Stealing People

  ‘We don’t know what we’re dealing with here,’ said Mercy. ‘It feels big and … just come, will you?’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  ‘And come alone. Nobody else should know about this.’

  Jess turned off the Pentonville Road, trying to pick up the trail of the blue Ford Focus.

  ‘We’ve lost him,’ she said.

  ‘Pull in over here,’ said Boxer.

  He wrote the registration number he’d memorised on a piece of paper, gave it to her.

  ‘Drive around for half an hour or so,’ he said. ‘See if you get lucky. If you do, follow him. Don’t try to confront him. He’s armed. He shot the Ukrainian. And he’s expecting you to be dead, which is what will happen to you if you get anywhere near him. Just get the address where he ends up, call me. Nothing else.’

  ‘You wonder why he didn’t kill me himself ?’

  ‘Maybe he liked you too much.’

  ‘Are all men that weird?’

  ‘Would you have been interested if he wasn’t?’

  Jess stared out of the windscreen.

  ‘Don’t get excited,’ said Boxer. ‘But he’s just gone past us on the other side of the road. So turn round. Follow him. Try and get through the lights with him this time.’

  Boxer got out of the car, walked to the Angel and got a cab to the East India Dock Road. He walked up Duff Street, saw Mercy’s car, got in the back, sitting low in the seat.

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘You made it sound urgent,’ said Boxer. ‘So what are we doing here?’

  ‘We’re waiting. In this house is a mobile phone whose number was written on a piece of paper, not in Amy’s handwriting, but it was left screwed up under her phone in the flat Siobhan was renting. I gave the number to the trace guys in Vauxhall and here we are.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I want to go in there, take a look.’

  ‘How long have you been watching?’

  ‘About forty minutes. Nothing’s happened. No traffic whatsoever. Just that crack of light in the upstairs window on the first floor. Nothing on in the top or ground floors. No cameras that I can see.’

  ‘It’s an old pub.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’ll have a basement with a trap for the beer barrels.’

  ‘You think you’re clever.’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  They walked round the house, found where the trap had been. It was concreted over.

  ‘Not so clever,’ said Mercy. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Front door by way of a change?’ said Boxer. ‘Gun in hand?’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

  They rang the doorbell, which surprisingly worked. Waited.

  A guy in his late twenties answered, hair flicked up at the front, thick-rimmed glasses, a loose-necked jumper, black skinny jeans and yellow Converse trainers. He was smoking a roll-up. Geek. The threat level was so minimal, the idea of producing a Walther P99 seemed ridiculous.

  ‘Huh? I thought you were the pizza guys,’ he said. ‘Can I do for you?’

  ‘We’re in the area …’ said Boxer.

  ‘Seems like you are.’

  ‘… and we thought we’d drop by and say hi.’

  ‘Right,’ said the guy. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Friends,’ said Boxer.

  ‘Friends of … the Earth?’

  ‘Todd.’

  Mercy looked perplexed.

  ‘Don’t know that I know any Todds.’

  ‘You’ll know this one,’ said Boxer, and produced the Walther P99 at waist height. The guy looked down.

  ‘Oh shit,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any money here, you know that?’

  ‘We’re not interested in money.’

  ‘The product’s not ready yet.’

  ‘Show it to me,’ said Boxer. ‘We’ll decide.’

  The guy backed away down the hall as Boxer and Mercy came in. He put his hands on his head as instructed, told them his name, Leo, and kept going to a door on the right-hand side. He asked permission to open it, which Boxer granted. The door was thick with insulation. The light emanating from the basement was intensely white and there was the hum of extractor fans. Boxer made a gesture for Mercy to find the phone she was looking for while he and Leo walked down into a surgically lit environment with white plastic walls, an abundance of greenery, tubing, heat and humidity. From the powerful stench of hemp he realised they were looking at an urban cannabis farm.

  ‘That big tree at the end,’ said Boxer. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That’s the mother plant. Provides all the seeds to grow these little guys,’ said Leo. ‘This is going to be the best crop of Super Lemon Haze grown in London, but it needs another couple of weeks.’

