Ask No Questions

by Hartley, Lisa

  ‘I wanted him to watch you, yes, but for your own protection. And …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘To protect Richard too. Ian seems determined to use him. I’m thinking of having Richard transferred out of the department. If Ian continues to persecute you, he’ll be gone too, others brought in. We need a team to capture Lambourne, not a gaggle of bickering schoolkids.’

  ‘Is Ian still saying I shot Ronnie?’

  Nasenby waved a dismissive hand. ‘Clutching at straws. I wanted to warn you, Caelan, remind you: be vigilant. Work with Detective Chief Superintendent Brady for now. Let her protect you. Remember, though, she’s career-minded. Cross her, and she’ll destroy you.’

  ‘Another one? I’ll keep it in mind.’ Evidently Nasenby had changed his mind about Caelan working with Achebe and Brady, or had been overruled. Why?

  ‘I’m serious,’ Nasenby said. ‘She’s done it before. Where’s Mr Davies?’

  ‘Ewan? At home, I presume.’

  ‘If you’re determined to trust him, keep him close.’

  ‘Brady said there’s a possibility I’ll be arrested.’ Caelan didn’t say she had begun to believe the same.

  ‘Not if I can help it. We need you out here, not languishing on remand.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’

  Nasenby checked his watch. ‘I’ve a meeting with Elizabeth Beckett in five hours. She’ll want to talk about you and about Ronnie Morgan’s death.’

  ‘Probably regretting asking me to come back.’ Caelan followed him to the door, opened it.

  ‘Then find Lambourne. Prove that Beckett’s confidence wasn’t misplaced.’

  18

  It hadn’t seemed worth going to bed. Caelan had spent a couple of hours curled on the sofa, watching the night sky and dozing. At five fifteen, she showered and dressed, and by six was back on the Underground. She wore a black suit and a smart coat, and carried a leather briefcase that had cost more than her outfit. It was another disguise. Physically, she appeared professional, capable. Ready for the day, whatever it hurled in her direction. Mentally, though … mentally, she was back on the floor beside Ronnie Morgan, beside Nicky Sturgess. She hugged the briefcase close to her chest, grateful that the train was quiet. Brady had suggested … what? Nicky couldn’t be alive, Caelan knew for sure, but she wasn’t comfortable with telling Brady how. Why would Brady, an experienced, respected officer of senior rank, dream up what amounted to a conspiracy theory? Why would she then share it with Caelan, someone she barely knew, someone who had seen what had happened to both Nicky and Charlie Flynn with her own eyes? It didn’t add up. The problem was, nothing did.

  Caelan allowed her head to fall back against the window as they hurtled towards Westminster station. The train was busier now; she was sitting between a man in a business suit and a girl wearing huge headphones. The girl had closed her eyes, and Caelan stole a glance at her. So many people rushing through the network of underground tunnels, beginning their day, knowing what to expect, where they were going. In contrast, Caelan was a puppet, tugged this way and that by her superiors, her circumstances, her past. She had chosen this life, it was true – joining the Met after university, being shifted sideways into the murky world of undercover operations. She had loved it, at least at first. But constantly remembering who you were supposed to be took its toll. The deceit, the evasion, the need to keep everyone you met at arm’s length. She had lied to her parents and her brother. She hadn’t spoken to her sister in a few months, had spun her a web of evasions when she gently asked after Caelan’s health, her work. Avoiding chatting at family occasions, living the legend. When she had handed in her resignation to Michael Nasenby, she had done so with relief. It had been a protest against their treatment of Sam, but also against the way of life she had been enduring – voluntarily, but no longer readily.

  The girl beside her stirred, opened her eyes. Caelan turned away. If she could go back to her early days in the job, she wouldn’t agree to go undercover, knowing what she did now. Living a lie left you vulnerable, open to being cast off, disregarded, rubbed out. Sam knew how ruthless they could be when you had served your purpose. Nasenby had warned her that Brady would do the same if she needed to, and Caelan could believe it. But Nasenby would too; Richard Adamson, Ian Penrith. Tim Achebe. If the choice was destroy or be destroyed, who wouldn’t?

