evidence against me for Leah's murder, I'm not a hundred per cent sure what I'm going to do with it. I feel vulnerable carrying the holdall containing the weapon used to butcher her. I need to get rid of it.
My phone rings. Not the one supplied to me by Leah's killer, but the one belonging to Martin Lukersson Associates. The ringtone is 'Rhinestone Cowboy' by Glenn Campbell, and I remember that Snowy is a fan of country music and that all their phones announce incoming calls with famous country hits. Snowy's own phone plays 'Big Bad John' by Ron Jordan.
It's Lucas on the other end. 'Where are you?' he asks.
'Going north on the Caledonian Road. I've just passed Wharfdale Road. You sound tired.'
'Are you surprised? I've been running away from those cops. They got a bit pissed off when they found out that their stabbing victim only existed in my head. What the hell happened in there? Who were those guys?'
'I think they're Yugoslavs. They were speaking Serbo-Croat.'
'Since when have you had any run-ins with Yugoslavs?'
'I don't think I ever have. We never had any problems with the locals when we were serving in Bosnia, did we?'
'Not that I remember. I thought we were on pretty reasonable terms with everyone back then.'
'And it was more than ten years ago as well.'
'So it sounds like they're working for someone else?'
'It looks that way, but they're no off-the-street stooges. One of them was packing a MAC-10.'
Lucas whistles down the other end of the phone. As a former soldier, he can appreciate serious firepower. 'You've got yourself involved with some serious shit, Tyler.'
'Don't I know it. And it almost got even more serious. Those cops walked in right in the middle of the deal, and decided to get involved. It was a good thing you appeared. I think the guy with the MAC-10 was just about to start shooting.'
'It's all part of the service, sir. I trust you were suitably impressed with my acting skills.'
'Oscar-winning. So, where are they now?'
'Eastbound on the Pentonville Road. Snowy's on them.'
'I hope he's not drawing attention to himself.'
'We're professionals, Tyler. We do this every day. And anyway, he can hang back. The tracker on the briefcase emits a signal we can follow without being right behind it.'
I'd always known I was going to have to hand over the briefcase in exchange for the evidence linking me to Leah's murder, but that didn't mean I was going to give up the hunt for her killers. I'd got Lucas to plant a tiny GPS tracking device barely half a centimetre across in the narrow gap created in the material where the case opened and closed. It wasn't a perfect fit, but you'd have to look quite hard to find it, and Rubberface hadn't been looking that hard, especially after he was interrupted.
'Listen,' continues Lucas, 'I'm just getting in my car now. I'm parked round the back of the station. I'll pick you up on the Caledonian Road in three minutes.'
True to his word, he pulls up beside me exactly three minutes later in the second-hand BMW X3 he bought from the showroom last year. I notice that it needs a clean as I jump inside.
He's talking on hands-free to Snowy, who's giving him a rundown of our quarry's location. Still talking, he pulls away and takes the first left turn. Snowy had been waiting in his car on double yellow lines fifty yards from the cafe and is now following the Yugoslavs who left the scene in a car driven by a third man. Snowy tells us that their vehicle's currently stuck in heavy traffic just east of the Angel, Islington, on the City Road, a distance from us of just over a mile. He's currently six cars back from the Yugoslavs, and one lane over. He talks us through what's happening, or more accurately what isn't happening, in a voice that's very similar to Lucas's - deep, confident, and in control. Lucas tells him that we're five minutes behind him. 'Call me with a status report in five minutes,' he says, 'or when you start moving again.' Then he ends the call. 'No point
My phone rings. Not the one supplied to me by Leah's killer, but the one belonging to Martin Lukersson Associates. The ringtone is 'Rhinestone Cowboy' by Glenn Campbell, and I remember that Snowy is a fan of country music and that all their phones announce incoming calls with famous country hits. Snowy's own phone plays 'Big Bad John' by Ron Jordan.
It's Lucas on the other end. 'Where are you?' he asks.
'Going north on the Caledonian Road. I've just passed Wharfdale Road. You sound tired.'
'Are you surprised? I've been running away from those cops. They got a bit pissed off when they found out that their stabbing victim only existed in my head. What the hell happened in there? Who were those guys?'
'I think they're Yugoslavs. They were speaking Serbo-Croat.'
'Since when have you had any run-ins with Yugoslavs?'
'I don't think I ever have. We never had any problems with the locals when we were serving in Bosnia, did we?'
'Not that I remember. I thought we were on pretty reasonable terms with everyone back then.'
'And it was more than ten years ago as well.'
'So it sounds like they're working for someone else?'
'It looks that way, but they're no off-the-street stooges. One of them was packing a MAC-10.'
Lucas whistles down the other end of the phone. As a former soldier, he can appreciate serious firepower. 'You've got yourself involved with some serious shit, Tyler.'
'Don't I know it. And it almost got even more serious. Those cops walked in right in the middle of the deal, and decided to get involved. It was a good thing you appeared. I think the guy with the MAC-10 was just about to start shooting.'
'It's all part of the service, sir. I trust you were suitably impressed with my acting skills.'
'Oscar-winning. So, where are they now?'
'Eastbound on the Pentonville Road. Snowy's on them.'
'I hope he's not drawing attention to himself.'
'We're professionals, Tyler. We do this every day. And anyway, he can hang back. The tracker on the briefcase emits a signal we can follow without being right behind it.'
I'd always known I was going to have to hand over the briefcase in exchange for the evidence linking me to Leah's murder, but that didn't mean I was going to give up the hunt for her killers. I'd got Lucas to plant a tiny GPS tracking device barely half a centimetre across in the narrow gap created in the material where the case opened and closed. It wasn't a perfect fit, but you'd have to look quite hard to find it, and Rubberface hadn't been looking that hard, especially after he was interrupted.
'Listen,' continues Lucas, 'I'm just getting in my car now. I'm parked round the back of the station. I'll pick you up on the Caledonian Road in three minutes.'
True to his word, he pulls up beside me exactly three minutes later in the second-hand BMW X3 he bought from the showroom last year. I notice that it needs a clean as I jump inside.
He's talking on hands-free to Snowy, who's giving him a rundown of our quarry's location. Still talking, he pulls away and takes the first left turn. Snowy had been waiting in his car on double yellow lines fifty yards from the cafe and is now following the Yugoslavs who left the scene in a car driven by a third man. Snowy tells us that their vehicle's currently stuck in heavy traffic just east of the Angel, Islington, on the City Road, a distance from us of just over a mile. He's currently six cars back from the Yugoslavs, and one lane over. He talks us through what's happening, or more accurately what isn't happening, in a voice that's very similar to Lucas's - deep, confident, and in control. Lucas tells him that we're five minutes behind him. 'Call me with a status report in five minutes,' he says, 'or when you start moving again.' Then he ends the call. 'No point
Similar Books
