with the inside gen to bring down a major criminal enterprise.'
'I can't say for sure, but he knew something, and it must have been important.' She paused for a moment. I could tell she had some further information to bolster her case but wasn't sure she should share it. I didn't hurry her, but watched as she put out her cigarette and took a sip from her drink.
Finally, she took a quick look round, then leaned forward over the table. Once again I could smell her perfume. 'The reason why Khan must have known something important is that four days after he and Malik were murdered, his girlfriend died in very suspicious circumstances.'
'What sort of circumstances?'
'On the face of it, a heroin overdose.'
'Did she have a history of drug abuse?'
'She was a runaway who'd spent most of her teenage years in care, and yes, she did have a history of drug abuse…' She paused again. 'I know what you're thinking, Mr Kane.'
'Mick, please.'
'I know it's possible that she could have overdosed when she heard about Jason, but it doesn't fit. I never knew her, but she was a very strong-willed girl, by all accounts. She'd been through a lot in her life, but she'd recently undergone a course of psychotherapy and, from what I can gather, she seemed to be getting her life back together. According to her friends, she and Jason were no longer using drugs, and Jason had never been involved in heroin anyway.'
'Why didn't you print your concerns about the girlfriend's death in the article?'
'It's coming out in the next edition. Tomorrow's.'
I raised my eyebrows for a second time. 'That ought to stir things up.'
'If it gets the police moving, that's good enough for me. At the moment, they don't seem to be doing much about it.'
'You're going to need to be careful. I'm sure you know how to look after yourself, but we're dealing with dangerous people here.' I pulled out my own notebook. 'What was the girlfriend's name, by the way?'
'Ann Taylor.'
I had to work hard to keep my expression impassive. Ann Taylor. A young girl with a spindly child's body and a big attitude. Once upon a time, I'd rescued her from an abduction while she'd been working the King's Cross backstreets as a teenage prostitute. It had been during my last days in London, when I'd been investigating the murder of one of her friends and fellow runaways, Miriam Fox. I'd hoped that maybe Ann had turned out all right in the period since. She'd always struck me as someone with a degree of intelligence as well as the street smarts you associate with runaways, but neither of these attributes were any substitute for luck, and in the end it was that which Ann had been lacking.
But in the short time I'd known her, my impression was that she wasn't the sort to take her own life. As Emma suggested, Ann had been a tough kid who was used to residing at the shitty end of most people's quality-of- life index. People like that are statistically far less likely to end their own lives than those from wealthier backgrounds. But then again, there was nothing to suggest that it hadn't been an accident either. Smack's an easy drug to OD on without actually wanting to.
I decided to let it go for now, and asked Emma what Malik's movements were on the night of the shootings.
'He and his wife, Kaz, were watching the television all evening. The phone rang just after ten p.m. Malik took the call, spoke for several minutes, and then announced that he had to go out. It's been confirmed that the call came from Jason Khan's mobile. Malik threw on some clothes, left the house, and the timings suggest that he went directly to the cafe where he was killed. And that was it. Kaz went to bed, and the next thing she knew she was being woken up by the police knocking on the door, telling her the bad news.'
'Did she say whether he'd told her what the meeting was about? My client, Mr Malik senior, wasn't sure.'
She shook her head. 'Nothing, but apparently that wasn't unusual for him. He does — did — a lot of very secretive work. From what I remember, she did ask him whether it was really necessary to go out at that time of night, and he said it was. She also mentioned that he looked very agitated. He was generally considered quite a calm man, but she made a point of saying he wasn't himself after taking the phone call. Whatever made him go to that meeting must have been important.'
We were both silent for a while. I wondered whether Jason Khan had been used as bait to lure Malik to a meeting so that Billy West could finish him off. If so, the man behind it had evidently had Khan killed at the same time to make sure his mouth stayed shut. Perhaps Khan had said something to his girlfriend about the meeting and they'd found out about it, effectively signing her death warrant.
At the moment, however, it was all conjecture.
'Now for the quid pro quo,' said Emma. 'Your turn to tell me what you know. Who's this man you've been having trouble with?'
'I want your word that it won't appear in any article until you've cleared it with me. We need evidence against him, for a start.'
'I've already said I'll do everything in my power to abide by your wishes.'
'Not good enough. I want your word.'
'It's nice to meet someone who still believes in that. OK, done.'
I paused for a moment, then spoke. 'The guy I'm talking about is called Les Pope.'
Her eyes widened and she sat back in her seat. 'You're joking!'
That caught me. 'What do you mean?'
'You don't know?'
'Obviously not.'
She shook her head, clearly concerned about my lack of detective skills.
'Les Pope is — or more accurately, was — Jason Khan's solicitor.'
15
'Tell me about Pope,' Emma demanded, taking a sip from her beer. 'How did you get onto him in the first place if you didn't know he was Khan's brief?'
I wondered then if I'd overplayed my hand. It's always risky trying to deceive someone whose job it is to sniff out untruths. It's even less of a good idea when you're still a wanted man in the country you're sitting in, and with a telltale suntan as well. Already she was looking at me over the rim of her beer glass with a healthy and fully justified scepticism, although thankfully without any worrying flicker of recognition. Her eyes reminded me of those of a cat — there was something hypnotic about them — and I got the idea that it would be difficult to hide your secrets from her for too long.
'Let's just say that over the years I've built up contacts with a lot of people who'd never voluntarily talk to the police, but who might be tempted to open their mouths with the promise of money. I heard about Mr Pope from one of those people.'
'How good was his information?'
'Good enough to get me a beating.' I gave her the cock-and-bull story I'd concocted in my room earlier, about how I'd been asking around about Pope when two of his thugs had accosted me outside my North London office and kicked me around, warning me to stay out of their boss's business. It was a bit cliched, I suppose, but not a million miles from the truth.
Emma seemed to buy it as well. 'And there's you telling me to be careful,' she said drily.
'I speak from bitter experience,' I told her. 'That means you should listen doubly hard.'
She smiled, showing the dimples again, and pulled another cigarette from the pack. I saw her glance at her watch at the same time, and felt a vague twinge of disappointment. I think I'd been overestimating the excitement of my company.
She asked me where we went from here and I told her I needed an address for Pope.
'And when I get that, I'm going to pay him a visit.' My tone suggested that when I got hold of him, I wasn't
