She stared, uncomprehending. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means someone in our merry band knows more than they’re letting on. The question is, who? I know you’ve been thinking the same. No doubt Elizabeth Beckett is too. Have you seen her this evening?’
What could she say? ‘Yes.’
He smiled, triumphant. ‘And Brady? Achebe?’
‘Yep.’
‘All wondering who the bad apple is. Do they think it’s me?’
‘You’ve been making a lot of noise. People tend to notice.’
‘And I’m going to continue to do so. It’s a smokescreen.’
Caelan looked at him – the self-satisfied eyes, the smirk. Could she believe him? After all he’d said, all he’d done? From the beginning, the first meeting on the day she had arrived back in the country, he’d done his utmost to poison the minds of her colleagues against her. That he hadn’t succeeded was not down to lack of effort on his part. Caelan had to admit, he’d been persuasive, even convincing. She hadn’t been able to defend herself, because there were unanswered questions, doubts and regrets. Nicky shouldn’t have died, Caelan shouldn’t be living in her apartment, at least not alone. As fall guys went, she was perfect.
Perfect, but innocent.
And now Penrith was saying he knew it too.
Caelan rubbed her eyes, attempting to gather her thoughts. She needed to get out of here. Penrith might say he wasn’t a suspect, but she had no proof. She did have questions, but if she asked them, she would be showing him where her thoughts were leading, and she had already told him too much. Perhaps unconsciously, she realised she had decided to trust him again.
‘Ian, how did you know Seb Lambourne was back in the country?’
He gazed at her, brow wrinkled, mentally scrambling after her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘An informant? A tip-off? A full-page advertisement in the Times?’
Penrith’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. He closed it again. Frowned. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What about when we found Charlie? How did you know where he was?’
He brightened. ‘That was an anonymous tip-off. A call to the main switchboard. Wouldn’t leave a name or address. We never traced them.’
‘Them?’
‘We couldn’t tell if the caller was male or female, there was no discernible accent … The call was made from a pay-as-you-go number.’
‘And the SIM was used to make only that one call?’
‘Naturally. Then no doubt destroyed.’
‘Where was the call made?’
‘Where? Ealing.’
The back of Caelan’s neck prickled. ‘Really?’
‘Significant because Glen Walker has been sighted there?’
‘Well—’
‘One possibility being that whoever’s behind this wanted us focusing on Walker, even back then.’
‘Which would mean they knew he had associations with the area.’
‘You mean he visited a greasy spoon there once or twice?’
Caelan’s head was thumping. ‘Yes. But we’ve only one person’s word for it.’
‘I assume her background has been examined, her statement verified?’
‘Yes. Her boss also confirmed that a man resembling Walker has been in there, but he couldn’t say for sure it was him. It’s a busy place, with a high turnover of customers.’
‘But your witness was certain?’
‘She said so. She seemed it.’
‘You went there with Brady?’
‘If you know I was there, you also know who was with me.’
Penrith nodded, conceding the point. ‘I hope you’re being cautious.’
Caelan snorted. ‘With Brady? You’ve got a cheek.’
‘I’m serious. She’s a ball-breaker.’
‘Lucky I don’t have any then.’
‘What about Achebe?’
‘I like him.’
‘And? Not what I meant. He was involved in the Charlie Flynn case.’
‘I’ve heard.’
‘He was outside the house when you went in. Did you know that?’
Slowly, Caelan shook her head. Achebe hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had Brady. ‘I hadn’t realised.’
‘He was there. And he was armed.’
‘Ian …’
He held up a hand. ‘I know, so was everyone else. You should go back and review the file, Caelan. It’s interesting.’
‘Interesting?’ Caelan spat the word. ‘It’ll raise more questions. I’ve seen most of it before. The anonymous tip-off obviously checked out, though?’
‘We watched the place, spoke to the neighbours. We saw nothing suspicious, so in the end we had to take the chance and go in. No one saw Charlie arrive, or saw anyone coming to care for him.’
