Ask No Questions

by Hartley, Lisa

Ignoring the tightening of her throat, Caelan nodded. Why hadn’t she brought the woman from last night home? Why hadn’t she downed drinks until she could barely stand? She remembered Lucy hugging her goodbye, the reaction of her body to her friend’s touch. On her way home, she’d decided the chemistry was because of the alcohol she’d indulged in, and the black veil of loneliness she’d been shrouded in since Nicky’s death. Since agreeing to work undercover, if she was honest. She and Lucy had known each other for years, though they’d never been close. Lucy was the person she contacted for a drink, a night out, when she needed to escape. The problem was, all the shit in her head came along for the ride. No matter how much you drank, how hard you danced, the memories remained. Blood on your hands, Caelan, Ian Penrith had said. He was right. Blood everywhere – on her hands, and staining her career.

  She looked down at the gun, still in her hand, hanging by her side. Maybe she should take it. She didn’t have to use it, after all. Unless Brady had been told to bring it here, to plant it …

  Brady’s phone was ringing, the sudden chiming startling Caelan out of her reverie. She watched Brady’s face as she listened to the caller speaking.

  ‘This is definite?’ She paused. ‘Okay. Okay, I’ll call you back.’ Slowly she put the phone back in her jacket pocket. She stared at the gun in Caelan’s hands, her mouth working.

  Concerned, Caelan put the weapon back in the case. ‘What is it?’ Brady didn’t move, didn’t respond. Caelan reached out, touched her sleeve. ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘Get dressed.’ Brady locked the briefcase, pushed it into a cupboard. Caelan wanted to protest that she didn’t want the weapon in her home, but Brady’s expression persuaded her to reconsider as she handed over the key.

  ‘I have a gun safe. I need to—’

  ‘Later. It’ll be okay there for now.’

  Caelan hesitated, knowing the gun should be locked away more securely. What was Brady up to?

  ‘Have I got time for a shower?’ she said.

  ‘Five minutes.’

  Under the steaming water, Caelan soaped her body, tipping back her head and allowing the warmth to ease away the last of her hangover. Where was Brady intending to take her? And did she want to go?

  * * *

  The café had a murky tiled floor and a queue of defeated-looking customers. Brady pushed open the door, the smell of burnt cooking fat greeting them. Behind the counter, a thin woman scurried between customers and the till, dodging around a scowling man whose sole task seemed to be to operate the coffee machine.

  ‘Why are we here?’ Caelan looked around, expecting to see Glen Walker tucking into a fry-up or Seb Lambourne swigging coffee. No one had noticed their arrival, no smiles, waves or shifty glances of acknowledgement.

  Brady grimaced as a middle-aged waitress hurried past bearing a plate of food, grease already pooling around two watery fried eggs and rashers of bacon. Remembering the breakfast she and Ewan had enjoyed in the café in Lincoln, Caelan wished herself back there. Her task had been simpler then. Now, she was halfway between disgrace and the country’s most-wanted list.

  ‘We’ve a possible sighting of Glen Walker. The woman who phoned it in works here.’ Brady spoke quietly.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at the station, doing … whatever chief superintendents do?’

  Brady sniffed. ‘Tim can handle it. I felt like getting my hands dirty.’

  ‘You’re certainly doing that. This place is a shit tip. Who says they’ve seen Walker?’

  ‘The woman taking the orders, I assume.’

  ‘Are we going to talk to her?’

  Brady stared at the surly man, now glaring in their direction. ‘Maybe we should order something.’

  ‘I’ll risk a coffee, but no food.’

  ‘Did I offer any?’ Stomping to the back of the queue, Brady left Caelan to search for an empty table. There were several, so she chose the cleanest-looking. She watched Brady exchange a few words with an elderly man who leaned on a grey metal walking stick as he waited. He waved a spindly hand towards the counter, Brady smiling, nodding.

  The queue moved quickly, and Brady was soon at the table. She sat beside Caelan, took out her warrant card and left it face up in front of her. Caelan watched with interest.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘She’s bringing our coffees over. I want her to know who we are.’

  ‘What did the old man say?’

  ‘Nothing relevant. Passing the time of day. Weather, the evils of immigration. The usual. Here she comes.’

