Deeper Shadows of Faerie, page 6
“Let’s have them all then.” He pulled out a pad and passed it to me. I wrote taking extra care to make it legible. After filling two pages I passed it back to him.
“There’s a bunch of people he hangs out with and trusts.” I recited the names, with brief descriptions. I then listed some other people he didn’t trust.
“Excellent,” said Nigel. He proceeded to ask me a lot of questions about the trusted people which made me think he already knew a fair bit about them. Then there were questions about his contacts in Syria and, finally, a bunch of names none of which our guy had any knowledge of.
When I looked at my watch it was half-past three; I’d been there over two hours.
“Okay. We’ll hold it there,” said Nigel. “But I might be back with more questions.”
“Fine with me. If you need me to read him again.” This guy was so obviously a threat that I’d happily scrape out every last memory if they wanted me to.
Nigel paid me and sent me on my way. I caught the bus back up to the campus one hundred and seventy pounds richer and with an altered view of Nigel. I still didn’t actually trust him, but my exposure to what he was up against had given me a new respect for him, and the insight into the jihadist’s thought processes was truly frightening. I’ve never been religiously inclined, but I just couldn’t understand how someone could end up thinking like that.
I sent Sharon a text from the bus to ask whether I needed to buy something for dinner and got a reply back just as I reached the lab saying “there’s nothing in so if you want to cook go ahead. Won’t be back til 8 at least.” That gave me plenty of time to think about what to cook.
I stopped in at the supermarket after sitting through a very dull visiting lecturer and picked up lamb chops and new potatoes for dinner. Sharon didn’t appear until half past eight by which time I was damned hungry.
“You were down to see Nigel again,” she said as the chops were grilling. “Did he want you to read that headbanger?”
“Yeah, but I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Official Secrets Act? Don’t worry about it. I heard the best bits. He spat at the custody sergeant and called him an infidel pig.”
So much for Official Secrets.
“So how was your weekend? See Michelle?”
I decided I didn’t want to mention scaring off Dave with a glamour of a gun.
“Yeah. Jack brought his uncle over and he gave me a lesson in compulsions. Here give me your hand.”
“What for?”
“I want to try out what I learned. Don’t you trust me?”
She looked at me sideways then slowly reached out a hand. I took it and dived into the dominant thought in her mind which was hunger. It took no time at all to insert a little trigger. I released her hand and she immediately reached for the biscuit tin.
“Hey, dinner in ten minutes,” I said.
“I just fancied a biscuit,” she said through a chocolate digestive. She looked at me suspiciously. “You made me do that.”
“It was easy. You’re hungry and you like chocolate biscuits.”
She looked thoughtful for a minute. “Could you make me stop smoking like that? ‘Cos I want to stop, but I’ve failed so far.”
“Maybe. I need to think about how to do it. It should be possible. If I can’t do it, I’m sure Jack’s uncle could.” And no doubt find it trivial and turn it into a lesson.
I carried on thinking about it as I dished up the dinner and then as we ate it.
“You’d normally have a cigarette now, wouldn’t you?” I said as Sharon laid her knife and fork down.
“Yes. Why?”
“What do you want to replace it with?”
“What do you mean?”
“The best way for me to do something is to make you want something else when you start wanting a cigarette. So pick the something else.”
She thought for about it for a while. “I’ve got some mints in my bag. Those’ll do.”
“OK. Just hold on to the thought of a cigarette and give me your hand.”
She wiped her mouth with a napkin then held out a hand. I took it and went looking for her desire for a cigarette; it was not hard to find, right there at the front of her thoughts. I plunged in, gathering up the streams of thought, and began to impose my will on them. It seemed easy enough to divert her hunger so it would be sated by the mints. I caught the threads and wrapped my will around them as if I was joining electric wires under insulating tape. Satisfied with what I had had done I withdrew, resisting the temptation to examine her thoughts about Mike Scott.
“Done?” asked Sharon.
“I think so.”
“You sure? I didn’t feel anything,” she said reaching for her bag and taking out the packet of mints.
I had thought it had taken a while, but that just goes to show how my time sense gets distorted while I’m doing it. She took out a couple of mints and put them in her mouth.
“So are you and Mike any nearer moving on Peter Murphy?”
“No. Mike’s got to clear it with the Chief Constable and the National Crime Agency, and that means he’s got to explain his existing relationship with Murphy.”
“In a way that doesn’t make him look bent.”
“Correct.”
“Not easy.”
“Also correct.”
“How about the Albanians?”
“No further forward,” she sighed. “Waiting for the NCA and the Border Agency to get their shit together.”
I hadn’t really expected anything different, but I was still disappointed. “But I know where to find these guys. I can take them right to them.”
“And when it reaches the top of their to-do list, you can.”
She reached for the TV remote and began channel-hopping. I remembered the anger I’d felt when I’d seen Besian from the bus. Leaving it to the NCA and Border Agency wasn’t going to get anything done, and more girls like Nicoleta were being brought in every week.
