Enough Rope: A Hakim and Arnold Mystery (Hakim & Arnold Mystery) Page 19

  ‘Alison,’ she said, ‘you can talk to me about this whenever you want. If you want to talk through what you might say to your son . . .’

  ‘He can’t know about this! He can’t! He can’t grow up knowing he could do things that are mad and wrong and . . .’

  Mumtaz sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. The shaking continued, but there was also a slackening as she let herself lie against Mumtaz’s chest.

  ‘Alison, this is not a source of shame. Not for you. The truth is what it is, but except for your illness it has nothing to do with you or with Charlie. There’s no reason it should have any effect on your son.’

  ‘My grandmother was thirteen. Thirteen!’

  Mumtaz moved Alison’s head so that she could look into her eyes. ‘And one of mine was twelve,’ she said. ‘It happened. Women and children were, and sometimes still are, just a man’s property. All we can do is make sure it doesn’t happen any more.’

  ‘I let my husband send my son away. How am I better than a girl who gives her baby to bloody nuns?’

  ‘I’m sorry Alison, I don’t know what you mean,’ Mumtaz said. ‘What do you mean, your husband made you send your son away?’

  She wiped a trembling hand across her nose. ‘To boarding school. Chris, my husband, had been there. He wanted Charlie to follow in his footsteps.’

  Or Mr Darrah-Duncan had wanted the best education he could get for his son. Vile though he had been, Ahmet had sent Shazia to a private school in Essex with the best of intentions. He’d wanted her to be educated. Sometimes Mumtaz felt that because white British people had been offered free education for so long, they didn’t value it in the same way as the Asian population. But how could she articulate that to someone like Alison? And was that even appropriate to the situation she was in right now?

  ‘I didn’t want him to go,’ Alison continued. ‘Then when I got ill, I didn’t want him here.’

  ‘That’s understandable.’

  ‘No, no, you don’t understand.’

  Her head was shaking violently now.

  Mumtaz said, ‘Alison, do you need me to get you medication?’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake I’m full of antidepressants, antipsychotics, anti this, that and everything!’

  A trembling arm pushed Mumtaz away.

  ‘Charlie is a little shit, Mrs Hakim,’ she said. ‘I love him to pieces, but he treats me like a handicap. All he wants is money!’

  ‘But he works?’

  She thought about Shazia, at home, turning Cousin Aftab’s unearned money over in her hands.

  ‘Chris got him that job,’ Alison said. ‘Oh God, I thought I’d have something to tell Charlie to make it better. How can I tell him this?’

  ‘You don’t have to—’ Was she really counselling keeping a secret? ‘No, forget that,’ she went on. ‘You have to tell him one day, Alison, but maybe not now. He’s sixteen, an adolescent. My own daughter is that sort of age and . . .’

  And Shazia was now suffering because of Mumtaz’s secret life. It was because of secrets that they were at the mercy of the Sheikhs.

  ‘I bet your daughter doesn’t look down her nose at you,’ Alison said.

  ‘No, but she did. I think it’s all part of the adolescent angst they all go through.’

  ‘Maybe, but at least you’ve never had to listen to all the puerile snobbery that passes for friendship at a boys’ public school. You know the other boys call my son “Dan”? I’ve no idea why, he won’t tell me, he just says it’s a “Reeds thing”. That’s the name of the school. Reeds has “things” and “traditions” for everything.’

  ‘Reeds?’

  ‘Charlie’s public school,’ she said. ‘It’s in Ascot.’

  *

  Lee hadn’t seen Taylor Green before. When he’d first spotted a young girl sunbathing beside Brian’s pool, he’d thought for a moment that it was the old man’s previous wife, Amy. But she’d died in a hit-and-run incident. When it came to women, Brian chose a type. Blonde, young, girly, spilling out of a bikini that was little more than a cobweb.

  ‘Taylor’s a student,’ Brian said once the silent ‘help’ had given Lee a cappuccino.

  Lee quelled the urge to ask what Taylor studied.

  ‘If Harry Venus’s kidnap gets out, whoever has him could kill him.’

  There was no point holding back.

  ‘The kid’s dad told me that he told you so you could put the word out. I need to know who you’ve tapped up, Brian.’