  * * *

  Caelan emerged from South Harrow Underground station, digging her hands into her coat pockets to protect them from the chill morning air, the briefcase tucked under her arm. She walked the short distance to the police station, relieved when she saw Ewan waiting outside. He smiled as she neared him, shoulders hunched around his ears despite his padded jacket.

  ‘Seen anyone you recognise?’

  Ewan shook his head. ‘Not so far.’

  They approached the main entrance, Caelan wondering if Nasenby was waiting inside. Worse, if Penrith was.

  The desk sergeant was expecting Caelan, but furrowed his brow when she introduced Ewan.

  ‘I’ll have to phone upstairs,’ he told them.

  ‘We can wait,’ Caelan smiled.

  After a few minutes, Tim Achebe appeared. He was wearing a different suit and shirt, Caelan noticed, but looked as exhausted as he had the previous evening. Perhaps he kept a change of clothes in his office, knowing he might occasionally not get home. He frowned at Caelan and Ewan.

  ‘Are we expecting you both?’

  ‘We thought we’d surprise you,’ said Caelan. Achebe didn’t look convinced.

  ‘We’ll see what the Chief Superintendent says.’

  The desk sergeant stroked his beard. ‘They’ll need visitors’ passes.’

  Achebe smiled. ‘They’re with me.’

  The desk sergeant looked him up and down.

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  * * *

  In the office where Caelan had met with Achebe the previous day, Adele Brady sat on the desk, legs swinging. She raised her eyebrows at Caelan as Ewan followed her into the room. ‘What’s this, bring-your-boyfriend-to-work day?’

  Caelan laughed, watched Ewan blush. ‘Has no one told you about my new assistant?’

  ‘Nasenby did, but I thought he was joking. When did you start being allowed to recruit your own staff?’

  ‘Since I stopped trusting most of my colleagues.’

  Brady stretched out her legs, climbed off the desk. ‘Fair enough. Tim, are we ready for the briefing?’

  Achebe nodded at Ewan. ‘Does this mean he’s staying?’

  ‘I’m guessing if we don’t accept Mr Davies, we don’t have Detective Small. Correct?’

  ‘I was going to ask if Ewan could join the team,’ Caelan said.

  ‘Ask or tell?’ Brady beckoned to them, and they followed her out into the corridor. ‘Either way, we don’t have time to argue about it.’

  * * *

  The incident room was down the corridor. It was stuffy and already too warm.

  ‘The post-mortem on Ronnie Morgan starts in an hour,’ Achebe said as he closed the door behind them. Caelan suppressed a smile when she saw several of the officers inside scurry back to their desks or hunch further over their keyboards as they realised Detective Chief Superintendent Brady had entered the room. Brady herself looked around, hands on hips.

  ‘Proper hive of activity.’

  Achebe beckoned to a male uniformed sergeant, who hurried over. ‘Has the search of the area around Northolt station resumed?’

  ‘They started at first light, about fifteen minutes ago.’

  ‘Any sign of the weapon?’

  ‘Not as far as I’m aware. Not heard from forensics yet either. House-to-house is ongoing, but we’ve drawn a blank so far.’ He looked from Achebe to Brady, clearly apprehensive.

  Brady smiled. ‘Thank you.’ Beaming, the officer returned to his desk. ‘So we’ve nothing? Not a lead, not a witness?’

  ‘So far. Our crime-scene manager is back at the underpass. They haven’t located the bullet, so we�
��re assuming it didn’t leave Ronnie Morgan’s body. Hopefully after the post-mortem we’ll know more.’

  Lowering her voice, mindful of the tens of pairs of ears around them, Caelan said, ‘What about the gun from last night? The one Sam Clifton’s intruder, Brendan Milne, was armed with?’

  ‘Forensics have it. They’re getting their gun boffins involved, hoping they can help us track down where Milne got the weapon from,’ said Brady. ‘If the same gun was used to kill Morgan, things become clearer.’

  ‘We need to know who Milne was working for,’ said Caelan.

  ‘We’ve asked for his mobile phone records, financial information; Ronnie Morgan’s too. We’re assuming Milne’s our link to Lambourne,’ Achebe said.

  Brady raised a finger. ‘We can’t assume that, not yet. By lunchtime, I want to know everything there is to know about Brendan Milne, from his shoe size to what beer he drank. When’s his post-mortem scheduled for?’