‘Because they didn’t.’
‘No, his captors left him with plenty of food and water.’
‘You don’t believe it was Lambourne and Walker?’
Penrith was shaking his head. ‘Do you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on, Caelan. It makes no sense.’
‘They were there. Lambourne killed Nicky. I saw him.’ Penrith said nothing, staring down at the table between them. Caelan watched him, anger coursing through her again. ‘What, you’re going to suggest I imagined it?’
‘No, Caelan. Why would I?’
She allowed her head to slump, her chin close to her chest. ‘No reason.’
‘Have others?’ His voice was soft, as gentle as she’d ever heard it. She lifted her hands, touching the corners of her eyes where tears were gathering.
‘Yes.’
He reached for her empty cup, took it to the sink. Caelan swallowed, blinked. Closed down the memories. Penrith stood looking at her, his arms folded.
‘I’ve been asking myself the same questions since Charlie died,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any answers.’
‘Me neither. Everyone I speak to confuses me more.’
‘Perhaps intentionally.’
Caelan threw back her head. ‘There you go again. I need to get some sleep.’
‘Before you leave, let me make one more point. I’m not your enemy, Caelan.’
She stood, limbs heavy, eyes gritty. ‘So you’ve said. Forgive me if I struggle to believe you.’
27
Caelan stood under the shower, the scalding water pounding her shoulders and head. With her eyes closed, falling asleep where she stood, she soaped her body and hair. The dull thump of her headache had evolved into piercing pain on the journey from Penrith’s flat to her own, jabbing at her eyes and temples. Ewan had been quiet as he drove, and Caelan hadn’t felt like talking either. She had wanted to use the time to mull over what Penrith had said, but instead found herself dozing, jerking awake whenever Ewan had to stop for red lights. They’d hardly spoken for the hour it had taken to drive back to Rotherhithe. She’d apologised for treating him like a chauffeur, and he’d smiled, waved as he’d driven away. Caelan had stared after the car as it rounded the corner, wondering if she would ever see him again.
She dried herself quickly, pulled on an old pair of Nicky’s pyjamas. Wrapping her arms around herself, she remembered Nicky wearing the same pair one long, lazy Sunday. There hadn’t been many occasions when they were both off work, free to be themselves, but the few weekends they’d spent together had been memorable.
In the kitchen, she took a beer from the fridge. Not advisable given her headache, but one wouldn’t hurt. She held the icy bottle to her forehead, closed her eyes. She should get some sleep while she had the opportunity, but with so many questions flitting around her mind, rest would be impossible. She went into the living room, stood at the window watching the murky Thames wander by. She knew she could have asked Ewan to stay the night, discussed her ideas with him. But he had clearly been exhausted, and it would have been unfair. She moved over to the nearest sofa, threw herself down. She rubbed the back of her neck, felt the tension there. A third o
f the beer disappeared in one gulp.
Beckett. She was expecting Caelan to call, to update her. Maybe not at five thirty in the morning, but Caelan retrieved the phone Beckett had given her from her pile of dirty clothes anyway. If Beckett wanted an update, she could have one.
Two rings.
‘Good morning.’ Beckett sounded bright, alert. Caelan scowled.
‘Ma’am.’ Even her voice was lethargic. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you.’
‘Not at all. I was heading out the door for my run.’
An image of Beckett in Lycra and fluorescent trainers appeared in Caelan’s mind. She hadn’t been for a run herself since before she went to Egypt, and needed to make the time. Fitness disappeared much more easily than it was gained. ‘You run before six in the morning?’
‘On alternate days, I swim.’ Beckett’s tone changed, became businesslike. ‘What happened last night?’
Caelan told her about the conversations she’d had with Adamson and Nasenby. ‘Adamson knew nothing about Sam’s death, I’m certain. Nasenby … I don’t think he knew either. He looked stunned, horrified.’
‘But?’
‘I don’t know. He did nothing out of character, but he didn’t like me turning up at his house.’
