Severed (21 page)

'You're just a delivery boy, right? You don't know what you're delivering and you don't care, so long as the money's right. Is that a good description?'

Her tone's surprisingly accusatory. Here I am sitting next to someone I thought was a female gangster, yet she's not acting like one. I experience a sudden, very powerful urge to tell
her the truth. That I'm actually a normal hardworking guy who's got caught up in something that has nothing to do with him. But it's an urge I resist.

'Yeah,' I agree with a sigh, 'it's as good a description as any.'

'And have you got a name, Delivery Man?'

'It's Tyler.'

'Well, Mr Tyler, I might be able to help you. And you might be able to help me.'

'Really? How does that work, then?'

We've turned off the main road and are heading into an estate of cheap 1970s terraced housing built by a developer who clearly had a surplus of breeze blocks and a dearth of taste. Alannah parks outside one of them and cuts the engine.

'Come inside,' she says, 'and I'll tell you.'

I have no idea what she's going to say, nor am I much inclined to take a guess. It's been a bad day. Trusting anyone's a risk. But when you're tired and thirsty, and a beautiful blonde asks you into her house, you're really going to have to fight hard to say no. And I'm just not in the mood.

I get out of the car and follow her to the front door.

I follow her through the hallway and into a poky kitchen which looks out on to a postage stamp-sized back garden with a railway viaduct at the end.

'Do you want a drink?' Alannah asks, pulling an unopened bottle of white wine from the fridge.

I can think of nothing I'd like more at the moment. 'Sure,' I say, noticing that, apart from the booze, the fridge is empty.

She takes a couple of wine glasses out of a cupboard and rummages around in one of the drawers for a corkscrew. As she pours the wine and hands me a glass, a train rumbles past along the viaduct, its vibrations rattling the windows.

'Come on,' she says, and we retire to a small sitting room where the noise of the train isn't as loud.

She sits down on the sofa, and I kick off my shoes and plant myself opposite her in the room's only chair. The springs have gone on it, and I end up sinking down so low that my arse is no more than six inches above the psychedelic carpeting. I find a cushion and stick it underneath me while Alannah lights a cigarette and takes a sip of her wine. I take a big gulp of mine. It's not particularly good stuff, but at the moment it tastes like nectar.

'Well,' I say, 'the most important thing I need to know right now is who Marco and the people he left to torture me work for?'

'The boss's name is Eddie Cosick,' she answers. 'He's what I think you call a people trafficker. He brings girls into England from the Balkan countries. He promises them a new life, with a job and money, but when they get here he puts them to work as prostitutes in clubs like the one today, and treats them as his slaves. If any of them try to escape, they're beaten so savagely that none of them attempts it a second time.'

I'm reminded of what Lucas was telling me earlier about the murders of Maxwell and Spann. The Russian businessman they'd been guarding in a Paris hotel room had apparently been heavily involved in people trafficking and had fallen out with his associates: Bosnians from the former Yugoslavia. Ferrie was very interested in those murders. Ferrie had the briefcase. Marco and his people wanted it. There's a pattern developing here.

'This guy Eddie Cosick. Is he Bosnian?'

Alannah nods, confirming the pattern. 'A Bosnian Serb. They all are.'

But this still doesn't solve the mystery of why they killed Leah, and why they're targeting me.

'You sound like you don't approve of Mr Cosick's methods,' I say, 'which makes me wonder what you were doing at the brothel today.'

She takes a deep breath and eyes me closely. 'I don't approve of his methods,' she says, 'but I think he has my sister.'

There's a pause.

'Maybe you'd better start at the beginning,' I tell her.

She takes a long, elegant draw on her
cigarette. 'My sister went missing eight months ago in Belgrade. Her name is Petra and she's eighteen years old. I believe that she's been brought to London against her will and that Eddie Cosick knows where she is. That's why I've come here. To find her, and to take her home.'

'And where did you learn how to fight like that?'

'I'm a police officer.'

I raise my eyebrows. She doesn't look like any police officer I've ever had dealings with. Because of the way she's talking and the fact that she hasn't slapped on the handcuffs, I'm guessing she's not here on official business, and I'm quickly proved right.

'I'm based in Belgrade, which is how I know what happened to Petra. She became involved with the wrong people. You have to remember, Mr Tyler--'

'It's just Tyler.'

'You have to remember that our country is very poor. My sister and I come from a village where the only industry is farming. Seven years ago, when I was also eighteen, I moved to the city. I could have become involved with
the wrong people too. Belgrade has many of them. But instead I worked as a waitress to raise enough money to go to college, and after that I got a job in the police force. As soon as Petra reached sixteen she wanted to come and join me. She hated village life, but I told her she had to wait until she was eighteen to make the decision. As a police officer, I've seen what can happen to girls when they reach the city. The brothels are full of them.'

She sighs wearily, and stubs out her cigarette.

'But Petra's always been an impatient girl and she decided to come anyway. One day, she turned up at my apartment, begging to stay. I couldn't let her. It would have been unfair on our parents, so I drove her home, even though she cried the whole way. Our parents are decent people and I knew they wouldn't punish her too severely. But a few months later, she did it a second time. My parents phoned me, terrified, telling me what had happened. By that time, she'd only been gone a day, so I waited at the apartment expecting her to turn up . . .' The sentence trails off, and Alannah looks thoughtful.

