Sight Unseen (Enora Andresson, 2, Band 2) - Softcover

Hurley, Graham

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1780296290 ISBN 13: 9781780296296

Verlag: Severn House Publishers Ltd, 2020

Inhaltsangabe

Actress Enora Andresson is dragged into the UK’s exploding drugs scene when her son’s girlfriend is kidnapped.

Malo is in trouble again. Enora Andressen’s wayward son has received a ransom demand for the return of his girlfriend, the daughter of a wealthy Colombian business tycoon. But how far can a mother trust her son? And where does Clemmie’s disappearance fit in the murderous world of cocaine dealing?

With the help of Hayden Prentice, Malo’s natural father and himself a one-time drug baron, Enora embarks on a hunt for the truth behind the kidnapping. The journey takes her deep into the exploding world of county lines, the new business model that delivers Class A drugs into every corner of the kingdom.

Drug dealing is the new normal. The sums of money at stake are dizzying and a human life counts for nothing. As Enora Andressen is about to discover . . .

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Graham Hurley is an award-winning TV documentary maker who now writes full time. He has lived in Portsmouth for over twenty years, is married and has grown-up children. He is the author of the Faraday and Winter series, the Jimmy Suttle series and the Wars Within Series.

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Sight Unseen

By Graham Hurley

Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 2019 Graham Hurley
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-78029-629-6

CHAPTER 1

It's a hot Friday morning in mid-summer, and I'm in a script conference when my mobile goes off. The opening bars of 'Simply the Best', a download present from H last Christmas.

I glance at the number. We happen to have arrived at an awkward impasse and I'm glad of the interruption. The fact that the call has come from Malo widens my smile. We haven't talked for nearly a week.

'Mum? That you?'

Something's badly wrong. Panic is a word I've never associated with my son.

'What's the matter?'

'It's Clem.'

Clem is family-speak for Clemenza, Malo's girlfriend.

'She's OK?'

'No.'

'What's happened?'

'She's been kidnapped.'

'Kidnapped?'

I've just spent two and a half hours with a scriptwriter, a very good friend of mine called Pavel, trying to tease dramatic sense into various fictional possibilities which may, one day, make a great movie. Kidnap sounds as fanciful as some of the wilder ideas we've been kicking around. Just how do you make room for something like this in the real world?

'When?' I manage. 'How?'

Malo is struggling. I play mum, telling him to take a deep breath, telling him that nothing is ever as bad as it first seems. The facts, please. In broadly the right order.

'When did you last see her?'

'Last night. I was staying at her place.'

'And?'

'It was great. Like it always is.'

'That's not what I'm asking. What happened next?'

'We got up as usual. Clem went to work.'

Clem is a top-end moto courier and chauffeuse. She rides a scarlet Harley-Davidson with bass notes to kill for and is the ride of choice for a number of faces you'll recognize from movie posters in any Tube station. She also happens to be the daughter of a very wealthy Colombian business tycoon, a family connection that – just now – is beginning to trouble me. I ask Malo whether they'd been in touch at all since she'd left for work.

'Twice. We were supposed to get together again this afternoon. Womad. Her dad gave us tickets. We were going down there on the Harley.'

Womad is a yearly celebration of global music, art and dance. I know Clem makes the pilgrimage to deepest Wiltshire every summer because she's told me so. Since his return from Sweden last year, Malo has also become a disciple, partly because he knows that Clem – who gigs at various London pubs – is desperate to break into the festival circuit, but mainly because he worships her.

'You said kidnapped.'

'Yeah.'

'How do you know?'

'I got a message with a photo. A couple of hours ago.'

'From?'

'I've no idea. The phone's probably a burner. Untraceable.'

'You've been to the police?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because they said they'd kill her if I did.'

'And what else did this message say?'

'It said they've got Clem. I can have her back for a million. They want it in US dollars. I've got until Monday to find the money.'

'Otherwise?'

There's a silence at the other end. Monday is just three days away. Pavel has his laptop on his knees, his eyes closed, his long fingers gliding over the keyboard. His face is deeply tanned, with signs of UV damage below his hairline. When Malo returns to the phone, I can tell my son is close to tears.

