Blood Whispers Read online

  ‘The interpreter.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘It’s a she.’

  ‘Okay, so what about her?’

  ‘If Kaltrina was pregnant, why did Janica Ahmeti not mention it?’

  ‘Who’s Janica Ahmeti?’

  ‘The interpreter!’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t tell her.’

  ‘I think she did. And I’m pretty sure I was there when it happened. Kaltrina was gesturing to her, having an argument in Albanian, and she kept pointing to her stomach. I think that’s what she was telling her, and if it was, why didn’t Janica mention that to me?’

  ‘Maybe she just didn’t get round to it. With everything else going on it probably didn’t seem so important.’

  ‘It’s not for her to decide what’s important and what’s not. She has, or should have, no knowledge of what the case is about. It’s her job to translate everything, however trivial. She has no editorial power. But it’s not just that. David left her a message on the Sunday when all the shit was happening, but she didn’t show. I still haven’t heard from her.’

  ‘She probably thinks you’re dead.’

  Keira suddenly winced.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘An occasional spasm . . . can take your breath away.’

  ‘So, d’you think being pregnant made Kaltrina try to get out?’

  ‘Could be a few things. She’d heard one of her friends take a beating in the room across from hers. The next morning the friend had disappeared. Kaltrina didn’t want to end up in the same situation. I didn’t know anything about her being pregnant. Christ! As if the situation isn’t tragic enough.’

  ‘Maybe Kaltrina saw who killed her pal.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s it. Patrick Sellar made a comment that makes me think there’s something else going on. He was talking about having the girl deported: throwing the big guns at me before I’d even opened my mouth. Mentioned citing Part II Section 15(3) of the 1971 Immigration Act as grounds: “A person shall not be entitled to appeal against a decision to make a deportation order against him or her if the ground of the decision was that his or her deportation is conducive to the public good as being in the interests of national security or of the relations between the United Kingdom and any other country or for other reasons of a political nature.”’

  ‘You know all that shit off by heart?’

  Keira flattened her legs to reveal some sheets of A4 on her lap.

  ‘I was reading it before you came in.’

  ‘Are you supposed to be working? You’re sick: you are entitled to put your feet up and read a book.’

  ‘I’m not sick . . . I’m damaged. He didn’t shoot me in the brain.’

  ‘So, what does all that baloney actually mean?’

  ‘It means that I’d have had no chance of fighting her deportation. No grounds for appeal, no matter what they decided to do with her: but why? The girl was a twenty-year-old prostitute. She was wily, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to pose a threat to this or any other country’s national security: which makes me think that whatever Abazi is up to does pose a threat, or is at least linked in some way to one.’

  ‘Do you remember the story in the papers about the guy they found unconscious in the Radisson?’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘Obviously into some weird practices! They found him tied to a chair with his trousers at his ankles and a lump of mince where the back of his head used to be.’

  ‘He survived though, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, he got quite a belt, but it was largely superficial. He didn’t want to press charges, which immediately gets the small hairs doing a tango. There’s footage of him entering and leaving the room with a girl.’

  ‘Kaltrina Dervishi?’

  ‘Looks like it. Did she mention anything about that?’

  ‘No. D’you think it’s related to what happened?’

  ‘He’s CIA.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The cops that responded to the call found his ID when they were checking the room: simple as that. Edwin Kade, Central Intelligence Agency. Looks far too big to be a field officer.’

  ‘Big?’

  ‘Fat. Not what you’d expect. We’ve been trying to piece together what happened, but Kade’s not interested. Wants to book a flight back home as soon as possible. We’ve taken his passport for the time being until we can establish if there’s any connection to Abazi, but the only reason he’s stayed this long is to let the wound heal enough for him to be able to fly. You wouldn’t think those guys would leave their ID lying around.’

  ‘Or let themselves be tied to a chair . . . Unless Edwin Kade felt he was safe.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘If Kade knew Kaltrina was one of Abazi’s girls. If Abazi and the CIA had something going on, then he’d have no reason to hide the fact that he was an agent.’

