"Mr. Webster," Anna said quietly. He ignored her as he took out a small plastic container and placed it next to his mug. He sat down and
carefully opened it to remove two biscuits, which he set down side by side. "Mr. Webster, we met when I came to see you at your home."
Jeremy nodded and bit into one of his biscuits. "I am on my tea break."
"I really need to talk to you, and you were very helpful."
He didn't look at her, chewing with a studied look on his face.
"It's about the lists of cars you provided for our investigation."
He sipped his tea.
"We've been able to trace almost all of them.You really did a great job. If you don't mind, I would just like to check over a couple of things."
Gordon glanced at Anna; she could have been talking to the wall. Jeremy finished his second biscuit, carefully picking up the crumbs, then he sipped his tea. Anna had to sit patiently as he washed up his mug, placed it back on the hook, and washed his hands.
She tried again. "The manageress said that we could have a few moments to talk to you."
He still did not make eye contact. Instead he took a deep breath, sighing and staring at the floor. "What do you want?"
Anna tried to explain as quickly as possible the reason she was there, and how much she appreciated him talking to her and helping their inquiry. She took out the list of car number plates he had passed on to her, and asked if there were any more, or anything he could tell her about the vehicles.
"They were illegally parked," he said.
"Yes, I know."
"They are not from the estate; they do not have parking permits."
"Yes, we know that." Anna had highlighted the vehicles whose owners she had interviewed. "Is there anything else you could help me with?"
He didn't want to handle the piece of paper, so she laid it flat on the table.
"I mean, maybe you saw the cars there more than one time?"
Jeremy glanced down and stared at the rows of numbers. He then lifted his left hand, pulled back the sleeve of his sweater to look at a large watch, then pulled his sleeve back and straightened it.
"You see, Mr. Webster, we have not as yet been able to identify the people using the flat to sell drugs."
He walked back to his rain cape and shook it out. He stepped into his rubbers like a dancer. Anna glanced at Gordon and rolled her eyes.
"Can I help you with that?" Gordon said, with his hands out toward the cape.
Jeremy swished it aside like a bullfighter. "No."
The sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. Jeremy stepped forward to pick it up. Anna thought he was going to put it into the bin, but he replaced it onto the table and returned to fastening his rain cape.
He didn't actually point; it was more an odd jerk up and down of his right index finger. "Six-twenty-one APS," he said as he pulled up his hood.
Anna looked to Gordon, trying to check which of the rows of numbers he was referring to. Then he repeated the date, time, and month in numbers only, and repeated the time—8:07—then he turned and swung open the door, walking out.
"Shit! Which car—did you get the number?" Gordon said.
Anna glanced down the paper. "Here you go—621 APS .. .Eddie Court, our witness for the tall man in the smart shoes in the Mitsubishi."
"He also identified Frank Brandon," Gordon said.
"Right; he admitted to being at the squat late that night, but Jeremy just stated that earlier time of seven minutes past eight."
"Well, if you can trust what he says," Gordon scoffed.
"He came up with all these, didn't he?"
"Yeah, I know."
"Ifjeremy's correct, that little bastard was lying: he went to the squat twice in one night." Jeremy was back pushing the trolleys, all neat and perfectly lined up, staring ahead as his eyes caught sight of a stray trolley a few yards across the car park. Anna smiled and waved, but his brilliant blue eyes gave no hint of recognition as he herded them back for the shoppers to use.
"He's got to be bloody fit to handle them—they're heavy," Gordon commented.
Anna said nothing, angry that Eddie Court had lied to her. On the night Frank Brandon died, he had scored drugs from the squat. Had he also lied about how much he had actually seen?
"You okay?" Gordon asked as they waited by the barrier.
"I am going to look like a right idiot if this pans out. I'd like to get that bloody Eddie Court and wring his neck." She flashed her ID card to the man inside the booth, and he lifted the barrier.
Eddie had moved out of his mother's place and was sharing a basement flat in Maida Vale. His mother said that he didn't have a mobile, which Anna didn't believe, and he no longer had his old Mini. The basement had a steep staircase going down from the pavement, with big iron railings and a cast-iron gate. The door was quite modern, in varnished pine, with a stained-glass insert held together by white Band-Aids.
They rang the bell to the flat but could hear no sound, so banged on the door. Still no response. They looked through the windows but could see little other than gray dirty nets and some kind of heavy curtain. Anna banged with the flat of her hand; Gordon tapped her arm to listen. Then locks were being moved, one at the top of the door and one near the bottom. The latch drew back, and the door inched open. There stood a girl with dyed black hair; her face was a pasty white, with thick black mascara and eyeliner making her look like a badger.
"Eddie Court—in, is he, love?"
She screwed up her eyes as if trying to focus. Anna showed her ID, and gave her name and Gordon's.
The girl didn't seem that concerned. "What do you want?"
"To talk to Eddie; is he in?"
"Is he the DJ?"
"Yeah, that's right. Can we come in?"
The girl stepped back, wrapping her robe around herself. She was barefoot, and obviously suffering from a hangover.
"Which room is he in?"
"Back room, I think—straight through, past the kitchen."
"Thank you. What's your name, love?"
"Megan Phillips. I live in the front room, with my boyfriend. It's his place, but he's out."
"Megan, can you go back to your room, please? I'll knock on the door if I need to talk to you."
There was an overpowering smell in the place—a mixture of mildew, joss sticks, and body odor. The kitchen was filthy, with dirty pots and pans and cutlery and leftover takeaway cartons. A bin spewed out stale food; even the lino seemed to have a film of grease.
