‘News just in,’ he said. ‘Following your little speech, I thought you’d want to hear it ASAP.’
‘Go on.’
‘We’ve had sniffer dogs at the landfill site. They found something.’
‘More body parts?’
‘Better than that. A backpack.’
‘Cobb’s?’
‘We think so. We’ll get it checked for a DNA match. More interesting is what it contains.’
‘Which is?’
‘Among other things, nearly ten grand in cash and about fifteen grand’s worth of cocaine.’
‘What?’
Marcel nodded. ‘Exactly.’
Hannah gave herself a moment to allow the ramifications to sink in. This was big. Big and heavy enough to turn the world upside down.
‘I don’t get it. We’ve been assuming this is gangland. A revenge attack, or part of a turf war. That’s the world Cobb lived in. It’s the way that people like Cobb exit that world. Kill him, yes. Dismember his body, yes. Dump him in the rubbish, yes. But what gang member worth their salt would throw away twenty-five grand in cash and drugs? How does that make any sense?’
‘Exactly,’ Marcel said again.
14
Hannah didn’t think they’d get much out of the Cobbs, but she went through the motions nonetheless. They all sat together in the kitchen, she and Marcel Lang on one side of the table, Myra and Ronan on the other. Myra had a bottle of gin in front of her, and was already very drunk. The fact that she was wearing a black armband seemed darkly comical to Hannah. Much more unnerving was Ronan, partly because of his uncanny resemblance to his dead twin, but also because of the way he kept staring so intently at Hannah. It was like having the eyes of a ghost on her.
It could have been worse. If Patrick Cobb were here, he’d probably have instigated a riot by now. When he was alive, he and Myra had been a formidable team. The police had never managed to make a charge stick on Myra, although they’d tried several times. It was one reason she hated the cops. Another was that they’d had the temerity to put her beloved Patrick behind bars, where his days were ended when his throat was opened up by another prisoner. In Myra’s eyes, that made them just as culpable as the convict who had wielded the razor blade.
Myra’s influence gradually faded after the loss of her husband, as she sank into her misery. Her sons had followed in the family tradition, although it was rumoured that Ronan had found himself a girl and pulled back a little from his criminal enterprises. Joey – always the more merciless of the twins – was active right up to his death, save when he was detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure, and perhaps even then.
‘So,’ Myra said. ‘What do you want?’
‘As I said,’ Hannah began, ‘I’ve been appointed to lead the investigation into the death of your son, and—’
‘Murder,’ Ronan interrupted. ‘My brother was murdered.’
‘That’s right,’ said Myra. ‘He was fucking murdered. What are you lot doing about it?’
‘What we’re doing is pulling out all the stops to find his killer. I can assure you of that. I hope we can count on your support.’
‘What do you want us to do, give you a round of applause?’ Myra raised her glass. ‘Hooray for the police!’
Hannah wanted to tell her to stop being such an awkward bitch. ‘No,’ she said. ‘We just want you to help us out with our inquiries.’
‘I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know anything.’
Hannah pressed on. ‘Your son Joey—’
‘God rest his soul.’
‘—had a phone in his possession. An unregistered pay-as-you-go phone.’
‘So? What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing. What we’re wondering is if he also had a second phone? One that you might have called him on.’
‘Why would he have two phones?’
You know very well why, Hannah thought. He was a drug dealer.
‘Lots of people do. One for business and one for personal use. I have two myself.’
This seemed to mollify Myra. ‘Maybe he did.’
‘Could we have the number of his other phone?’
‘Why?’
‘It could be a big help to us in tracking where he went and who he spoke to.’
Myra thought about it, then looked towards her son. ‘Give it to them.’
Marcel pushed his notepad and pen across the table. Ronan glared at him, but then scribbled down the number.
