‘Did you talk to the Neighbourhood Watch?’
‘Yes, guv. That was the bloke who runs it: Granville Myers. He’s in charge along with Lisa Bartlett’s dad, Gus.’
‘Anything?’
‘Claims to know nothing about what goes on in the park or on the Hollyfield Estate. He seemed a bit defensive when it came to his son, Chris, so I did a bit of rooting around. Seems Chris Myers is in his final year as a day student at St Botolph’s, sitting his A-levels at the moment, along with Lisa Bartlett’s brother Jason. Chris has his own car to drive himself to school and back each day. Usually gives Jason a lift. He’s bright. Expected to take a place at Oxford. Anyway, I seemed to remember he was involved in something a while ago, so I just checked back through the old incident reports and discovered that last year Chris Myers got caught — along with several of his fellow pupils — at a noisy student party near Eastvale College, where drugs were present, mostly ecstasy and marijuana. They all got off lightly, a slap on the wrist, and for what it’s worth, Myers had no drugs in his possession. Apparently, the quantities were small and they were doing no harm.’
‘Interesting,’ said Banks. ‘Youthful high jinks, most likely, but let’s keep young Chris and Jason in mind as regards the drug connection. They might know a bit more about what went on in number twenty-six Hollyfield Lane than their parents can tell us.’
‘Right, guv,’ said Gerry.
‘Let’s move on. There are still no sightings of Samir in Eastvale before the Sunday he was killed, right, which — assuming he would have stayed the night if he’d come before — goes along with not finding traces of him on the mattress and pillow in the spare room. So what do we make of all this?’
‘That Stokes was cuckooed?’ Gerry suggested. ‘And that Samir just arrived at Hollyfield Lane on Sunday evening, for the first time, to sell drugs. That something went wrong.’
‘A replacement cuckoo, then?’ said Banks.
‘I think so,’ Gerry said. ‘The other boy had been gone about two or three weeks, according to Margery Cunningham. Though she did say her sense of time might be a bit off. It was a while, anyway. It probably took them that long to get everything organised and set up again.’
‘OK,’ said Banks. ‘So it was all change in the county line. Someone took it over.’
‘The Albanians?’ suggested Annie. ‘Along with Blaydon and the Kerrigans?’
‘Possibly. But was it a hostile takeover, or what? What happened to the other boy, the fair-haired one?’
‘Well,’ Annie replied, ‘both Howard Stokes and Samir are dead. Even if Stokes did die of a genuine heroin overdose, it still all points towards a drug war on some level. And I’d say that it is pretty hostile.’
‘So whoever got displaced might have been taking revenge by murdering Samir?’
‘Maybe,’ said Annie.
‘And it could even have been the fair-haired lad who did it?’
‘Again,’ said Annie, ‘I don’t think that’s beyond the bounds of possibility. Either him or his controller down in Leeds probably came up and did it. Remember, we have a bus driver who saw Samir get off a bus from Leeds, and they would have been in a position to know where he was going.’
‘Where does Blaydon fit in?’ Banks asked.
‘Blaydon doesn’t live in Leeds,’ said Annie, ‘and he has a respectable veneer. I still can’t really see him running a county line drug operation.’
‘Me, neither,’ said Banks. ‘But I can see him being somehow involved, doing a favour for someone who did, someone he wants to impress, who may be in overall charge of a number of county lines.’
‘The Albanians again?’
‘Very likely. Leka Gashi and his pals. And Blaydon was either trying to ingratiate himself, or he owed them one. We already know he has a history with Gashi going back to Corfu ten years ago, and their possible collusion in the murder of Blaydon’s business partner at the time, Norman Peel. I think we’d better have another chat with Mr Blaydon soon.’ Banks glanced over at Vic Manson, who seemed as if he had something to add. ‘Vic, you found Samir’s fingerprints in the house, didn’t you?’
Manson nodded. ‘Others, too. It’s kept us busy for quite a while. Stokes, naturally, and several unidentified sets.’
‘Any matches so far?’
‘A couple. I put them through IDENT1. One, so far, is a match with prints from the break-in at The Crown and Anchor last month, and another set are a match for a lad on file we arrested for dealing E around the college towards the end of last year.’
‘Which would seem to point towards the Stokes house being used as a county lines distribution centre,’ Banks said. ‘Good work, Vic. You, too, Jazz.’
‘There’s more,’ Vic Manson said.
Banks raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on.’
‘We still don’t know who did The Crown and Anchor break-in, and the prints don’t help us with that, but the lad who was arrested for dealing got a suspended sentence, and he’s still in the Eastvale area. Name of Cleary. Tyler Cleary.’
‘Got an address?’
‘Can’t say for sure if he’s still there.’
‘It’s a start. Gerry?’
‘I’ll find him and talk to him, guv.’
‘There’s something else that might interest you,’ Manson said.
‘Yes?’
‘I remember when we went in through the back, the evening the two lads found Howard Stokes...’
‘Right,’ said Banks.
‘Well, DC Masterson mentioned something about a boy who’d been seen hanging around the house before, and that he rode a red bicycle.’
‘That’s right,’ Gerry said. ‘That’s what Margery Cunningham told me, at any rate. The fair-haired lad rode around on a red bicycle. Most likely delivering drugs, filling the orders.’
‘Well, there’s a pile of rubbish in the backyard,’ Manson said, ‘and if I remember rightly, one of the items half-buried in it is a red bicycle frame. It’s a long shot. It might not be the one, but...’
‘Christ,’ said Annie. ‘I went in through the front the other night, and I had no reason to search the backyard. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Banks. ‘Well spotted, Vic.’
Manson grinned. ‘It’s over in the lab right now. There’s a chance we’ll be able to get some dabs. Blondie might be in the system.’
‘Absolutely. And Gerry, maybe you can keep digging around Elmet Hill and Hollyfield, now that we know Samir was in the Stokes house for sure, however briefly.’
‘Right, guv,’ said Gerry.
Banks stood up. ‘One more thing. Annie, will you put someone on tracking all the CCTV available around the hill and Hollyfield areas for last Sunday evening? Get them on it ASAP, and gently remind them there’s overtime in the budget. I doubt there’ll be much of value, but now we know where to look and what to look for, we might find something interesting.’
When Zelda woke early the following morning, she had a splitting headache, and the bright sun shining through her hotel window didn’t help at all. She had forgotten to close the curtains. With an effort, she pushed herself out of bed and closed them. She found some paracetamol in her bag and swallowed three with a glass of water. Then she lay down again. She couldn’t go back to sleep, she knew that; she could only hope that the headache would fade and that she would stop feeling sorry for herself. If she was going to get any further in her endeavour, she was going to have to focus. Her reaction last night had been instinctive, she knew; the memories that rushed back on her seeing Goran Tadić had been a visceral tsunami. And so she had run. She hadn’t been able to help herself. Accept it. Failure. That was nothing new to her. But get over it. Get a grip.