I sat with Sharon turning things over in my head as she flicked from one programme to another and ate her way through the packet of mints; she didn’t go for a cigarette, though.
“See! You’ve gone all evening without a cigarette,” I said at half past ten.
“Yeah,” she said “And I really didn’t notice. That’s bloody brilliant. You could make serious money doing that.”
“That’s an interesting thought.” I grinned at her. “I’m going to call Michelle, then go to bed. See you in the morning.”
* * *
I decided I would start by taking a look at the café Besian owned down in Portswood. Idriz had liked to go there for the home-cooked Albanian meals and their hideously strong version of coffee, so there was every chance some of Besian’s crew would be there, if not Besian himself. I could also do the week’s shopping at the big Sainsbury’s doubly justifying the trip.
I didn’t have much of a plan when I left the lab just after six to walk down to Portswood; just have a look at the café, see the layout and who was around. I was thinking more about what to buy for dinner for the rest of the week.
The café was on a side road just off the main Portswood Road. There were a couple of reviews on the Union website I had read praising its cooking and authentic atmosphere, though I didn’t know anyone who had been there. I had reached the corner of the road when I walked past a guy who was having an animated conversation on his mobile; the language was nothing I recognised but sounded east European. As he turned his head, I recognised him with a sudden chill in my stomach. It was Florin, Nicoleta’s boyfriend; the man she had loved and trusted enough to follow to England. The man who had sold her to Besian’s gang.
I had enough sense to keep walking, though I doubt he noticed me anyway; all his attention seemed to be on his conversation. He was one person I hadn’t expected to find. So what was he doing here? Had a change of heart and come back for Nicoleta? Seemed unlikely. Gone back to Romania and brought another girl over to sell? A lot more likely. What to do? There was no question that what he done to Nicoleta was simply evil and he deserved to pay for it.
I made up my mind and walked back toward him. He was still talking, throwing his free hand around wildly as he walked in small circles; passers-by having to avoid him as he abruptly changed direction. It was the easier thing in the world to arrange for him to walk into me. He was mid to late twenties and solidly built, bigger in the shoulder and chest than me, but I caught him by surprise. Before he could react, I grabbed his phone hand and pushed into his mind.
It was instantly obvious that he’d brought another girl over from Romania. His phone call was about her; she had got away from where she was being held, and he was promising violent retribution if she wasn’t recaptured. That made it easier. I wrapped my will around his thoughts and squeezed, embedding the compulsion in his mind. Satisfied with my work I withdrew and let go of his hand.
He looked at me and then ran still holding his phone, angling across the traffic crawling along Portswood Road and disappeared down St. Denys Road. I looked around; no one was paying any attention. I walked briskly towards Sainsbury’s, just another evening shopper.
* * *
The next time I saw Florin he was laid out on a shelf in the mortuary at Southampton General. Sharon had called me about ten in the morning and taken me there to find out what his story was.
“Unknown male age twenty-five to thirty-five. A dozen witnesses saw him jump off Cobden Bridge into the Itchen just before seven last night. Nothing in his pockets. That’s all know about him.”
I looked at his corpse feeling nothing other than satisfaction. A thoroughly evil bastard had got what he richly deserved. It wouldn’t help Nicoleta, but it would stop him doing the same to any more girls.
I put a hand on his chilled flesh and dived into his memories. I hadn’t gone very deep yesterday, so I took the time to find out in detail what he had been doing. Several minutes must have passed before I broke the contact.
“Florin Lupescu, Romanian. Nicoleta’s boyfriend; the guy who sold her to the Albanians. There’s been others, too, and guns. Girls and guns come in, stolen cars go out, back to Romania. He’s been doing it a few years. I can give you the names of the people back in Romania if they’re of any use.”
“So what’s the connection to Murphy?”
I could have made something up, but I didn’t need to. “I can’t see that clearly. There’s a compulsion obscuring his memories of Murphy, but he’s definitely in there. Guns, I think.”
“Nice lad then,” said Sharon as she wrote in her notebook. “Got what he deserved.”
“Pretty much.”
She flipped the notebook closed. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”
We went to The Cowherds for lunch. We sat outside and waited for our food; Sharon chewed mints and drank diet Coke;I had a pint of Doom Bar. It was cool with the threat of rain, and we were the only people at the tables.
“I don’t see why Murphy would take this Florin out, unless he had direct dealings with him,” said Sharon.
“We don’t know how Besian responded to Idriz’s death. Maybe he blamed Murphy and did something, and this is Murphy’s retaliation. Or maybe he’s taking the Albanians down one man at a time.”
“Possible.” She dipped into her bag for another mint. “We know he’s capable of it.”
“Shame we can’t leave them to wipe each other out.”
“Well yeah, but we can’t. Mike’s got a meeting with some bod from the NCA tomorrow so maybe he’ll be able to do something after that.”
“About time.” After Florin I felt ready to take on Pete Murphy.
