"Severed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kernick Simon)

11

I've known Lucas since we entered the army together nineteen long years ago, when we were seventeen apiece. He lasted nine years, but left not long after the Crossmaglen ambush. Although his own injuries were superficial, he told me he took what happened as a warning from God to change careers, and when his service was up, he didn't renew it. I don't think the life ever suited him like it did me, but somehow we've always stayed in touch in a way I've never really managed with the rest of the men I served with. We just hit it off, I suppose. There's not much more you can say about it than that. Lucas is a funny guy, always has been. He's got charisma, and charm too. The ladies have always loved him. He's half Swedish, and he's inherited the blond hair and irritatingly golden skin that you associate with the Swedes, if not their passive neutrality. Add to that the strong jaw and high chiselled cheekbones, and you've got the sort of guy who in his younger days could have been a model.

These days he works for himself as a private detective. He's been doing it for six years now and claims that he'll take on any job if the money's right, although most of his work involves divorce cases. Those and missing persons. He's good, though, and he's done work for me on three occasions, hunting down people who owed me money through the car business but decided to skip town rather than pay up. Every time he's found them, and every time the two of us have got the debtor to cough up the money. I trust Lucas. I haven't seen him in close to three months, but that doesn't matter. He's one of my best friends, possibly the best, and I know that when things are bad, he'll be there.

And they don't get much worse than they have been today.

I've abandoned the stolen car on a back street on the borders of Whitechapel and Aldgate and I'm walking along Commercial Street in the direction of Liverpool Street tube station, the briefcase in one hand, just one person among the hordes of short-sleeved office workers on their lunch breaks who are out enjoying the early afternoon sunshine. Lucas's offices are above a Bangladeshi textile wholesalers just south of Spitalfields Market, about two minutes' walk from where I am now. It's already 1.30, so I use the phone I've been supplied with to dial his office number.

'Martin Lukersson Associates,' he states confidently, his voice deep and fearless, making him sound every inch the kind of guy you can rely on in times of trouble. 'How can I help?'

'I've got a problem,' I tell him, not bothering with introductions.

'I know,' he answers.

That throws me. 'How do you know?'

'Because you phoned me about it.'

'When?' I ask, surprised.

Now it's his turn to sound surprised. 'Yesterday,' he says impatiently. 'You called me yesterday.'

'What did I want?'

'Don't you remember? Christ, Tyler, what's wrong with you? Have ravenous women been spiking your drink again so they can get you into bed when your defences are down?'

'It's a long story,' I tell him, thinking he may not actually be that far from the truth.

'Care to explain?'

'Tell me what I wanted first.'

'You asked me to find some information on a young lady you've met.'

'Leah Torness,' I say, having no recollection of this conversation whatsoever.

'That's her.'

I'm having difficulty getting my head round this. 'What information did I want?'

He sounds aghast. 'You really can't remember?'

'No.'

'You wanted an address.'

'But I've already got an address. She's a nanny for a couple in Richmond. I dropped her off there the other week.'

'You said the address was false. That she didn't actually live there.'

His words hit me like hammer blows, and I have to stop walking. So confused do they make me that I even wonder if this could be some kind of wind-up.

'Are you sure about this, Lucas?' I ask cautiously. 'Because if this is-'

'I'm positive, Tyler, and if you really can't remember what we talked about, then I think we'd better get you to a doctor.'

'There's no time for that now. Did you find an address?'

'No, and I've hunted everywhere for her. Her name doesn't appear on any database. She's not on the electoral register, she doesn't own a credit card, and the mobile number you gave for her is a pay-as-you-go not registered to anyone. So I got Snowy to have a look as well. You know what he's like. The guy's a ferret. If there's information there, he'll find it.'

Snowy, the other guy I pulled free from our stricken APC that day in Crossmaglen, has been a junior partner in Martin Lukersson Associates for the past two years, and he's also proved to be an excellent private detective, maybe even better than Lucas himself. It was Snowy who located two of my bad debtors, one of whom had changed his name and moved to Germany, so he knows what he's doing.

'And he didn't find out anything either?' I ask, more in hope than expectation.

'Oh yeah, he found something out all right.'

I feel a small burst of excitement. 'What?'

'He found out that the name's an anagram. Mix the letters up and guess what you come up with?'

'Lucas, I can't even do the Sun crossword.'

'She's not real.'

'What do you mean?'

'Jumble the letters and that's what it spells: she's not real. Leah Torness equals "she's not real",' he adds, just in case I've somehow failed to get the message. 'Someone's fucking you around, Tyler.'

I'm silent for several seconds. I can hear my heart beating in my chest. This has got to be some coincidence, surely. If it isn't, then… Then what? I push the thought to the back of my mind. I don't want to go there.

'So, what the hell's going on?' asks Lucas at last.

I take a deep breath. 'I've got a serious problem,' I tell him, 'and I need your help. Right now.'

'All right,' he answers, and I'm wondering if he's remembering that day back in Crossmaglen. 'What do you need me to do?'

I stop outside the Bangladeshi wholesalers and press the buzzer for Martin Lukersson Associates. 'Let me in and I'll tell you.'