Carlyle said nothing.
‘Don’t worry,’ Tuco grinned, ‘I will deal with him. Think of it as my present to you.’ He signalled to the minion who pulled an envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans and tossed it on the coffee table.
Tuco gestured at the table. ‘Passport, cash and travel documents. Give them to Alain when you get him out. Leave the rest to me.’
Carlyle looked at the packet then at Tuco.
‘This is your last chance,’ said the Samurai. ‘Or, next time, I will kill you and your family.’
When the door slammed shut, Carlyle sat listening to the slight buzzing noise in his head. A few moments later, he got up and stepped into the kitchen. After washing his face and drying it with a tea towel, he took a small Tesco bag from under the sink. Returning to the living room, he placed Tuco’s packet in the plastic bag, careful not to get his fingerprints on the envelope. After some further thought, he stuffed the bag under a pile of magazines next to the sofa, happy to hide it in plain sight, given that it wouldn’t be there for long.
It took him a couple more minutes to find his private, pay-as-you-go mobile and ring Dom’s number. Cursing, he ended the call as it went to voicemail.
Grabbing a directory from the hall, he was surprised to find a listing for Zatoichi and even more surprised when he dialled the number and it worked.
‘C’mon!’ he hissed, slumping back into his armchair.
The number rang for what seemed like an eternity before someone picked up.
‘Yeah?’
He recognized the accent immediately. ‘Lisbeth . . .’
‘What?’
Oh God. What was the bloody girl’s name? He’d forgotten. ‘It’s Carlyle – the cop – I need to speak to Dom – no, Gideon.’
There was a pause.
‘They’re not in the bar,’ she said.
‘Then put me through to the office,’ Carlyle demanded. ‘It’s fucking urgent.’
‘What am I,’ the girl growled, ‘your bloody personal slave or something?’ There was the sound of the phone being dropped on the bar and Carlyle’s handset was filled with the sound of background chatter. After another eternity, someone picked up again.
‘What’s so important?’ Gideon asked by way of introduction.
Carlyle spoke clearly and slowly. ‘I’ve just had a visit from the Samurai. He’s coming to see you next.’
Without another word, Gideon ended the call.
Time for a new phone, Carlyle decided. Struggling to his feet, he removed the battery from the back of the mobile, pulled out the sim card and went in search of a pair of scissors.
He was just about to head for bed when the front-door buzzer sounded.
‘What now?’ Carlyle said grumpily as he padded down the hall. Opening the front door, he found Umar grinning in the walkway outside.
‘What are you so cheery about?’ Carlyle asked, turning and heading back to the living room.
Following on behind him, Umar nodded at the bottle of whiskey, which was still standing on the floor. ‘Having a bit of a session, are we?’
‘Haven’t even broken the seal,’ Carlyle pointed out. ‘Want some?’
‘Nah.’ Umar shook his head. ‘I could do with a cup of tea, though.’
Slumping back into the armchair, Carlyle wearily wafted a hand in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Help yourself – and make me a green tea while you’re at it.’
Umar reappeared with two mugs of freshly made tea. Handing one to Carlyle, he took a grateful sip from the other. ‘Why have you got a cut-up sim card in the sink?’ he asked, taking a seat on the sofa.
Fuck. ‘Er, it was Alice’s,’ Carlyle lied. ‘She ran up a ridiculous bill on her phone, so I cut it up.’
‘Tough love,’ Umar noted.
‘Quite. How did you get on in the sticks?’
‘Oh, a complete waste of time. Spoke to some snotty pen-pusher in uniform who told me absolutely nothing that wasn’t on Dr Bell’s piece of paper.’
Carlyle let out a long breath. Events had overtaken Adrian Gasparino. Now he had more pressing things to worry about than the hapless soldier. ‘Did you see his missus?’
‘Yeah.’ Umar blew on his tea. ‘Their kid was born four days ago. She had just returned home. In a bit of a daze.’
Carlyle surprised himself by dredging a scintilla of empathy from somewhere. ‘You would be.’
‘She says she never even saw Adrian when he got back from Afghanistan.’
‘So, all in all, it was a complete waste of time, then?’ Carlyle could feel his eyelids drooping. He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for at least ten hours.
Umar beamed. ‘Luckily for you, though, I can multi-task.’
A pained expression settled on Carlyle’s face. I want to go to sleep, he thought. Why don’t you go home? ‘Eh?’
‘Milch came up with a DNA sample that I was able to match to Clive Martin.’ Umar sat back on the sofa, waiting for the applause to start.
Placing his mug on the coffee table, Carlyle slowly processed that piece of information. ‘The strip-club guy? Abigail Slater’s client?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Umar smiled. ‘Mr Everton’s, no less.’
Can I please go to bed now? Carlyle wondered. His brain, however, kept ticking over. ‘How come we have his DNA in the database?’
‘He was done for driving while banned – and being three times over the legal limit – ten years ago. One of the people who kicked Gasparino to death was a close family member. I’m guessing a grandson.’
‘Result,’ Carlyle nodded. ‘Well done.’
Umar looked at his watch. ‘We could head round to Everton’s now, if you want.’
You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Carlyle shook his head. ‘Nah. Bring the offending toe-rag in and work out the details. You’ll have the case closed by tomorrow night.’
‘Okay.’
‘And say thanks to Milch for me.’ Carlyle got to his feet and gestured towards the hall. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, it’s my bedtime. I need to get my beauty sleep.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
Placing his beer bottle on the bar, Dominic Silver scanned the story in the Standard – Gavin Swann: MY KISS ’N’ TELL SHAME – and muttered to himself, ‘Bloody footballers, they should be outlawed.’
Gideon Spanner appeared at his shoulder. ‘He’s here.’
Taking a moment to finish the story, Dom closed the newspaper, folding it in half, before placing it next to the beer bottle. Leaning against the bar, he looked past his business partner, towards the guy flanked by the minder with the gun in his pocket and the pneumatic black woman.
‘Tuco,’ Dom said cheerily, ‘can I buy you a drink?’
Tuco Martinez looked contemptuously around Zatoichi’s. The place was a long way from full but it wasn’t empty either. ‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘Somewhere private.’
‘Here is fine,’ Dom said airily, plucking the beer from the bar and lifting it to his lips.
Tuco took a step closer. ‘Our partnership,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘is not going as planned.’
‘The police raid was unfortunate,’ Silver told him. ‘But out of my control. This kind of thing is just part of the cost of doing business, as you well know.’
‘But we haven’t done any damn business!’ Tuco waved an angry finger under Dominic’s nose. ‘Don’t think you can rip me off like this.’ Red in the face, his eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out of his head.
‘Calmes-toi, Tuco.’ The woman put a hand on the old man’s shoulder.
‘I am calm!’ Tuco hissed. Pushing her hand away, he turned back to Silver. ‘I have told your corrupt flic that he has to return my dope – and my boy.’
Gideon casually pushed himself off the bar and set his stance for action.
‘None of this is in our power and control,’ Dominic repeated. ‘I will, of course, see what I can do. But I would never waste your time with false promises or meaningless guarantees.’
‘You have one week,’ Tuco threatened him. ‘If I have to come back to this stinking city of yours, you will all die.’