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All I offer is a grunt as I snatch up my phone and head downstairs with Zak following behind.
“Where are you going,” Zak asks as I make for the front door.
“To find out what the fuck happened. Stay here in case she turns up.” I jump in my car and drive towards the city.
There’s no sign of Robert at home or the office. And when I try his phone again, it simply rings and rings before going to voicemail.
I hang around for a bit and make some calls. I check in with Rocky, who confirms Marchant’s body has been dumped on Rogers’ patch, although it’ll take a while before he floats to the surface of the Lock.
Ripley is keeping The Scarlett Door going and unsurprisingly hasn’t seen any more cops since the raid. And Bowser is working on finding out about this warehouse that Marchant mentioned and trying to track Kavanagh, but if he’s still in London, he’s keeping a low profile.
“Where the fuck are you, Roxanne!” The phone in my lap begins to ring, and I answer without even looking at who it is. “Yeah.”
“Lawler, you find her?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question. You’re the cop after all.” I let out a sigh and rub my hand down my face and notice how badly I need to shave. It’s only been two days, but I swear stress makes it grow quicker.
“Screw you, Lawler. This fucking mess is on you! If you’d have just let her be…” Mitch’s voice trails off knowing full well it wouldn’t have mattered. Roxanne was always going to be dragged into this. There was no other way. “Look, all I know is she was released without charge, and she left with her solicitor. Your guy, right?”
“Wrong.”
“Wrong? What do you fucking mean wrong?”
“Wrong, Mitch. Not my fucking guy. He’s nowhere to be found and not answering my calls, funnily enough. I suggest that you get your arse down the station and find out who she left with. ‘Cause if I do, it won’t be fucking pretty.” I end the call and chuck my phone into the passenger seat.
Starting the car, I slam it into gear and roar away from the curb, heading in no particular direction. However, I’m not surprised that my subconscious has me pulling up outside the nick where Roxanne was being held. I flip open the glove box and dig around for a pack of cigarettes I know are in there. Finally finding them and a lighter, I spark up and take a deep inhale. The smoke coils up, pluming inside the car. I crack a window and watch as it’s sucked out through the small opening.
My phone buzzes in my lap, ‘no caller ID’ stares back at me, and if it were any other time, I’d reject it, but something makes me swipe to answer. I stay quiet, allowing the caller to speak first. After a second or two of silence, they break.
“Mr Lawler?” I recognise his voice immediately and sit a little straighter in my seat.
“Laskin, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Considering who he is, and despite his attempts to encroach into my territory, we have a reasonable relationship. An understanding of sorts.
“I believe you lost something of importance to you, yes?” He pauses, waiting for my admission, but when I don’t respond, he continues, “I believe it is true. Why, you might ask? Well, it would seem I have lost something of great importance to me too.”
I flick my fag out the window and give him my full attention now. How the fuck does he know about Roxanne, or more importantly, what the fuck does he know? And if I’m guessing correctly, Eva is no longer a secret. Shit!
“What exactly is it you’ve lost, Laskin? And why do you think I care,” I snap. It might seem like a bad idea, but it would be even worse if I were to so easily admit Roxanne’s importance or my knowledge about his daughter.
He chuckles, and I hear hushed voices in the background before he speaks again. “Come, now, Mr Lawler. Let us not play games. We can help one another.”
“I can’t—”
“Do you not want to know where Miss Whitmore is? She is most exquisite. Quite the beauty.” I can’t retain the growl that rumbles free, and it’s met with another chuckle from Laskin. I can picture the smug look on his face.
“You keep your eyes and hands off her, Laskin, or…” I leave the rest of my threat hanging as I realise I’m playing right into his hands. “What do you want, Laskin?”
“Only one thing. For now. Then I tell you where your little plaything is. Who she is with,” he adds, tauntingly. His Russian accent becomes more pronounced with his obvious amusement.
“And why would I trust what you tell me?”
“Because, Mr Lawler, if what I believe is true, I owe you my thanks. And I have evidence, so I have a simple question for you. Is she safe?”
Fuck. He knows. None of this makes any fucking sense, but if I want to know where Roxanne is then I’m going to have to give him an answer.
“You’ll need to be a little more fucking specific than that.” I’m not going to make it easy for him.
“Now who is playing fucking games. Just fucking tell me she is safe, Mr Lawler.”
