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“I need a code off Gabe’s phone. Just a code—that’s it.”
“The phone that’s currently in the evidence locker down the nick?”
“That phone, yes.”
“You don’t ask much, do you? How the flip am I supposed to get in there?”
“Can you do it?”
“Maybe.” He sounded intensely amused. “You know me, I’m a man of many resources. But what’s in it for me?”
“Jeff.” I knew what he wanted, and I didn’t try to keep the desperation out of my voice. He wanted me to beg. He wanted me to plead. It was what he got off on, he always had. Even in the early days, before it all went south, he’d enjoyed hearing me beg. He’d played it like a game then, of course, tickling me until I choked with laughter and begged him to stop, jumping out at me as I walked home on dark nights and laughing at my momentary terror and subsequent relief when I realized it was him. Now I saw those “jokes” for what they were—mind games, played by someone who enjoyed watching women squirm. Well, if I wanted that code I had no choice now but to squirm for him. “Jeff, listen to me, you know me. You know I didn’t kill Gabe. And I think I can prove it. I just need that code off his phone.”
“What do you need it for? To wipe one of his accounts? You know it’s pointless, right? The digital forensics boys have been all over that shit, it’s backed up from here to kingdom come.”
“Jeff.” I forced the words out. “Jeff, please. I’m begging you. Please.”
There was a long, long silence. Then Jeff let out a martyred sigh.
“Fuck me, Cross. You always did know how to play me.”
“You’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it.”
“Oh my God.” I didn’t try to keep the relief out of my voice. “Jeff, I—” I knew I had to say it, much as it made me want to puke. “Thank you. Listen, if I call you—”
“No,” he broke in with finality. “I’m not giving this stuff out over the phone. If you want that code, I’ll give it to you in person.”
Now the silence was at my end of the line.
“You want it or not?” Jeff said, and I could tell he knew exactly how horrifyingly torn I was, and was enjoying the moment of power.
“I can’t meet you,” I said at last. “I can’t, Jeff. You know that.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to do without the code,” Jeff said. His voice was smug.
Fuck.
“How can I trust you?” I said at last. I could almost hear his shrug from the other end of the line.
“I dunno. How can I trust you aren’t going to do something dodgy with that code? I guess we’ll just have to trust each other.”
He had a point. The problem was, I didn’t trust him. Not for one second. I didn’t trust Jeff Leadbetter as far as I could throw him.
“Okay, I’ll meet you,” I said at last, reluctantly, my mind whirling and trying to figure out options. “But I’ll choose the place.”
“All right,” Jeff said, surprising me. “But it’s gotta be London. I’m not schlepping out to some pisspot town in Wales just to give you a piece of paper.”
“Okay,” I said again. I was thinking hard. Where? Where should I pick? Somewhere central, with lots of exits and clear lines of sight so I could check that Jeff had come alone. Not somewhere a person could get trapped. My mind went to places that were likely to be sparsely populated—London Fields in Hackney, Finsbury Park after dusk… but then it occurred to me… maybe there was safety in numbers? If Jeff did try anything, perhaps it would be harder to do it surrounded by people?
Trafalgar Square? But no. There was usually at least a handful of police patrolling there, and sometimes a lot more if there was a protest going on. If Jeff brought a buddy, I would never be able to spot them.
Leicester Square? No, too few exits, and too many of the lanes that did lead out of it were narrow pedestrian thoroughfares, easy to block.
A park? But I needed somewhere I could get a good overview, somewhere with a building where I could see Jeff without being seen myself.
“I haven’t got all day, Cross,” Jeff said, just as my phone buzzed with a five-percent battery warning.
