Love You Dead

13 Wednesday 18 February

Three minutes later, Jodie said to the cab driver, ‘LaGuardia, please.’

A siren wailed.

Shit. Her nerves were jangling.

A police car screamed alongside them, Jodie held her breath. But it carried on past them down Central Park South and bullied its way through the stop lights at the junction with Fifth Avenue.

She pulled her laptop out of her handbag, opened it and inserted the memory stick she’d found in the suitcase. After some moments a new icon appeared on her desktop. She double-clicked to open it and, as she had suspected it might, a password request popped up.

She pulled the stick out and zipped it in an inside pocket in her bag. She knew someone in England who’d be able to discover its contents easily enough.

Then she looked at the bag of white powder. The high partition in front of her, with its television monitor showing the news, silently, and the Perspex shield made it impossible for the driver to be able to see her. She looked around carefully to ensure there was no CCTV camera in the rear, then opened the seal, wetted her finger, dipped it in and put it in her mouth.

Cocaine.

Shame to waste it, she thought. Shame to chuck it, but she’d be mad to keep it. She balled her left hand and put a pinch of powder onto it, cursing as the cab braked sharply, nearly throwing the bag and the laptop out of her grasp. Then she sniffed hard, with each nostril in turn. And felt the instant rush.

It was good!

From past experience of buying cocaine she had some idea how much street value this bag contained. Thousands of pounds’ worth.

Within moments of inhaling the drug, her nerves were steadying and she began to feel great. Really great! Oh yes! Result, lady!

She took another snort, and resealed the bag. She needed to get rid of it, she knew, but she was reluctant. This was good stuff. She was about to replace it in her handbag, to have a final hit at the airport and then bin it, when she had a sudden reality check. How long before Romeo Munteanu woke up? What would he do when he did and found the cash and his cocaine stash missing? It was pretty unlikely that anyone with that amount of cash in a suitcase hidden under a bed was likely to be engaged in something legal. Equally, in his drugged state, he might just be irrational enough to call the police and give them her description.

They had sniffer dogs at airports. Was it worth the risk for a final snort?

Of course, she could repack as soon as she got out of the taxi when they reached the airport, and put the drug at the bottom of her suitcase.

But should she?

She wasn’t thinking straight, she knew.

She had still not decided when she saw, through her window, the first signpost for LaGuardia Airport flash past.