  ‘Why’d you need to know? He never asked me.’

  ‘His son’s been kidnapped, his brain’s dead. I’m trying to watch his back, and that includes finding out who knows what.’

  ‘No one I know’d do nothing like that,’ Brian said. ‘I don’t mix with scumbags.’

  ‘You mix with ex-scumbags.’

  ‘I socialise with businessmen like myself.’ He smiled.

  Lee drank some coffee. His phone rang. It was Mumtaz, but he didn’t answer. It could wait.

  ‘Yes, and we all know what you and your fellow businessmen used to get up to, don’t we? Money’s tight.’

  ‘What, for people like George Micaleff? Fuck off.’

  ‘Yeah, Brian, pick the exception.’

  Brian Green had gone legit through health clubs, but his old mate George Micaleff had a property development company specialising in creating very small, very expensive flats in old houses in Hackney.

  ‘Tom Manners? Pat Tabor?’

  Brian batted the names away. ‘Oh, do me a favour. You think anyone’s interested in them old fossils? Pat’s got Parkinson’s. They’re nothing. We’re all nothing now. I put the word out for Venus out of courtesy and because I like his boy.’

  ‘Yeah, so he said.’

  ‘Tina started in my Clerkenwell club back before the Ark,’ Brian said. ‘She was always a good girl and a lady. I’ve always helped her when I could. I spoke to George Micaleff and my cousin Benny and that was it. They knew nothing. None of us do because, if you’ve noticed, Mr Arnold, the game’s changed in recent years. Foreigners.’

  ‘You gonna give me your UKIP speech, Brian?’

  He shook his big, round head. ‘Look, me granddad come from Poland. If he hadn’t, I’d’ve snuffed it in a concentration camp. I am a bloody immigrant. But this lot from eastern Europe, now, well they ain’t playing fair.’

  Lee knew something about the Polish, Bulgarian and Romanian gangsters on the manor. Hooky fags, loose women and booze that sent you blind were some of their products. He also knew it went deeper. People-trafficking, whispers about homemade heroin substitutes.

  ‘Brian, you say you’re legit now. What’re they to you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So why mention them?’

  ‘Because if anyone has taken Harry Venus, it’ll be them.’

  ‘Why?’ Was Brian going soft in the head? ‘How would they even know Paul Venus, let alone his son? These are people who work out of shonky taxi offices and run girls from the back of fag shops.’

  ‘George and Benny’ll keep shtum.’

  ‘Unless they see a few quid in it.’ Lee leaned forward. ‘Brian, we think that someone else knows now. Unless the kidnappers are playing a very risky double game, A. N. Other is claiming to know where Harry is and is trying to squeeze Venus for exactly the same amount of money as the latest ransom demand, except they want the cash sooner. Now if that info’s kosher, fucking marvellous. But if it isn’t, Venus is in the shit to two lots of villains. Understand?’

  He took a moment to take it in, then he said, ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Meantime, you don’t even tell Venus you know that. And you make sure of George Micaleff and Benny Zimmer, or I’m telling you, I will be coming for them.’

  ‘They won’t have told no one. They know nothing.’

  ‘What made Venus even come to you, Brian?’

  ‘I told you, Tina.’

  Lee shook his head. ‘You know Venus is not trusted don’t you Brian?’<
br />
  ‘He’s got a woman problem . . .’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that,’ Lee said. ‘Tina bats for the other side these days, so I don’t blame him for getting a bit of extra-curricular when he can, but there’s something wrong about that man. Ask any copper at Forest Gate. What’s he into, Brian? Because one of the theories going about in my head is that he’s been having dealings with people he shouldn’t and they’ve turned on him.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘I dunno. Like you?’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘All right, then who? You know his wife. Tell me about Venus. If you care about Harry, tell me. Because if that kid is missing because his old man is bent, then the only way to get him back is to get his old man to own up, and I don’t know how to do that.’

  Brian shrugged. ‘But Venus ain’t bent.’

