Crossing the Line Read online

  Crossing

  The Line

  Long Time Dying

  Private Investigator Crime Thriller series book 5

  Solomon Carter

  Great Leap

  The

  Long Time Dying series

  By Solomon Carter

  Thrilling adventures featuring Eva Roberts & Dan Bradley, private detectives

  Series list - in reading order

  Out With A Bang

  One Mile Deep

  Long Time Dying

  Never Back Down

  Crossing The Line

  Divide and Rule

  Better The Devil

  Want more Long Time Dying? Sign up for the mailing list and receive the free “inside story” to Eva and Dan’s adventures at www.solomoncarter.net

  Crossing the Line

  Book 5 in the ‘Long Time Dying’ series

  Eva and Jess are in desperate pursuit of the gangsters who kidnapped Eva’s former business partner and ex-lover, Dan Bradley. After a myriad of red-herrings, they are getting closer to the terrible truth. But as they hunt Victor Marka’s business addresses, the private detectives face danger at every turn and a noose seems to draw tighter around their necks.

  Different threats are in pursuit. One seems benign at first, one is out to kill, and yet another, gangster’s wife Maggie, lusts for Eva’s body as well as her blood. And as the pressure mounts, Jess deserts Eva in an act of desperation, leaving Eva to face her enemies alone.

  When the opportunity to save Dan from the clutches of death finally arrives, Eva must use brutal force to free him, but if she does she will become what she had always despised.

  And when their greatest enemy finally crosses the ultimate line, Eva and Dan must simply win or die trying…

  One

  Eva didn’t believe in luck, good or bad, at least up to right this very second. Driving the wrong way down a road to race into the hustle of the A13’s speeding traffic and surviving had to be a good omen. Seeing Bogdanis caught up in a stand-off with the big man in orange was another. Yet Eva still didn’t believe in luck. Whatever game they were caught up in, it was clear the rules were complex and bizarre. Jess had spotted the confrontation first, letting Eva know about it with a triumphant cheer.

  Eva had seen the big man in the warehouse. It jolted her, because she knew where she had seen his face before; Gillespie’s offices in Upminster and at Fenbrook Manor the first time round. She hadn’t yet shared a word of her thinking with Jess because she was still working on it. She was working on what it meant in relation to Dan and in relation to the whole case. And what it meant to their chances of survival.

  At first consideration, Eva thought it was good news. After all, the big man had intervened at a crucial time when having Bogdanis on the loose would have meant death, or at best a “car versus bike” dogfight on the busiest section of the four lane A13 at a minimum speed of 80 miles an hour. They had been spared that nightmare, but at what cost? There were always consequences and implications, including Gillespie’s man apparently being on their side. Gillespie was on no one’s side but his own. Next, Eva began doing an internal risk analysis all the way from Dagenham through the slower traffic of urban Limehouse and into the depths of the city.

  First off, it meant that Gillespie wanted Eva and Jess to be kept alive. The next question was for how long and for what purpose? Eva’s logic dictated that if Gillespie wanted her alive this far down the line, he wanted her to make it into Marka’s heartland - Shad Thames. She was still a chess piece in the man’s big game. It was frustrating and worrying, like being trapped in a maze and thinking you’ve escaped, only to find yourself back at the centre, more lost than ever. But this was the good bit - part of Gillespie’s game crossed over with Eva’s plans too. Useful. Perturbing. Gillespie would provide her cover for a time, until it ceased to be expedient for him. Eva reasoned she could now plausibly expect to make it into The Daily’s offices, provided she didn’t make a hideous mistake which Gillespie couldn’t ameliorate. There had been no hideous mistakes on her part for a time, so the odds were good. In terms of living until dinner time, she had cause to be optimistic.

  But there were still two main questions.

