‘I thought we’d agreed that getting Caelan safely back to base was my priority?’ Penrith said.
‘We had, until I heard we’d found the vehicle.’ She gave the location. ‘I’ll be waiting.’ There was a click as she ended the call.
Penrith accelerated. ‘She’s efficient, I’ll give her that.’
‘She didn’t say if they’ve found the shooter, and she’s telling us to go to the car?’
‘They must have him in custody.’ Penrith’s voice was tight. He flicked on the indicator, waited for a gap in the oncoming traffic. ‘She was worried about you. Beckett, I mean.’
‘She’s a strange way of showing it.’
‘You shouldn’t have sent your babysitter away.’
‘Ewan? He wasn’t armed. What was he supposed to do against a gunman?’
‘Well, what did you do?’
‘You saw. Got out of the way.’
‘A wise move.’ Penrith made the turn. ‘It’s not far.’
Caelan said nothing, uneasy and rattled. Where was Ewan? Was he safe? And who had shot at her? Penrith had said he knew who was behind the murders. Was he telling the truth, or was it another bluff?
‘There.’ Penrith pointed a meaty finger in front of them. Caelan craned her neck. A squad car, its blue lights strobing, was parked across the road, blocking access or escape. A few uniformed officers milled around. Penrith brought the car to a halt fifty metres away from them, and climbed out. Caelan followed, her legs shaking. Penrith looked at her, clearly concerned.
‘All right?’
‘I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.’
He nodded. For a second, she thought he was going to offer her his arm to lean on, but he turned and strode away. He had his warrant card out, approached the nearest uniform. The officer, a middle-aged woman, pointed over her shoulder.
‘Vehicle’s back there. We got the call to look out for it, saw it abandoned a few minutes later. We’re waiting for forensics and God knows who else. I warn you, it’s a mess.’
Penrith frowned. ‘What do you mean? Did he crash, smash himself up?’
She grimaced. ‘Not exactly. Looks to me as though he’s blown his own brains out.’
30
Beckett had organised coffee, was standing at a table pouring it into dainty china cups as Caelan and Penrith hurried into the room. She turned to look at them, cradling her cup and saucer to her chest.
‘It was Glen Walker, wasn’t it?’ She was looking at Penrith as she spoke, but he was staring at the carpet.
Caelan nodded, the image of Walker’s ruined head slumped over the steering wheel fresh and immediate. She could still smell the blood, though she hadn’t been allowed to get too close. Near enough to confirm that what was left of the face had belonged to Glen Walker.
‘This is … unexpected.’ Beckett drank. Her hands were steady, though she looked pale and exhausted. She lowered herself into the nearest chair and crossed her legs.
‘I don’t know, it seems being shot at is a daily occurrence for Caelan,’ Penrith said. Beckett ignored the comment, nodding towards the coffee.
‘Have a drink, Caelan. Sit down.’ She indicated one of the chairs near her own. Caelan obeyed. The coffee was strong, and scalding hot. She sat and drank half before speaking again. The kick of caffeine would be welcome.
‘Will someone tell me what’s going on? Did Walker fire the shots, or was it someone else?’
Beckett and Penrith exchanged a glance. ‘The pathologist is on his way to examine the body now,’ said Beckett. ‘We believe we’re looking at another staged suicide.’
‘Do you think Walker killed Ronnie and the others?’
Setting her empty cup down, Beckett shook her head. ‘We know he didn’t.’
‘How can you be sure?’
It was Penrith, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, who replied. ‘Because Glen Walker was working for us.’
Caelan turned in her chair to stare at him. ‘What?’
Penrith poured himself some coffee, not bothering with a saucer. The cup looked tiny in his hand, as though it came from a child’s tea set. He grabbed a chair, dropped into it. ‘Walker was working for us, reporting back when he could.’
‘I had asked him to come here to speak to you. He was supposed to meet us here, though I didn’t expect him to be on the same train.’
Her mind reeling as she absorbed what this new piece of information meant, Caelan said, ‘Then why did he wave at me?’
Beckett’s expression was thunderous. ‘Because he’s an idiot, an amateur. Was, I should say. He was playing a dangerous game, obviously decided that going to meet his employer was more important than coming here to speak to us.’
‘What was he supposed to be reporting back on?’
‘Anything we would find useful. Most importantly, who he was working for.’
‘But he didn’t?’
Penrith shook his head.
