Brady said nothing, which Caelan took as acquiescence. When the other woman spoke again, her voice was quiet, contemplative.
‘I think you can help me.’
‘Why?’
‘You have an excellent reputation. That doesn’t disappear overnight.’
Caelan laughed. ‘I think mine might have.’
‘And tomorrow, you’ll probably be arrested. Gunshot residue will be found on the clothes you wore earlier; forensics will prove it’s on your hands too. You had the best opportunity to shoot Ronnie Morgan.’
‘What’s my motive?’
‘That’s easy.’
‘Then tell me, because I don’t have a clue.’ Caelan knew her voice was shaking. Why had she got into this woman’s car?
‘You wanted to draw Seb Lambourne out of hiding. What better way to do it than murder his son?’
Caelan laughed at the absurdity of it. ‘Seriously?’
‘Why else would you travel to Egypt using your own passport, making no attempt to disguise your face or your identity? You’d heard Lambourne had been there. You wanted to sniff around.’
‘Bollocks. I was on holiday. I never left the hotel grounds.’
‘No. You didn’t need to.’
‘What?’
Brady turned, glaring. ‘Don’t take the piss, Caelan. We’ve spoken to your assistant.’
‘My—’
‘The poor sod you used as an amateur detective in Egypt – Atem? Name ring a bell?’
Fuck, Caelan thought. ‘Listen—’
‘No, you listen. There are people, influential people, who are trying to destroy what’s left of your career. You seem to have been doing your best to help them. Ian Penrith wants you in prison. I think we both know how long you’d last if you were locked up.’
Caelan set her jaw. ‘I’d be okay.’
Brady snorted. ‘Like fuck you would. You’d be lucky to last the first night. I want to help you, but you need to be honest with me. People are out to get you, Caelan. I think you know that.’
‘You’re paranoid.’
‘Why did you ask Ewan Davies to stay with you then? A man you didn’t know?’
‘Because I trust him.’ Caelan’s voice was little more than a whisper. She cleared her throat, tried again. ‘He doesn’t know me, hasn’t heard—’
‘He didn’t know you were there when Charlie Flynn was found. He had no preconceptions about you.’ Brady nodded. ‘I can see how that would be appealing.’
Caelan turned to look at Brady, her mind hurtling through the possibilities. Someone had been talking, and it had to be Achebe. He’d been at the meeting where Ian Penrith had thrown his accusations out into the open. Brady was Achebe’s boss – he would have briefed her. Then Ronnie Morgan’s murder had blown the operation to use him to get to his father wide apart. She gave Brady a sidelong glance.
‘What do you want?’
Brady sighed. ‘To keep you out of prison. And the same as you – to put Seb Lambourne away for the rest of his life. But like I said, you need to be honest with me.’
Caelan knew she had no choice. Brady’s record was exemplary. She was clearly intelligent, and she would take no shit. Someone Caelan could imagine working with. They were in Lambeth, Brady driving steadily through the quiet, darkened streets. As they passed Lambeth Bridge, turning eastwards, Caelan made her decision, blowing out her cheeks.
‘Fine.’
Brady nodded. ‘Good. Did you kill Ronnie Morgan?’
Caelan shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Do you know who did?’
‘No idea. Whoever did must have been waiting in the underpass, or at the other end. Ronnie was directed to Northolt; he must have been told exactly where to go.’ She told Brady about the phone call she’d seen Ronnie receive. Brady pursed her lips.
‘We’re accessing his mobile phone records, tracing his movements.’
‘Glen Walker approached him on the Tube.’
Brady paused. ‘What did you say?’
Caelan told her about Walker appearing on the train, the strange expression she’d seen on his face. She described watching him handing Ronnie the map, surprised that Richard Adamson hadn’t already briefed his superiors. ‘Was the map found on Ronnie’s body?’
‘I don’t know. You’re certain it was Walker?’
‘Yeah. We’ve met before.’
‘I know. Can’t be coincidence.’
‘No way. He knew Ronnie would be there.’
‘We need to find him. Do you think he’s behind Ronnie’s decision to come to London?’