  When would their usefulness for Gillespie cease? There was no way of knowing. Did he want her to find the kind of evidence Dan had been seeking two years ago – the kind of evidence which sinks a kingpin and sends him to jail… Gillespie couldn’t have been that naïve. Marka was a devious man, smart enough to destroy all the evidence Dan ever had about him and leave Dan apparently going insane without a shred of proof. No, Gillespie wouldn’t believe she was going to stumble into some new damming evidence for the police… unless Gillespie was expecting it to be easy to find… unless Gillespie’s boys were one step ahead of her and had planted it. If they did, Eva wouldn’t have any qualms about putting the despicable bastard behind bars based on whatever evidence she chanced to find. What a wonderful irony. Dan would love it… but it was castles in the sky. She didn’t know a thing. Maybe Gillespie was planning a bonfire of the enemies, waiting until they were all together in one building so he could hit them all at once. No, that was too grandiose, too Don Corleone. It may have been convenient, but it didn’t sound like the old maniac’s style. He was brutal, but struck Eva as the sort who dealt with things pragmatically - on a case by case basis. That’s why he mocked Marka’s list and outsourcing approach to revenge which she had earlier assumed was down to Gillespie. Gillespie had a plan and she could read it as far as Shad Thames, but no further. Then it disappeared among all the other dreadful possibilities. So like everything else Eva couldn’t control, she put it out of her head, and remembered the benefits Gillespie provided instead. They would live until they reached The Daily at least, and then they were on their own again, against the mad Russian’s outfit, which wasn’t so cool. Another issue bothered her most of all. During the escape from Dagenham it had passed her by. Thoughts about Gillespie and his man’s intervention almost knocked it out of her mind altogether, but it came spinning back on its trajectory bringing all the angst and worry she could possibly handle right now. Bogdanis the courier - he was sent by group office, HQ, whatever they called it. That had to be The Daily’s offices. They knew Eva was coming. Hopefully, Gillespie’s big man would have done enough damage to put Bogdanis out of communication with HQ for some time to come. Even if that were the case, Bogdanis would still be expected to call in soon or return to base. And when he did not, alarm bells would ring at HQ. At that point, Dan really would be in trouble. In fact, such news could make Marka decide to finish his game there and then. If that happened, Dan would be dead.

  As the car passed through the light-studded ambience of the concrete Limehouse Link tunnel, taking them directly into the city with the bleak seam of the River Thames just out of sight, Jess noticed Eva’s demeanour change. It was like some angry soul had been astrally projected into Eva’s body and taken the wheel.

  The car began to speed and bite at the back of the car in front. She hit the horn and moved sideways to peer into the traffic beyond the cars ahead. She tutted and fidgeted.

  “What’s up? Apart from the obvious.” It was a ludicrous thing to ask, but weird and stressed had become pretty normal by now.

  “Bogdanis was sent down by Shad Thames HQ. If he can still talk, the people at The Daily will know we are coming.”

  “If he can still talk. He’s probably still crawling around looking for his bottom jaw at the Sofa Warehouse car park.”

  “Could be. But if not, Dan is finished. We need to get there before they work out what happened to Bogdanis.”

  Jess went quiet and bit at her nails, tutted and shook her head. “How long to Shad Thames?”

&n
bsp; “Anything from ten minutes to two hours. That’s if the London traffic moves in our favour. And if it doesn’t….”

  “Then we better pray for a miracle,” said Jess. Jess stuck her head out of the window and peered at the queue of traffic sprawling in a slow angry line all the way through three sets of lights ahead, and around a corner in the distance. This was the full traditional pull-all-of-your-hair-out London gridlock. Nothing about this looked good. Another digit flicked by on the Alfa’s dashboard clock…

  Two

  With the clock ticking, every passing second felt like a nail being hammered into a coffin. But finally they made it.