  The woman was hurrying towards them, two white mugs in her hands. Brady sat back in her chair as she approached and put the cups down. Coffee slopped onto the table, and the woman shrank back.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry … I’ll get a cloth.’

  The hint of an accent was hard to place. Eastern European, but which country? Caelan watched the man behind the counter speak harshly to the woman. Was he her partner, or her boss?

  As she wiped the table, the woman’s eyes flicked to Brady’s warrant card, her head darting from side to side as she read it.

  ‘Do you have information for us?’

  ‘The man on the news …’ She hesitated, looking around the café without moving her head. ‘He’s been here. Two times, maybe more. Buys coffee to take away.’

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘No. He came in with another man.’

  Brady had her phone on the table, pushing it towards the woman. ‘Was it him?’ On the screen was Brendan Milne’s mugshot.

  She stared. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday. The day before also.’

  Brady thanked her. ‘We’ll need you to make a statement.’

  The woman licked her lips, her eyes straying to the counter. ‘Not today. I have to work. He won’t let me …’

  ‘We have your name and address. Officers will come to your house later. Okay?’

  She nodded, turned away. Brady looked down at the drinks, picked one up, took a mouthful.

  ‘Not bad. He might be a miserable bastard, but he can make a decent cup of coffee.’

  ‘Milne and Walker knew each other.’ Caelan risked the coffee. Brady was right, it was good.

  ‘Not a huge surprise, is it? It’s a point in your favour, Caelan.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Brendan Milne trying to find out who you were. Walker can’t know either, or why would they be asking?’

  ‘Walker saw Kay Summers, not me.’

  ‘We were lucky your identity wasn’t exposed by the media. Listen, Caelan. Do you think Lambourne knows your real name?’

  ‘How can I know?’

  ‘Why did you go to Egypt using your own passport?’

  ‘Why not? I wasn’t working; it would have been wrong to use a different identity. I’d resigned.’

  ‘Yet while you were there, you made some enquiries.’

  ‘Sam had said Lambourne had property in Egypt. It was gossip, no more, but I thought I could make myself useful.’

  ‘How public-spirited. And you discovered …?’

  ‘Nothing. As you know.’

  Brady stood. ‘Lambourne does own property in Egypt. He’s not there, though, hasn’t been for a long time. Come on.’

  * * *

  Tim Achebe stood to greet Brady, glanced at Caelan, then looked away. He sat behind his desk, flicking through a pile of paperwork, clearly tense. Caelan couldn’t blame him. Brady was placing him in a difficult position by bringing her here.

  ‘Did you see the email?’ Achebe said.

  Brady was casual. ‘Which one?’

  ‘About the meeting this afternoon.’ He glared at Caelan. ‘Detective Small wasn’t included.’

  ‘Are you surprised?’ Brady stepped closer to Achebe’s desk, picked up the top report from his pile, glanced at it. ‘She’s supposed to be in custody by now.’

  Achebe set his jaw. ‘
Then why is she here, ma’am?’

  Brady placed her hands on his desk, leaning forward, her face inches from his. ‘Do you trust me, Tim?’

  He recoiled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Caelan is as clueless as we are about what’s going on here. She’s killed no one, but she’s going to help us find out who did. I don’t want another word about her alleged involvement. Clear?’

  Achebe bowed his head. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Brady threw herself into one of the chairs opposite him. ‘Now, I want an update.’

  Leaning against the wall, Caelan silently cheered as Achebe frowned, then relaxed his shoulders.

  ‘We found no trace of Glen Walker in Brendan Milne’s flat.’

  ‘Which is close to the café Caelan and I have been to?’ said Brady.

  Achebe nodded. ‘But we don’t know where Walker’s living.’

  Brady scowled. ‘What do we know? You’ve a million officers at your disposal; what have they found out?’

  ‘Milne doesn’t have a car. He travelled from his home on Ealing Broadway to Sam Clifton’s flat by bus and tube. The mobile phone found on his body gave us a list of contacts, but we’ve traced them all. None were people you’d want to be friends with, but none were Walker or Lambourne either.’ Caelan could see Achebe was frustrated. ‘The lab was able to give us some results quickly, for a change. Top priority. No fingerprints on Milne’s gun, except his and Clifton’s. As you know, it hadn’t been fired recently. No gunshot residue on Milne’s hands, body or clothes.’