  ‘It’s a possibility.’

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ She nodded towards the plastic carrier bag Hammond was holding. ‘If it’s chocolates and a get-well-soon card, you’re too late. I’ll be getting out later today or sometime tomorrow morning.’

  ‘That’s not what the doctors are telling me.’

  ‘It’s what I’m telling the doctors.’

  ‘Don’t think you’re going anywhere until they say it’s okay.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘“Fine” is no good; you need to be one hundred per cent. It’s not just about how well you’re feeling. When Abazi finds out you’re still alive I think he’ll come after you. He doesn’t know what the girl has told you‚ so, potentially, you’re still a threat. We need to have a serious think about how we are going to handle this.’

  ‘You think I should stay locked up in here?’

  ‘You’re not locked up anywhere. The door doesn’t even have a key. But I don’t think you should be in any hurry to leave. You know first hand what they’re capable of. At least in here you have some level of protection.’

  He held the bag towards her. ‘Here, you might as well have it. It’s a box of chocolates and a get-well card, from me and the team. I don’t think you’re going anywhere.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Gary Hammond looked slightly awkward. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The heroin trade.’

  ‘Bit random! Here’s some chocolates, tell me everything you know about the heroin trade.’

  ‘Any idea how a quantity of it ended up in your apartment?’

  She was aware Gary was watching her: looking for a reaction.

  ‘What sort of quantity?’

  ‘Not enough to get you on dealing charges, but enough to get you on the sheet as a user.’

  ‘I’ve no idea. What’s your take on it?’

  ‘Not sure yet, but I thought I’d let you know. There might be some awkward questions coming your way.’

  ‘Thanks. Were you hoping for more of a reaction?’

  ‘Not really.’

  He was just at the door, about to leave. ‘Something else I forgot to mention. We have more than one suspect for the shooting. Abazi’s hired hand and someone known to you.’

  ‘Known to me?’

  ‘Jason Gormley.’

  Keira didn’t respond.

  ‘Shit, I never know how to read you. I thought you’d be more surprised. His prints are all over the apartment, along with two sets of bullet casings: looks like two separate shooters. We’re fairly positive that Gormley was one of them.’

  ‘My recollection of the gunman’s face is pretty mangled, but one thing I do know for sure: the guy who shot me wasn’t Jay-Go.’

  Twenty-six

  The tap at the basin in the far corner was running: someone filling a glass. The noise of wastewater sloshing around then gurgling into the trap sounded abstract and distant, like it was happening somewhere else.

  Keira had lost all sense of time passing. The silence that follo
wed could have lasted a second, a minute or an hour: she had no way of knowing. The only thing she was certain of was that the person was still in the room, moving towards her bed.

  There was another tapping noise, or clicking . . . footsteps, maybe.

  The pills she’d been given to help her sleep made her head feel heavy and her gaze unfocused, but the medication hadn’t dimmed her hearing.

  She needed to know what time it was.

  All she had to do was raise her head from the pillow and look at the digital read-out on the clock by the bedside table, but physically that didn’t feel like it was an option.

  It wasn’t unusual for the nurses to check on her throughout the night.

  Keira could feel herself starting to drift back to sleep.

  Suddenly a shadow passed over her face: a presence close by.

  A rush of adrenaline kick-started her brain into action. There was a figure standing over her. She’d caught a faint whiff of alcohol and knew instinctively that whoever it was posed a threat. Suddenly a hand clamped down over her mouth: the rough, calloused skin stinking of cigarette smoke.

  Her eyes were wide open now, her screams muffled as she struggled to break free from the intruder’s grip.

  Then the voice came, speaking to her in urgent whispers. The same voice she’d heard in her apartment just before she’d lost consciousness.

  ‘Miss‚ it’s only me. Don’t scream, awright? It’s only me, Miss!’