  ‘And the lights. What kind of lights are these?’

  ‘Metal halide,’ said Leo.

  There was a gurgling sound and a gentle thump followed by hissing, and a mist rose up amongst the leaves.

  ‘I’m using hydroponic propagation with an advanced nutrient system.’

  ‘And the power to run it?’

  ‘I steal it from the grid.’

  ‘You have to keep an eye on something like this.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here twenty-four/seven.’

  ‘Got it,’ Mercy shouted down. ‘First floor.’

  Boxer pointed Leo back up the stairs, told him to shut the door. Leo was confused. Not sure what this was about. The doorbell went. Boxer looked at Leo.

  ‘The pizza you were supposed to bring.’

  ‘You paid?’

  Leo nodded.

  Boxer opened the door. Domino’s. Took the carton, handed it to Leo. They went up to the first floor and a room that had everything in it: desk, computer, TV, bed, cooker, gas bottle, fridge. It was a tip, too, with every conceivable fast food horror represented in empty box form with leftovers.

  ‘Don’t get out much,’ said Boxer.

  ‘Not allowed.’

  ‘This place should stink with all this crap,’ said Mercy, disgusted.

  ‘I’d say that’s a tribute to the chemical preservatives used in fast food production,’ said Leo.

  ‘Whose phone is this?’ asked Mercy, pointing at the mobile on the desk behind the computer.

  ‘Reef ’s.’

  ‘Who’s Reef ?’ asked Mercy. ‘And is that a real name?’

  ‘It’s the only name he has,’ said Leo. ‘This is his farm. He’s got maybe ten of these in London. Moves them around all the time. He’s a specialist.’

  ‘What do you do when this phone rings?’

  ‘I answer it,’ said Leo.

  ‘Let’s keep this moving, Leo,’ said Mercy. ‘We haven’t got all night.’

  ‘I listen to the request and call Reef, give him the message.’

  ‘Who was the last person to call this number?’

  ‘No names are ever used.’

  ‘When did they last use this number?’

  ‘This evening around seven.’

  ‘What was the message?’

  ‘“She’s coming.”’

  ‘That was it?’ asked Mercy.

  ‘I can only tell you what was said.’

  ‘Male or female voice?’ asked Boxer.

  ‘I’d say female but deep, bit of a croak in it.’

  ‘She called before or was that the first time?’

  ‘She’s called a few times.’

  ‘How do you get in touch with Reef ?’ asked Mercy.

  ‘I call him.’

  ‘Sounds easy.’

  ‘Well, it is once you’ve got used to the protocol.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘He changes his number every day. I access it by running code through a website.’

  ‘What code?’

  ‘I have a program I run,’ said Leo. ‘The number changes every week as does that phone there on the desk. It’s security. That’s all.’

  ‘What happens if you need to get in touch with Reef
in an emergency?’

  ‘No different. I just call him.’

  ‘How often does he drop in?’

  ‘Once every few days.’

  ‘When did he last come?’

  ‘Hasn’t been since Tuesday, said he had something on.’

  ‘Does he warn you?’

  ‘Sends me a text.’

  ‘Does he have a key?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at your phone,’ said Mercy.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’

  ‘We’re part of the Met’s Drugs Directorate,’ said Mercy, looking through the messages. ‘But we’re not interested in you.’

  Leo looked at Boxer, then at the Walther P99, and scepticism was a mild form of the unease that passed across his face.

  ‘What do you know about Reef ?’ asked Boxer.

  ‘That he knows more about drugs than anybody else out there.’

  ‘Is he a dealer?’

  ‘More of a connoisseur, I’d say.’

  ‘But he’s not growing this for fun, is he?’

  ‘Mostly, yeah,’ said Leo. ‘He’s competing to produce the weed with the highest THC in the world. With some of his stuff he’s hit more than twenty-five per cent THC content.’

  ‘He still sells it, though.’

  ‘Sure, but that’s not the point,’ said Leo. ‘The point is to be the best—’

  ‘Will you two shut up,’ said Mercy. ‘There’s a message here, came through four hours ago from Reef. Says “Abt 12.00”. What does that mean?’