  ‘Not conclusive, but I think we can count him out of Ronnie’s murder. I dread to think how much fast-tracking the results of all that cost,’ said Brady. She glanced around. ‘Tim, I’m assuming we can speak freely in here?’

  He stared at her, uncomprehending. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Who’s invited to this meeting later? I’m guessing Nasenby, Penrith?’

  ‘And someone called Richard Adamson.’

  ‘Who called it?’

  ‘Michael Nasenby. Elizabeth Beckett will be there as well.’

  Brady whistled. ‘The organ grinder too. Why are we having it?’

  ‘Sharing information, ideas.’

  ‘Checking up on us, in other words. Have you spoken to any of them today?’

  ‘No.’

  Brady pulled a face. ‘Listen, Tim. What about the phone call made to Ronnie Morgan while he was at the restaurant? Have we traced it?’

  ‘Yes. Pay-as-you-go SIM, used for the calls to the restaurant and Ronnie’s mobile only.’

  ‘Where was the call made?’

  Achebe held out a sheet of paper. ‘To the restaurant? Near Brendan Milne’s flat.’

  ‘CCTV?’

  ‘To verify whether Milne himself made the call? No, no cameras nearby.’

  ‘Shit. And the handset wasn’t found in Milne’s flat?’

  ‘Nothing was found in Milne’s flat except takeaway cartons and beer cans.’

  ‘Do we know where the SIM was purchased? The handset?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Brady ran a hand through her hair. ‘Any more calls about Walker? Any sightings?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on Ealing. Walker may not have been in Milne’s flat, but he was in the café.’

  ‘Will you be at the meeting?’ Achebe asked.

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to be. Tim, finding Walker is our top priority.’

  ‘I know; it has been since we knew he was in London.’

  ‘Do we have a DS or DC we can depend on to keep their mouth closed?’

  Achebe frowned. ‘I’d vouch for any of them.’

  Brady shook her head. ‘I have a job for someone, but it has to be the right officer.’

  ‘If you tell me what you want them to do …’ Achebe’s mobile began to ring and he muttered an apology. He greeted the caller. Caelan watched his face. Whatever he was hearing was clearly causing him concern. Brady mouthed, What? Achebe held up a hand, thanked the caller, put his phone down on his desk.

  ‘That was the lab,’ he said.

  ‘And?’ Brady’s eyebrows were up by her hairline.

  ‘The bullet removed from the body of Ronnie Morgan has flagged up a match on their system.’

  ‘Meaning the weapon that killed him had been used in a previous crime?’ Caelan wanted to make sure.

  ‘They say so.’

  ‘Which one?’ Dread had gathered in Caelan’s stomach.

  Achebe nodded, his face clenched tight. ‘The Charlie Flynn case.’

  Brady opened her mouth, said nothing for a second. ‘Are they sure?’

  ‘Certain. The gun that killed Ronnie Morgan also killed Charlie Flynn.’

  22

  Nasenby poured water, passed the glasses around while Ian Penrith stared at nothing, his arms crossed, white shirt tight across his shoulders. Brady smiled at Nasenby as he handed her a glass. Beside her, Achebe took his notebook from his jacket pocket and uncapped his pen.

  ‘This latest development was unexpected,’ Assistant Commissioner Elizabeth Beckett was saying, ‘but I’m not sure it should have been.’ She looked at the faces of the people sitting around the conference table. ‘Where’s Caelan Small?’

  Nasenby cleared his throat. ‘We thought it unwise to involve Caelan when questions have been raised about her suitability, her—’

  ‘Call her in immediately.’ Beckett pushed her glasses up her nose, glaring at Nasenby. ‘What were you thinking, Michael?’

  ‘With respect, Caelan lost Ronnie Morgan, giving his murderer a chance to kill him,’ he said. ‘If she’d kept him in sight—’

  ‘She could be dead too.’ Beckett took out her phone, tapped out a text. ‘I’ve asked her to join us. You can’t believe she killed Morgan?’

  ‘She had the opportunity, a motive,’ said Penrith.

