Spider

70

Brooklyn, New York The six-mile journey from Jack's hotel to Brooklyn should have taken fifteen to twenty minutes but traffic along Flatbush Avenue was snarled up and didn't improve much as they headed down Veronica and Erasmus.

Howie called in as they parked up and Fernandez sent out for their breakfast order – juice, coffee, muffins, pancakes and a mix of fruit. The fruit was an afterthought of Jack's; Howie was solely interested in the pancakes and muffins.

Fernandez was already holed up in a small room with Pete McCaffrey and Gerry Thomas, the two cops from Internal Affairs, and their new best friend, George Deaver. Jack knew who was who without even being introduced. McCaffrey sat on the edge of a big square wooden desk, wearing big square wooden clothes. He was craggy-faced, black tie pulled tight to the top of his plain white shirt, sipping water from a plastic cooler cup and trying to impress Fernandez in a way that only senior IA guys think they can do, which is with over-macho body language and stories of what they did before they got sucked into the hated world of IA. Thomas, a younger clone of his boss, with a slightly cheaper black suit and a much looser and cheaper tie, was hanging on McCaffrey's every word. George Deaver was the odd man out. He sat away from the others, glum-faced, arms folded like a guy with all the worries of the world on his shoulders, which was kind of appropriate considering he was a bent cop who'd been busted and was heading to court and maybe jail.

Howie introduced Jack and everyone shook hands, then McCaffrey introduced Deaver and the best he got was a nod of acknowledgement. The line had already been drawn and they couldn't help but let Deaver know it.

'Where's the girl?' asked Howie.

'Next office,' answered Fernandez. 'We've got her a soda, but should have probably got her a doctor. She looks as though she was totally tanked last night. There's someone watching the door, so she won't be doing any running.'

McCaffrey went over the background again and Jack listened politely, as though it was something he was hearing for the first time. Then Deaver filled them in on how he'd visited Smirtin and told him he was looking for his missing hooker.

'The kid on the tape is called Ludmila Zagalsky, though apparently everyone calls her Lu,' said Deaver, trying to sound like a helpful cop, rather than a bent one. 'She's twenty-five, a Russian, from Moscow we think. Smirtin said very little about her during our face-to-face in his kebab joint, even though I'd gone round there specifically to talk about her. He was more interested in whether I knew anyone over at the Department of Justice who could advise on some tobacco problems he had.'

'Smoking kills,' said Fernandez, 'least that's what the Surgeon General says, and that's the only advice that assholes like Smirtin should get.'

Deaver ignored her. 'Anyways, next day, that's the sixth, he rings me and says he knows where Lu is; says he's just seen her on frigging TV. Well, it turns out these A-rabs -'

'Yeah, we know that bit,' interrupted McCaffrey. 'Cut to the chat you had with her friend. These boys here are going to draw their pensions'fore you get to the point.'

Deaver bit back his resentment and picked up the story. 'That evening I went round to see her friend Grazyna Macowicz -'

McCaffrey interrupted again. 'This is the whore we've got next door, the one he was screwing for a freebie.'

'Grazyna was shaking like a leaf,' said Deaver. 'She'd bottomed a bottle of vodka by the time I found her, and it was only five p.m. She said the kidnapped woman all the news channels were showing was her girlfriend.'

'She's a hundred per cent sure on that?' asked Howie, adding, 'This isn't some attention-grabbing time-wasting stunt by some lying little crackhead, is it?'

Fernandez took a deep breath. 'That's a bit steep, boss. I've spoken to her and I think she's a straight-up kid.'

Howie ignored her and carried on staringat Deaver, waiting for a reply.

The bent cop drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and thought it over. 'I think she's genuine,' he said.'The face-shot inthat videois pretty clear. I've got one small photograph of Ludmila already; Grazyna's found a couple more to show us.' Deaver handed over the photo-booth picture of the two girls together. Howie looked at it first and then passed it to Jack.

