I told him I wanted to book for three nights and counted out four twenties. He took the money, again without taking his eyes from the TV. 'Up the stairs to the third floor. It's on the right.' One of the teams scored and the commentator shouted excitedly in Arabic or Turkish, or something like that, but the owner didn't bat an eyelid. I assumed he supported the other side.
The room was small and horrifically done out in 1970s-style orange and purple, but it looked clean, and that was good enough for me. It was private, too. I wouldn't draw attention to myself staying here, where the remainder of the occupants were almost certainly going to be newly arrived illegal immigrants and asylum seekers, and where the owner probably wouldn't go voluntarily to the police about anything.
I threw off my clothes and lay down on the bed, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep breath. The chase was on now, but the police were still in a difficult position. They couldn't just print my photo in the next day's papers. It might have been pretty obvious that I had been involved in the Traveller's Rest killings, but they still couldn't be absolutely sure that I didn't have an alibi for the night in question. For all anyone knew, I could have had a mistress up in Clavering I'd been seeing on the sly; I could have been with her on the night in question. And maybe it was simply coincidence that the killer looked so much like me. For the first, and probably the last, time in my life I actually gave thanks to those who had drafted the laws of our great country for making them so obviously in favour of the criminal. They needed hard evidence against me, and maybe at the moment they just didn't have enough. They'd be pulling out all the stops to find me, but they'd still be doing it with one hand tied behind their backs. For that reason, and that reason alone, I still felt there was hope of evading capture.
I finished the cigarette and lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling and wondering where I was going to be in a year's time. Or even a week's. Out in the hallway a door slammed and I heard a lot of shouting in a foreign language. A man and a woman were arguing. It lasted about two minutes, then there was the sound of someone running down the stairs. I picked up the mobile and wondered whether it was worth trying Danny again. I decided against it. Somehow I knew he wouldn't answer.
I sighed. Somewhere out there, Raymond Keen was relaxing, enjoying the fruits of his success. Some time soon he'd find out that the attempt on my life had failed, which was going to be more than a little inconvenient.
And some time soon after that he'd find out that he'd made a big mistake trying to silence me.
31
I left the hotel at just after eight o'clock the following morning, dressed in the clothes I'd changed into the previous night, and took a walk in the direction of Hyde Park. It was a brisk morning and a watery sun was fighting to push its way through the thin cloud cover. I stopped for breakfast and coffee at a café on the Bayswater Road and took the opportunity to take a look at the papers.
The shooting incident at the Gallan was frontpage news, as I'd expected. However, at the time of going to press, details were still fairly limited. They'd named the dead police officer as Detective Constable David Carrick, aged twenty-nine, but the man I'd despatched remained anonymous. I wondered if they'd ever find out who he was. The report confirmed that a third man had suffered gunshot wounds at the scene and was now under police guard in hospital, where his condition was described as serious but not life-threatening. For the most part, the story revolved around the drama of the shoot-out, with the inevitable witness reports, but it was clear its authors didn't have any real idea what it had been all about. There was a quote from one of the Met's assistant chief constables saying that gun crime, though on the rise, was under control in London, although I don't suppose many of the readers believed him. The paper's leader column assumed that drugs had been the motive behind the shooting and claimed that the government was going to have to do something radical to quell demand among the nation's youth. Which was a sensible enough viewpoint, even if it remained to be seen whether drugs had actually been the motive in this case. Whatever Raymond and his associate, Mehmet Illan, were involved in was still a mystery. The only thing you could say for sure was that it was both illegal and highly profitable. Drugs, I suppose, was as good a guess as any.
When I'd finished eating and reading, I carried on down the Bayswater Road in the direction of Marble Arch and stopped when I found a phone box just off the main thoroughfare. I wasn't sure how Malik would react to my call – badly, probably – but he was in a better position than me to do something about the Miriam Fox case.
He answered his mobile after one ring. 'DS Malik.'
'Asif, it's me. Can you talk?'
There was a short silence.
'About my call last night-'
'Look, what the hell's going on, Sarge? The word is you're involved in a lot of very bad stuff, that you had something to do with the shooting last night. A police officer got killed-'
'I won't piss you about, Asif. I've had some problems. I've got into bed with a few of the wrong people-'
'Oh shit, Sarge. You of all people. Why the fuck did it have to be you?' He sounded genuinely hurt.
'It's not what you think.'
'Isn't it? They told us this morning that you're a strong suspect in the Traveller's Rest killings. Is that why you were so interested in how the investigation was going?'
'Oh, for Christ's sake, Asif. It's me you're talking to. The man you've worked with for four years. Do you really believe I'm a triple murderer?' I was conscious that there were probably people listening in to this call and they would be trying to trace its source urgently.
'So what were you doing up there that night? They said you were stopped at a roadblock near the scene.'
'I was stopped, but I was on the way back from Clavering. I've got a woman up there, someone I see occasionally'
'You've never told me about her.'
'She's married. You wouldn't have approved. But that's not what I'm phoning about. Believe what you want to believe, there's nothing I can do about that. But I want you to investigate Carla Graham. She's definitely involved in the Miriam Fox killing and maybe those other disappearances I was telling you about as well.'
'How do you know?' He was trying to keep me talking, there was no doubt about that.
'I just do. She knew things only someone involved could know, and that's definite. All I'm asking is that you put some tabs on her, check her background. Maybe even lean on Wells some more.'
'We can't. He's been charged.'
I exhaled loudly. 'Just look into her background. That's all I'm asking.'
'All right, I'll see what I can do.' There was a short pause. 'What were those men after you for last night?'
'Because I made a mistake. I got involved in something I shouldn't have, and now they want to make me pay the price.'
'I never took you to be corrupt, Sarge… Dennis. What the hell made you think you could get away with it?'
I ignored the question. 'I'm sorry. I truly am.' I wanted to say something else, but I didn't know what, and I didn't have the time anyway. He started to repeat the question but I hung up, sad that now even he was against me. But not really that surprised.
I jogged across the road and into Hyde Park, feeling like a pariah. I didn't think they'd had time to get a trace on me, but there was no point hanging around to get proved wrong, so I made my way slowly back to Bayswater, figuring that my next move was to buy some clothes and a toothbrush.
32
As the day wore on, I couldn't help thinking that Carla Graham was going to get away with her role in the murder of Miriam Fox. Malik hadn't seemed overly interested in what I had to say; even if he did believe me, there was no way Knox or Capper or anyone else was going to act on it. In the end, what was there to act on? Just the word of a disgraced police officer who was now on the run.