Hard Evidence (23 page)

'Not the first one. No, I think he was telling
the truth, he got seriously out of his depth.
They followed him, planned to take both of us
out.'

'Who's Kevin Norrell?'

'Pond scum out of west London, hired muscle
mainly.'

'And he's behind all this?'

Delaney shook his head. 'He hasn't got the
brains. He's just an animal for rent.'

Kate stood up and dusted her trousers. In the
distance, the faint wail of a police siren could be
heard.

'We can't stay here.'

'Come on.' Delaney took her hand and led her
quickly towards the exit.

'Where are we going?'

'West.'

Emerald Cabs was a seedy outfit based in
Northwood Hills, a run-down, one-horse town
west of London, out on the Metropolitan line.
Stuck between Pinner and Northwood proper, it
was a shabby, halfway kind of place with no real
identity, something 'twixt and 'tween. It used to
be a kind of breakwater, to the tide of London but
the growing spread of housing development had
pushed brick, steel and pollution further and
further out, breaking though Northwood Hills to
wash the flotsam and jetsam of modern London
into Northwood and the green belt that lay
beyond.

The office of Emerald Cabs was functional but
scruffy. As much a front as a legitimate business.
They did have a small fleet of cars, nothing
luxurious, and a handful of disgruntled drivers
who drove them. But Norrell didn't rely on the
cab firm's turnover to keep him in pig product and
beer, he earned his keep mainly through debt-collecting
and hurting people. They say if you are
good at something it's usually because you like
doing it, and Kevin Norrell certainly liked hurting
people.

He sat in front of a battered pine desk at the far
end of the office, his grotesquely enlarged legs
stretched out on a chair in front of him. He was
dressed in baggy shorts and a cut-off T-shirt that
revealed massive biceps and forearms. His face
was red, flushed with the heat and marked with a
permanent rash of angry acne. He had a large
Wimpy hamburger in one hand and a thick
milkshake in the other. Two similar-size burgers
waited in a brown bag on the desk. He took a bite
and smiled. Norrell was a man of simple tastes,
and stuffing a half-pound cheeseburger into his
face was pretty much at the top of his list of most
pleasurable experiences. A bag of golf clubs stood
in the corner, but it was a long time since he had
played the game; walking long distances was not
an option with his build. He took another bite of
his burger, nearly finishing it, and sat back
grunting with pleasure in his chair.

Delaney watched him through the filthy glass
outside the taxi office and turned to Kate. 'Wait
outside this time.'

Kate nodded, seeing no point in arguing.

Norrell looked up as Delaney walked into the
office.

'Help you?'

Delaney could see his face altering as
recognition slowly dawned on him. He put down
his burger, wiping the cheesy mayonnaise from his
face, and lifted his massive legs off the chair
opposite him, sitting upright.

'What are you doing here?'

'What do you think I'm doing here, Kevin?'

'Fuck knows.'

'You want to think about it a little? I know you
haven't got a lot to work with there.'

'No. I want you to get the fuck out of my office.
You got no business here, Delaney.'

'That's Detective Inspector Delaney to you.'

'And it's suck my cock to you.'

Delaney smiled. 'You and I need to have a little
talk.'

'I've got nothing to say to you.'

'Nothing to say about Jackie Malone?'

Norrell's eyes flicked nervously sideways.

'Or Billy Martin.'

Norrell stood up, his shoulders dropping, his
face shifting into animal meanness.

'I don't know what you're talking about. Now
get the fuck out of my office.'

'Or what?'

'I heard Jackie Malone was hurt real bad. Be a
shame if that was to happen to you or your pretty
lady friend outside.'

Delaney looked across at the window to see
Kate watching them both.

'Nice bit of cunt like that. Be a shame to see it
all sliced up.'

Delaney stepped forward, picking the telephone
off the desk in one smooth movement and
smashed it with full force into Norrell's face.
Norrell cried out in pain as his front teeth broke
and blood poured into his mouth. He shook his
head, astonished, and reared above Delaney, who
punched him as hard as he could in the stomach.
It was like punching a bag of concrete that had
been left out in the rain and then in the sun for a
week. He might as well have hit him with a limp
balloon. Norrell didn't even react, just slapped
Delaney on the side of his head with his open
palm. A red light exploded in Delaney's brain as
he staggered back, his legs suddenly weakened.
Norrell followed him in a lumbering waddle, his
thighs so large he couldn't walk without them
rubbing together. Delaney shook his head clear
and jabbed out with a punch to Norrell's bloody
chin, snapping the large man's head back but not
rocking him off his axis. Norrell swung a meaty
fist at Delaney's face and Delaney ducked under it,
punching out again at Norrell's chin. Norrell just
grunted and spat more blood on the floor.

