Blackstone nodded. ‘It was nasty. So what happened? We’ve still got it down as an unsolved murder.’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ said Greg. ‘I wasn’t here at the time it happened. I was up in Eastvale. My last visit, as it turned out, though I didn’t know that at the time. The county line just went dead. When I got back to the city and went round to the centre back in Seacroft, there were two blokes I didn’t know, and they wanted the money I’d collected on the shipment. Foreign accents. In the end I just gave them it and bunked off. Never went back. I was wanting out, anyway. My girlfriend didn’t approve of the line of work, and I have to say, the foreign blokes scared me a bit. And the place was empty. It looked like they were moving somewhere else to run their operations. Then word got out that Lenny was dead. But not how. Lenny wasn’t so bad. He paid well. He’d had a tough life.’
‘Tough death, too, by the sound of it,’ said Banks. ‘So what did you do next?’
‘Got busted, then released pending charges. It was my chance to get away, break free from the life, and I haven’t looked back.’
‘So who took over? You mentioned strangers with foreign accents.’
‘Word has it there’s this Albanian cunt in charge, interested in going county, and the blokes I saw were part of his crew. I don’t know the big guy’s name, but I think he stood in the background all the time I was there. In the shadows. Only saw him that once, all smiles, expensive suit, but you could tell, you know, that he was a vicious cold bastard underneath it all. He wasn’t a big bloke, not threatening in that way at all. But he had a cruel mouth. And nasty eyes. Really nasty eyes.’
‘Leka Gashi,’ said Blackstone. ‘We worked that out, but we’ve no evidence. Of course, he was out of the country at the time the crime was committed. He doesn’t usually do these jobs himself, though I’ve heard he’s not averse to administering a bit of punishment when the occasion merits it.’
Banks turned back to Greg. ‘How long were you operating up in Eastvale?’
‘On and off for about a year.’
‘How many lines was Lenny G running?’
‘About six. All roughly the same distance as Eastvale. Different directions, like. Furthest was out on the coast. Runswick Bay.’
‘That’s a tiny place,’ said Banks.
Greg shrugged. ‘What can I say? There are markets for that shit everywhere. And I know you won’t believe me when I say it, but I never actually touched the stuff myself. A few joints, maybe, booze, yeah, but never the hard stuff. Heroin. Crack. Never.’
‘I can’t see as you’ve any reason to lie to me,’ Banks said. ‘When we’ve finished, my colleague here might like to talk a few things over with you. Is that OK?’
Greg lit a second cigarette. ‘I’ve already told you pretty much all I know, man. And I don’t want any of this coming back on me. From what I’ve heard, those Albanians can be really fucking nasty when the mood takes them.’
‘But they don’t know you. You only met them once. You never actually worked for them.’
‘Even so. They don’t like loose ends. Would you take the risk? Besides, I don’t really know anything. Basically we were just glorified mules. We took the stuff up to the trap house, passed it on to the users and collected the money. They used us kids because we were least likely to be stopped or picked up. The younger the better. And believe me, Lenny G absolutely knew if you came back with one penny less than you ought to do.’
Banks took the photo of Samir Boulad from its envelope and passed it to Greg. ‘Do you know this lad?’
‘Little Sammy? Sure,’ said Greg, handing it back.
‘Was he one of the sellers?’
Greg nodded. ‘Poor sod. I read about what happened. The bastards. Poor little Sammy. He was only, like, twelve or thirteen. He was the youngest of the lot of us. Looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘He just turned up one day. A bunch of us used to hang out in this little park in the city centre after dark, you know, share a few tins of cider, smoke a few spliffs, have a laugh. Most of the kids had left home, and some of us were living in a council house on an estate up Gipton way. It was supposed to belong to Kit’s dad, like, but he was in the nick, and his mother had done a runner, so we stayed there. Nobody seemed to mind. We invited Sammy back. He’d got nowhere to stay. He’d been sleeping rough. He was a nice kid. Quiet. A bit sad. Christ, you should have seen him eat, though, if you put some food in front of him. Like a fucking vacuum cleaner.’ Greg smiled at the memory.
‘He’d left his family behind in Syria. Did he speak any English?’
‘Yeah. Pretty well. Lenny G really took to him, groomed him real nice, bought him Nike trainers, taught him the ropes. Sammy, he didn’t really know what it was all about. I mean, he knew it was drugs, and he knew it was a bit dodgy, but Lenny paid well and Sammy was, like, desperate for money to send to his family so they could come over. That was like his goal in life, his only reason for doing what he did. He loved that family. And it was easy work. All he had to do was go to the trap house, hand out the orders and bring back the money. He’d got away from some gang in Birmingham or somewhere who’d helped smuggle him in to the country and wanted him to work off his debt. Like, for ever. Slave labour. They even wanted him to let blokes fuck him up the arse. But Sammy did a bunk.’
‘Did he say what this gang in Birmingham was called? Any names?’
‘Nah. Never mentioned no names. I don’t think he knew.’
‘Didn’t he know about his parents?’
‘What about them?’
Banks paused. ‘They’re dead. The whole family. Killed by a bomb the last weeks of the war in Aleppo.’
‘Oh, fuck.’ Greg shook his head. ‘He didn’t know. At least not when I left. The bastards didn’t tell him, if they knew. They kept him working the line thinking he’d one day have enough to help his parents, and all the time they were fucking dead.’
‘Looks that way,’ said Banks. ‘Which line did he work?’
‘Malton.’
‘Did he ever mention an uncle and aunt in this country?’
‘Yeah, but he said he’d lost their address. Lost all the photos of his family, too, poor kid. One of the boats he was in sank, like, and they had to get rescued by some Italians. That was when they still let people in. The paper disintegrated. All he knew was they lived somewhere up north.’
‘Big place,’ said Banks.
‘Yeah.’ Greg paused. ‘It was really sad, man.’
‘What was? There’s something else?’
‘Samir could speak English pretty good, but he couldn’t read it very well. I guess he was used to Arabic, or whatever they speak in Syria, but our letters were mostly meaningless shapes to him. I asked him more than once if he remembered what it said on the paper, the address, even just the town, but he couldn’t reproduce it for me. He’d no idea. Poor sod. He used to write letters home, but he’d no return address. My girlfriend let Samir use her address — the flat in Yeadon — but nothing came for him. He was really gutted. Every day he expected a letter from home, but nothing came. Now we know why.’
Banks swallowed. ‘Nearly done now, Greg,’ he said.
Greg nodded, pulled on the cigarette then trod it out. ‘Yeah. I’ll have to get back in soon, or the boss’ll go spare. He’s all right, but...’
‘Have you any idea what happened to Samir after you left the gang?’
‘Not really. He was still there when I left, and I heard most of them stayed with the Albanians. Why not? I mean, nothing changed but the personnel at the top and the place they operated out of. Maybe he even paid more than Lenny G. Easier for him not to have to start right from scratch again when he already had a crew that knew the routine.’