BLOOD DRAGON Read online

  Nancy waved an appreciative hand. “The protection officer should be here any moment. Let’s make a move, if this is what you still want to do.”

  “I don’t want to meet any more of the neighbours … not yet.”

  Cora led the way, ducking underneath the yellow and black hazard tape that was still stretched across the left hand side of the building. Nancy half turned around. Where was the security officer Pole had promised?

  She did not want to become a nuisance by calling him again. The cab driver was still there. She had asked him to wait and let the meter run. Cora had already disappeared into the property.

  Nancy was glad she had decided to wear black that morning. The walls which were once white and spotless were now covered in a dark watery coating. The intense smell assailed her throat. The concrete structure had withstood the flames, but the windows had been shattered by the heat and a cold wind blew through them into the building.

  The door of the loft had been left open so that the firefighters could gain access. Cora stood in the entrance. She was standing in front of the debris of her once happy life. Her stillness was absolute, a statue in a disaster zone. It could have been one of her own artistic creations and performances.

  With every step Nancy took, she crushed glass or china underfoot. The smell of melted paint, plastic and burnt fabric became even stronger than in the corridor when she finally reached Cora.

  “I don’t know what to do first.” Her friend’s lips were hardly moving. “I want to yell. I want to cry … I want to catch the bastards who did this.”

  Cora picked up a blackened piece of pottery that had rolled to the door and stared at it for a moment. She seemed unable to work out what it once had been.

  Nancy moved her head around slowly, trying to recall what the loft looked like before the tragedy.

  The Gallery has just closed its doors. Philippe is handing Nancy her last glass of champagne. They both have decided to have dinner with the young artist to celebrate her first solo show.

  “I’m working on a new project.” Cora Wong’s almond eyes are sparkling from the delicious beverage and from joy. The opening has been a complete success.

  “Already?” Nancy too feels a little tipsy, just enough to be in a mellow mood.

  “Ideas are buzzing in my head.” Cora giggles … imitating the humming of bees. “This one is going to be a large-scale installation, and support a performance. I’ve had aluminium tubes cut to size already as props.”

  “And they are all stored in our flat.” Ollie appears at his girlfriend’s elbow. He is beaming too. “I’m so pleased to see her hard work pay off.”

  “Would you like to see them?”

  Philippe pours the remains of the bottle into a glass that may or may not be clean but he doesn’t care. He has sold most of Cora’s pieces on the opening night … this bodes well for the young woman.

  “Nancy may want to get back home … it is rather late.”

  “Nonsense … I may no longer join revellers at 2am, in some remote derelict part of Hackney, but I would love to see more of Cora’s work.”

  Philippe nods. Whatever he can do for his friend and one of his best clients. It’s only 10pm after all.

  Cora and Ollie jump on their bikes. The young generation is climate change conscious.

  Philippe and Nancy opt for a cab, less climate friendly but the only option at this time of night.

  “I’m not surprised you like her work.”

  “I love the mix of craft, combining process and provocation … with that underlying sense of longing and nostalgia.” Nancy settles in the back of the cab, her back resting against the window as she speaks to Philippe.

  Philippe approves. “You share a similar quest I believe.” He hesitates, the way someone realizes they may have spoken out of turn.

  Nancy frowns in a teasing fashion. “Come on, Philippe. No holding back amongst friends.”

  “Let’s talk about that another day.” Philippe beams his best smile at Nancy. He is a little tired and the days leading up to the show’s launch have been hard work.

  “A few words … then we’ll talk about this another time, when you have recovered from the opening.”

  “Cora’s parents disappeared a few years ago, on the trip to mainland China. Their car was recovered, empty … they were never found.”

  Nancy’s stomach tightens. The champagne’s uplift disappears in an instant and the wound of the past tears at her once again.

  “Apologies … I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  Nancy forces herself to be civil. She can’t resent Philippe, who has been helping her with tracing her artist father. He has had some success without regard either for money or his own safety.

  “What happened?”

  Philippe is about to launch into an explanation he is reluctant to provide, but they arrive at their destination.

  “They’re here.” He almost jumps out of the car before it has stopped. Cora and Ollie are waiting for them.

  “How did they manage that?” Nancy too is glad the subject can be dropped.

  Ollie winks. “Backstreets, wrong side of the road and jumping traffic lights.”

  Nancy fakes indignation.

  Cora has already opened the building door and she is calling them from inside. She then opens the loft door and a magnificent structure almost 12ft high engulfs almost the entire living space.

  “The beauty of this piece …” Cora sweeps a hand through the air. “… is that I can rearrange it as I feel. The aluminium tubes are just props. They fit into one another in multiple ways … it’s really neat.”

  Nancy said aloud, “The aluminium tubes … your props … where are they?”

  * * *

  Andy had worked his magic again. Pole never ceased to be amazed by his DS’s ability with technology.

  “Gov, I think I’ve been able to trace the hoodie guy.”

  Pole looked at his watch. Barely forty minutes since he had forwarded the pictures that Nancy had sent him.

  “Shoot.”

