‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘When do you want us up there?’
‘This morning. You’re both booked on Flybe. There’s a flight at ten past nine. You should be at the airport by eight. That’s why I’m phoning so early.’
Suttle met Luke Golding at Exeter Airport. Lines of beige-clad oldies were queueing for a holiday flight to Madeira. Suttle asked Golding to sort a couple of coffees and retired to a quiet corner to make a call. Thanks to Grace he’d spent the whole night awake, obsessing about Winter.
‘Lizzie? I’ve been thinking about Paul. Somehow or other I need to make contact but I’m fucked if I know how.’
‘It’s not your job, my love. Not your responsibility.’
‘He’s a mate. Of course it’s my responsibility.’
‘It isn’t. Believe me for once. Just relax, eh?’
Suttle was staring at the phone, bemused by Lizzie’s response. What did she know here? What was she hiding? He was about to ask her when he felt a nudge on his arm. Golding had turned up with the coffees. Unless they joined the security queue now, they’d miss the flight.
Suttle bent to the phone again.
‘Later, yeah? I’ll call you from Leeds.’
The flight landed at 10.15. West Yorks had sent an intel civvy to pick them up. Sue was an older woman, broad Yorkshire, with three grown-up kids and a husband serving out his time on Traffic.
‘It seems yer man were a bit of a handful.’ She’d given the intel file to Suttle. ‘Didn’t like being arrested at all.’
Zameer Akhtar, Sue said, had been a sus small-time dealer, working out of premises in an area called Harehills. He’d been pulled a year or so back and got off with a caution. Then, less than a month ago, he was arrested again and this time he was taken to court.
‘I blame Harehills myself. It’s right kooky. Our Gary’s got a mate who once lived there. Listen to Gary and you’d think it were hard not to end up dealing. Third World is what he calls it. Rubbish and all sorts everywhere. Kids, boy racers, you name it. Know what I’m saying?’
Suttle nodded. He wanted to know whether Akhtar had any family.
‘Three sisters and his mum. His mum’s an alcoholic. White Lightning, the way yer man tells it. There used to be a dad too, but he’s disappeared.’
‘You’ve got a name for the father?’
‘Yeah. Waheed.’
She drove them to police headquarters at Millgarth in the city centre. A uniformed inspector had arranged for them to use one of the interview rooms.
Suttle wanted to know about Akhtar. Was he being picked up or what?
‘Voluntary attendance, love. If he doesn’t show, he’s on a nicking.’
At the police station she organised coffees and took them down to the interview room. To Suttle’s surprise, Akhtar was already there. He was thin and pale with a mass of jet-black curls. According to the intel file he was twenty-three but he looked much younger. His jeans had been patched at least once, and the Iron Maiden motif on his freshly laundered T-shirt was beginning to wear off.
He got up the moment Suttle and Golding stepped in. Contrary to what the intel officer had said, the last thing this kid appeared to want was trouble. He’d been offered a solicitor but he wasn’t being interviewed under caution, nor was he being investigated for any offence, so he’d decided to do without one.
Suttle did the introductions and thanked him in advance for his time. The next bit, he knew, was going to be tricky.
‘We understand you knew a man called Kinsey.’
Akhtar looked blank.
‘Jalf Rezi,’ Golding said.
‘You mean Jake?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yeah, I do. We just became Facebook friends. I’m waiting for a link to his page.’ He had a soft voice, broad Yorkshire accent.
‘That was us, I’m afraid.’
‘What was us?’
‘The Facebook message.’
‘From Jake? The friending request? You sent that?’
‘We did.’
Suttle explained what had happened at Regatta Court. They’d retrieved evidence that Akhtar and Kinsey might have been buddies through the video games they played. If that was the case then they needed to talk about Kinsey.
If anything, Akhtar was more confused.
‘You’re telling me he’s dead?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘How?’
‘Like I say, he fell.’
‘Sure. But why are you here? Why are you talking to me?’
Suttle didn’t answer. Akhtar was still trying to work out the implications of the friending request. He was looking at Golding. Then something seemed to dawn on him.
‘So you were playing as Jake? As Jalf?’
‘Yes.’
‘Counterstrike?’
‘Yes.’
‘You were right crap. You know that?’
Golding shrugged and looked at his hands. Suttle laughed. A smile even crossed Akhtar’s face.
‘You were right rubbish,’ he said. ‘I should have sussed you.’
Suttle wanted to know when he’d first come across Jalf Rezi.
‘Last year. I were playing Counterstrike for the first time and he wiped me out. I nearly didn’t go back after that, but then I thought why not and I went on again. This time I was OK. Better than OK. After that I played a lot. Then he were sending me the odd message, telling me how much better I was getting, you know what I mean? So I texted back and asked him what other games he played. Turned out he was big on Left 4 Dead. That did it for me. You know it? Awesome game. The best.’ He looked from one face to the other. ‘Is this OK, like? Is this what you want?’
Suttle gestured for him to carry on. Golding was making notes.
‘Left 4 Dead drops you in the middle of this horrible place. It’s a bit like where I live. There’s just ruins and wreckage and all kinds of other shit and bad people everywhere. There’s the Hunter, the Smoker, the Boomer, the Tank. .’ He frowned, checking off the characters on his fingers.
‘The Witch?’ This from Golding.
‘Yeah. Right. The Witch. You’ve played it too?’
‘Years ago.’
‘Right. So you know you have to get to the safe house? Get inside and like close the door? I was nearly there. I was outside the safe house and I was half blind because a Boomer had puked on me and the other three guys in the game were bleeding out really fast. You know like you watch their health bars? They were gone. End of.’
‘Was Jalf one of them?’ Golding again.
‘Yeah. That’s the whole point. I got into the safe house and I knew the other guys were fucked. The nearest one, right outside the safe house, was Jalf. I needn’t have done it. I could have just let him die. I was safe in there. But Jalf comes on to me on the headphones, yells for help, really lays it on heavy. And me? I’m trying not to listen but then I think that makes me kinda mean. On the other side of the door I can hear the Boomer just waiting for me to come out so I blew him away with a couple of shotgun rounds through the door and then went out there again and killed a Hunter, and then another one, and then a Smoker, and it ended with me and Jalf back in the safe house. I needn’t have done it, I needn’t, but I did.’ He was still looking at Golding. ‘You understand that? You understand what I did?’
‘Yeah, I do. Top move.’
‘That’s what Jalf said. That’s when he asked me where I lived.’
Leeds, as it happened, had become a regular part of Kinsey’s business life. A big law firm in the city centre handled contracts for something called Kittiwake and next time Kinsey was up for a meeting he invited Akhtar for lunch.
‘We met at the Mint. You know the Mint at all? It’s a big hotel down by the canal. It were right posh. Fourteen quid for fish ’n’ chips. I had the works. It were lovely.’