  Shad Thames was a bigger, slicker, more prosperous and more buzzing place than the name suggested. Shad Thames originated from a street of the same name that ran along the south side of the River Thames from the iconic Tower Bridge. Over time, the name had become attached to the entire area. Eva, who spent years living in London in her youth, remembered being a pedestrian seeing traffic jams clotting the roads all over the town; from the Old Kent Road in South London, through to Holloway Road in the north and everywhere in-between. London was a gigantic warren of roads built haphazardly without foresight or consideration for future generations. How could a Tudor street builder have planned for the twenty-first century? It was simply impossible, the result being a mess of narrow lanes and rat-runs interspersed with long busy motorways. The journey to Tower Bridge had lasted an hour, a torturously slow hour of fidgeting, swearing and shaking heads. And then suddenly at Tower Bridge, the cork had come out of the bottle and the cars were so staggeringly quick, it took Eva by surprise. They crossed Tower Bridge, Shad Thames, once an urban-industrial dive, now a vibrant area of wine bars, coffee houses, smart chain restaurants and upscale office buildings. Eva had been thinking of Shadwell when she had first heard of it. No native Londoner, Eva guessed the word “Shad” to be a part of Shadwell, but in character and location the places had absolutely nothing in common. Shadwell was a sleazy looking mess of old, brown, clay-brick buildings daubed with graffiti and haunted by neglect with the odd restaurant or shop thrown in amongst the decay to augment its effect. Wapping, cheek by jowl with Shadwell, separated only by the river, had been home to some of the biggest tabloid newspapers in British journalism, hence Eva’s mistake. But when she saw Shad Thames’ tourist appeal and the clearly affluent residents of the expensive area, it was clear why the gangster had chosen Shad Thames. He had no yearnings to emulate the British press of yesteryear; Marka wanted to emulate the Great Russian gangsters who had taken to London in recent decades – and none of those had ever lived in Shadwell. They often lived in glass towers or five star hotels, enjoyed being filmed with beautiful and well-heeled women, and they loved the flashy opulence of executive motor cars and yachts. This was the kind of man who would open up a business in a place like Shad Thames – a big man, a man of flamboyance and of substance in equal measure. It was a statement of intent. And it worked.

  Eva needed somewhere to stow her trademark red Alfa but the only parking nearby was roadside, and in Shad Thames it would cost her an arm and a leg. Eva dredged her dashboard for pound coins, raiding Jess’s purse too to make up the difference. She put twenty four pounds of coinage into the roadside machine on Fair Street and peered at the meter knowing there was still a chance the car would be towed if the money ran out. The tension returned now, thudding at her temples, making the light seem too bright and the buildings crowd in too close.

  Wealth was all around them. It was late lunchtime, the street cafés and bars were serving fat cats and rich kids with all kinds of fare and booze. The people were chatting. It was any given weekday to them. To someone called Dan Bradley, today was a matter of life or death. And while a million people beyond the gold-paved streets of the city were losing their jobs, benefits and dignity, due to the crash the long-lunchers caused five years before, they were oblivious to all of it, drinking flat whites and Italian bottled beers while a quarter of the country still burned. Eva was no Socialist, but what she had seen in recent days – what had happened to Dan – had made her re-evaluate. There was a side to life she had never known until now- hopeless people living on nothing but value range crisps and twenty pence lemon squash and had to beg for a meal at places like The Refuge, just like Dan. There were women who had ended up as hookers, getting caught up in drugs and waste, offering themselves to city boys and scallywags who were no better than them, but acted like they were the bee’s knees. And there were gangsters, dealers, parasites praying on the homeless, the addicted and the weak in the poorest estates in Southend. And if it was happening there, it was damn well happening all over the country. Eva had been insulated from it once, for many years. But now she had seen it, the genie was out of the bottle. Eva knew she was never going to give up the easier way of life she had up until now… but this place was all about excess. She looked around. The area reminded her of the film Blade Runner, a movie that had bored her many years ago. Shad Thames looked like a futuristic parallel universe, with walkways above that criss-crossed the streets from building to building, an entire reality for the elite. She felt disconnected, in a fog of fantasy. This place was more glamorous than the future in Blade Runner, but it was similar in other ways. It was a spiritless mess, a slick place full of boast and show. Of course Marka lived and worked here. It was a reflection of his personality.

  “The Daily building is on Queen Elizabeth Street. Not far at all – parallel with us just now, two blocks back towards the Thames.” Jess’s voice changed, noticing something on her boss’s face. “Eva… are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Eva smiled. “But I’ve been thinking about what happened in Dagenham… we were being watched. We’ve probably been watched since the very beginning.... Whichever way this pans out, Jess, I’m not playing it the way they expect anymore.”

