Joe surveyed the empty street. He got out of the car and approached the Ford, tapping on the window as Duffy flicked a lighter, holding the flame to his cigarette. The man gave a start, his eyes wide with alarm. Joe motioned for him to wind down his window.
‘Jesus, Joe… You scared the crap out of me. I thought I was going to be mugged.’
Joe’s face remained impassive.
‘Get out of the car,’ he said.
Duffy frowned. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard me.’
The man blinked twice in quick succession. Trying to fathom what was going on.
‘Out,’ said Joe.
Duffy puffed out his cheeks then stepped from the car.
‘What’s this about?’ He lit the roll-up.
‘It’s about “Blondie”,’ said Joe.
The man’s hand froze.
‘It’s about a sleazy copper who can’t keep it zipped. A copper who harasses women in London then transfers here and pays for sex with kids like Tiffany, while shagging a reporter, shooting his mouth off about murder investigations, and sniffing around another man’s wife.’
Duffy took a drag of his cigarette. He stared at Joe, exhaling smoke through his nose. His features creased into a lopsided smile.
‘“Sniffing”. Is that what you call it?’
It was the smile that did it. The smug grin. Before Joe knew it, he’d clenched his hand into a fist and landed a blow to Duffy’s solar plexus. The cigarette went flying as a second punch made contact with the man’s nose. Joe heard a crack of bone. He launched a third blow, an uppercut that sent Duffy spinning, arms flailing, toppling into the hedge.
Caught off guard, the DS made no attempt at self-defence. He straightened up, touching his hand to his nose.
‘You broke my fucking nose.’ He fumbled in his pocket for a tissue and tried to stem the flow of blood. ‘You don’t want Katie any more,’ he said. ‘Go back to your shitty little shack and leave her alone.’
Joe ignored him.
‘If you go near Katie again – jogging, coffee – any contact outside work – I’ll tell her about your sessions with Tiffany and her friend. Then I’ll file a complaint, which will trigger an investigation into your relationship, professional and otherwise, with Chrissie McBride.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘If I see you with Tiffany again – or any other sex worker – I’ll make sure you get done for kerb-crawling.’ He clenched his fist tighter. ‘Clear?’ There was no reply. He put his mouth close to the man’s ear. ‘Are. We. Clear?’
Duffy nodded, dabbing at his nose. The blood dripped onto the man’s shirt. Joe wasn’t finished.
‘That DNA test on the letter sent to Adam? As soon as you know the result, I know the result. Got it?’
Another nod from Duffy.
‘Fuck off,’ he said. ‘Let me get to a hospital.’
‘You don’t need a hospital,’ said Joe. ‘You need a bag of frozen peas.’
He caught sight of the roll-up on the pavement. He ground his heel onto the glowing ember. Walking to his car, he drove away. Hands shaking, he was struck by a thought. He had managed to get through the last forty-eight hours without craving a cigarette.
31
The rush hour was in full swing. Joe spotted Katie’s Volvo circumnavigating the city walls and pulling to a halt outside the police station car park. Her brow furrowed as she caught sight of him leaning against the gate. She lowered her window.
‘Are you waiting for me?’
Joe shook his head. ‘Bryan Messenger.’
Her frown deepened. ‘At eight o’clock on a Monday morning?’
He nodded. No need to mention that he’d been here since seven. He didn’t want to miss Messenger’s arrival, or the results of the DNA test on the letter from Z.
During the Kinsella inquiry, he’d been in every day by six thirty, seldom leaving before midnight, eating ‘al desko’ and snatching a few hours’ sleep on a camp bed. Any murder case involving children had that effect, diligence spilling over into obsession. Work consumed your life, providing the perfect excuse to short-change those who mattered.
Your wife.
Your son.
Yourself.
He studied Katie’s face. The new hairstyle no longer took him by surprise. But her makeover underlined his sense that everything had changed. The past was fading into sepia; the future was a blank canvas.
But… if he confronted her with what he knew, how long before things spiralled out of control? As long as he kept her betrayal to himself, as long as he alone carried the burden, he could control the fallout.
