Dead Wrong - [21]

‘Will he be long?’ I asked.

The guy’s face darkened with embarrassment. ‘He didn’t say.’

‘I could wait?’

‘No,’ he coughed. ‘It’d be better if you made an appointment.’

‘Can I do that now?’

He looked even more uncomfortable. ‘You need to see Mr Siddiq? Try ringing.’

‘OK,’ I said, ‘can you tell me his official title?’ Apparently not, from the blank look on his face. ‘What does he do here?’ I prompted.

‘He’s one of the bosses. He sorts out the deliveries, transfers, transport, that sort of thing…and he’s in charge of security.’ He paused, trying to remember if he’d missed anything.

‘And who owns the business.’

He shrugged.

‘Well, who’s in charge?’

‘Mr Khan.’

‘Thanks.’

It took ten minutes for a man I presumed to be Rashid Siddiq to leave the building and climb into one of the cars park in reserved bays off to my left. I angled my rear mirror until I could see him in it.

I’d found sunglasses and a baseball hat in the car and put these on just in case Siddiq had taken a peek at me while I’d grilled his employee. I pretended to study an A-Z, head down while my eyes locked onto the mirror.

I watched as he punched numbers into a mobile phone. I’d a fair idea who he was ringing. From the look on his face and the way he hit the steering wheel with his clenched fist I don’t think he liked what he heard.

Mr Siddiq finished his call then started his car up and reversed out of his space. I followed, allowing a couple of cars to come between us. He skirted town along Great Ancoats Street, past the old Daily Express building with its glass and Art Deco façade. I was old enough to remember seeing the papers rolling off the presses there – like something out of Citizen Kane. Down past the CIS building, famed for its height rather than its beauty, and over the bridge to the bottom of Cheetham Hill Road. He stopped partway up in a car park adjacent to a large clothing wholesalers.

It was a brilliant building, or had been in its heyday, like a Georgian country house standing foursquare, with pillars around the front entrance and broad steps down to the street. There were huge windows on both storeys, a real liability for this inner city spot. They were covered with sheets of metal, grilles and wood, no two alike and daubed with graffiti.

There was a petrol station conveniently placed opposite. I’d time to check my tyres and top up with petrol. I bought a plain Bounty bar and a small bottle of water with a hint of lemon. Well, I meant to get a hint of lemon but I ended up with a peach one which tasted like liquid pot-pourri.

Huge signs on the front of the building told me it was J.K. Imports and proclaimed International Labels, All Discount Stock, Best Deals in Town and Trade Only. I could hardly go in and browse then. And he showed no sign of coming out. I concluded that Mr. Siddiq was probably now back doing business having spoken to his wife. Luke Wallace had mentioned that the Khan brothers had a place up Cheetham Hill. This was probably it. J.K. – Janghir Khan. I could sit and stare at the building all afternoon and learn nothing.

Time to go.

I dropped off the film that had the pictures of the stalker for same-day processing on my way to the office.

From there I rang Ahktar’s father, Dr L. P. L. Khan. ‘Dr Khan?’

‘Yes, speaking.’

I told him who I was, what I wanted. I asked to see him. There was a long pause.

‘I will be at home tomorrow between half past ten and eleven o’clock,’ he said.

‘And Mrs Khan?’

‘Mrs Khan is visiting her family in Pakistan. She will be away until September.’

‘Right. I’ll see you at half past ten then. Thank you.’

The phone rang as soon as I put it down. I hate that. It startled me and sent shivers of shock up my arms. ‘Hello?’

‘Sal, Rebecca Henderson here. Debbie Gosforth tells me there have been some problems with the surveillance.’

Oh, great. ‘Just one,’ I defended myself. ‘We assumed he had no car so I was all prepared to tail him on foot, but he was using a car. Parked round the corner.’

‘You got the number?’

‘Only partial.’

Silence. If I was paying a solicitor, there’d be endless delays and hiccups to put up with, but turn the tables and I’m expected to produce instant results.

‘Listen, I know we said we didn’t need twenty-four hour cover,’ Rebecca resumed finally, ‘but if you don’t feel you can give this one the time…’

‘Hang on,’ I interrupted, ‘am I missing something here? I’ve been over there twice as soon as she’s called. The first time he’d already gone when I arrived and the second time he’s driving, which we knew nothing about. I’ve also advised her to get on to the phone company and fix up a new number or go ex-directory. She knows she can ring me anytime, as soon as he shows.’

‘Have you met her brother?’

‘Eh? No. Why?’

‘I’ve had him on the phone ranting about how little we’re doing. He says Debbie is scared to leave the house, that the threats are escalating and that she thinks you’re only going through the motions, can’t wait to get away.’

‘That’s not true,’ I objected. I thought back to my visits. ‘The first time she called me it was getting dark. I came out, no problem. I even offered to see her at the house when we knew the stalker had gone but she put me off, she was worried it would wake one of the children.’ I was getting riled. ‘The second time when he drove off I did go back to the house to tell her. I offered to come in for a few minutes, asked if there was anything else she wanted me to do.’