'You're starting to piss me off now.'

'You were taking shots at us an hour ago, you
dumb prick. What am I supposed to do, bake you
a cake?'

Norrell looked at him. 'I haven't been anywhere
near you. I've been here all day.'

Delaney kicked at Norrell's knee, knocking him
off balance, and Norrell gasped with pain as
Delaney punched him as hard as he could in the
temple. It should have put him on the floor. It
didn't. He stood up and staggered forward,
enveloping Delaney in a bear hug. Delaney
snapped a couple of punches at Norrell's head but
he couldn't get any force behind them and Norrell
started to squeeze. Delaney felt as if he had been
caught in some kind of industrial vice. He
struggled as he felt his ribs constricting and the air
being forced from his body. His punches became
feebler as he felt his consciousness draining. He
grunted, drawing in some oxygen, and summoning
his last ounces of energy, slammed his knee up into
Norrell's groin. Norrell grunted a little, but didn't
relinquish his boa constrictor grip. Just my luck,
thought Delaney, as a blackness started to descend
and he felt himself passing out. Norrell's balls must
have shrivelled to nothing after years of steroid
abuse; probably didn't feel a thing.

Suddenly Norrell let out a cry and stepped back,
his arms opening, dropping Delaney gasping to his
knees. Norrell looked even more puzzled than
usual as Kate swung the golf club again, a three
wood, gripping it low on the shaft like a baseball
bat and smashing it with a sickening crack into his
temple, dropping him to the floor like a bull
elephant hit with a stun gun. The floor shuddered
and Delaney, still gasping for breath, looked up at
Kate.

'Where did you learn to play golf?'

Kate knelt down and put her fingers to Norrell's
neck. 'He's still alive.'

'Not going to be able to answer a lot of questions,
though, is he?'

'Was that what you were doing, interrogating
him?'

'Yeah.'

'Interesting technique.'

'I could have got him to talk.'

Kate smiled tolerantly. 'You'd rather I'd let you
finish the fight?'

Delaney winced again as he got to his feet. 'I
guess not. Thanks.'

Kate put the club back into the golf bag propped
against the wall. 'What are we going to do with
him?'

'Put him in the car.'

'What with? A fork-lift truck?'

Delaney looked at the prostrate figure. 'Good
point.' He walked across and searched through
Norrell's jacket thrown over the back of a chair.
Nothing. He looked in the desk's single drawer,
taking out a stubby revolver, smelling the barrell
before placing it on the desk, then searched
through the papers in the drawers.

Kate knelt down to check Norrell's pulse again.
'He might be badly hurt, Jack.'

'Be a bonus.'

'I'm serious. He needs to get to a hospital.'

Delaney slammed the drawers shut. 'And I need to
know who he's working for.' He wasn't sure what it
was he was hoping to find, but whatever it was, he
hadn't found it. He wasn't surprised, just annoyed.

Kate looked at Norrell, a trail of drool pooling
on his lower lip. 'How do you know him?'

'I busted him on a drugs-dealing charge a short
while back.'

'And?'

'Cocaine, good quality. We took him down with
about a key of the stuff.'

'So why isn't he safely locked up?'

'Because the evidence went missing. That's what
Bonner was talking about. He took it. The CPS
wouldn't proceed and rhinoceros boy here walked
free.'

Delaney's mobile rang and he looked at the
caller's number before answering it.

'What have you got?' He listened intently to
the reply. 'You've found her?' He looked across at
Kate and smiled. 'You're a star, Sally. I owe you
big time.' He shut his phone up and checked that
the telephone he had smashed into Norrell's teeth
was still working. It was. Score one for petroleum
by-products. He handed it to Kate. 'Call an
ambulance.'

'Then what?

'Then we're out of here.'

'Out where?'

'To see a tom.'

'Tom who?'

Delaney smiled as Kate dialled 999. 'A tom is a
brass, Kate. A prostitute.'

'Any particular reason?'

'Because she just might know what's the hell's
going on.'