"Ugh," Gordon said, pulling a face.
The end door had a large poster of Alice Cooper pinned to it; the wall beside it was covered in names and phone numbers. A pair of old Wellington boots lay tossed in the corner, alongside a broken umbrella and a Hoover with a split bag. Anna banged on the door and waited. Gordon tried the doorknob, and it turned; a safety chain hung loose. He pushed it open wider, but it was hard to see anything.The walls were a dark blue; there was a blue, threadbare carpet, but this could hardly be seen for the mounds of dirty clothes: jeans, shirts, shoes, sneakers, cowboy boots, smelly socks, and vests. The room was a pigsty and the smell disgusting.
Anna eased her way farther into the room; there was a chink of light coming from the drawn curtains. The bed was a mound of old blankets and a stained orange duvet. Anna looked over the room, then gestured for Gordon to cross to the bed. She lifted the duvet and then both of them pulled it back. Curled in a ball, wearing socks, underpants, and a torn T-shirt was a comatose Eddie Court. He didn't wake, even when they pulled the curtains back. The light streamed in as best it could through the dirty windows, but still he remained curled up.
"Is he dead?" Gordon whispered.
"No, I think he's sleeping one off, though." She nudged the bed. It was astonishing: they banged the bed and shook him but he remained out of it.
Gordon was becoming freaked out that he might have overdosed. "Come on, Eddie, wake up!" he said loudly.
Anna turned as there was a loud blast of the Muppets' theme tune. It came from a dirty pair of jeans by her feet. Somehow this got a reaction. Eddie gave a low moan and grunted. Totally unaware that Anna and Gordon were in the room, he flopped over the side of the bed and reached, with shaking hands, to his dirty jeans.
"It's probably your mother," Anna said, snatching the jeans away.
Eddie flopped back and squinted at the light coming in from the window. "Fucking hell, what's going on?"
"Just need to ask you a few questions."
Anna sent Gordon out to get some coffee while Eddie went into the bathroom. There was broken frosted glass set into the door, so Anna could see Eddie's shadow as he tried to wake himself up. There was no possibility he could make it out of the window, as there were bars across it. She gave him five minutes before she rapped on the door for him to come out. He had dragged on a pair of jeans; at least he was more awake.
"Get out of it last night, did you?" Anna said, following him back into the disgusting bedroom.
"Yeah, smashed." He flung himself back on the bed, rubbing his hair.
"Okay, we have a few minutes before Detective Constable Loach comes back."
"He gettin' me some coffee?"
"Yes, but that's a plus for you—I wanted a few words with you alone. If you give me what I want, then we won't take you in."
"For doing what?"
"Lying, withholding evidence—you can get into big trouble for that."
"I never done nothing."
She moved closer. "Don't play any more games, Eddie. I want the truth this time."
"About what?"
"The night you went to visit the drug dealers in Chalk Farm."
"I told you, I never went in."
"Not the second time you were there; that was when you were able
248
to identify this man." She showed him the photograph of Frank Brandon. "But you went to the same place earlier that night, didn't you?"
"No."
"Eddie, we know that you did. Now, I am not interested in what you scored—I just want the name of the dealer."
Eddie closed his eyes, shaking his head.
"It's up to you, Eddie. Give up who was dealing or you'll be arrested."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"If it ever got out, I'd be fucking dead meat."
"Oh, so you do know?"
"I never said that!"
"Give me the name, Eddie. It doesn't mean they'll know it came from you. Any more lies and 1 will lose my patience."
"They don't deal from there no more."
"Yes, I know that.The place was closed down."
"You'll look out for me?"
"Yes."
Eddie chewed his lips. A cold sore on his upper lip started to bleed. He used a corner of his filthy sheet to dab at it. "I only ever seen one of 'em—since, that's Delroy Planter."
Anna jotted the name down; it wasn't one she knew. She looked up as Eddie still messed with his lip. "The second?"
"He's a mean bastard but, like I said, I've not seen him since. It was a bloke called Silas Roach."
Anna pressed for descriptions of both men. Eddie shrugged and muttered, but eventually gave Anna some idea what the men looked like. Both, Eddie thought, were Jamaican.The front doorbell rang and it made them both jump.
Gordon had left the door on the latch and was already heading down the dingy corridor with coffees. Anna asked for the address where she could find the dealers. Eddie muttered and moaned, but gave it up, as Gordon held out his coffee.
"Okay, Eddie. If this doesn't add up, we will be back."
Anna ran both names by Sam Power. He had no record of either of the men, and no information on the squat they were now using to deal from. The address was in Kensal Rise, not that far from Chalk Farm, nor from Maida Vale; it hung between the two. Sam knew the area well, as they had busted a row of shops there two years previously. They had swooped on two hairdressing salons and a grocery store, and made over twenty-two arrests, including runners, delivery boys and girls, customers trying to score. The stash of drugs was impressive, from heroin to crack cocaine, hash, and marijuana. It was a well-publicized raid and the row of shops had since been closed and boarded up. Sam was surprised that the two dealers would be either stupid or audacious enough to operate from there again.
"Two years ago? Maybe the businesses have reopened."
"Yeah, in more ways than one."
Sam suggested they take it quietly. He and Anna should first stake out the area, as neither knew what their suspects looked like, apart from Eddie's descriptions. Silas Roach had dreadlocks and always wore a multicolored, knitted bobble hat, whereas Delroy Planter, "the muscleman," was lighter-skinned and often wore a leather jacket and trousers.