  ‘Ridiculous. Richard, you were close behind Caelan. What do you say?’ asked Beckett.

  Adamson moistened his lips. ‘I think Caelan’s version of events is the truth. I’ve worked with her long enough to know she’s honest, and,’ he looked at Penrith, ‘I can’t understand anyone who knows her thinking otherwise.’

  Penrith curled his lip. ‘You’re blind, Adamson, as usual where Caelan’s concerned. She’s a loose cannon. Running off to Egypt, trying to track down Lambourne herself. When her plan failed, she shot his son. I’m not saying she meant to kill him, but …’ He took a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, pushed it towards Beckett. ‘You might find this interesting.’

  Beckett narrowed her eyes. ‘What is it?’ She took the sheet, frowned over it. ‘Ian?’

  Penrith leaned back in his chair, smiling as Beckett unfolded the paper. ‘A photo Caelan wouldn’t want you to see. Here’s another.’

  Beckett smoothed out the second sheet, then pushed both into the centre of the table. In the first, Caelan had her arms around Nicky Sturgess, both women smiling, bodies pressed close. In the second, Nicky and Caelan were pictured leaving a solicitor’s office. Brady’s stomach dropped.

  ‘This isn’t a secret,’ she said. ‘Caelan told me about Nicky’s will and her inheritance herself.’ Though she also said she hadn’t known about the will before Nicky’s death, and here she is coming out of the solicitor’s with her.

  ‘Did Caelan tell you that Nicky was cut down beside her, that she did nothing to help?’ Penrith stabbed his finger on the first photograph, covering Caelan’s face. ‘People don’t bleed to death instantly. We had an ambulance outside, a helicopter.’ His face twisted. ‘Nicky shouldn’t have died.’

  Beckett pushed the images away. ‘We’re not disputing it, but the operation was a disaster, Ian, and Caelan wasn’t in charge.’

  Penrith gave a bark of laughter. ‘No, I was. Me and Sam Clifton. What a team. Incidentally, can we talk about Sam for a moment?’

  Beckett sighed. ‘Is it relevant?’

  ‘I’m worried about him. He’s drinking, he killed a man.’


  ‘In self-defence.’

  ‘That’s his story. He was drunk, absolutely pissed out of his mind. And he fought off a man with a gun?’

  ‘Ian, listen to me.’ Beckett had clearly lost patience. ‘As you know, we work in grey areas. Nothing about our world is black and white. I’m not sure what you’re trying to achieve by constantly questioning and undermining your colleagues, but I’m tiring of it.’

  Penrith’s cheeks blazed. ‘I apologise, ma’am. All I want is the truth, and justice. I recognise my approach may have been … misguided.’

  ‘As I see it, we need to work together, not destroy each other,’ Beckett continued. ‘I won’t ask how you obtained these photographs, but I hope you understand that they change nothing. I have faith in all of you, Caelan included.’

  As she said the name, there was a tap on the door and Caelan herself appeared.

  Penrith scowled at her, then at Beckett. ‘That was quick.’

  Caelan smiled, pulled out the chair beside Brady. ‘I was in the area.’

  Brady flushed and kept her eyes fixed on the tabletop, hoping no one would notice. She had told Caelan to stay close by, hoping to appeal to Beckett after the meeting about the lunacy of closing her out of the investigation. She watched as Caelan spotted the photographs of herself on the table between her colleagues, colour rising in her cheeks. The look she gave Ian Penrith was venomous. Penrith pretended not to have noticed, reaching out to scoop them up. Caelan got there first, slamming her hand onto the sheets.

  ‘Been doing some unauthorised surveillance, Ian?’ Her voice was quiet, the fury held in check. Anyone hearing her but not able to see her expression would think she was being friendly. Brady watched as Penrith squirmed.

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said.

  ‘Or asking other people to do it for you?’ Caelan shot a glare in Richard Adamson’s direction. ‘No, Nicky and I didn’t broadcast the fact that we were seeing each other, mainly because it was no one else’s business. You all know the shit she’d been through. It didn’t affect our work, and since she’s dead, I’m not sure why we’re still talking about it.’ She snatched the photographs up and thrust them at Penrith, who took them and screwed them up.