  Achebe opened his mouth, closed it again. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Find out. We know how he died, but we want to know about gunshot residue, blood on his body or clothes that isn’t his own, all the usual stuff. Have we applied for a search warrant for his home?’

  ‘Yes. The search team is standing by.’

  ‘Good. Let’s find out what Milne was up to last night. I want the CCTV cameras around Clifton’s flat looked at, the nearest Underground station, unless … Were car keys found on the body? Did Milne own a vehicle?’

  ‘I’ll check.’

  Brady held up a hand, counting on her fingers. ‘Priorities, Tim: forensics. Keep nudging them. We’re fumbling around in the dark here. Also, find me some witnesses. Are we talking to Sam Clifton’s neighbours?’

  ‘We’re going to,’ said Achebe.

  ‘We only have Clifton’s word for it that he killed Milne in self-defence. I believe him, but let’s be sure. Hopefully the neighbours will have heard arguing, fighting, whatever. The walls of those flats must be like tissue paper.’ Brady checked her watch. ‘And find Walker. Have we seen him on any CCTV footage?’

  ‘We saw him hand Ronnie the Underground map, as Caelan described, but lose him soon after. We’re checking to see if we can find him boarding the train at King’s Cross St Pancras, but even if we do …’

  ‘We won’t know where he came from.’ Brady pursed her lips.

  ‘We’ve a decent image of his face; it’s been emailed to you both. We could release it to the press and on social media?’ said Achebe.

  Brady shook her head. ‘Not yet. He’s not aware we know he saw Ronnie Morgan yesterday. When he finds out that Ronnie’s dead, he’ll panic.’

  ‘Unless it was him that killed him.’ Achebe folded his arms, catching Caelan’s eye. ‘Did you ever find out where Walker lived when he and Lambourne were working together?’

  ‘Whitechapel.’

  Achebe snorted. ‘Fancy himself as Jack the Ripper, did he?’

  ‘I doubt he would be stupid enough to go back there. He rented it, free to walk away at any time. It was a place to sleep, not a home,’ said Caelan.

  ‘So he could have had access to other properties?’

  ‘If so, we never found them.’

  ‘Where was Lambourne living?’ asked Brady.

  ‘He rented various properties in London at different times – Soho, Battersea. He stayed in hotels, guest houses. We never tied him to one particular address.’

  ‘He didn’t want anyone to know where he was living,’ said Brady.

  ‘Anyway, all the properties were searched and released to their landlords after Lambourne and Walker disappeared.’

  ‘It’s a dead end?’

  Caelan shrugged. ‘They’ll have new tenants. We could speak to the owners and the letting agents, but I’d doubt we’ll find anything.’

  ‘Okay. There’s no point asking if any of the official channels have current addresses. I doubt Walker and Lambourne inform the DVLA every time they move.’ Brady drummed her fingers on her thigh. ‘What about Ronnie’s mother?’

  ‘Suzanne Morgan used to live in Kentish Town, but when Lambourne disappeared, she and Ronnie had to keep moving. As I remember, they settled in Sidcup after Suzanne inherited a house from an aunt,’ Caelan said.

  ‘Inherited a property? All right for some,’ said Brady.

  Caelan’s skin prickled as she tried to read Brady’s expression. The Chief Super’s face was impassive, and Caelan told herself she was being paranoid. Brady only knew what Caelan had told her, which was far from the full story.

  Brady checked her watch. ‘Tim, you need to get to Ronnie’s post-mortem. I want us to focus on finding Glen Walker rather than Lambourne. At least we know Walker was in London yesterday. Lambourne could be anywhere.’

  ‘I’ll call you after the PM.’ Achebe buttoned his jacket.

  ‘As soon as you know anything. I want to know if the Underground map was still in Ronnie’s pocket, and if so, whose fingerprints are on it.’

  Achebe sketched a mock salute as he left the room. Brady turned back to Caelan and Ewan.

  ‘I want you to find Walker. I know you don’t have a magic wand, but you saw him yesterday, you know him from the Flynn case. You’re our best hope.’

  Caelan smiled. ‘No pressure then.’