  Immediately the hand was removed Keira’s body went limp and her head dropped back on to the pillow.

  Jay-Go was standing to the side of her bed, looking just as frightened as she was.

  ‘For Chrissake, Jay-Go, you scared the fucking life out of me! What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Keep it down, Miss, keep it down.’

  ‘How the hell did you get in here?’

  ‘The cop is giving it big snoresvilles out there. Walked straight past him.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘I’d have a word with his superior and get the clown defrocked. That’s bang out of order. Sorry for the hand clamp, by the way; I thought you might scream.’

  ‘Too bloody right I’d scream! I still might! A gentle nudge would have done the trick.’

  ‘Good to see you’ve still got some fight in you. A bit of good news for a change. I’m glad it was you.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Keira slowly pulled herself up to a sitting position.

  Jay-Go was wearing a white lab coat.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here? I’m supposed to be dead.’

  ‘The word’s out that’s a lot of bollocks . . . Rumour is somebody survived. That’s what I’m saying . . . I’m glad it was you. Naebody knows for sure if it wis you or the girl that copped it. Here, Ah brought you this.’

  Jay-Go lifted a bottle of Irn Bru and a bunch of petrol-station flowers from the chair next to the door and handed them to her. ‘Couldnae find Lucozade anywhere; I don’t know if they still make it.’

  It may have been the relentless boredom of lying in a hospital bed for days on end, but Keira surprised herself by being pleased to see him.

  ‘You look awright for someone that copped three bullets.’

  Keira shot him a look. ‘How do you know how many times I was shot?’

  Jay-Go hesitated just long enough before answering for Keira to figure whatever he said next would be a lie.

  ‘Must have heard it on the news.’

  ‘I don’t think they reported that fact on the news.’

  ‘Whose diary?’ asked Jay-Go, trying to change the subject by referring to the tatty brown notebook on the bedside table.

  ‘How long have you been in here?’

  ‘Long enough to have a wee glance.’

  ‘It’s private.’

  ‘It’s interesting. And I cannae read, remember.’

  ‘D’you think I’ve just met you? You can read as well as the next . . .’ she paused, searching for the word.

  ‘Junkie! Is that what you were gonnae say? I’m a man o’ means these days . . . Is it your boyfriend’s diary? Thought you were still a virgin?’

  Keira let that one pass.

  ‘My dad’s.’

  ‘Fuck me! Yer da! Looked to me like he was riding point for a couple of dope dealers in the States.’ Jay-Go’s voice was getting higher and higher with incredulity. ‘That’s your da?’

  ‘So I believe.’

  ‘Respect, Miss! All new high on the respect front.’

  ‘How d’you know they were dope dealers?’

  ‘It’s all in there! All them figures: working out his cut for keeping the edge.’

  Jay-Go caught her look. He shook his head and sucked air between his teeth. ‘You need to do some time in the pokey, Miss; get up to speed with the lingo your clients use. You’re looking at me like I’m talking Martian: the edge. It’s like sauvegarder, you know, protect, look out for. A couple of days in jail and you’d have it down.’ He shook his head again, as though he couldn’t believe she didn’t know this. ‘You represent some major miscreants and you probably don’t even know what they’re saying half the time. Or is that just an act? Are you secretly from a major crime family and you know all the parlance?’

  ‘“Sauvegarder”, “parlance” – have you been studying French in jail?’

  ‘My mum was French.’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘Was she fuck,’ replied Jay-Go. ‘Total psych! The nearest my ma came to France was drinking three bottles of claret every night before her tea.’

  Jay-Go was toying with her now, trying to be a smartarse, but Keira had already had enough and wanted to get back to sleep. ‘Why are you here, Jay-Go?’

  ‘I’m heading off. Wanted to say ta-ta and check that the rumours of your passing had been greatly exaggerated.’

  ‘Enjoy the trip.’

