33

Who do you go to? You can’t do it all by yourself. You have two bags of drugs that are worth some money, but you must get rid of them. You have to find a buyer quickly, before someone catches you out. The money you put in a bank. You set up a new account. You don’t hold onto it, though, that’s the worst-case scenario. You can’t be found with unexplainable money. So you need help. You need someone else to go to the bank and set up the account for you. You need someone else to take the drugs off your hands. The police won’t be far away. They’ll stay close for some time. They’ll want to speak to you regularly, every time they turn up a new piece of evidence.

Sitting in a strange flat. Looking at a bleak future. Picking out the people who could help. Zara knows people. She hasn’t spent so long hanging around these men without knowing who matters. She could go to someone near the top of the tree. A big mover. They could give her protection, but what does she have to offer them? Herself? No, she’s not offering, and she’s realistic enough to know it wouldn’t be enough. They’re not going to risk getting involved in a murder case just for her. The drugs aren’t worth enough for them. The information about Lewis and his contacts that she could give them wouldn’t be worth enough. It has to be someone more easily impressed.

There are many of them. The industry is full of the impressionable, the deluded and the easily led. It’s never hard to find someone willing to take a risk. A pretty girl, the chance of making some money – there are plenty of men who would be suckered by that. Stewart? No, has to be someone inside the business. He took the drugs and cash, but that was then. He needed to get out of the house to protect himself. Selfish. She was standing naked in front of him. Easily led. He’s a last resort. It would be easy if it were him. An innocent mind. A blank canvas. Perhaps. Just perhaps.

Someone in the business. Someone who would know how to handle this. Two people spring to mind. Two people she knows would help. Each sends a shiver through her, but for different reasons. One is Marty Jones. A pimp. A loan shark. A scumbag of the very lowest order. He’s sniffed around her a couple of times in the past. He’d have no problem handling the cash and the drugs. He’s well connected. Does a lot of work for Peter Jamieson. The prospect of working with him is sickening. She knows what he would want in exchange. Maybe worse than that. Maybe worse than just sleeping with him. He sends a lot of women into the world of prostitution. High-class parties for rich arseholes. Good women. Women who had no intention of falling into so dark a world. No, the price would be much too high.

The other option is scarcely more appealing. Nate. Nate Colgan. The father of her child. The man with whom she spent years of her life. A man she loved, to a point. A man she feared in the extreme. He never hit her. Not once. He just hit everyone else instead. A cold man of terrifying brutality. He seemed emotionally dead so much of the time they were together. Just glimmers that there was a human heart in there. A practical man. He gets things done. That’s why so many people hire him. But they’re all afraid of him too. That’s why he never lasts anywhere. Why no relationship he’s ever had has lasted. He fears himself. He never said it, he would never be that open, but she saw it in him. He fears what he might do, and what he might do to someone he loves.

It has to be Nate. She knows that he’ll help. He won’t ask for anything in return. She’s given him a daughter he loves and visits every weekend. That buys her the help she needs. She’s asked nothing of him until now.

Getting the shoebox. Out of the flat. Along the road to the bus stop at the corner. Taking the bus to the east end. Funny how people drift apart. For so long she had been afraid of splitting with Nate. Afraid of his reaction. But he had known it was time. He accepted it. She had thought he would try to keep in touch, try to win her back. But no, that hadn’t happened, either. He had let her go. Almost as if he didn’t much care any more.

Now she’s going to him for help. As she walks up the path to the door of his terraced house, in an ugly part of the city, she’s wondering if he’ll even want to help. Surely. They have a connection. She’s looking at her watch. Nearly ten o’clock at night. It’s dark. There’s the familiar noise of kids shouting in the distance. He might not be at home. There’s no doorbell that she can see, so she knocks. She waits. Nervous. Wishing she’d made more effort with her appearance. Would that matter? It’s not as though she has anything he hasn’t seen before. What if he has a girlfriend? She has no idea. He might have a woman in there with him. She knocks on the door again. This is feeling like a bad idea. The idea of manipulating Stewart to help suddenly appeals more. A harmless character. A decent human being. He likes her. He revelled in the occasion. He could be persuaded. A light comes on. The door opens.

Nate’s standing there, looking back at her. That stern face. Handsome, but never inviting. His expression doesn’t change when he sees that it’s her. Is he happy to see her? Who could guess from that look in his eye? Just looking at her, as if he’s judging her.

‘Hi, Nate, it’s me, Zara.’ She says it with a giggle. That’s nerves, not flirting. He’s not susceptible to flirts, and she knows it.

He nods his head. ‘You’d better come in,’ he says and steps aside. It’s funny, he looks the same as ever, but he sounds older. He’ll be thirty-five now. He always had the blunt, dark and slightly lined look of a man in his early forties. A man of the world. A man who knows things worth knowing. His voice is a little gruffer now. More strained.

