Lone Wolf - Robert Muchamore Page 0,16

Wendy knocked on the door.

‘Fay, Detective Constable Schaeffer is here to see you.’

‘What’s he brought for me?’ Fay asked.

‘McFlurry,’ Schaeffer said.

‘In that case you can come in.’

Fay hadn’t showered in the three days she’d been in isolation, but she’d kept herself busy with a routine of sit-ups, squats and push-ups. Combined with hot weather, the resulting BO was pretty toxic.

‘Nice scar. How’d you get that?’ Fay asked, before breaking into wild laughter.

‘Show some respect,’ Wendy said.

‘Kinda sexy, I reckon,’ Fay said, ignoring the guard. ‘Do you pull a lot of chicks?’

Schaeffer held out the McDonald’s bag and Fay snatched it.

‘McFlurry!’ she blurted happily. ‘Did you get Crunchie like I asked? If it’s not Crunchie you’re not getting another word out of me.’

Fay dipped the plastic spoon into the McFlurry and nodded happily when she crunched honeycomb.

‘So good!’ she said, squealing girlishly. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

Schaeffer settled on the end of Fay’s bed.

‘Here’s a question,’ Fay said. ‘You must be at least forty. But you’re still Detective Constable Schaeffer. So does that mean you’re a rubbish cop?’

Schaeffer cleared his throat before explaining. ‘A lot of officers prefer action to paperwork. When you get promoted, you tend to spend a lot more time sitting at a desk.’

‘So you’re an ack-shonnnn man!’ Fay said as she scoffed more of the McFlurry. ‘I’m not usually this hyper, but I haven’t had a conversation in three days. Apart from the boring cow who walks me around outside after lights out.’

‘It must be very hard for a girl with your potential to be stuck in a little room,’ Schaeffer said.

‘You’re actually lucky I got my butt locked in iso,’ Fay said. ‘I thought it would be funny if I made you come here, buy me a McFlurry and then gave you the silent treatment.’

Wendy raised one eyebrow and looked at Schaeffer as she backed out. ‘Good luck, I’m just across the hall if you need me.’

‘You wanna shag me, constable?’ Fay said, trying but failing to shock the experienced officer. ‘Bit of under-age naughtiness?’

‘You don’t like me and I don’t like you,’ Schaeffer began. ‘But we do have an enemy in common.’

‘I don’t have enemies, I love everyone.’

Schaeffer looked surprised. ‘Even Erasto Ali Anwar?’

‘Never heard of him,’ Fay said.

‘Born Somalia circa 1983. Based in the Kentish Town area of north London. Believed to control large heroin and cocaine operations in the London boroughs of Islington, Camden, Haringey and Hackney. On the street, he’s simply known as Hagar.’

Fay nodded, and looked slightly curious. ‘I never knew the man’s real name.’

‘Hagar and his crew are believed to be responsible for the 2009 torture and execution of Melanie Hoyt, your mother, and the 2012 prison slaying of Kirsten Hoyt, your aunt.’

‘I know that much,’ Fay said.

‘Your mother and aunt ripped off Hagar more than a dozen times, along with a bunch of other north London drug dealers. To commit those robberies, they had to know everything. Hagar’s habits, his hangouts, his women, who his sidekicks are, what he liked to do on his days off. You lived in that world and knew everything there was to know about Hagar.’

Fay gently shook her head. ‘Knew,’ she said. ‘Past tense. Things move fast.’

‘If I put you in a car and drove you around those neighbourhoods, I bet you could point out things and faces that would generate a dozen leads.’

‘Hagar’s been running the show for twenty years,’ Fay said. ‘If you want him, go get him.’

‘Hagar’s also extremely careful,’ Schaeffer explained. ‘He rarely goes near cash or drugs, he gets other people to fetch and carry and dole out punishment beatings. We’ve locked up a dozen of Hagar’s lieutenants, but it’s been hard to pin anything on the man himself.’

Fay snorted. ‘Plus half the cops in north London take backhanders to turn a blind eye.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ Schaeffer said, assuming that Fay was trying to shock him again. ‘But if you’ve got any evidence of corrupt police officers, I’d be very happy to hear about it.’

Fay was irritated by Schaeffer’s calm demeanour and tried to think of something that might annoy him.

‘Do you think about me every time you look in the mirror?’ Fay asked. ‘You must really hate me.’

‘Do you want me to hate you?’ Schaeffer asked.

‘I don’t care what you think,’ Fay said.

‘I think you do,’ Schaeffer said. ‘Not because you’re the badass you try and make yourself out to be, but because me thinking about you would mean that someone in the world cared