  Leo was hesitant. Boxer levelled the Walther P99 at his left eye.

  ‘This isn’t my gun,’ he said. ‘But I looked at the ammo the guy was using in it, and I can tell you, this would not leave much of your head for posterity.’

  ‘You creep me out, you know that?’

  ‘Tell her.’

  ‘It means he’s coming round here in about twenty minutes.’

  ‘Well that’s convenient,’ said Mercy. ‘And it means you won’t implicate yourself.’

  ‘You mind if I smoke?’ asked Leo. ‘Need to mellow myself out a bit.’

  ‘You never had a gun pointed at you before?’ asked Boxer.

  ‘Sure, but not by someone like you.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Mercy.

  ‘He looks as if he doesn’t care one way or the other.’

  ‘There must be plenty of people like that in your business.’

  ‘Not really. This isn’t a gangster business. We’re not looking for world domination. Just trying to grow a nice crop of weed is all. Now can I smoke?’

  ‘Let the poor bastard smoke,’ said Boxer.

  Leo slowly opened a Tupperware box on the desk and removed a grey-green clump. He laid out a paper and sprinkled roll-up tobacco on it, then brushed some of the green clump on top. He rolled it up, lit it, inhaled deeply.

  ‘You want to try?’

  ‘No he doesn’t,’ said Mercy.

  ‘Just a toke, won’t do you no harm,’ said Leo, holding it out.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Mercy.

  Boxer took the joint, drew on it, inhaled and held. Let out a small stream of smoke and a sigh.

  ‘You lie down on the floor now, Leo,’ said Mercy.

  He sat down on the bare boards, lay back, crossed one leg over the other and smoked, yellow Converse nodding.

  ‘Good stuff ?’ he asked. ‘This is called OG Kush, won an award last year in the US, twenty-four-point-six per cent THC, medical-grade cannabis, earthy pine aroma, bit of citrus, very good for stress and anxiety. Perfect for your man, I’d say.’

  Boxer pulled up a chair, sat astride it, gun resting on the back. Time passed.

  ‘You’re looking better already,’ said Leo, holding out the joint. ‘More human. And maybe, I don’t know, a little sad.’

  Boxer took another drag, gave it back. Long silence. Just the computer hum and the fridge chuckling. Leo carried on smoking. Mercy paced the boards. More minutes passed.

  ‘I lost somebody tonight,’ said Boxer. ‘Somebody very important to me.’

  Mercy stopped, turned, looked down on the back of his head, frowned.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Leo.

  ‘She died in hospital,’ said Boxer. ‘The first woman I’ve ever really loved.’

  Leo came up on to his elbows.

  Mercy eased round to look at Boxer’s face. Tears were falling silently down his cheeks. His body was still. She put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her.

  ‘Isabel died tonight,’ he said. ‘She had a pulmonary embolism, fell down the stairs. They gave her an emergency C-section, but she died. The baby survived. He’s this big.’

  He held up his hand.

  Mercy shook her head slowly, disbelieving, stroked the hair at his neck.

  ‘When?’ she asked.

  ‘Seven thirty, something like that.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t be out. You’re too—’

  ‘I had to do something. I couldn’t sit there doing nothing, just thinking of what I’d … of that. It was too much.’

  Leo sat up, cross-legged, lotus position.

  ‘You lie back down,’ said Mercy, pointing a long finger at him.

  Leo opened his hands above his head: no foul. Lay back down.

  Mercy took Boxer’s head into her hands, pulled him to her stomach, stroked him. The tears poured relentlessly down. She felt them, hot on her palm.

  And that was when they heard the key in the lock.

  Boxer’s head snapped away from Mercy’s hands. He stood and held a finger to his lips, pointed at Leo. The front door closed. Footsteps down the hall and up the bare wooden stairs.

  ‘Hey, Leo,’ said Reef. ‘There’s a crack of light at the window, man. This supposed to be an abandoned house.’

  No answer. Leo obeyed the powerful finger.

  ‘Out of it again. Jeez. You got to stay the course, man.’