Beckett chuckled. ‘I think I can shed some light on why he might have been uncomfortable.’
‘Really?’
‘As you know, we’ve someone watching him and his house. Michael Nasenby had a guest tonight.’
Caelan leaned forward to stand her empty beer bottle on the floor. ‘A guest? What do you mean?’
‘A woman. A woman who’s not his wife.’
It took a second for Beckett’s words to make sense. Caelan heard the disbelief in her own voice. ‘You mean he’s having an affair?’
‘You’re surprised.’
‘I’m amazed. I thought he and his wife were happy.’
‘They might be. More likely, she believes they are.’
‘Meanwhile, Michael’s brought someone else into their home, their bed. Do you know who she is?’ Caelan remembered the voice in the background when she had called Nasenby, the one she assumed belonged to his wife. It hadn’t sounded familiar, but it had been little more than a whisper.
Beckett sighed. ‘I do.’
‘And? Are you going to tell me?’
A pause. Then: ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Adele Brady.’
Caelan blinked, glad she’d already set the beer bottle on the ground. ‘You’re joking.’
‘I wish I was.’
‘But she knows Nasenby’s being watched.’
‘No she doesn’t.’ Beckett’s voice was quiet. Caelan considered it. Brady had left the room with Achebe before Beckett had told Caelan and Ewan about the surveillance, and it clearly hadn’t been discussed beforehand.
‘But you said you and Brady were looking at Nasenby’s finances, his phone records.’
‘We did. No doubt he knows all about that, if not the surveillance.’
Caelan shook her head, struggling to take in what Beckett was saying.
‘But Michael was with Ewan and me when we were shot at outside the Wheatsheaf.’
‘Means nothing,’ Beckett said. ‘None of you were hit. We’ve established that whoever’s doing all this, can’t be working alone. The shooting could be an attempt to make it look as though Nasenby was under threat, with his accomplice doing the shooting and making sure they missed.’
Caelan knew it was possible. ‘I was on the phone to Nasenby when Ronnie received the call at Northolt station. I called Nasenby’s mobile. I don’t know where he was or what he was doing.’
‘Then we need to find out. Do you know where Nasenby was on the day you found Charlie Flynn?’
‘Not exactly. He was in the area, everyone was. This is …’ Caelan allowed her voice to disappear. What? Unbelievable? Impossible to consider? ‘What are you going to do about Nasenby and Brady’s relationship?’
‘Do? Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘If Nasenby’s innocent – and remember, we’ve found no evidence of any wrongdoing – then it’s none of my business.’
‘And if he’s not?’ As she said the words, Caelan’s stomach tightened in protest. Nasenby was her mentor, her father figure. She couldn’t believe, wouldn’t believe, that he was involved.
‘If he’s guilty, we’re giving him enough rope to hang himself.’ Beckett stopped, cleared her throat. ‘Sorry. That was insensitive.’
The stench in Sam’s bedroom. His hideous swollen tongue. His eyes, wide and bulging. Caelan knew the memory of it would never leave her. In her job, she had seen horror upon horror, heard scream after scream, relived them all until they became an indelible part of her, then carried them around with her. The victims she met were her burden. Their hopes, loves, ideas, all hers to bear. Even some of those who were still alive, those whose tormentors she had helped put behind bars. Their voices were in her head, their touch on her shoulder. Hundreds of them. Nicky. Sam. Ronnie. Charlie.
Nicky.
Her touch, the press of her lips. The scent of her skin, especially in the place beneath her ear where she loved to be kissed. Caelan’s past and future, wrapped up in one person. Destroyed by the thrust and tear of a knife.
Beckett was speaking again. ‘… continue to watch Nasenby. It goes without saying that you’re not to share the details of this conversation with Brady, or even Achebe. Stay away from South Harrow. What about Penrith?’
Caelan blinked away Nicky’s smile. Coughed to give herself a second to find her voice. ‘Penrith? He’s on to us.’
‘What do you mean?’ Another change in tone.