Into the house. Into the living room. Zara stops. Toys on the floor. A doll’s house with little animals in it. A little stable with plastic horses. She looks back at Nate as he follows her into the room.

‘I’ve just put her to bed,’ he’s saying without concern. It all seems easy to him, but it scares Zara. Would her daughter even recognize her? She doesn’t want to find out. ‘I’ve got her for the weekend. Your parents are on holiday. Lake District. Back on Monday.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Zara’s saying hurriedly, letting him know that she’s not here to see the child.

‘I didn’t imagine that you did,’ he says, and she spots that familiar edge to his tone.

He’s a very intelligent man. Reads books in his spare time. She always thought him an intellectual. Speaks very well for a man of his background too. All that adds to the sense of intimidation that he provides. He nods to a chair, an instruction to sit. He does the same.

‘I heard about Winter,’ he’s saying. He’s keeping his voice down, doesn’t want his little girl woken for no good reason.

‘Word travels fast round here,’ she’s saying with a sigh.

‘It does.’ He says nothing else. He’s putting all the pressure on her. He has an idea of why she might be here, but he doesn’t see why he should make it easy for her. Let her explain things. Let her do the hard work.

She’s usually so confident. Even when she’s not, she’s usually so good at faking it. She’s looking at Nate and wondering why she can’t manage to fake it now. She used to be able to, even with him. So what’s changed? It’s because he doesn’t care. When they each cared about the other, she could control him. Not any more. Time has taken him outside her reach.

‘I’m in a wee bit of a corner,’ she’s saying. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen to the house and the money Lewis had. I won’t get it soon, if I get it at all. I have some things,’ she’s saying, and she pats the large handbag on her knees. ‘Some cash. Some . . . merchandise. I need help with it. I need help from someone I can trust. Otherwise I have nothing to live on.’

He’s sitting and listening to her, but he’s not reacting. There’s no change in his expression. Nothing. It’s as if he wants to make her suffer. Does he even know how to behave properly with people any more? So much time spent intimidating.

‘You want me to set up an account, sell the drugs, put the money in the account.’ Not a question, a statement of fact.

‘Yes. I need your help with this.’

‘You have no one else who can help you?’

‘No,’ she says in a whisper. She knows he’s not asking in order to humiliate her. He’s asking her because he’d rather she turned to someone else.

Zara sits and waits for him to say something. She thinks Nate wants her to go somewhere else because he doesn’t care about her. She’s wrong. Very wrong. He wants her to go somewhere else because he does care about her. He still loves her. He assumes that he always will. But she’s bad news. Not for him; he can handle her and, indeed, far worse demons than her. But she’s bad for Rebecca, their daughter. His first responsibility is to her. If Zara comes back into his life, then she comes back into Becca’s as well. He doesn’t want that. He wants better for his little girl. But he can’t just leave Zara to the wolves. There are so many people in this business who could take advantage of her, if he doesn’t help.

‘What have you got?’ he’s asking her, leaning forward to see.

Zara takes the shoebox out of her bag and opens it. Two wads of cash, two plastic bags. Coke and methamphetamines. She places them on the coffee table.

He’s looking, and nodding his head. ‘Okay. Leave it with me. I’ll set up an account on Monday morning. Get the money safe, as quick as possible. The rest will take longer. I’ll find someone safe to sell it through. You won’t get full value, not for a one-off provision. You’ll do all right out of it, though.’

She’s nodding enthusiastically. ‘I get that, but anything would help. Right now I’ve got next to nothing, so . . . ’ She trails off in a shrugging embarrassment.

There’s a moment of silence. As far as Nate is concerned, this meeting is over.

‘When will I?’ she says, pointing to the coffee table.

He shrugs. ‘Say, a week Monday. Come round then and I’ll let you know how it’s gone. You might want to leave the money in the account for a couple of months, until you can be sure the cops aren’t watching you. Aren’t watching the account, either.’

‘I don’t think they are watching me. I’m a witness. I’m not a suspect.’

Nate looks at her. There’s a little hint of disgust in his expression, but only a hint. ‘You’re the girlfriend of a dead drug dealer. They will be watching you. You know things they want to know, and they’ll keep watching you until they know they can’t get anything from you.’

He’s showing her to the door, giving every impression of a man fed up of her company. When he closes the door behind her, she finds herself out in the front garden, unsure of how she feels. She’s glad to have his help, but his warning rings in her ears. The police will be watching you. The spectre of DI Fisher looms somewhere in the city, and she has a horrible feeling that she’s not going to be able to shake him off. Nate knows these things. As Nate closes the door he pauses. Zara, back in his life. Help her, and then let her go. She’s so entirely selfish; once she’s been helped, she’ll be gone again. Keep her away from Becca.