  ‘“Enjoy the trip”! Fuck me. I travel all this way to say cheerio and all Ah get is ‘‘Enjoy the trip”? I havnae even told you where I’m going yet.’

  ‘You can send me a postcard.’

  ‘The States, California! Going to pay Betty Ford a visit. Sort myself out: break the cycle. When you heading over? We could meet up. Is Niagara close to California?’

  Keira looked at him coolly. ‘Who said anything about going to Niagara?’

  ‘There’s a ticket in the back of the diary,’ replied Jay-Go. ‘Did your da send it over so you could go visit him?’

  ‘My dad’s dead. That ticket’s twenty years old.’

  ‘So who sent it?’

  ‘No one sent it. It was his ticket. I think he was planning to live there.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘He was murdered, along with his brother. Scuppered his travel plans.’

  ‘Heavy doors! Who did it?’

  She gave him a look that let him know he’d gone far enough.

  ‘Jay-Go, I like you, but only up to a point, and I passed that point about two seconds after I realized it was you in the room and not one of the nursing staff. None of this is any of your business.’

  ‘I don’t even know who my da is. Pissed off when I was born. My ma never even told me his name: still don’t know. Every guy I pass in the street I think, “Wonder if that’s him?” Mental! Does your brain in. At least you knew yours.’

  Keira could easily have contradicted him, told him that she never knew her father, but that would have kept the conversation going and all she wanted to hear Jay-Go say now was ‘goodbye’.

  ‘That’s why we get on, Miss: lots in common,’ he continued. ‘We should hook up: “a marriage made in prison”! What meds are you on, by the way? Got the jangles coming on bad here. You got anything I could borrow?’

  She could see that Jay-Go was starting to sweat.

  ‘They give me Dihydrocodeine, but I don’t take it: blurs the thinking too much.’

  Jay-Go snorted. ‘That’s the fuckin’ point, Miss. Where is it?’

  She could see him eyeing the small white
paper pot with last night’s pills still in it and realized why he’d filled a cup at the sink. ‘Is that water for me?’ she asked.

  He knew straight away she was on to him.

  ‘If I hadn’t stirred, would you have swallowed those pills, even though you had no idea what they were?’

  ‘You’re in a hospital, they’re hardly likely to give you shit that’s gonnae make you more sick.’

  ‘I suppose if I closed my eyes and they disappeared, I could always say I didn’t know where they went . . . I may have swallowed them myself.’

  Jay-Go gave her a look, then said, ‘Aye, you could give that one a try.’

  Keira closed her eyes. When she opened them again the small paper cup was empty, and Jay-Go was finishing off the rest of his water.

  ‘D’you think if I closed my eyes again, maybe you could disappear too?’

  ‘Aye, very good!’ Jay-Go was nodding his head. ‘You get the big picture. Man, you are too cool! Standing at the North Pole in a fuckin’ T-shirt cool. You know the right thing to do, Miss. You know which way to look and when to cross. That’s why Nick-Nick Carter and Big Paul and Holy Man are on the warpath.’

  ‘What are you talking about‚ Jay-Go?’

  ‘A few things you should know. I told you they were gonnae hit the girl, didn’t Ah?’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘No questions, Miss, remember?’

  ‘D’you know who the shooter was?’

  ‘Listen up. You know what I said was right. So if I tell you there was a big, bad, bag of smack left in your apartment, you’ll know I’m not making it up. They were probably trying to set you up, Miss.’

  ‘Who was?’

  ‘Abazi and the Watcher, the guy that carried out the hit.’

  ‘Is that his name?’

  ‘His nickname. His real name is Eggys Eezee or some shit like that.’

  ‘Why would they try to set me up?’

  ‘How the hell should I know, but it was there on your kitchen table; a full kilo of top-grade caballo. Maybe they were trying to blur the picture.’

  ‘Blur the picture?’

  ‘Aye, you know, make it look like you’re dirty to throw people off the scent of what’s really going on.’

  ‘How d’you know all this, Jay-Go?’