  ‘I’ve a press conference shortly, followed by a meeting with my boss. You can hang around if you’d prefer?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Keep me updated, either via Tim or by calling me direct.’ Brady dictated her mobile number, then turned away.

  Caelan grinned at Ewan. ‘Seems we’re dismissed.’

  He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Where do we start?’

  ‘Oxford Circus.’

  * * *

  Caelan marched up to the bored-looking customer service adviser who was skulking around the ticket barriers.

  ‘Excuse me.’ She identified herself, flashing her ID. ‘Were you working yesterday?’

  He rubbed his eyes. ‘Sorry?’

  Leaning forward, Caelan made a show of reading his name badge. ‘Can I ask some questions, Dev?’

  Scowling now, he took a step backwards. ‘I—’

  ‘What time did you start work yesterday?’

  ‘What?’

  Caelan raised herself onto her toes, getting in Dev’s face. ‘Have I said something that’s difficult to understand, Dev? Aren’t you supposed to help people?’

  ‘Yeah, travellers, tourists. Not—’

  ‘I’m a person, aren’t I?’

  He didn’t look convinced. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘I’m going to show you an image. I want you to look at it, tell me if you recognise the man in the picture. Were you here yesterday?’

  ‘Yeah, all day.’

  Caelan smiled. ‘Didn’t hurt, did it? Any reason you’re being hostile?’

  He dipped his head. ‘Not supposed to speak to one person for too long. I’ve already had a warning about chatting to my mates.’

  ‘Well, I’m not your mate, I’m a police officer. Tell me if you saw this man, then we’ll be on our way.’

  She held up her phone, a still of Glen Walker’s face from the CCTV footage. ‘Recognise him? He was in the station yesterday at one thirty in the afternoon.’

  He took the phone, stared at it.

  ‘You know how many people pass through this station each day?’

  Caelan didn’t miss a beat. ‘Over a hundred and fifty thousand.’

  ‘And you want me to identify one of them?’ He handed back the phone. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Have another look.’ She thrust the device under his nose. He gave another cursory glance.

  ‘Never seen him before. Why don’t you try the CCTV?’

  ‘We have. Where do you think we got the image from?’

  ‘Look, I can’t help you. There are other staff around – ask them.’ He turned away, moved towards a group of teenagers bickering over a map.

  ‘It was a long shot,’ Ewan said.

/>   ‘I know. Let’s ask someone else.’

  They spoke to four more members of staff, each of whom gave the same response: a smile, a lift of the shoulders, an apology.

  ‘This is pointless, we’re wasting our time,’ Caelan said. ‘Walker could be anywhere.’

  ‘How did you find him before?’ said Ewan.

  ‘Before?’

  ‘How did you know he was working with Lambourne?’

  ‘I … don’t know,’ Caelan said slowly.

  ‘I thought you worked on the case?’

  ‘I was undercover, feeding information back. I wasn’t involved in the investigation.’

  ‘Who was?’

  ‘Someone I don’t want to have to speak to again.’

  19

  Ian Penrith laced his fingers over his belly as Caelan and Ewan entered his office.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you, Caelan.’ He waved them into the chairs that stood in front of his desk. Caelan told herself to relax as Penrith studied her. She was here to find answers, nothing more.

  ‘Good morning, Ian,’ she said primly.

  Penrith swigged from a coffee cup. He set it back on the desk with a thump, the liquid slopping over the side and onto his fingers. He wiped his hand on his trousers. ‘You’re not at the meeting then?’

  Caelan knew she was playing into his hands but responded anyway. ‘What meeting?’

  ‘Nasenby’s having breakfast with Elizabeth Beckett. What do you suppose they’ll be discussing?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ She didn’t want to tell Penrith about Nasenby’s late-night visit to her flat.

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Weren’t you invited, Ian?’

  He laughed. ‘Plenty to keep me busy here. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re two officers down, expecting to lose another.’

  Caelan narrowed her eyes. ‘Do you mean me?’

  ‘Not necessarily. What do you want, Caelan?’

  ‘To talk about Glen Walker.’

  ‘And you’ve come to me?’

  ‘You headed the investigation into Lambourne’s business activities. How did we know Walker was involved?’