told me that she's had five kids. I don't know if you'd class that as luck or not.'
'Not five kids. Not for me, anyway. But I suppose it depends which way you look at it, doesn't it?'
'Exactly.'
She puffed lightly on her cigarette, taking care to blow the smoke away from me, and I took the opportunity to look at her more closely. She wasn't wearing any make-up, and didn't need it. Her skin was soft and pale and there was a cute smattering of freckles the same colour as her hair running across the top of her nose. But it was the eyes that held my attention. They stood out, not only because of their perfect round shape and unusual colouring, but because they seemed so full of life. Emma Neilson was the sort of girl who could turn heads. I don't think she was classically beautiful — some of her features, like her nose and cheekbones, weren't delicate enough for the rest of her face — but she had a real spark about her, and I'd have bet money she could wrap all but the hardiest of men round her little finger.
'You still haven't told me how you got beaten up,' she said, taking a sip of her beer.
'I know, and I will, but before I go into details of what's happened to me, and what I've managed to find out, I'd like to get some background on the case from you.'
'How long exactly is it you've been working on it?'
'Not very long at all. Since yesterday.'
'And you've already managed to get yourself on somebody's wrong side. That's quite impressive.'
It was obvious she was sceptical of my story. I'd have been, in her position. It made me wonder whether I should have thought things through a bit more before meeting her.
'I'll level with you, Miss Neilson-'
'Emma, please. No one calls me Miss Neilson.'
'OK, Emma. Well, I've got a lead, something that'll require some help on your part to develop, but it's good, I can promise that.'
'What sort of lead?'
'A name.' She raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything. 'Someone involved, and not necessarily one you know. But first, I want to hear what you've got. I want to know if there's anything I've missed out.'
'Where do you want me to start?'
'The background. My understanding is that the police think that Malik's death is connected to his work, either at the NCS or at SO7. That seems to be your take on it as well, if my reading of your articles is right. You also appear to have a particular individual in mind, one who has a motive but who might also have friends protecting him. Would that be right?'
She stared at me for a moment, weighing me up with those brown-green eyes, then appeared to make a decision.
'Asif Malik made some enemies in the past among organized-crime figures,' she said carefully, 'but the consensus of opinion is that those figures are now finished. However, there was one individual in North London that my sources tell me he was involved in investigating when he was murdered.'
'The one you mentioned in the most recent article but didn't name?'
'That's right. But I'm not going to name him now to someone who I've only just met. I hope you understand.'
'I do, but what makes you suspect him so strongly?'
'Jason Khan, the man who died in the cafe with Malik, was a member of this individual's organization.'
I raised my eyebrows. This was getting interesting. None of the information I'd gathered on the Internet had mentioned this connection. 'I heard Khan was a convicted street robber, but not exactly a big player. Not someone
