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“The girl at the pub?”
“Yes. I need to get back to Glasgow straight away.”
Ethan is at the next table. He and Tony pause their game to join in the conversation.
“Do you know her mobile number? he asks. “Or her car registration?”
“Her barmaid already tried calling her,” I reply, but I pull her name up on my speed dial even so. Hope springs eternal.
Ethan takes the phone from me. “You, go find a pilot and get the chopper fired up. I’ll get Casey to put a trace out on her phone and her car.”
I could almost kiss him but I think he might plant one on my chin if I try it. “Thanks, boss.” I leave the games room at a dead run.
Less than three minutes later, the helicopter is humming on the forecourt, the rotors whirling slowly. I climb up into it, followed by Rome.
“You don’t need to come,” I begin.
“Boss’s orders,” he replies and buckles himself in. “Here’s your phone back. Casey’ll let you know when she has anything.”
It’s good to know I have friends.
We’re skimmingthe outskirts of Glasgow when the text arrives. I pull it up to see a Google map with two locations pinpointed. They appear to be very close together, maybe one hundred metres or so apart.
Blue is phone. Red is car.
The accompanying text is concise. I don’t bother to even ask how she traced them. Instead, I enlarge the map until the street names are legible then tap Magda, our pilot, on the shoulder.
“I have a location for you.” I hold the phone where she can see it. “It’s in the old industrial area, north bank of the Clyde, towards Dumbarton.”
She nods. “We can be there in ten minutes.”
She makes it in eight and brings the chopper down low to afford us a decent view of the ground. All I can see is warehouses, some clearly empty and derelict, others converted for commercial use. Closer to the city centre, buildings like these scrub up well as apartments or fancy offices, but no one wants to live out here in this harsh industrial desert. The upmarket developers are looking for desirable loft living. Up-and-coming professionals will pay good money for those. We should know, the Savage business interests include plenty of examples. But there’s nothing desirable about this. It’s one long slum.
The warehouses that have been reclaimed are now home to seedy enterprises who prefer to operate below the radar, or who don’t give a shit about appearances as long as it’s cheap. I spot a tyre disposal site, plenty of scrapyards, a sprinkling of used car sales outfits, and several indeterminate corrugated sheds.
Christ. Why would Jenna have ventured anywhere near here? If she had a choice at all…?
Rome spots it first. “There,” he shouts, “over by that red-brick shed. Is that hers?”
I peer in the direction he’s pointing and pick out the rear of Jenna’s aged Clio. The vehicle is parked close in to the wall and only clearly visible when we fly directly above.
“Where can you land?” I shout above the roar of the engine.
“Over there.” Magda indicates an area of open land about fifty metres ahead. It’s fairly overgrown but manageable.
She descends slowly, and I hop out the moment the skids touch the ground. Rome is right behind me. We sprint over to the car.
I can see from outside that she isn’t in it but I try the doors anyway. They’re locked. Rome hunts around for a suitable brick to smash the window while I produce my phone and hit the speed dial button to call her.
The ring tone sounds in my ear, but no actual ringing.
Rome puts the window through and unlocks the car from inside. He hops into the passenger seat and rifles through the glove box.
“Anything?” I demand.
He shakes his head. “Just a few CDs and an A to Z of Glasgow.”
“Okay. We need to locate the phone. It’s somewhere close by.” I study the map sent by Casey, turning through three hindered and sixty degrees to orientate myself. “I reckon it’s in that building over there.”