Joe could feel the ache where his fist had made contact with Duffy’s nose. Nothing in Katie’s demeanour suggested she knew about the events of the previous night. He managed half a smile.
‘How was the jogging?’
‘Good.’ She held his gaze and frowned. ‘You OK?’
Joe nodded. He knew he looked haggard.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, aware of the lack of conviction in his voice. ‘How about you?’
For a second it seemed as if Katie might burst into tears. Joe wondered if she was about to let down her guard and ask him to come home. The thought didn’t last long. It was more likely that she and Duffy had had a row. He hoped the DS had started to distance himself from the occupants of Marlowe Avenue.
If he hadn’t…
A horn beeped. Katie looked away. The moment passed. Joe looked up to see a car pulling to a halt behind the Volvo, Bryan Messenger at the wheel. Katie tapped the code into the electronic pad then drove through the gates. Messenger eased his car forward and lowered his window.
Joe tried to sound casual.
‘I was up early. Thought I’d save you a call.’
The DI frowned. ‘I said I’d give you a shout when the lab results come in. Go and have some bloody breakfast.’
Food was the last thing on Joe’s mind. He waited ten minutes, hoping Duffy would arrive early, then strolled to what he’d come to think of as the Apostrophe Cafe and ordered tea. Someone had left a copy of Kent Today on the table. He hesitated – he’d had his fill of Chrissie McBride – but the headline above her latest article piqued his interest.
FooLing Ling-Ling!
Unlike previous stories about Pennefeather’s, the piece provided positive publicity for the beleaguered wildlife park. There was no mention of Bella’s murder or Adam’s death. Perhaps the hack was trying to redress the downbeat coverage of recent weeks, or maybe she was currying favour with the Pennefeather family, hoping for an exclusive with Isobel (grief-stricken widow) or Saffron (tragic new mum). Joe knew the Aussie never made a move without an ulterior motive.
According to the article – and as Joe had predicted – Ling-Ling was already neglecting one of her cubs. The Chinese keepers were rearing the abandoned male in an incubator, swapping it for its twin several times a day to ensure that the unsuspecting mother was suckling both her cubs. The deception boosted survival chances by 90 per cent. Almost all the Chengdu cubs reached adulthood and transferred to the breeding pool. Such a success rate made it hard to side with the Raouls of this world. When it came to zoos there was no black and white (unless you were a panda), only infinite shades of grey.
Sipping his tea, Joe thought back to Isobel’s panic attack. God knows the woman had reason to be distressed – losing a daughter and a husband in the space of a fortnight – but the attack that had overwhelmed her seemed to have been triggered by Joe suggesting that Ling-Ling might abandon one of her cubs. Was the timing coincidental? Or had recent traumas collided with Isobel’s guilt over abandoning Gabriel, sending the woman over the edge?
Three mugs of tea and a bacon butty later, Joe’s thoughts were interrupted by the shrilling of his mobile.
Duffy.
The man spoke quietly, as if trying to avoid being overheard.
‘The DNA results are back. We’ve got a match with the stamp and the envelope seal.’
Joe felt the blood thudding in his
ears.
‘So we know who Z is?’
A pause. He heard Duffy sigh.
‘Do you know how much shit I’m in if they find out I’m telling you this?’
‘Not as much as if you don’t.’ Joe’s grip tightened around the mug. ‘If it makes you feel better, there wouldn’t be a letter to analyse if I hadn’t found it. Spit it out: whose is the DNA?’
Another pause, longer this time. Joe understood. Duffy was delaying the moment of truth, savouring the feeling of being one step ahead of the man who had bested him. For a few seconds more, he, Detective Sergeant Hugh Duffy, not ‘the punctuation police’, would know who had faked Adam’s suicide note. Who had forged the incriminating diary entry on Bella’s iPhone. The real identity of Z.
‘Come on, Duffy. Spit it out. Whose DNA?’
‘Liam O’Mara’s.’
Joe almost dropped his mug. Tea slopped onto the table.
