Stolen Souls

35

LENNON CUT ACROSS the south of the city from Sandy Row, along the Lisburn Road, skirted around Queen’s University, then Botanic Avenue. He pulled up at the address on Rugby Road that Dan Hewitt had given him. A light burned in the window of the flat on the upper floor.

He locked the car and went to the door and rang the bell. Stepping back, he looked up to the window. The light went out. He rang the bell again.

“Coming,” a voice called from somewhere inside.

He heard footsteps on stairs, heels on a tiled floor coming closer.

The door opened and he saw a woman with an overnight bag. She stared at him for a moment, looked over his shoulder at his car, then back to him.

“Taxi?” she asked.

“No,” Lennon said. “Police.”

Her mouth and eyes widened, then her face hardened.

He held his identification out for her to see. She did not look at it.

“I sorry,” she said. “No English.”

“Rasa Kairyte.?” Lennon asked.

She shook her head. “No English.”

“Can we speak inside?”

“No,” she said.

“Here, then.”

She stepped back, tried to close the door, but Lennon blocked it.

“Tomas Strazdas,” he said. “Sam Mawhinney, Mark Mawhinney, Darius Banys.”

Her eyes brimmed. “No English,” she said once more, her voice breaking.

“You could be next,” Lennon said.

“No,” she said. “Not me. I did nothing.”

“I can help you,” Lennon said. “Talk to me and I can make you safe.”

She laughed. “Safe? With police? Arturas owns police.”

“Arturas Strazdas?”

A car pulled up, its tires spraying gray slush. It sounded its horn.

“I go now,” she said. She stepped out, closed the door behind her.

“What do you mean, Arturas owns the police?” Lennon asked as she pushed past him.

“I go,” she said. Snowflakes settled on her hair.

The cab driver got out of the car and opened his trunk. He took Rasa’s bag from her and dropped it in. As Lennon followed her, the driver watched him with narrow eyes.

“Where?” Lennon asked.

“Away from here,” she said.

The cab driver asked, “Something wrong, love?”

“No,” she said as she opened the rear door and lowered herself inside.

Lennon grabbed the handle, stopped her from closing the door behind her.

The cab driver tried to squeeze between Lennon and the woman. “Here, mate, you can’t—”

“Fuck off,” Lennon said, pushing him out of the way. He showed the driver his identification, then spoke to Rasa. “Who does Arturas have in the police?”

“You arrest me now?” she asked.

“No,” Lennon said.

“Then I go,” she said.

She pulled the door hard from his grip, closed it, turned her eyes away from him.

The driver hurried to his side of the taxi, climbed in, and put it in gear. The wheels spun as they fought for traction before the car pulled away.

Lennon cursed and headed back to his Audi. His phone rang before he got there.

“We’ve found your man,” the duty officer said.