Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [99]
Jake looked steadily at her. He sat down. ‘I know why you’re here.’
‘Do you? Go on, then. Tell me.’
‘Jake does barely legals, innit? Because there was them school-girls in it? But see that vid with the yellow spine over there? On the shelf? Get it out. Go on. It’s a vid of each of them girls, with their passports held up to the camera. Proof they was all eighteen.’
‘Barely legals? Funny – that’s not why I’m here.’
Jake frowned. ‘I’m telling you – I do my homework, man, learn the law. This is proper business now and I’m clean. Easy.’
‘I’m sure you are, Jake, I’m sure you are. I’ve always had absolute faith in you. But that’s not why I’m here. I want to talk to you about Lorne Wood.’
He sucked his teeth, rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah. You asked me about her already. What do you want to know now?’
‘I want you to revisit your memory. Have a double-check in the grey matter. Sometimes things slip our minds.’
‘We talked about this.’
‘Yes, but I asked you whether you saw her outside the school. What I didn’t ask you was whether she ever turned up on one of your sets.’
‘Her?’ Jake gave a short sarcastic laugh. ‘No fucking way. Too classy.’
‘You sure? You sure David Goldrab never introduced you two?’
Jake’s face changed. It went flat. ‘Goldrab? What’s he got to do with anything?’
‘You do know him? Don’t you?’
‘See, you ask that question like I’m some kind of eejit, man. Like I’m some eight-year-old. But I ain’t. Because what I worked out is I don’t got to answer that. And I don’t got to because you already know the answer. Or else you wouldn’t’ve asked it.’
‘I’m impressed. Is there no end to your talents?’
‘And whatever he’s said about me, whatever he’s told you, it’s because he hates me.’
‘He hasn’t said anything about you.’
‘It should be him you’re nosing around, not me. He’s a homophobe. You can get him for discrimination and that.’
‘You obviously didn’t hear me. I said, he hasn’t said anything about you. Because, at the moment, he’s not saying very much at all.’
Jake creased his forehead. He pulled the duvet tightly around him. His feet poking out of the bottom were bottle-tanned, the nails neatly cut and shining subtly with clear varnish. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that the last trace we have of him is Thursday, the twelfth of May. His mother spoke to him in the morning, didn’t hear from him again. Nobody has.’
That stopped Jake in his tracks. ‘Right,’ he said slowly. ‘Right.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Thursday, the twelfth of May. Four days ago. I’ve tried to wipe it from my mind. He stopped giving me my proper respect, know what I mean?’
‘That’ll be the day he went missing.’ She sipped her tea. ‘Did you have an amicable meeting that day?’
‘No. But you know that because you got it all on camera – on his spy cameras. Like when he assaulted me? Saw that, did you?’
‘We did. Care to tell me what the disagreement was about?’
‘About him being fucked up. Bein’ a homophobe. Can’t stand the sight of me since he heard about—’ He jerked his head to the ceiling to indicate Angel.
‘And he tried to shoot you because of it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did you come back later that day? Or had your meeting come to a – how can we put it? – a natural conclusion at that point?’
Jake rolled his eyes again. ‘You having a joke? No – I never went back. Never will.’
‘I don’t know about this, Jake. Something’s not right. You were the last person to see this guy alive.’
‘Yes, except there are whole streetfuls of people who’d like to see that dick go missing. Why are you chewing me out about it?’
‘Streetfuls of people want him to go missing?’ Zoë scooped out her iPhone. ‘That