‘Gabriel must have been adopted by an Irish couple,’ said Duffy. ‘Which is how he comes to be called Liam O’Mara.’
The man continued to speak – something about Saffron giving birth to a girl … about Messenger ordering an arrest warrant for O’Mara … but Joe was no longer listening.
He left a fiver on the table and hurried out of the cafe.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, he was at the wheel of the MGB, speeding up the drive to Pennefeather Hall, mind racing. The letter from Z was dated January 2007. By Liam’s own account the pizza king hadn’t met Adam – or any of the Pennefeathers – until four years later, around Christmas 2010. So if ‘Z’ and Liam were one and the same – as proved by DNA on the stamp – there were only two possibilities.
Either Liam knew Gabriel.
Or Liam was Gabriel.
Passing the avenue of trees and the plaque that bore Gabriel’s name, Joe slowed to a halt. Where was the proof he was dead? The only ‘evidence’ was in the letter from ‘Z’.
…he died in a motorcycle accident a fortnight ago. His funeral was last week… His ashes are in the box.
No death certificate. No coroner’s report. Just a letter from an unverifiable source who had never existed. As for the ashes, Joe had wondered why Z would send them to Adam, not to Gabriel’s adoptive parents. Now he knew. There had been no ashes, no motorcycle accident, no funeral.
And no Z.
There had only ever been Liam, pulling strings and fabricating a web of lies.
A spider’s web…
The thought almost brought a smile to Joe’s face.
Drawing to a halt a hundred yards from the mansion, he got out of his car and gazed at the plaque, wondering how often Liam had passed this memorial to himself, a reminder of the life he could have had.
And yet…
There was something about Isobel’s motive for abandoning her son that didn’t ring true. Women abandoned children, of course. Like Isobel, they suffered post-partum psychosis or had nervous breakdowns, or simply couldn’t cope. There were a million reasons why a woman might abandon a baby.
But a woman like Isobel?
Something was niggling at the back of Joe’s mind.
How long had ‘Gabriel’ been planning his revenge? What demons had driven him to exact such vengeance?
And which aspect was most shocking? The murder of Bella, carried out by Raoul, presumably on Liam’s orders? Poor Bella – who usurped ‘Gabriel’s’ birthright. Surely that was more terrible than framing Adam. Worse even than Adam’s murder, disguised as the suicidal act of a man facing disgrace?
Then again, perhaps the most chilling aspect of Liam’s retribution was his determination to marry his own sister.
To make her give birth to his child.
Joe turned and walked the final few yards to the house. He recognized Messenger’s car. There was no sign of Liam’s Mercedes. He rang the doorbell. The door was ajar, the hall deserted. Somewhere inside the house, a baby was crying.
Following the sound, he crossed the parquet floor and entered a corridor that led to the drawing room. Entering, he found Messenger and Duffy standing in front of the marble fireplace. Both were on their mobiles, talking in hushed tones. Duffy sported a gauze bandage on his nose, held in place by strips of sticking plaster. He registered Joe’s arrival then turned away to continue his conversation.
At the far end of the room, Isobel sat on a sofa with her daughter and new granddaughter. The infant lay in a Moses basket, bawling loudly. Her mother’s pale face was streaked with tears. How long since she had been discharged from hospital? A couple of hours? The women seemed to be in shock. Neither appeared to register Joe’s presence. It was clear that Messenger had dropped the bombshell news.
Gabriel and Liam were one and the same.
The Pennefeathers had been destroyed by their own flesh and blood.
Life would never be the same.
The baby’s cries grew louder. Isobel stubbed out a cigarette.
‘You can’t ignore her for ever,’ she said.
Saffron fixed her mother with a glare.
‘Are you seriously telling me how to look after a baby? You of all people?’
Isobel’s jaw tightened. She reached into the basket and lifted the wailing infant.
‘For God’s sake, feed her.’
Saffron’s eyes filled with tears. Her voice was barely audible.
‘She’ll have to have formula.’
Joe looked away. Messenger was finishing his call.
