the first guy.
In reply, the guy merely grinned and held up the piece of fabric he was holding. At first Johnson couldn’t work out what it was, but then it hit him. He’d used them several times in the past. Mind you, he’d never worn one himself.
Oh shit.
It was a hood.
CHAPTER 31
THE LAST OF the fire engines had departed. Tendrils of smoke rose from the damp, blackened remains of the office units. The fire had spread from the first block, taken by wind and cost-cutting building work to gut two and a half neighboring buildings.
Detective Inspector Gary Phillips drew up to the scene and drained the last of a Starbucks. Looking around, he saw that early-bird workers had started to arrive for their day at the office, clambering out of cars and staring in shock at what once had been their place of work. Phillips, meanwhile, slammed his own car door shut and hoped he wouldn’t have to go looking for the officer in charge. After all, it was Phillips who’d been called here, so it would be courteous not to make him—
“You DI Phillips?” came a voice from behind him. He turned to see a plainclothes who had peeled off from talking to one of the fire investigators.
“I am. What am I doing here?”
“I’m DS Steve Lawler, OIC,” said the man. “I’m told you’re in charge of an investigation involving some kind of online sex-worker setup, yes? Goes by the name of Foxy Kittenz?”
Phillips was indeed in charge of that investigation, and the name Foxy Kittenz had come up in connection with the Emma Drake case. In turn Foxy Kittenz had been linked to a much, much bigger fish.
All of which meant that he looked at the OIC with fresh interest. “I am, yes. Why?”
“Well, according to a girl who works here, this is your actual Foxy Kittenz,” said the DS, waving an arm toward the first building. “Or was.”
DI Phillips was confused. “Um, I don’t think it is, mate. Or even was.”
“Really? That’s what it is according to this girl. She’s a foxy kitten herself, she says, and she’s making some pretty wild claims. The name Guy Drake has come up. And she’s talking about a girl called Emma. Google says that could be Emma Drake.”
Phillips had to admit there was something going on here. “Where is she, this girl?” he asked.
The DS indicated a car. “In there, being looked after by a WPC. Some guy, her boyfriend, I think, was badly beaten. He’s in the hospital now.”
“Beaten? So this is . . .”
“Arson? Oh yes, no doubt about it. This girl saw the lot. Four men in balaclavas and carrying baseball bats burst in last night, turfed out all the girls, beat up this guy, and then set fire to the place. Not necessarily in that order, by the sounds of things. They even left a battering ram behind.”
“Good of them,” said Phillips. He thanked Lawler and moved away, reaching for his phone. He had a call to make to his contact in MI5—a guy called Claridge who’d asked to be kept informed of any developments in the Emma Drake case.
CHAPTER 32
JOHNSON TRIED TO remain calm. He’d been bundled into the back of a van that was now on the move.
“I didn’t have nothing to do with the raid,” he said, his voice muffled by the hood. “I didn’t even know it was happening. I was at home all night. You can ask my missus. I can tell you what we watched on telly. I had four tins of San Miguel and we ordered a curry. Fuck me, you can smell my farts if you think I’m making it up.”
“They attacked us last night,” came a voice. Russian, low and matter of fact.
“Yeah . . . but . . .” Johnson tried to grasp at straws but found there were no straws to grasp. “We can make it up. Come on, guys, we can talk about this.”
“You are going to talk about it. Make no mistake about that.”
And that was it. None of his questions or protestations were answered. Instead he was forced to sit in silence, hood on his head, his hands bound with a plastic cable tie.
His captors spoke in Russian, laughing occasionally. He wondered what they were saying, tried to make out words. The only thing he caught was something that sounded like “kingsman.”
There was a film called Kingsman. He’d seen it with Jane. Were they talking about that? Maybe he could engage them in conversation about Kingsman. There was a joke about anal