Page 134 of Convict's Game
Cassie was unfazed. “Based on this short chat, you decided to prey on women?”
Anger flashed through his fear. “Rhys Jacobs was supposed to be running it, and it was his name that sold it to me. I was told they’d be willing to do anything. It was a waste of money.”
“You trusted that name because you’ve bought from Jacobs before,” she decided.
“Once or twice, but there’s nothing wrong with what he does. Everyone is consenting adults, so I don’t know why I’m here. The bitch I purchased griped and complained. I was glad to see her go when her friend came.”
“What friend?” Cassie asked.
“She called her Esther. They aren’t allowed phones, so someone had to pick her up.”
All of us stilled.
I exchanged a look with Genevieve and Lovelyn. Becky never told us about seeing Esther the next day.
A grinding sound came down the phone, then Cassie spoke.
“Esther’s dead. As far as I can tell, you’re one of the last people to see her alive. Did you go after her because the woman ye bought wasn’t what ye wanted?”
Yelland sobbed. “I don’t know anything about her friend. There’s a pawnbroker two doors down on Strathmore Road. She got into the car right outside of that. They’ll have cameras. You can watch them drive away together.”
The phone shifted, and Cassie’s face filled the screen. She stomped away from Yelland and exited a door into the night. “Annoyingly, I don’t think he’s lying. Either way, we can test it. Riordan is arranging for someone to go to that pawnbroker’s now.”
“We should also pick up Becky,” Genevieve suggested.
Cassie nodded. “We’ll get someone on that as well. So, what am I doing with this arsehole? In the river or let him go home to lick his wounds?”
I stared in horror. “We should release him.”
She sighed in disappointment. “Fine. I’ll give him a little warning about treating women with respect. Talk later when we have any more news.”
The line disconnected.
I slumped. The mystery of Esther’s death still wasn’t solved. I had to hope that Convict returned with news from Salter.
It wasn’t long until he was back, the smell of blood, gunpowder, and the night clinging to him. He grabbed my hand and led me down through the warehouse and to our car, driving me home without a word.
A dark storm of energy crackled over him.
It bothered me. His obvious impatience. How he white-knuckled the steering wheel.
Worse, I was keyed up and still on edge from his game. Like hell was I asking him to solve that problem.
In my apartment, he locked the door, kicked off his shoes, and stormed into the living room. Then he wheeled around on me.
“Salter believes that Jacobs is dead, though has no evidence. He claims Jacobs supplied women and ran the auctions as a trafficker, giving Salter any he couldn’t sell. His urgency and blackmail of you came from the fact his supply of bodies would dry up without Jacobs. But where was Jacobs getting his supply? Why opt out from what was making him a fortune, according to Salter? Something changed. Some unexpected event took place that tumbled their house of cards.”
I fought the urge to shrink in on myself, his words leading to one conclusion. “You’re implying it’s to do with my grandfather’s death.”
He watched me, his muscles locked tight and wariness in his eyes.
“You do. You really think it.”
Convict held up a finger. “The boats.” Another finger. “The routes in and out of Europe.” A third. “Secrets he kept from you. Relatives who aren’t what they seem. The trafficker haunting your grandmother then vanishing.” His fourth and fifth fingers added to the damning list of evidence.
I shook my head, unable and unwilling to believe it. Outrage consumed my need and every other emotion. Howdarehe? My grandfather would never have anything to do with a world like that. Yet even as I knew that to my bones, all the other factors crowded in.
“There has to be another explanation. This is way off base. Marchant Haulage isn’t a front for people traffickers. My grandfather was a good man. It doesn’t make sense. There’s nobody else who could have fulfilled that role. There’s no way it would be a woman, and you’ve met Wallace. He couldn’t organise his way out of a paper bag.”
