Once I’d got over the raw surprise of seeing her, what took some adjusting to was how much she’d changed. I suppose I’d never imagined her growing old. But she had. Under her grey wool suit her body was noticeably thicker; her face was fuller, puffed and cross-hatched around the eyes, lined around the mouth. No Botox; no nip and tuck.
‘Hello, Jimmy,’ she said.
‘Anna’s got a little problem,’ Jack said. ‘She thinks you can make it go away.’ He pushed back from his desk. ‘I’ll leave you two to talk about it.’
The problem was a shipment of cocaine that should have made its way seamlessly from the Netherlands to Dublin via the UK. A street value of a million and a quarter pounds. Customs and Excise, working on a tip-off, had seized the drug on arrival, a clean bust marred only by the fact that the coke had been doctored down to a mockery of its original strength; a double-shot espresso from Caffe Nero would deliver as much of a charge to the system.
‘How in God’s name,’ I asked, ‘did you get involved in this?’
Anna lit a cigarette and wafted the smoke away from her face. ‘After Val died I went back to Amsterdam, where we’d been living. There was this guy — he’d been Val’s supplier…’
‘I thought Val had gone straight,’ I said.
‘There was this guy,’ Anna said again, ‘we — well, we got sort of close. It was a bad time for me. I needed…’ She glanced across and shook her head. ‘A girl’s got to live, Jimmy. All Val had left behind was debts. This guy, he offered me a roof over my head. But there was a price.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Even I was surprised how bitter that sounded.
‘People he did business with, he wanted me to speak for him, take meetings. I used to fly to Belfast, then, after a while, it was Dublin.’
‘You were a courier,’ I said. ‘A mule.’
‘No. I never carried the stuff myself. Once the deal was set up, I’d arrange shipments, make sure things ran smoothly.’
‘Patrick would be proud of you,’ I said.
‘Leave Patrick out of this,’ she said. ‘This has nothing to do with him.’
I levered myself up out of the seat; it wasn’t as easy as it used to be. ‘Nor me.’ I got as far as the door.
‘They think I double-crossed them,’ Anna said. ‘They think it was me tipped off Customs; they think I cut the coke and kept back the rest so I could sell it myself.’
‘And did you?’
She didn’t blink. ‘These people, Jimmy, they’ll kill me. To make an example. I have to convince them it wasn’t me; let them have back what they think’s their due.’
‘A little difficult if you didn’t take it in the first place.’
‘Will you help me, Jimmy, yes or no?’
‘Your pal in Amsterdam, what’s wrong with him?’
‘He says it’s my mess and I have to get myself out of it.’
‘Nice guy.’
She leaned towards me, trying for a look that once would have held me transfixed. ‘Jimmy, I’m asking. For old time’s sake.’
‘Which old time is that, Anna?’
She smiled. ‘The first time you met me, Jimmy, you remember that? Leicester Square?’
Like yesterday, I thought.
‘You ever think about that? You ever think what it would have been like if we’d been together? Really together?’
I shook my head.
‘We don’t always make the right choices,’ she said.
‘Get somebody else to help you,’ I said.
‘I don’t want somebody else.’
‘Anna, look at me, for fuck’s sake. What can I do? I’m an old man.’
‘You’re not old. What are you? Sixty-odd? These days sixty’s not old. Seventy-five. Eighty. That’s old.’
‘Tell that to my body, Anna. I’m carrying at least a stone more than I ought to; the tendon at the back of my left ankle gives me gyp if ever I run for a bus and my right hip hurts like hell whenever I climb a flight of stairs. Find someone else, anyone.’
‘There’s nobody else I can trust.’
I talked to Jack Kiley about it later; we were sitting in the Starbucks across the street, sunshine doing its wan best to shine through the clouds.
‘What do you know about these types?’ Jack asked. ‘This new bunch of cocaine cowboys from over the old Irish Sea?’
‘Sod all,’ I said.
‘Well, let me give you a bit of background. Ireland has the third-highest cocaine use in Europe and there’s fifteen or twenty gangs and upwards beating the bollocks off one another to supply it. Some of them, the more established, have got links with the IRA, or did have, but it’s the newer boys that take the pippin. Use the stuff themselves, jack up an Uzi or two and go shooting; a dozen murders in Dublin so far this year and most of the leaves still on the fucking trees.’
‘That’s Dublin,’ I said.
Jack cracked a smile. ‘And you think this old flame of yours’ll be safe here in Belsize Park or back home in Amsterdam?’
I shrugged. I didn’t know what to bloody think.
He leaned closer. ‘Just a few months back, a drug smuggler from Cork got into a thing with one of the Dublin gangs — a disagreement about some shipment bought and paid for. He thought he’d lay low till it blew over. Took a false name and passport and holed up in an apartment in the Algarve. They found his body in the freezer. Minus the head. Rumour is whoever carried out the contract on him had it shipped back as proof.’
Something was burning deep in my gut and I didn’t think a couple of antacid tablets was going to set it right.
‘You want my advice, Jimmy?’ he said, and gave it anyway. ‘Steer clear. Either that or get in touch with some of your old pals in the Met. Let them handle it.’
Do that, I thought, and there’s no way of keeping Anna out of it; somehow I didn’t fancy seeing her next when she was locked away on remand.
‘I don’t suppose you fancy giving a hand?’ I said.
Jack was still laughing as he crossed the street back towards his office.
At least I didn’t have to travel far, just a couple of stops on the Northern Line. Anna had told me where to find them and given me their names. There was some kind of ceilidh band playing in the main bar, the sound of the bodhran tracing my footsteps up the stairs. And, yes, my hip did ache.
The Sweeney brothers were sitting at either end of a leather sofa that had seen better days, and Chris Boyle was standing with his back to a barred window facing down on to the street. Hip-hop was playing from a portable stereo at one side of the room, almost drowning out the traditional music from below. No one could accuse these boys of not keeping up with the times.
There was an almost full bottle of Bushmill’s and some glasses on the desk, but I didn’t think anyone was about to ask me if I wanted a drink.
One of the Sweeneys giggled when I stepped into the room and I could see the chemical glow in his eyes.
‘What the fuck you doin’ here, old man?’ the other one said. ‘You should be tucked up in the old folks’ home with your fuckin’ Ovaltine.’
‘Two minutes,’ Chris Boyle said. ‘Say what you have to fuckin’ say then get out.’
‘Supposin’ we let you,’ one of the brothers said and giggled some more. Neither of them looked a whole lot more than nineteen, twenty tops. Boyle was closer to thirty, nearing pensionable age where that crew was concerned. According to Jack, there was a rumour he wore a catheter bag on account of getting shot in the kidneys coming out from the rugby at Lansdowne Road.
‘First,’ I said, ‘Anna knew nothing about either the doctoring of the shipment, nor the fact it was intercepted. You have to believe that.’
Boyle stared back at me, hard-faced.
One of the Sweeneys laughed.
‘Second, though she was in no way responsible, as a gesture of good faith, she’s willing to hand over a quantity of cocaine, guaranteed at least eighty per cent pure, the amount equal to the original shipment. After that it’s all quits, an even playing field, business as before.’
Boyle glanced across at the sofa then nodded agreement.
‘We pick the point and time of delivery,’ I said. ‘Two days’ time. I’ll need a number on which I can reach you.’