  Lee sagged back into his chair. Of course Brian Green wouldn’t give him Paul Venus while there was still something in their relationship for him. Maybe they did just know each other through Tina Wilton. Venus could easily have asked Brian Green to put out feelers with no strings attached, given the nature of their connection. But, although Lee knew intellectually that the kidnappers could have sent that email purporting to be from someone else, somehow he couldn’t get himself to believe that was true. And why was Brian so stoked up about eastern European villains? They had to be nothing to him.

  *

  ‘Have you been out today, Shazia?’

  She didn’t look as if she had. Pale and watery-eyed, the girl looked like a classic female consumption victim from the nineteenth century.

  ‘No.’ She leaned against the living-room doorpost.

  ‘It’s lovely and warm in the garden,’ Mumtaz said. ‘And nobody’s out there.’

  She’d spent an hour in the garden when she’d got home from Alison’s. It had been a tough day and her head had been pounding when she’d got in. She was also a little worried that she hadn’t been able to contact Lee.

  ‘OK.’

  Shazia left. Mumtaz heard the back door open then close and then dug in her handbag for her phone to try to contact Lee again. Then the doorbell rang.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said when she saw him on the doorstep. ‘I’ve been trying to ring you.’

  As he slumped down in one of her old leather chairs, Lee looked almost as washed-out as Shazia.

  ‘I’ll make a cup of tea in a minute,’ Mumtaz said, ‘but I’ve got to ask you something first.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘The school where Harry Venus goes, it’s called Reeds isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She sat down opposite. ‘My client, Alison . . .’

  ‘Oh, how’d that go?’

  ‘Terrible. Car-crash. But look, her son Charlie goes to Reeds. Charles Darrah-Duncan. He’s the same age as Harry. Heard of him?’

  Lee asked if he could have a cigarette.

  He said, ‘A Charles Duncan is one of the boys Harry is, and isn’t, in with.’

  ‘I didn’t see him while I was with Alison, but I did see a photograph,’ Mumtaz said. ‘He looks Asian.’

  ‘Not South American?’

  ‘No. His father’s mother was a Parsee, from Mumbai. Lee, he looks like my brother Ali when he was that age. And, he’s got a holiday job in a little shop called Veg off Arnold Circus. His school friends call him Dan, his mother has no idea why. But that’s why I was trying to call you.’

  *

  ‘Why do people call you Dan?’

  Charles Darrah-Duncan looked into the hollow eyes of his mother, who said nothing. He turned to Vi Collins.

  ‘It’s a school thing.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The Danny thing.’

  Vi glanced at the duty solicitor. It was late and he was on edge. Probably wanted his dinner. So did she, but when Lee Arnold had told her just who the Dan in Veg actually was, she’d had to bring the kid in.

  ‘Explain it.’

  The boy looked at his mother again. Then he said, ‘It’s after Dannii Minogue.’

  ‘Kylie’s sister?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  He seemed to wrestle with his thoughts for a moment. ‘Because they reckon I’m gay.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘The other boys. It’s sort of a joke.’

  ‘Bit homophobic isn’t it? So are you? Gay?’

  His hair was dyed blond and he was wearing very tight trousers. Vi tried to be politically correct about him, but it was hard.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why’d they give you a girl’s name?’

  ‘It’s only a bit of ribbing. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘No?’

  She would have laid bets that it did, or used to, but she changed the subject. ‘Who’s Mr Shaw?’

  The boy frowned.

  ‘You took delivery of seven parcels for him eight days ago from an Asian boy at your place of work,’ Vi said. ‘You gave this boy some money for his employer in an envelope in return and then told him that if he creamed off any cash for himself, Mr Shaw’d break his fingers. Who’s Mr Shaw, Dan, and what have you got to do with him?’

  ‘Nothing. I don’t know any Mr Shaw. I didn’t say anyone would break anyone’s fingers. Why would I? It’s a lie! What’s this about?’

  ‘Oh, hasn’t your mate George Grogan told you?’ Vi said. ‘You have seen him around Arnold Circus, haven’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Once or twice.’

  ‘And his brother.’

  ‘He stays with Henry at his flat in Shoreditch.’

  ‘And what about Tom de Vries?’

  There was a pause.

  Alison Darrah-Duncan said, ‘Please tell me you’re not seeing that awful boy.’