  Reef pushed open the door and walked straight into Boxer’s outstretched arm with the Walther P99 in it.

  His blonde hair had been recently cut to a uniform brush, the goatee was gone. His bright blue eyes took in the brutal aperture of the gun.

  ‘Come in and lie down next to your friend, face to the boards, hands on the back of your head,’ said Boxer.

  Reef got down on the floor. Boxer told Leo to roll over, do the same. He pulled the joint out of the back of his hand, crushed it into an aluminium tray with some rice in it. He grabbed hold of the back of Leo’s waistband and lifted him away from Reef so that there was space around. He stood astride Reef, bent down and touched his head with the Walther P99, screwed it in, making an impression.

  ‘Let’s talk,’ he said. ‘Quick answers. Don’t even think about them. Right? The longer you think, the more painful it gets.’

  Reef nodded into the floor.

  ‘Who are you working for?’ asked Boxer, straightening up.

  ‘I work for myself ?’

  ‘I’m not talking about your drug farm.’

  ‘That’s all I do?’

  ‘What about this special phone that your friend Leo answers for you?’

  Silence.

  ‘Siobhan called on that phone tonight, and according to Leo, she said, “She’s coming”,’ said Boxer. ‘So let’s try again. Who are you working for?’

  Still no word.

  Boxer raised his foot and kicked out so that the heel made contact with the back of Reef ’s head. His face smacked into the boards and blood poured from his nose.

  ‘Next time it’ll be harder and I’ll break it,’ said Boxer. ‘Who do you contact when you get a message from this phone?’

  Still no word. Boxer checked the kettle was full, remembered how effective that had been with the Ukrainian, turned it on. The roar of it filled the room.

  ‘Know what that’s for?’

  The back of Reef ’s neck was shaking. Boxer bent down and ripped his jacket o
ff, tore the jumper over his head taking the T-shirt with it. Reef ’s evident musculature twitched. The kettle clicked off. Boxer beckoned to Mercy to bring it. She shook her head, was appalled at the prospect. Held up a hand. She’d been thinking.

  ‘Did you know Siena Casey before you met her on Tuesday night?’

  Boxer reached over, picked up the kettle. He put his foot on the back of Reef ’s head and poured water on the boards in front of Reef ’s face so that it splashed back. Reef tried to jerk his head away.

  ‘You want some of that down your back?’ asked Boxer.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Leo. ‘Give it up, man.’

  Boxer turned and yanked up Leo’s jumper. Revealed his skinny back.

  ‘What do you know?’

  ‘I don’t know fucking anything. I’m just telling him to tell you.’

  ‘You hear that, Reef,’ said Boxer. ‘Maybe you’d like to hear your friend scream first, just so you know what it’s going to feel like.’

  Mercy had her hands clamped to the sides of her head in horror. Never seen anything like this in the man she’d once loved to distraction. Couldn’t square it with the humanity she’d seen in him just a few minutes ago. The coldness, the anger.

  She threw herself down on the floor, got her eyes level with Reef ’s, saw the wild fear in it.

  ‘Tell me about Siena,’ she said. ‘I know it was you. That guy, remember him, Jerry? He was with Siena the night you took her. You had long hair then, tucked behind your ears, and a goatee.’

  Reef squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth as he felt Boxer’s foot pressing down on his neck and heard him counting.

  ‘Five, four, three, two, one …’

  ‘OK,’ said Reef. ‘OK. Let me breathe. I’ll talk.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ said Leo.

  Mercy sat back on her heels. Boxer’s foot relented. The kettle was put back on its stand. Boxer looked at Mercy, saw the fear in her eyes. He pointed to his chest and she nodded.

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ he said, straddling Reef ’s prostrate form with the chair. ‘This is not the body many people would associate with a drug dealer.’

  ‘I do yoga.’

  ‘Since when do bullets fly in yoga classes?’ said Boxer. ‘You’ve got a wound under your armpit, left side. You an army boy? How old are you?’

  ‘Thirty-four.’

  ‘Gulf War vet 2003? Afghanistan, Helmand Province?’

  ‘40 Commando Royal Marines.’