‘We’ve got O’Mara’s laptop. I want uniform and SOCOs here now. Family Liaison too.’ He ended the call then turned to see Joe standing in the doorway. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for O’Mara.’
‘You’re too late.’ Isobel raised her voice above the baby’s cries. She turned to Joe. ‘You’re all too bloody late.’
Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face filled with anguish. She clasped the baby in her arms. Saffron turned away and sobbed into a cushion.
Bryan crooked a finger, beckoning Joe outside, into the gloomy corridor.
‘We went to the hospital,’ he said. ‘The bastard saw us in the car park. Gave us the slip in the Merc.’
Duffy emerged from the drawing room, pocketing his mobile. Messenger led the way into the cavernous hall.
‘We’re looking for his car,’ said O’Mara. ‘Ports and airports, the works.’
Joe shook his head. ‘It’s a waste of time. O’Mara is not going to stroll through passport control. He’s been planning this for years.’ He gestured to the portraits lining the oak-panelled walls. ‘He should have been up there, with the rest of the family, instead he was in care, being abused.’
Messenger frowned. ‘How do you work that out?’
Joe savoured the moment. He was a step ahead of the official investigation. But it was time to provide the missing link.
‘Have you heard of Duwayne Speed?’
Messenger exchanged a look with his second in command. Pure bafflement.
‘Enlighten us,’ he said.
‘Gabriel Pennefeather was put up for adoption. He became Liam O’Mara and ended up in care. That’s where he met Raoul and Duwayne. They became blood brothers. They went through hell, the kind of thing that scars kids for life – and bonds them for ever.’
Duffy’s stare was unflinching.
‘Is this fact or supposition?’
Joe met the man’s gaze.
‘Fact: Liam was born Gabriel Pennefeather. Fact: Raoul killed Bella. Supposition number one: Liam was in care with Raoul and Duwayne. They nicknamed him “Spider”. Supposition number two: Raoul killed Bella on Liam’s orders, and because Liam promised to look after his kid after Raoul’s gone.’
Messenger was struggling to keep up.
‘All because Liam wanted revenge?’
Joe nodded. ‘This is a man who set out to destroy a family. The family he should have been part of. This is like a military campaign crossed with an opera.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Act One: he marries S
affron, his own sister. Act Two: he arranges the murder of his other sister, Bella. Act Three: he kills his father – but only after framing him as a murderer and paedophile.’ He broke off, giddy with the thoughts that whirled around his head. ‘O’Mara wasn’t abandoned by some kid in a crack house. He was hurled out of paradise by people with choice. Imagine what that would do to someone.’
‘So if the world’s our haystack,’ sighed Messenger, ‘where’s the bloody needle?’
‘Only two people know how O’Mara’s mind works,’ said Joe. ‘Duwayne and Raoul.’
Messenger took out his notebook.
‘Where do we find Speed?’
Joe took the notebook and scribbled the man’s address.
‘Have you been holding out on us?’ said Messenger.
Joe shook his head. ‘The DNA joined the dots.’
Messenger didn’t look convinced but his mobile rang before he could object. He barked into the phone. ‘Hold on.’ Covering the mouthpiece, he turned to his second in command. ‘I’ll talk to Duwayne Speed. Get over to Elmley. Take Mr Smart-Arse with you.’
Duffy couldn’t hide his dismay. ‘What for?’
But Messenger was on the phone, no longer listening.
As Joe led the way towards the front door he heard the baby’s cries coming from the drawing room. The newest addition to the Pennefeather family was making her feelings plain, screaming at the top of her lungs.
32
The journey to Elmley Prison passed in silence. Duffy drove towards the Isle of Sheppey, wipers scraping the windscreen. Joe stared out at the rain.
He thought back to his first impressions of the man whose nose he had broken the night before. A visceral dislike bordering on loathing. But with what rationale?
There’d been no reason to hate Duffy on sight, merely an animal instinct. Here was a rival, a threat. His intuition had been right in ways he could not have imagined – Pandora’s Box had burst open, exploding in the heart of his world.
Animal Instinct Page 24