  “You look tired, Eva… you need a drink and something to eat.”

  “Dan needs us first.”

  “If we are going to do this and survive, we need to be on top form. We need energy and we need our strength.”

  Eva pondered.

  “Okay. But we can’t grab anything around here. We probably have two minutes before we are picked up on the enemy radar again. We need to get away from the car quickly. If they see the car, they have us. And we have to be quick. Fifteen minutes max and then we’re back in the game. We can’t give them an inch.”

  They were already walking now, Eva searching for a back street eatery, then immediately wondering if she’d be safer hidden in numbers among the city boy lunchers with their Peronis and Paninis at the main street restaurants in the safety of the general public. But this was Marka’s territory. Nowhere was safe. Eva stuck with her plan and they walked back towards the river, spotting Queen Elizabeth Street on their way, but not getting a great view of The Daily offices.

  Eva thought she needed to say it. It had been coming back to her now for the best part of the day. “Jess. I’ll do everything I can to protect you. I’ve dragged you too far into this mess; you’re already in too deep. But you can still pull out, right now. In fact, I’d encourage you to do just that. I wouldn’t hold a grudge at all. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. But I think it’s time you pull back now.”

  “Sorry, Eva, I just can’t do that.”

  “You are a stubborn little madam, aren’t you? Jess. This isn’t a joke anymore.”

  “I’m not joking.”

  “This is deeper than I’ve ever been, Jess. It’s off the scale. You need to know that. I’ll do my best to protect you, but that’s all I can do. These people have numbers, they probably have guns too, and they are the closest thing to evil I hope we’ll ever see.”

  “So was Gillespie, and you pulled us out of the fire there.”

  “This is different. This is bigger.”

  “Bigger than Roe Park? Come on. You are an over-comer. If anyone can do this thing, you can. I know you can.”

  Eva came to a stop, Jess’s words ha
lting her steps. “You actually sound like you believe that.”

  “I do.”

  “Come on, Jess. I am a low grade local private eye who specialises in proving husbands really are bouncing around with hidden mistresses. I eat lots of chocolate, drink cheap white wine and can’t hold down a relationship. Do you seriously think I can take on an army of gangsters, rescue Dan, and live to tell the tale? Because to me this whole thing sounds completely and utterly insane.”

  “If anyone can, you can.”

  “I don’t have a choice and I won’t back down. That’s all. You really are the most insane, trappy, sassy little bitch I ever met, Jess. And I’m glad I gave you the job. But when the time comes, you have my express permission to run for the hills, okay?”

  “Whatever. When we get home, we can discuss my reward, new job title and pay rise. Until then, we should go and get a sandwich.”

  “Jess. Have you seen the prices round here?”

  “Yes. Lunch is on you.”

  They ordered a lunch of brie and bacon Paninis, filtered coffee and fruit juice from a café on Boss Street. They were served by a young man with a smile plastered on his face and a tweed uniform he must have hated, but he played his role well. As they sat down to eat, Eva found that she had no appetite for a second or two, but the hot bread was good, and soon, realising all the stress had made her famished, she ate voraciously. Even so, Jess was finished before Eva was half way through. Of the fifteen minutes Eva had allotted, they had now had eight minutes left. The café was a shining, white-tiled affair, with a counter hewn from a solid hunk of wood, which had been chopped and sculpted into a breakfast bar. They faced a mirror, and stared back at their own images, managing to catch a glimpse of the street, which in the warm light of this late spring day made Shad Thames rival any upmarket province in Italy or France. Eva tried to embrace this idyllic scene in between noticing how stressed she seemed, and how old she was beginning to look. It was all relative, but she couldn’t help but take note of the faint lines beside her eyes, thinking them jagged and ruinous. She looked at the soft laughter-lines around her mouth and saw someone worn out. She had never been overly vain but she had always been self-critical. Dan and her drunken father had always told her so. She was oblivious to the eyes upon her from the men who sat in the café, and the young man behind the counter whose eyes flicked towards her, seemingly against his own will. Jess noticed these things, but then Jess saw all, particularly the pathetic behaviour of mankind.