‘If he’s still working for Seb Lambourne, maybe, though I doubt even Lambourne would kill his own son. Walker might be working alone, I suppose. We’ve assumed he and Lambourne went their separate ways after Charlie Flynn.’
‘When they evaded capture.’
‘Yes.’
‘Escaped from vanloads of armed police officers, dogs, helicopters?’
Caelan chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘Yep.’
‘How did they do it?’
‘I’ve no idea. We’ve never managed to explain it.’
Brady nodded. ‘I think we need to.’
‘Okay, well good luck. We’ve been trying ever since it happened.’
‘I’ve read the reports, your account of the incident.’
‘I told the truth.’ Caelan was aware of how defensive she sounded.
‘Why did you want to see Sam Clifton today?’ Brady’s voice was soft, persuasive. Caelan looked at her, but the Chief Superintendent’s eyes were fixed on the road.
Brady knew.
Somehow, she had begun to ask the same questions that were hurtling around Caelan’s brain.
‘You’re asking me to trust you. How do I know I can?’
Brady lifted her shoulders, allowed them to fall. ‘If you don’t, expect to be arrested tomorrow.’
‘Blackmail, Chief Superintendent?’ Caelan lifted an eyebrow, her tone belying her panic.
‘Friendly advice.’
Brady knew more, much more, than Caelan had anticipated. Being honest was her only option. ‘I went to see Sam because I wanted to talk about Lambourne. About that day.’ She relayed their conversation to Brady, holding nothing back.
‘So you’re concerned that Charlie Flynn was alive when you left the building?’
‘Concerned? I’m fucking terrified. I couldn’t live with it, not if we left him there when we could have saved him.’
‘You trusted your colleague, you believed Sam when he said Charlie was dead.’
‘I know.’
‘What if Sam lied?’
‘I—’
‘You’ve already asked yourself the same question, haven’t you, Caelan?’
She studied her lap. ‘Yes. I didn’t see Charlie, not clearly. I tried to help Nicky, but it was hopeless.’
‘Nicky Sturgess.’ Brady tapped the steering wheel a few times, an irritating rhythm.
‘You’re not going to suggest she was still alive too? I saw Lambourne slit her throat, had her blood all over me. They did a post-mortem! I went to her funeral, for fuck’s sake.’
Brady laughed, a quiet, dry chuckle. ‘You’re not naïve. A funeral is easy to arrange. Doesn’t mean the right person’s in the coffin. Doesn’t mean there’s anyone in the coffin.’
Caelan rubbed her eyes, her mind freewheeling, wanting Brady to shut up. More guilt, more burdens to bear. The image of Nicky lying on the filthy floor, her throat a vivid mess of blood, the rattling, gasping breaths … Blinking, she forced the memory away. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘My turn to be honest with you. I suspect there was more to the Charlie Flynn case than anyone realised. I think lies were told, assumptions made, mistakes ignored. Who was the man Sam killed?’
Caelan pressed her lips together. ‘He’s irrelevant.’
‘Is he? He won’t be when Sam Clifton is tried for his murder. I’ll ask again. Who was he?’
‘I thought I
recognised him, but I can’t be certain. Someone from my past.’
‘Your past as a police officer? Someone you’ve arrested, questioned?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m probably wrong.’
‘Your career has depended on your ability to identify targets, integrate yourself with them. I doubt you’re mistaken. Tell me.’
‘Run his fingerprints. You never know your luck.’
‘Caelan …’
‘All right.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘I don’t know his name, but he worked in a pub I used to meet Sam in when he was trying to get close to some of Lambourne’s people. We knew he was dealing drugs from the premises. In fact, Sam was a regular customer. The merchandise was properly stored as evidence, of course.’
‘Naturally.’
‘One night, Sam and I were in the bar. Not together; we never spoke in there if we could help it. He saw a bloke leave – someone he needed to stay near. He followed him, and I got up too. I was Kay Summers then – blonde hair, Geordie accent. Short skirts, plenty of make-up. It wasn’t subtle. As I was leaving, the man Sam killed tonight barred my way, tried to chat me up. Managed to back me into a storage cupboard. By that point, it was clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.’