‘Says he accused me of being corrupt and killing Charlie Flynn myself to create a smokescreen. He’s been doing some digging; he knows I’m innocent. Wants me to trust him.’
‘He … what?’
‘Pretty much my own reaction.’ Caelan stood slowly, stretched her neck. Beckett was silent for a while, and Caelan returned to the fridge, took out a carton of orange juice. Poured a generous measure, took a mouthful.
‘That’s … unexpected,’ Beckett said eventually.
‘Yep. Don’t suppose Ian’s having an affair too? With Achebe maybe? With you?’
A snort. ‘What does he want from you?’
‘He wants me to believe he’s not my enemy. Told me to look at the Charlie Flynn file again.’
‘I see.’ Another silence. ‘Anything else?’
‘He doesn’t know who told us Lambourne was back in the country.’ Caelan waited. Would Beckett tell her? Did she even know?
A pause so long Caelan removed the phone from her ear to check she hadn’t lost the connection. What was Beckett up to? Whispering to someone? Checking her emails? Eventually Beckett spoke.
‘I don’t know either. No one does.’
‘No one? How can that be—’
‘You’re wondering if we sent you on a wild goose chase. If Lambourne’s here at all?’
Exhaustion buffeted Caelan, her brain telling her to lie back, close her eyes. ‘I wasn’t before, but now …’
‘It was an anonymous tip. A phone call.’
‘Seriously? Another one?’
‘Another?’
‘Penrith said we found Charlie because of a tip-off. Was the call made from Ealing, by any chance?’
‘Ealing? No. Northolt.’
‘Northolt.’ Caelan smeared her hand across her eyes, the room blurring then coming back into focus.
‘The area around the station and the underpass.’
‘Shit.’
‘We don’t know who made the call. The CCTV in the station is worse than useless.’
‘It’s a set-up, it has been from the start.’
‘We know that. Why do you think I brought you back here? The only person I could trust to help me was you.’ There was a new note in Beckett’s voice now, one Caelan had never heard before. She was unsure, pleading. The realisation was unsettling.
>
‘How did you know you could trust me? After all Ian was saying …’
‘Because of—’
The truth hit Caelan like a baseball bat. ‘Because of Nicky. You knew about Nicky and me, knew I would never be involved in a scheme where she ended up dead.’
Silence. ‘It’s my job to know. I may seem remote, sitting in my office, a million miles away from my officers on the ground, but I can’t be. Your every decision affects me and my ability to do my job. To keep people safe.’
‘Safe? Was Nicky safe? Was Sam?’
‘Caelan, our work can be risky, you know that. Sam and Nicky knew it too.’
‘Risky, yes. Riddled with suicide missions, no.’
Beckett was brisk. ‘I want you to get some rest, Caelan. We’ll meet later. I want to see where Nasenby’s car was when Ronnie Morgan was killed. I want to know where he was last night, before he got into bed with Brady.’
‘I thought you didn’t want to start alarm bells ringing? We don’t know Nasenby’s involved.’
‘Sam Clifton is dead. This is escalating, Caelan. It needs to stop.’
‘How long have you known?’
A pause. ‘Known?’
‘You said you’ve known it’s been a set-up from the start. When did it begin?’
‘Listen, Caelan, I don’t want to discuss this on the phone. We’ll talk later.’
Caelan swallowed some orange juice. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Like I said, sleep. Call me in a few hours. Hopefully I’ll have more information then.’
‘About what?’
‘Who we need to focus on. We still have five suspects. I want Walker found, questions answered. I want this cleared up.’
‘What about Brady? If you think she’s feeding information back to Nasenby …’
‘She knows what’s necessary. I want her to continue to do her job.’
‘Nasenby warned me against her, said she’s career-minded. Hinted she’d trample over anyone to further her own interests.’
‘Well he should know. I’ve told her you’re out of the way for now.’
‘She thinks I’ve been arrested?’
Beckett laughed. ‘You’re about to be.’
‘What?’ Caelan left the kitchen, moved to stand at her front door.
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