  Charlie’s lowered head said it all.

  ‘So,’ Vi said, ‘you, George Grogan, Henry Grogan and Tom de Vries have been living the hipster dream in Bethnal Green.’

  ‘I work there. My dad’s friend David owns the shop.’

  Vi looked down at a document in front of her. ‘Aka Jethro Nutt.’

  ‘It’s kind of rustic,’ the boy said.

  ‘Ah. And is Mr Nutt also Mr Shaw?’

  ‘No. I don’t know who Mr Shaw is. I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘And yet you took delivery of a load of parcels for him,’ Vi said.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You do take deliveries though don’t you? As part of your job?’

  ‘Yes, people order products through the shop all the time, but I don’t take any notice of who they’re for.’

  ‘What do you do with them?’

  ‘I put them in the store room for David to sort out when he comes in.’

  ‘And yet David, Mr Conway-Middleton, has told me he has no knowledge of anything for a Mr Shaw,’ Vi said. ‘Mr Shaw is not a regular customer at Veg. And when a young lady came into Mr Bhatti’s electrical shop on Brick Lane and asked him to do a job for Mr Shaw via his PO box service, Mr Bhatti, who owns that business, had never heard of him either. So all we have is you, Danny. Oh, and the envelope you gave to the Asian lad to take back to Mr Bhatti.’

  Kids were very aware of things like DNA testing. Dan was a bright boy, he’d see the implication.

  But he said, ‘I don’t know anything about a Mr Shaw.’

  ‘Well then, we’ll have to see what that envelope turns up,’ Vi said. ‘Just for the record, Dan, can you categorically state that you never handed an envelope to an Asian boy eight days ago in return for parcels for Mr Shaw.’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ he said.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Because like I say, I take deliveries in the shop all the time and sometimes we pay suppliers.’

  He was right. According to Mr Conway-Middleton that happened a lot. But Dan was also a friend of a missing boy for whom those parcels had been a ransom.

  ‘Dan,’ Vi said, ‘I want you to tell me about Harry Venus. Mainly I want you to tell me why you had your
hands on envelopes that contained money demanded by his kidnappers.’

  17

  It was weird seeing Tina at his flat. She’d only ever come to deposit or pick up Harry. Now she was in his living room, watching him eat breakfast. Paul was grateful she’d not brought her hair-extension-decorated lover.

  ‘So these new people claim to know where Harry is. Right?’

  Venus swallowed a gobbet of muesli. Keeping healthy was hard work. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And they emailed last night?’

  ‘For the second time, yes,’ he said. ‘They want the money tomorrow.’

  ‘And the next drop to the kidnappers . . .’

  ‘Day after tomorrow.’

  ‘So it’s easy,’ she said. ‘Pay the people who can lead us to Harry.’

  She sat down and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Please . . .’

  ‘Oh, fuck off, you’ve sold the flat!’

  ‘We don’t know who these people are,’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘Just hand it over! You’ll get the money. Get it off Brian. I don’t know why you don’t get on with it, Paul.’

  ‘Oh, and I should go to visit Green with a police tail on my bumper? Or he comes here? The phone’s tapped. Come on, Tina!’

  ‘So I’ll get it!’

  ‘Yes, and where do you think my colleagues will imagine the money came from? Tina, it’s under control. Brian’s not to know. Now my colleagues know . . .’

  ‘Harry is in more danger than ever.’

  In a way she was right. Venus had no reason to suspect the kidnappers knew he’d informed the police. However, now one of Harry’s friends was in custody. Could that little idiot Charles Duncan really be involved?

  He’d taken the first lot of ransom money from the fat Asian boy Lee Arnold had seen trudging up Brick Lane shortly after the drop. Of course, at that stage Arnold had no way of knowing whether the boy had the money in his bag or not. That had been before they’d known how Mr Bhatti in the electrical shop accessed his PO box. But the fat boy, so he said, had delivered packages addressed to Mr Shaw, which was the name Venus had written on the front of every envelope. They’d been taken from him by little Charlie Duncan. Venus felt the ground shift underneath his feet as he walked across the room. He sat down. His mobile rang. He looked at the name on the screen and turned it off.