Caelan swallowed. Brady turned her head.
‘What happened?’
‘He grabbed me, pinned me against the wall. I knew I had to maintain my cover, no matter what. Couldn’t scream for help, not in that place. Anyone who came running would probably have joined in. He had his knee between my legs, his hand around my throat …’ Caelan paused again, licked her lips.
‘Take your time,’ Brady said softly.
‘I knew I could fight him off, but if I did, I’d risk giving myself away. The woman I was supposed to be wouldn’t have had much training in unarmed combat.’
‘But in that situation—’
‘I had to maintain my cover.’
Brady was silent, then said, ‘What did you do?’
‘Managed to stamp on his foot, knee him in the balls. Ran. Was lucky enough to find a taxi.’
‘You didn’t have a pen handy?’
‘A what?’
‘I was told you once killed a man with a pen.’
Caelan shook her head. ‘Not true.’
‘I didn’t say I—’
‘It was a pencil.’
Brady stared, forgetting the road. Caelan laughed at her expression.
‘I’m joking.’
Brady smiled. ‘Sam would have recognised the man he killed, then?’
‘I …’ What could she say? ‘I did, and I saw him at least as often as Sam.’
‘I see. He’s another link to Lambourne.’
‘You know his name?’
‘Brendan Milne. Thirty-two. Breaking and entering, assault, petty theft.’
‘No sexual offences?’
‘Not per his record.’
‘Did you ask me if I recognised him to see what I’d say? If I’d lie?’
‘Yes and no. I want you to work with me, with Tim. We need to find the person who killed Ronnie Morgan. Then …’
‘Then?’
Brady exhaled. ‘I’m not sure. There are too many unanswered questions. Finding Glen Walker is a priority.’
‘I can’t see him killing Ronnie, it would be suicide. Lambourne will go after whoever did it, as Walker will know.’
‘We still need to find him. We should have some results from forensics tomorrow. I want to know if Brendan Milne shot Ronnie Morgan. Either way, we need to find out why he was at Sam Clifton’s house.’
‘Will you want me to speak to Sam again?’
‘I’m not sure yet. You’ll need to direct me to your place from here.’
* * *
As they approached Caelan’s building, Brady let out an appreciative whistle.
‘Quite a place. How do you afford to eat?’
Caelan laughed, ignoring the dig of unease. This was why she rarely had visitors. ‘I’m hardly here.’
‘The rent must be ridiculous.’
‘I … I own the flat outright.’
‘At your age? Can’t be bad.’
Caelan said nothing. She hadn’t minded telling Ewan about inheriting the property, but she was reluctant to share it with Brady. She stared out at the night, wishing she’d stayed silent. It was none of Brady’s business.
Brady brought the car to a halt under a street light. ‘Be back at South Harrow early tomorrow.’
‘Thought I was being arrested in the morning?’
‘You might be. Pack a bag.’
Opening the car door, Caelan clambered out. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
Brady looked up at her, green eyes glinting as the glow of the street light touched the gloom of the car’s interior. ‘Good to meet you, Caelan. You’re not what I expected.’
‘In what way?’
Brady took off the handbrake, eased the car into first gear. ‘You’re transparent. Not everyone is.’
She sped away. Caelan stood on the pavement until the car was out of sight.
Transparent.
Perhaps Brady wasn’t as intelligent as she’d first thought.
* * *
The flat was cold, unwelcoming. Caelan locked the door, bolted it, slipped off her shoes. She hadn’t contacted Ewan, but he would be asleep now. She would speak to Brady in the morning, ask if Ewan could tag along. Nasenby hadn’t been able to protest, and she doubted Brady would either. Ewan worked for the Met; he’d been in the army. He might not be an investigator, but he would be an asset to any team, especially in a case where firearms were involved.