The phone on the desk rang and someone asked Fernandez if it was okay to bring in breakfast. As the others cleared space on the desktop for the food, Jack and Howie peeled off into a corner.

Jack passed the photograph back. 'It certainly looks like the girl in the video,' he said.

'Yeah, I think so too,' Howie concurred. 'You reckon she's still in the neighbourhood?'

'No way of even guessing,' said Jack. 'More importantly, is there a chance she's still alive?'

The food came and Jack piled up two plates with muffins and pancakes, grabbed some fruit and two cardboard cups of coffee.

'Glad to see that all those years in the restaurant business taught you how to be a waiter,' joked Howie as they made their way into the other room to see Grazyna. Howie opened the door and the young woman sitting opposite them looked up; her shoulders hunched, her face white and gaunt.

'I'm Howie Baumguard, Miss. This human food trolley here is Jack King. He's brought you some breakfast.'

'Morning, Grazyna,' said Jack, gently. 'We're here to try to help find your friend.' Jack didn't ask if she wanted food, he just put it down on the table in front of herand uncappedher coffee. Experience had shown him that many people didn't want to be seen to have to accept anything from a cop, so it was better to give without even asking.

Howie sat down next to her. 'We're told that you're in no doubt that the girl in the video reports on the TV, the girl being held hostage somewhere, is your friend Ludmila Zagalsky. Is that right?'

Grazyna picked up the coffee. Her hand shook so badly that she had to put it down again, so she didn't scald herself. 'That's right,' she answered in a tiny voice. 'We're like sisters, I recognized her straight away.'

'When did you last see her, Grazyna? Can you remember?' asked Jack.

It was something Grazyna had thought a lot about. 'It was six nights ago, about one a.m., outside Primorski's restaurant down Beach Avenue.'

Howie and Jack exchanged quizzical looks. 'How come you're so sure?' asked Howie.

This time Grazyna hesitated. Shechewed her lip and looked away from them. 'I've been seeing this waiter at Prim's, a guy called Ramzan. Lu was keen on him too, but I made amove on him when she wasn't around and I just couldn't bring myself to tell her about it. I'd arranged to meet him at the end of his shift and as I was coming up the street Is a wLuat the window, waving to him. I kind of stepped back into a doorway across the road and hid for a while.'

'Why did you do that?' asked Howie.

'Dunno,' said Grazyna. 'Guess I thought he might be cheating on me. So I hung around to see if he'd come out and kiss her or anything.'

'And did he?' asked Jack.

'No, he didn't. After a bit, she sort of waved at him again and thenseemedtoloseinterest. Some guydrove up a few minutes later and used the ATM machine near the restaurant and she clocked him.'

Jack and Howie's instincts bristled like porcupines.

'I guess the machine wasn't working'cos I saw Lu pointing down the street. Then she started working him, you know, flirting with him. Well, Ithought, good for you, sister, you go get yourself some extra Benjamins. Sure enough, seconds later she rides off in this guy's car.'

'Which direction?' asked Howie.

Grazyna frowned for a moment. 'I'm not good at directions. Let me think.' She pointed her hands out from her body. 'He turned east. Yep, I'm sure of that. They headed off eastwards.'

Howie held his breath. 'You got the registration?'

Grazyna frowned. 'No. It was a yellow Hyundai; I saw the badge on the back.'

'Two doors or four?' asked Howie.

She looked up at the ceiling for inspiration. 'Four.'

Howie left the room and instructed Fernandez to start the search for a four-door Hyundai. He suggested that they look for white as well as yellow; the sodium street lights might have affected her colour judgement.

Jack's head was buzzing with excitement.

At last, some critical questions were getting answered. They now had a name for the victim – Ludmila Zagalsky; the place where she had been taken from – Beach Avenue; and perhaps a time of the possible abduction – one a.m. on 2 July.

The one crucial question that they couldn't answer was whether she was still alive.