'Except she didn't. Not that day, nor the next.
I reported her missing with my colleagues. Because I was a police officer, I had more influence than an ordinary civilian so there was more of an effort to find her by the authorities, but it made no difference. We were unsuccessful. Belgrade is a big city, and as the days passed and we heard nothing from her, I became more and more worried. I spent every waking hour searching. So did my father, who came to the city from our village for the very first time. We visited the bars, the cafes, the restaurants, even the brothels, anywhere that she could possibly have ended up, but as my colleagues lost interest, so our task became harder. I knew that Petra had been forced into prostitution. She would have been in touch otherwise. Prostitution is big business in the countries of Eastern Europe, and Serbia is no exception. But the people who run this business are very powerful, and I couldn't make them talk to me. Soon, my father had to return to the village to support the rest of the family. But I kept looking. If I pulled someone in for a crime, any crime, I would show them a picture of Petra and ask if they'd seen her. I'd make out that they would be treated more leniently if they had information.
But no-one did. Or at least no-one admitted it, anyway. It was difficult to tell for sure because no-one wants to cross the people running the sex trade.

'Finally, a month ago, I got a break. My boyfriend, Martin, arrested a man for attempted murder after a bar fight. The man worked as security in a local brothel and he was looking at a long sentence for what he'd done, but when Martin showed him Petra's photo, he could see that the man recognized her. Petra is beautiful. She has dark hair, gorgeous brown eyes and olive skin. If someone sees her, they don't forget.'

I guess most don't forget Alannah either, but I don't say anything.

'The prisoner knew something,' she continues, 'Martin was sure of it, so he told him he'd speak to the judge about lowering the charges against him if he had any information on Petra. The prisoner still denied he knew her, and Martin couldn't get him to change his mind.'

Alannah pauses again, and fixes me with a cool stare.

'But what Martin couldn't achieve, I could. I
managed to get access to him in his cell, and I told him that he was going to help. At first, he laughed and called me a foolish woman, dismissing me with a wave of his hand, and telling me to get back to the kitchen stove.'

Her voice hardens. 'That was a big mistake. After five minutes, when he was writhing in a pool of his own vomit, he got the message and admitted that he had indeed seen Petra some months earlier. She had no money and had approached a friend of his looking for work. The friend worked for a people trafficker called Goran who was always interested in finding pretty young women for work in England, where he and his associates could make big money out of them, not the pittance that's available in Belgrade. So Petra was shipped off, doubtless told that at the end of her journey she'd be provided with a good job and the chance of a happy life, and that she'd have a chance to phone her family to let them know she was safe and well.'

She laughs, but the sound is devoid of humour.

'The problem we have in Belgrade is that most people have very little money, and what
money there is is in the hands of the criminals, so there is a great deal of corruption. I knew who Goran was, I knew what he'd done to my sister and the fate to which he'd sent her, but he is a protected man in the city. When I tried to question him, I was warned off by my bosses, told not to interfere, even when I explained to them what had happened. In the end, I knew there was no hope of getting Goran to help me get Petra back. I also knew that if I kept trying I'd lose my job, probably even my life.

'That's when I decided to come to England and see if I had more luck here. I knew Goran worked for a Bosnian Serb called Eddie Cosick. My plan was to take what little money I had and see if I could track Cosick down and somehow buy Petra back. Martin tried to persuade me not to go. He seemed to think it was better to let things be. But I'm not like that. And I refuse to give up on my sister, because I know she's still alive and needs my help.' She balls her hand into a fist and punches her chest, fixing me with an intense stare. 'I know it. Here, in my heart. She is alive.'

So, Alannah was determined to find her sister in the same way I was determined to find out
who was behind Leah's murder. It seemed we had something in common after all.

'And have you met Eddie Cosick yet?'

She shakes her head. 'Not yet. He's surrounded by security. I was forced to take a different route. I studied what I could of his organization and found out who the people working for him were. But knowing their identities and being able to do something about it are two very different things. So, I managed to - how do you say it - ingratiate myself with one of them.'

'Marco?'

She pulls an expression of distaste. 'Yes. He is a violent pig, but he has a bit more respect for the women than any of the others. I started a relationship with him a few weeks ago. He's high up in the organization and close to Cosick so I've been trying to find out from him where my sister might be. But it's not been easy. Like all these guys, he's not very talkative. All he wants to do is fuck. I've got him to take me to the club on Orsman Road - the one you came to today - a couple of times, and I've managed to talk to a few of the girls who work there, but I've had to be very discreet. It's dangerous to be
seen asking questions, both for them and me. The girls are terrified of their bosses.

'But in the last couple of days, the atmosphere's changed. Something big has definitely been happening. Marco has been taking lots of phone calls and disappearing for meetings. He won't tell me what it's all about, and I've hardly seen him all day. So, because the attention of everybody has been elsewhere, I decided to go to the club on my own this afternoon. I know the door staff and they work for Marco, so they let me in. They don't like me, and I knew I was taking a risk hanging round, asking questions, especially with Marco not there, but I've been feeling desperate. My money's running out. London's an extremely expensive city. Even a dump like this costs a lot to rent.

'I'd been there about an hour, talking to the barman and a couple of the girls, when I was told by Pero that Marco was back and he wanted to talk to me urgently. When I got up to his office, he shut the door and started to slap me around, asking me what I thought I was doing coming here on my own. Then he knocked me to the ground and demanded to know who I was working for.'

I nod slowly, adopting a sympathetic pose, though Marco obviously hadn't hit her very hard, because there wasn't a mark on her when we'd first met out in that hallway. I ask her if she saw the burgundy briefcase while she was there.

'No, there was no briefcase.'

'And what about other people? Who was with Marco?'

'Only Radovan and Alexander, the two men who were ordered to kill you.'

'I'm trying to work out who killed my friend, Snowy,' I explain. 'His throat was cut. There would almost certainly have been some blood on the perpetrator.'

'There was no blood on anyone when I saw them.'