She went into the kitchen, filled the kettle, flicked it on to boil. Why was she so keen to have Ewan around? It was a question she knew Brady would want answering, that Nasenby had asked. She didn’t know. He was solid, intelligent, and he knew when to keep his mouth closed. She had worked with officers who had placed personal glory before team success. You couldn’t trust them, not with your cover story, your fake identity. Not with your life. Ewan had been a soldier, dependent on the vigilance of those around him for his survival.
She thumbed out a text: Meet tomorrow, 7 a.m. outside South Harrow police station. She sent it, hesitated. Sent another: If you still want to work with me.
With a mug of tea in her hand, she went into the living room, not bothering to turn on the light. She stood by the window, gazing down at the blackness of the Thames far beneath her. Across the river, lighted windows, street lights, traffic. Stepney, Shadwell, Limehouse. To the east, Canary Wharf. London had been her home for nine years, and she hadn’t explored it anywhere near as much as she had expected to. She’d seen the shitty side of the city often enough, played her part amongst the gangsters, the drug dealers, the people traffickers. Many were serving time, more still free to ply their dubious trade.
Her phone chirped: I’ll be there. E. Caelan smiled, relieved. She took a mouthful of tea, moved away from the window, perching on the arm of one of the sofas. She knew she should try to sleep, but her mind was fizzing through the events of the day. In Brady, she believed she had found an ally; in Achebe too. Did Nasenby know that Brady wanted Caelan on her team? He must. Penrith did, and he wouldn’t keep the knowledge to himself.
She scrolled to Nasenby’s number, stared at the screen. There were more reasons to avoid speaking to him than to do so, especially after what Brady had said about the Charlie Flynn case. Especially as Brady had said certain people wanted Caelan arrested.
He answered immediately, as if he had been waiting for her call.
‘Do you ever sleep, Caelan?’
‘About as much as you do.’
‘Where are you?’
‘At home, as instructed.’
Nasenby paused. ‘How is Detective Chief Superintendent Brady?’
‘She says Penrith wants me arrested.’
‘I told you that myself. Caelan, listen. Can we meet?’
‘Meet? When?’
‘Now.’
She frowned, concerned. ‘I was about to go to bed, Michael.’
‘If you’re going to work with Brady, I’d like to see you first. Privately.’
‘Where?’
‘Are you at home? I’ll come to you. I know the address.’
He was gone, giving her no time to protest.
* * *
The tap on her door came thirty-five minutes later. Caelan checked through the security peephole before opening the door. Nasenby strode inside, watching as she bolted it behind him.
‘You’re a sight more security-conscious than your concierge down there.’
‘Peter? I called down, told him to expect you.’ Caelan waved him towards the kitchen.
‘He didn’t check my ID, opened the door as soon as I said my name.’
She held out a mug of coffee, strong and black. Nasenby took it with a nod of thanks. Folding her arms, Caelan leant against the worktop.
‘Like I said, he knew you were coming.’
‘Maybe you should have a word, ask them to tighten up. An amateur could get in here, never mind someone like Lambourne.’
‘Lambourne?’
‘Don’t pretend it hasn’t crossed your mind.’
‘He doesn’t know who I am.’ Caelan concentrated on keeping her voice level, not wanting Nasenby to think she was rattled.
‘After you were at the scene of his son’s murder, I’d say it’s a distinct possibility. Wouldn’t you?’ Nasenby lifted the cup, watching Caelan over the rim. She shrugged.
‘Why should he? Karen Devlin helped Ronnie, Karen Devlin gave a statement. Tim Achebe never mentioned my real name when he arrived at the scene, neither did Richard.’ She narrowed her eyes at Nasenby. ‘Are you going to tell me what Richard was doing there?’
Nasenby gazed back, unconcerned. ‘He should have kept out of sight.’
‘Well, he didn’t.’
Setting his mug by the sink, Nasenby pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. Still wearing a suit at three thirty in the morning, Caelan noted. Maybe he sleeps in it.
‘Ian asked Richard to keep an eye on you when you went to Lincoln, supposedly without my knowledge. Richard phoned me, came clean. I decided he might as well stick around.’
‘To keep an eye on me?’
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