'It was the photo,' he mutters. 'That's all I've got to go on.'

'And?'

'Shit. You don't want to know. Oh, Jesus Christ. Why her, of all people? Why us?'

Pavel looks up the moment Malo brings the conversation to an end. He wants to discuss a scene we have in mind involving our movie's love interest. I tell him it's not possible. Pavel is blind, just one of the reasons he's always attuned to the imminence of disaster. His guide dog, a Labrador, dozes at his feet.

'So what's happened?'

I explain as best I can. Clem. Kidnappers. A photo.

'Have you seen it? This photo?'

'No.'

'So what's so horrible about it?'

Pavel is normally world class at cutting to the chase, but this question sets the bar very high indeed. As the happy recipient of a number of gangster scripts in my time, I can think of countless images that might qualify. Men in balaclavas. Large dogs, always male. A suggestive blade or two. But Malo is close to my heart and I know that all it would take would be the knowledge that Clem was at the mercy of a bunch of strangers. Her face upturned to the camera. Fear in those huge brown eyes. So simple. And so effective.

'I have to phone H,' I say. 'He'll know what to do.'

Pavel isn't sure this is a good idea. Unlike the rest of us, he's never set eyes on Malo's father, but they've been together on a handful of occasions and I've become aware that blindness sharpens every other instinct. Pavel's take on strangers is near faultless. Tiny speech inflections. Body language transmitted through a raspy cough or a shuffle of feet or the impatient clink of coins in a trouser pocket. Even certain brands of aftershave. Minutes after he'd first met H, when we were back in the safety of my battered Peugeot, he'd delivered his verdict.

'Your friend needs to own you,' he'd said. Pavel uses language with the precision of a poet. 'Needs', not 'wants'. A very shrewd distinction.

My 'friend' answers on the third ring. I've ignored Pavel's advice not to make contact until we've settled the debate about going to the police. H, it turns out, has just stepped into Terminal 2 at Heathrow. Malo's news has taken the wind out of me. I dimly remember talk of a business meeting on movie finance with a venture capitalist in Lyon a couple of weeks back. This is a guy with serious money who happens to have taken a shine to a film of mine that did well on the French arthouse circuit. Lunch on a restaurant terrace overlooking the Rhône. A couple of bottles of Krug and a taxi waiting for the return trip to the airport once a handshake deal is in place. Very H.

At first he assumes I'm phoning to wish him luck.

'Piece of piss,' he assures me. 'You around tonight? We need to get the dosh nailed down. The usual place, yeah? Half seven. They don't take dogs, so it's just the two of us. Tell your writer bloke we'll brief him in the morning. Malo OK?'

The writer bloke is Pavel. On the phone to H, I break the news about Clem. For once in the often awkward pas de deux that makes do as our relationship, Malo's father is lost for words.

'Say that again,' he manages at last.

I can picture him riding the escalator up to the Departures floor, a small, squat figure with greying curly hair and a hint of a belly beneath the Italian lambskin leather jacket. Since I first stumbled into H's life, largely by accident, he's always struck me as someone for whom life holds few surprises. Until now.

Once again, I spell out what little I know. Malo isn't the kind of boy to make this stuff up.

'He was around when all this happened? Malo?'

'I don't think so. He said they sent him a message.'

'They? Who's fucking "they"?'

'He's no idea.'

'So how do we know they're not dicking him around?'

'There was a photo of Clem, too. Small girl. Petite. Very pretty.'

My attempt at irony is lost on H. He's met her a number of times and already regards her as part of our putative family.

'Any proof they hadn't lifted the photo? Was she holding up today's paper, maybe? Today's headline? What you see isn't always what you get. Not these days.'

I stare at my phone and risk a tiny...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Severn House Publishers Ltd
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2020
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1780296290
• ISBN 13: 9781780296296
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 288
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: BGC Sustainability & Compliance; gpsr@baldwinglobalconsulting.com; ; 7 AVENUE DU GENERAL LECLERC; PARIS; 75014; Frankreich