‘He wouldn’t tell us, because he wanted to protect himself. He did feed us some useful information, reasoning that if we worked it out for ourselves, he wouldn’t be a grass.’ Beckett’s mouth twisted. ‘Because it matters, of course.’
‘But now he’s dead. He obviously didn’t see that one coming.’ Caelan felt a hysterical giggle trying to push its way out of her mouth. ‘We allowed Sam to be killed, now Glen Walker. Why are we doing nothing?’
‘We’re not, however it might appear,’ Beckett told her.
‘While you’ve been haring around London dodging hails of bullets, I’ve been doing some old-fashioned detective work.’ Penrith crossed his arms over his belly. ‘Want to hear about it?’
Caelan finished her coffee, put the cup and saucer on the nearest table with a clatter. ‘As long as it’s not more bullshit.’
‘It won’t be. Scout’s honour.’ Penrith unfolded his arms, planting his feet squarely on the floor, knees wide apart. ‘We tracked Glen Walker down a couple of days ago. You don’t need to know how, or when. He confirmed that he hadn’t seen or heard from Lambourne since Charlie Flynn’s death. Walker had been lying low; he never left London. We set up surveillance to be sure he was telling the truth, and when we were satisfied, we offered him a deal.’
‘Information in exchange for his freedom?’
‘Sort of. We made no promises, but why wouldn’t you be keen to help when the alternative is to spend the rest of your life behind bars?’
‘I bet that’ll be a real comfort now he’s had his head blown off.’ Penrith’s expression didn’t change, and Caelan continued. ‘You knew from the start, didn’t you? You knew Lambourne and Walker hadn’t killed Charlie. You wanted to use Walker to find out who had.’
Another quick glance at Beckett, as if Penrith was asking for permission to speak. ‘Correct. We had no illusions about Lambourne – we knew the chances of finding him were close to non-existent.’
‘Why?’
Beckett cut in, holding up a hand. ‘The point is, we hoped Walker could help us, and in return, we promised to help him. He’d be looking at a much shorter prison sentence, if he went to jail at all. He had no real choice.’
‘Who is it? Adamson, or Nasenby?’
Beckett said nothing, watching Caelan’s face. Caelan shifted in her chair, wondering if she’d missed something. ‘Ian?’ Penrith was silent too, his eyes on the floor. Panicking now, Caelan turned back to Beckett. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
Beckett’s sigh was long and heartfelt. ‘We still don’t know.’
Caelan threw back her head, her skull thudding into the chair. ‘Are you fucking kidding? How can you not know? Ian said—’
‘I said I could guess, but had no evidence,’ Penrith reminded her.
‘What about the surveillance on them? Someone shot Glen Walker today – if you’re watching Nasenby and Adamson, you must have seen who did it.’
Beckett was shaking her head. ‘But we didn’t.’
‘What are you talking about?’
<
br /> ‘When the shots were fired at you earlier, was Walker in the car alone?’
‘No, I think there was a passenger. I couldn’t see, not for sure.’
Beckett nodded. ‘Walker shot at you, missing deliberately because he knew that killing you wouldn’t be a great idea, then once he had driven them away from the scene, the passenger killed him.’
‘We’re supposed to think Walker was behind all the deaths,’ Penrith said. ‘Needless to say, we’re not buying it.’
‘Did the surveillance team fuck up then? Lose them?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Beckett. ‘I told them to stand down this morning.’
‘You … you did what?’
Beckett was unruffled. ‘You think I made a mistake?’
Caelan stared at her. ‘In the event, don’t you?’
‘Not at all.’
‘I’m two seconds from walking out of here,’ Caelan snapped. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘We knew Glen Walker had been asked to meet his mysterious boss in central London earlier today. He was supposed to report back to us, as you know. Instead, he met his boss and they went to find you. We had an idea something was going to happen, so I took the surveillance teams out of the equation.’
‘You’re not serious?’
‘I’ll admit, I didn’t expect Walker to be killed, or you to be shot at, but I didn’t want Nasenby and Adamson to realise anyone was following them. They’re both highly trained officers with excellent records. I knew that every day they were under surveillance was a risk. The longer it went on, the higher the chance of them spotting the surveillance.’
Caelan gave a slow handclap. ‘But instead of risking being rumbled, we’ve got another dead body and are no nearer discovering who pulled the trigger? I’m sorry, but you fucked up.’
Beckett continued as though Caelan hadn’t spoken. ‘We’re going to let Walker’s death be reported as suicide. Allow people to think he was behind everything, then, filled with remorse, decided to end his own life.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding. As if he would.’