  Andy adjusted his thick glasses, cracked his knuckles and seized his computer mouse decisively.

  “CCTV picks him up entering the Regents Canal towpath at Saint Peters Street. I backtracked and found another image of him on the High Street … interesting …”

  “Okay, genius. What is your point?”

  “Right … a black SUV drops him at Camden tube. The driver must know what he’s doing because I can’t get a trace on the SUV either before or after. And as we know, the number plate doesn’t exist.”

  “Same as yesterday, so … why not change car by simply stealing another one?”

  “That’s the thing, a black SUV looks very much like any other black SUV. Unless there is something distinctive about it, I won’t be able to trace it. The other thing, of course, is that the windows are dark and I can’t see who’s inside.”

  Pole dragged over an empty chair and sat next to Andy’s desk, looking at the computer screen sideways.

  “But something surprised me.” Andy had isolated the hoodie as he was walking out of Angel tube station and towards the canal. Andy slowed down the movement of him walking on screen.

  “I watch a lot of these and I’ve learned a few things from hours of CCTV deciphering.”

  “Are you telling me I am not being fair?” Pole crossed his arms over his chest. “You get the best CCTV footage there is, just for you … I selected it myself.”

  “Yes … you … did …” Andy was paying no attention what Pole was saying. Pole could have served him his notice. He would not have heard him.

  “Do you see the way he walks … legs close to one another, rather short strides?”

  The image on the screen moved painfully slowly, one foot lifting from the ground and taking what seemed forever to land on the ground a
gain. Pole could see what Andy was getting at, the strides were indeed short.

  “So, he has a problem with the way he walks … that’s a good identifier.”

  Andy chuckled. “And also, the body looks as if it is bobbing up and down when he walks.”

  Andy used a cursor he had created on screen and followed the movement with it to demonstrate.

  “Okay, I’m convinced. What issues does this man have with his legs then?”

  Andy pulled a disapproving face. “Half the population suffers from it. I don’t think it’s a bloke … I think it’s a woman.”

  Chapter Five

  “What about the props?”

  “I don’t quite know why they come to mind, but I just recall talking about them, the last time I was here. Somehow it feels relevant.” Nancy stopped herself from mentioning Ollie, but Cora had read her mind. She remembered that glorious evening too. She ran her hand through her hair and grabbed a tuft of it.

  “They are still there, stored at the far end of the room.”

  They both looked around the large open space. It had been cleverly designed to exploit the layout for maximum effect. A small entrance, leading directly onto an open kitchen with its long work top, a dining room and lounge area. At the far end, where the room turned a corner into the short arm of an ‘L’, was Cora’s studio.

  “I don’t think we can reach your studio.” Nancy crouched down to assess the state of the floor. “I’m not even sure we should be walking on this floor at all.”

  “You can’t but I can.” Cora removed the thick bomber jacket Nancy had lent her and took off her shoes and socks. She started climbing the pillar that stood closest to the entrance.

  Nancy opened her mouth but stopped herself. The evidence had been disturbed some time ago when the firefighters had trampled all over the place and her friend was not a stupid young girl. She didn’t need someone telling her off every time she decided to do something.

  Twice Cora almost slipped. The residue from the smoke that coated every surface of the flat was treacherous. Cora managed to reach the top of the column.

  “Jonathan was right. The fire started in multiple places at the same time. I’m glad I never stored my welding equipment in here.”

  “I didn’t think about that … where do you cut, weld and assemble your props?”

  “There is a place in Hackney I share with some other artists. I do all the rough work there.”

  Cora moved up a little higher and swung her legs across the central beam of the room. She was now 12ft in the air looking as comfortable as if she were relaxing in a lounger.

  “What do you see now?” Nancy craned her neck to follow Cora’s eyes, but there was no way she could see round the corner.

  “The props have been displaced but I’m not sure whether it is because of the heat of the fire, the water spray or someone trying to move them.”

  The soot that covered everything was clinging to her hands and feet. Cora stood up slowly. Her right foot slipped again. “Shit … this stuff is diabolical.” She clung to the top part of the vertical beam she had used to climb up.

  “I know you want to get over there and check, but we don’t even know whether that’s necessary yet.”

  Cora ignored Nancy. She was evaluating what it would take for her to walk all the way across the various beams of the room to her studio without falling off.

  “I can shuffle all the way there.” She was pointing to a central support beam.

  “And then what?” Nancy’s raised voice echoed around the loft as she lifted her face to speak to her friend.

  “Then I can swing towards the furthest column.”

  “Please don’t make me regret mentioning those props.”

  “Something prompted you, Nancy. You might remember if I tell you what I see there.”

  “If you even attempt to get over there, I will cross the floor myself.”

  Cora looked down and shook her head. “That is blackmail. You know I’ll never let you do that.”

  “I don’t care. As long as it makes you come down again.”

  The sound of broken debris being crushed underfoot stopped the conversation. Nancy swung her body around. The tall figure that was climbing the stairs towards the flat was not the police protection officer she was expecting.