The traffic not so much crawled as stumbled and
wheezed round Cambridge Circus. Like sick,
broken and arthritic creatures, automotive
elephants following a trail of pitch and tar to a
secret graveyard. The temperature was now over
thirty-eight degrees, breaking all records for the
time of year. The tarmac on the road was melting
and the vehicles' tyres stuck slightly to it as they
inched nose to tail from Shaftesbury Avenue down
to Covent Garden.

Delaney led Kate past the theatre that stood on
the circus, past one of the pubs that Jeffrey
Bernard frequently got unwell in and up to a
doorway next to another small minicab office.
There were a couple of tacky coloured signs
offering a variety of exotic services. What was it
about cab offices and prostitutes? Delaney
wondered. A fat tourist stopped to watch as Kate
looked at the notices, a bead of sweat rolling
down his forehead as he gazed at her like a
starving man might look at a joint of beef.

'What's Greek?' she asked Delaney.

Delaney glared at the fat man, who was reddening
even more in the face, his mouth hanging
open as he watched Kate. Delaney took Kate's
arm and steered her through the doorway. 'Let's
just say it's not a lunch option.'

The hall was narrow and stifling; the heat
trapped inside radiated off the walls like an oven.
There were no carpets on the floor, although the
two-toned wood showed where carpet had once
been, and it looked like the wallpaper hadn't been
changed since the mid-seventies. A half-eaten
McDonald's meal was thrown in one corner, and
the air was rich with the scent of cheap perfume
and even cheaper air freshener.

Kate picked her way delicately as she followed
Delaney up the narrow staircase to the second
floor. Delaney pushed the button next to a colour-ful
yellow card that had the name Aisleyne written
on it, with the legend 'Blonde and Busty' below.

Muffled footsteps were heard behind the door,
and then a voice.

'I'm busy. Come back in twenty minutes.'

The footsteps receded again and Delaney leaned
on the buzzer, letting it ring. The footsteps came
back, as did the voice, angrier this time.

'I said I was busy.'

The door opened to reveal a woman in her early
thirties, surgically enhanced to prove one part of
her advertising slogan, with a straw-coloured wig
on her head to prove the other.

'Hello, Karen.'

Karen sighed, recognising Delaney. 'Fuck.'

She tried to close the door, but Delaney
slammed his foot in the gap, shouldered the door
open and pushed her back inside with the palm of
his hand. Kate followed them in and shut the door
behind her.

Delaney glared at Karen. 'We can do this the
easy way, but one way or the other you are going
to talk to me.'

Karen sighed. 'All right, Delaney. You win. Not
here; come through to the kitchen.'

They turned down the corridor, passing a
bedroom door on the right, and into a kitchen
area where a small television was showing some
daytime reality show. A door led off it. The room
was sparsely decorated with faded, torn wallpaper
and some small, functional units; a hot plate for a
kettle, a fridge for some cans of beer. Not a
kitchen for a chef, but perfect for a forty-pound-a-blow-job
tart, thought Delaney.

A long-haired man in his forties with two days'
worth of stubble and a Motorhead T-shirt sat at
the table rolling a joint. His face had the kind of
pale sickliness found in grubs that live under
rocks; it was wrinkled and spotted with blackheads.
He looked up, outraged, as Delaney turned
off the television.

'The fuck you think you're doing? I'm watching
that.'

Delaney glared at him. 'Take a break.'

'You what?'

Karen nodded towards the door. 'Do what he
says, Daniel.'

'I'm not having some Irish prick tell me what to
do.'

'It's me that's telling you. Go on, give us ten
minutes.'

The man stood up and glared belligerently at
Delaney. 'You got ten minutes.' Delaney held his
stare until Daniel turned away and headed out of
the kitchen. 'He give you any grief over this and
you tell me. Okay, Karen?'

'He won't do anything.'

'Either way.'

Karen turned back to Delaney as the man left.
'What are you doing here, Inspector?'

'You know why I'm here.'

'No I don't.' She looked over at Kate as if seeing
her for the first time. 'And who's the bint?'

'Be nice, Karen.'

Karen was about to respond when a small man
in spectacles, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a
neatly knotted tie, came into the kitchen.

'What's going on?'

Karen nodded at him angrily. 'Get back in the
room, I'll be through shortly.'

The small man shook his head angrily. 'That's
not good enough. I've paid my money.'