Severed

I look down the road but I can't see the Yugoslavs any more. I'm guessing they arrived by car and left the same way. Now that I'm in possession of the 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 listening to him sitting in traffic,' he explains, pulling a battered pack of Lucky Strike from the glove compartment and lighting one. 'He's not that interesting.'

Lucas looks dapper as usual in a short-sleeved white shirt with not a crease in it (ex-soldiers are always good at ironing), and a burgundy silk tie with matching Parachute Regiment tie pin, which he likes to wear in front of the punters, since he feels that it sums him up as a man of action, even though it's close to a decade since he wore the uniform. His charcoal-grey suit trousers are tailored and his black brogues smartly polished, although his cherished blond locks have grown just a little bit too wild and free. In my opinion, they need the services of a good barber to rein them in.

While Lucas smokes his cigarette and manoeuvres the BMW through the back streets of Islington, trying without much success to avoid the worst of the traffic, he asks me more about the details of the events I'm caught up in. So far, I haven't told him too much. There wasn't time when we were in his offices. Now, though, I figure that, having trusted him enough to ask for his help, I may as well trust him enough to say why, and I start talking. He interrupts repeatedly with questions which I do my best to answer. I tell him about Leah and the manner of her murder, and then the exchange of briefcases that ended in the deaths of four people.

He whistles through his teeth. 'And you shot two of them?'

I nod. 'It would have been three, but someone beat me to it.'

'You know, Tyler, if it ever comes to court, I'd avoid letting the jury hear that.'

'It was self-defence,' I explain. 'I had no choice. But, you know, after what happened to Leah, I'm not in the mood for showing a lot of mercy.'

'You really cared about her, eh?'

'Yeah,' I say simply, staring out of the window, 'I did.'

Seeing the expression on my face, Lucas decides to move on. 'And you've got no idea what's in the case?'

I shake my head. 'Just that whatever it is is being used to blackmail a businessman. I got the impression it was something…' I pause for a moment, trying to come up with the right words. 'Something very unpleasant.'

He raises his eyebrows. 'Really? Now I'm getting curious.'

'Also, the guy I was picking the case up from, he was someone from the regiment.'

Lucas looks surprised. 'From my time?'

'Yeah, I'm sure he was there when you were. He was a captain, first name Iain, I think. Medium height, thin face. About our age.'

'Ferrie,' he says decisively. 'His name's Iain Ferrie.'

'That's right,' I say, remembering now. 'I'm impressed. I never realized you had such a good memory.'

But Lucas is giving me a strange look. 'My memory isn't that good,' he answers. 'The only reason I know is because I've just done some work for him.'

14

'He came to see me twice,' explains Lucas. 'The first time he wanted a Land Registry search done on a property in Bedfordshire. That was back in May. I advertise sometimes in Army News, and he said he'd heard of me from there. I did all the relevant searches, and it turned out that the property belonged to an offshore company based in the Bahamas. He wanted to know the names of the directors. He was pretty adamant about that. Same way he was adamant that I kept things absolutely confidential. He didn't even want to involve Snowy. I got the directors' names – although as far as I could see they were just local Bahamian guys put there to make the paperwork all above board – and gave them to him. He paid me, and that was that.'

'And there was nothing untoward about the company?'

He shakes his head. 'No, didn't seem to be. Nothing that struck me anyway.'

'And the second time?'

'That was a bit weirder. It was about a month ago. He said he wanted me to look into the murder of Maxwell and Spann in Paris.'