  * * *

  The little cul-de-sac in Camden felt damp and seedy. Despite the broad daylight, the lane remained in darkness, squeezed between two derelict buildings that never allowed the sun to warm it up.

  Rob was standing near an opening that must previously have been a large door. It was now kept closed with a sheath of corrugated iron and discarded hard plastic window panes.

  “You’re sure it’s him?”

  Rob nodded, pulling a sorry face.

  “Let’s go then.” Pole exhaled.

  Pole moved aside the broken objects that served as a makeshift door, lit a small torch and entered cautiously. The smell that struck Pole when he moved inside made him retch, acrid and vinegary, but unmistakable …

  Heroin.

  Cooked, smoked or injected.

  The den was providing shelter for those who needed a fix. Mattresses strewn on the floor, bodies limp, alone or in groups. People preparing their syringes, oblivious to whomever was around.

  Rob shone his light on the mass of bodies. Nobody flinched … they couldn’t care less. He fixed the beam of his lamp on the heap slumped near a pillar and started walking towards it.

  “Hey mate … do you have a fiver?” a mumbled voice rose from a pile of garments that reeked of dirt.

  Both men ignored the request, yet the voice persisted. More of the inert bodies that seemed asleep, came to life. Someone that did not belong was intruding.

  “We need to get out of here … I’m not sure I want to be in the middle of a heroin den when these junkies wake up and smell cash for their next fix.”

  “I hear you.” Pole tried to accelerate his progress towards Ollie’s body. He almost tripped over someone’s outstretched legs, eliciting a groan.

  Rob reached the young man before Pole and flashed his torch into his face. It was ashen white, his lips were open, saliva had drooled down the side of his face and onto his T-shirt. Rob crouched, placed his index and middle finger on the young man’s neck artery. He pressed hard.

  Pole squatted next to him. “Alive?”

  Rob pulled one of Ollie’s eyelids open. The pupil had grown smaller than a pin prick.

  The sight of people gathering themselves to stand up as best they could, alarmed Pole. He grabbed one of the young man’s arms, Rob did the same on the other side and they lifted the inert body. The dead weight was astonishingly heavy.

  “Come on mate, you don’t want to finish up here.”

  Those who had managed to stand started to mutter some indistinct words. A skinny arm reached towards Pole. He tried to avoid it and almost dropped Ollie. Rob braced himself and Pole managed to steady the young man’s body. Ollie’s head was rolling from side to side. His feet dragged along the floor, starting to bump into the people lying on the floor.

  “Fuck …” Pole looked around for an easier route. “It’s impossible not to bump into people if we drag him like this.”

  Rob was also looking around. More mumbled words were coming from the crowd but a few started to made sense … dosh, cash, dope.

  “No, it’s not going to work. I’ll carry him … You clear the way.”

  Pole braced himself and heaved Ollie’s body over his shoulders, his torso lying across them. One of Pole’s arms gathered Ollie’s legs, the other his arms. Rob pushed people away as they approached the exit.

  The grumble of those they were disturbing rose to a new level, some shouting, some swearing. Rob ignored them. The junkies were awake, and they needed to get out immediately. Pole accelerated his pace. Someone tr
ied to stand in his way. Rob pushed him back and he fell down. The whole den had come to life …

  Rob increased the brightness of the torch beam and shone it into people’s eyes. They turned their heads away, yelling insults. Pole made a final push for the exit and within seconds they were out.

  He didn’t stop to relax however. Some of the druggies were coming out in pursuit. Rob was calling for assistance when a beer bottle hit the back of his head. He stumbled forward almost losing his phone.

  Pole was almost out of the small alley. His back screaming under the strain of the other man’s weight. Two police cars, blue lights flashing and sirens blaring, arrived from opposite directions, and screeched to a stop. Officers leaped out. The people who had come out of the den scattered.

  Pole finally lowered Ollie’s body to the ground as gently as he could. The ambulance had arrived too and the paramedics took over. Pole slumped down onto the pavement against the door of one of the vehicles.

  Rob joined him. “Well done …” Pole nodded and after a minute got up, still stiff. He walked towards the open back of the ambulance where one of the paramedics, a tall and lean black man, was busying himself over Ollie, fitting an oxygen mask over his face.

  “How bad …” Pole did not have time to finish his sentence. An alarm sounded on one of the monitors. The paramedic pushed Pole away firmly, his colleague slashed open Ollie’s T-shirt with one cut. The door closed and the ambulance lurched forward, siren screeching.

  Pole stood … stomach clenched. The smell of heroin still floated around him.

  * * *

  “Drug overdose … My chap on the ground says it’s heroin.”

  “You mean he has been injected by force and has OD’d on it.”

  “I don’t know the details. Scotland Yard and the NCA are involved so I’m not sure we want to be that visible.”

  Jack stopped typing. Jethro awaited his reply. As far as he was concerned, he had done his best to find out what happened to Ollie Wilson.

  “Why Scotland Yard and why the NCA?”

  “Ollie’s girlfriend seems to have the right connections and she reported his kidnapping.”