"It's a dangerous city."
"Only for some people," Thorne said.
Zarif smiled, held up his hands. "Listen, I've got stuff to do, so."
Thorne asked his questions, played the game. He had his own message to send and wasn't overly concerned with subtlety.
"Do you have any information that might assist us in investigating the death of Mickey Clayton?"
Zarif shook his head.
"Or Sean Anderson?"
"No."
The X-Man's victims. "Anthony Wright? John Gildea?"
"No and no."
Thorne reached into his jacket, pulled out some change. He dropped a couple of pound coins on to the table. "That's for the coffee." Outside, it was raining. They walked quickly back towards Thorne's
BMW.
"Seems to me," Holland said, 'that we spend a lot of time going to see these fuckers, asking them questions, listening to them tell us they don't know anything, and then leaving again." Thorne looked into the park as they walked alongside it. The trees were shiny and skeletal. "Same as it ever was."
"He was so full of shit," Holland said. '"Disney films for the kids?"
They'd have been involved somewhere in supply, delivery, all of it. They'd have taken a massive cut of Izzigil's earnings, on top of what they got out of the piracy, out of the smuggling operation." Finsbury Park wasn't Thorne's favourite green space. He'd been to a few gigs there over the years, though the Fleadh to see Emmylou Harris, Madstock once with a WPC he fancied. When the Sex Pistols reformed and played there, back when he was still living with his wife, he'd been able to hear every word from their back garden in Highbury, which was over a mile away…
Holland was grimacing. "That coffee was shit as well," he said. "It tasted like something you'd find in a Gro-Bag." Thorne laughed. "It's an acquired taste."
"Listen, d'you fancy having a pint later? The Oak, if you like, or we could go into town."
"Sophie letting you out for the night, is she?"
"Happy to see the back of me, mate. I'm getting on her nerves a bit, I think. Fuck it, I'm getting on my own nerves." They'd reached the car. Thorne unlocked it and climbed in before leaning across to unlock Holland's door. "Can we do it another night?
I'm busy later."
Holland dropped into the passenger seat. The rain had left dark streaks across the shoulders of his grey jacket and at the tops of his trousers. The suit was starting to look a little tired, and Thorne knew that Holland would go into MS at some point soon to buy another one that was exactly the same.
"Hot date?" Holland asked.
Thorne smiled when the engine turned over first time. "Not remotely."
NINE
Leicester Square after dark was right up there with the M25 at rush hour or the Millwall ground, in terms of places that Thorne thought were best avoided.
The buskers and the occasional B-list film premiere made little difference. For every few smiling tourists, there was someone lounging against the wall outside one of the cinemas, or hanging around in the corner of the green, with a far darker reason for being there. For every American family or pair of Scandinavian backpackers there was a mugger, or a pickpocket, or just a pissed-up idiot looking for trouble, and the crappy fun fair only seemed to bring out the vultures in greater numbers.
"I pity the uniformed lads working round here tonight," Chamberlain said.
There were plenty of places in the city that were alive with the promise of something. Here, there was only a threat. If it wasn't for the stench of piss and cheap burgers, you'd probably be able to smell it.
"The only good thing about this place," Thorne said, 'is the rent you can get for it on a sodding Monopoly board." A quarter to seven on a Tuesday night, and the place was heaving. Aside from those milling around, taking pictures or taking cameras, there were those moving through the square on their way to somewhere more pleasant. West towards Piccadilly and Regent Street beyond. South towards the theatres on the Strand. East towards Covent Garden, where the street entertainment was a little artier, and the average burger was anything but cheap.
Thorne and Chamberlain moved through the square on their way to a brightly lit and busy games arcade, slap-bang between Chinatown and Soho. They passed partially steamed-up windows displaying racks of Day-Glo, honey-glazed chickens and leathery squid which drooped from metal hooks like innards.
"How sure are you that he's going to be there?" Chamberlain asked. Thorne ushered her to the left, avoiding the queue outside the Capital Club. "Billy was under investigation well before things turned nasty. We know near enough everything he gets up to. We know all his routines."
Chamberlain quickened her pace just a little to keep up. "If Ryan's half the character I think he is, I wouldn't be surprised if he knows quite a lot about you, too."
Thorne shivered ever so slightly, but gave her a grin. "I'm so glad you came along to cheer me up."
They cut off the square and walked to a Starbucks on the other side of the street from the arcade. They didn't have to wait long before Ryan appeared. Halfway through their coffees, they watched as one of the heavy glass doors was opened for him, and Ryan moved slowly down the short flight of steps towards the street. Marcus Moloney was at his shoulder. A few paces behind were a pair of Central Casting thugs who looked as though they might enjoy shiny objects and the sound of small bones breaking.
As Thorne approached from across the street heavyset and with his hands thrust into the pockets of his leather jacket Ryan took half a step back and reached out an arm towards one of the gorillas behind him. He recovered himself when he recognised Thorne: "What do you want?" Thorne nodded past Ryan towards the arcade. It was packed with teenagers, queuing to ram their pound coins into the machines. "I was just a bit bored, and I'm a big fan of the shoot-'em-ups. This one of your places, is it?"
Moloney looked up and down the street. "Looking for a discount, Thorne?"
"Is that how you try to get coppers on the payroll these days? A few free games of Streetfighter?"
Ryan had recognised Thorne, but had failed to recognise the woman with him. "Grab-a-Granny night, is it?" He looked Chamberlain up and down.
"Don't tell me she's on the job. I thought coppers were supposed to look younger these days."
"You're a cheeky fucker, Ryan," Chamberlain said. Then Ryan did recognise her. Thorne watched him grit his teeth as he remembered exactly what had been happening the last time their paths had crossed.
"You looked a bit jumpy a minute ago," Thorne said. He nodded towards the two bodyguards. "These two look a touch nervous as well. Worried that whoever did Mickey Clayton and the others might come after you, are you, Mr. Ryan?"
Ryan said nothing.
A group of young lads burst out through the arcade doors, the noise from inside spilling momentarily on to the street with them: the spatter and squeal of guns and lasers, the rumble of engines, the beat of hypnotic techno.
Moloney answered Thorne's question: "They can fucking well try."
"I wonder what I might find," Thorne said, 'if I were to put you up against that wall over there and pat you down." Moloney looked unconcerned. "Nothing worth the trouble."
"Trouble?"
Moloney sighed heavily and stepped past him. Thorne watched him walk a few yards up the street. He took out a mobile phone and began to stab angrily at the keypad. Thorne turned back to see the pair of heavies stepping up close to their employer, who was looking into the distance. Ryan was trying hard not to look at Carol Chamberlain.
"You remember Carol?" Thorne said. "DI Manley, as she'd have been when you last saw her."