A waiter appeared with our food at that moment putting an end to the discussion. Sharon was halfway through her meal when her phone started playing Abba. She picked up and walked away from the table to begin her conversation. I had finished my ham, egg, and chips by the time she returned.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, looking regretfully at the cold remains of her lunch. “I’ll see you tonight and get the details on Florin’s associates.”
She hurried off to the car park while I went in the opposite direction heading for the bus stop.
* * *
I didn’t get to give her the details on Florin’s associates until after ten that evening. Not that it was going to matter. It was clear from Florin’s memories that the people he did business with out there had their local police completely bought and controlled.
I spent the rest of the week thinking about how to put the rest of Besian’s gang out of business. Sharon had happily accepted Florin’s death as the work of Pete Murphy, but I thought it would be unwise to present her with further casualties too soon. I needed another plan and anything I could think of required a more sophisticated compulsion. I’d need a more sophisticated compulsion for Dave the troll, too. Having him take a flight off the Itchen Bridge would be too much of a giveaway. That meant I needed another lesson from Jack’s uncle. I wondered how he would view what I had done to Florin. I had no regrets about my actions; Florin had ruined enough young girls’ lives to thoroughly deserve his fate, but would Jack and his uncle agree? I remembered the soldier the King had executed for opposing our rescue mission and doubted they would object much. They seemed to have a more black and white view of wrongdoing. And if they didn’t, well I’d face that, too.
Even though I’d talked to Michelle every evening through the week, I was desperate to see her by Friday, but I couldn’t because both she and mother were working late shifts. I ate in the union on Friday evening as the undergrads were starting their weekend fun and then hung on in the lab until about ten to keep out of Sharon and Mike Scott’s way. For someone who didn’t want a serious relationship she was certainly seeing a lot of him. I was still waiting for him to say something about an operation against Peter Murphy.
* * *
I caught the bus out to Langley Saturday morning, determined that I would see Jack’s uncle again over the weekend. I got to mother’s cottage in time to enjoy a late breakfast.
“I really need to shift my stuff from the flat,” said Michelle. “I’ve given notice, so everything has to be out by the end of the month. We need to do some this weekend.”
“Do you think we did enough to scare Dave off last time?”
“He’s stopped texting me.”
“Does that mean he’s given up?”
“I doubt it, but I can’t wait. If I don’t clear the flat, I’ll have to pay another month’s rent and I can’t afford that, not with the car insurance due.”
“I can scare him off again if he shows up.” I mentally rehearsed the glamour of a gun. “But we need a more permanent solution.”
We took Michelle’s Polo and set out for Totton immediately. There seemed no point in waiting until the evening when Dave ought to be working, as he’d still shown up. I wondered what he would do this time.
There was no sign of Dave or his van when we got to the flat. We parked up about fifty yards from the flat and went inside and set about filling the boxes and bags we’d brought. I filled boxes with books and kitchen gear while Michelle tackled the remaining clothes until she declared we’d got a carload.
I was halfway between the front door and the car with carrying a big box of books when an amplified voice called out.
“Armed police. Put down the box and stand still. Keep your hands away from your body.” I stopped and looked in the direction of the voice. A police car was parked across the forecourt in front of the kebab shop about thirty yards away. A police officer aimed a rifle at me over the bonnet. I slowly lowered the box to the ground.
“Take three steps back and lie down with your arms spread,” the electronic voice ordered. I did as instructed, my mind filled with the image of the gun aimed at me. I really wished I could do Jack’s trick of disappearing.
“What’s going on?” Michelle’s outraged voice called from somewhere behind me.
“Stand still. This is a police operation,” said the electronic voice.
Boots scrunched on the concrete near me. I risked turning my head to see two policemen about six feet way. One pointed a gun at me as the other came and knelt over me. Heavy hands frisked me.
“Turn over. Keep your arms spread.”
I rolled over still watching the gun and was frisked again.
“What’s in the box?”
“Books.”
“Nothing else?”
“Just books.”
The unarmed policeman stepped over to the box and opened it while his mate kept me covered.
“Clear, Sarge.”
“OK, let him up,” said the electronic voice.
I cautiously got to my feet and dusted myself down, very conscious of my pounding heart and the gun still trained on me. The sergeant appeared from behind his car still carrying his loudhailer.
“What was all that about then?”
“We received a credible report of someone matching your description carrying a firearm in this area,” said the sergeant. “We can’t ignore reports like that.”
Didn’t sound like I was going to get an apology.
“And where did that report come from?” Michelle still sounded indignant.
“I can’t discuss that,” said the sergeant.
“No, well let me guess. I reckon it came from my scumbag ex. He’d do anything to stir up shit for us. You should do him for wasting police time. His name’s Dave Nicholls, I can give you his address if you want him.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said the sergeant. “Let’s have your details then we can be on our way.”
Reluctantly we gave him what he wanted and went back to packing the Polo. The marked police car left immediately, but two of the officers hung around in an unmarked car while we carried our cargo out of the flat. I didn’t like the idea that they were watching us, but at least they would keep Dave away. When we came down with our last load they were gone.