‘It’s perfectly feasible.’
‘And covers your fuck-up. No doubt you’re glad he’s dead.’ Beckett said nothing, and Caelan baulked as she realised. ‘You knew, didn’t you? You guessed this would happen. You allowed Walker to meet this person knowing they would kill him.’
‘Nonsense.’ Beckett was perfectly calm.
‘That’s why you stood down the surveillance. You knew Walker would be killed, and you didn’t want anyone to know you could have prevented it. It’s a neat ending for you, saves you having to deal with Walker, and means you can quietly deal with who’s really behind all this, whether it’s Nasenby or Adamson, with no fuss or bad publicity. Jesus, you’re cold.’ Caelan swallowed, bile filling her mouth.
‘Enough,’ Beckett said. ‘I’ve told you what happened. You’d be advised to accept it.’
Caelan looked at Penrith, who kept his face turned away. Fear pulsed through her. She was at their mercy down here, and they knew it. She had to play their game, for now at least.
‘Fine. If we go with your version of events, why would Walker kill himself?’
‘Because he knew Seb Lambourne was coming for him.’ Beckett paused, allowing her words to sink in. ‘We know Walker didn’t kill Ronnie, but no one else does.’
‘What about Ronnie’s mother?’ said Caelan. ‘Doesn’t she deserve to know the truth?’
‘Of course, and when we know it ourselves, we’ll tell her.’
‘And in the meantime, she’ll watch the news and be told that Walker murdered her son?’
‘We’ll speak to her. It’s not your concern, Caelan.’
‘I’ve met her, talked to her. Yes, it is.’
‘All right. I said we’d speak to her.’ Beckett saw Caelan’s glare, shot back one of her own. ‘I need you to focus on finding our killer.’
‘And how do you expect me to do that? If you hadn’t cancelled the surveillance, we’d already know who it was.’ Caelan knew her tone was close to insubordination, but was beyond caring. Did it matter anymore?
Beckett inclined her head. ‘Could you show Caelan the footage, please, Ian?’
‘The footage?’ Caelan narrowed her eyes. Now what?
Penrith lifted a tablet computer from one of the tables.
‘I’ll warn you, Caelan, this recording was made by the camera Nicky was wearing on the day Charlie Flynn died.’ Caelan began to protest, not wanting to see it, but Penrith shook his head. ‘It’s from after Nicky was attacked. When …’
‘When she was lying on the ground, bleeding to death?’ Caelan forced him to meet her eyes. Penrith nodded, his expression impossible to read. Her hand trembling, Caelan took the device.
Darkness. Silence. Caelan watched for thirty seconds, but nothing happened. ‘What am I supposed to be seeing?’ she demanded. Her skin was prickling, her mind begging her to throw the tablet down and run from the room. She didn’t want to watch these images, taken from a camera worn on Nicky’s dead body. How could she continue to view them knowing that the picture was blurred because Nicky’s blood was obscuring the lens?
‘Keep watching.’ Penrith’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.
‘And listen carefully,’ said Beckett. Caelan hunched her shoulders. This was horrible.
She concentrated on the dim screen, keeping clichés about watching paint dry to herself.
Then she saw it.
A shadow, a shade darker than the murk of the rest of the screen, moved quickly across the camera’s line of vision. It paused for a fraction of a second, presumably looking down at Nicky’s body, then disappeared. Caelan was transfixed, wanting nothing more than to turn away, yet at the same time unable to do so. The screen was blank again. She made certain the volume was as high as possible, knowing what she was waiting for, and dreading it.
A gunshot. Muffled, but unmistakable. She started, flinching as if the gun had been pointed at her.
She had just witnessed the murder of a ten-year-old child.
‘The figure you saw,’ said Beckett, hammering home the point. ‘That’s the person we need to find.’
Caelan scrolled back, watched again. It was a vague outline, a shape; there was nothing recognisable. No face, not even enough detail to say whether the person was male or female. Caelan took a moment, focused on what she was seeing rather than imagining Nicky lying there, the camera still recording. Rather than thinking about Charlie now lying dead on the ground.
‘Is there no way of making this clearer?’ she asked. Penrith shook his head.
‘You’re watching the enhanced version. Took one of our tech geeks a while to get anything more than a completely black screen and the gunshot.’
‘But it’s useless.’
‘No,’ said Beckett. ‘It was our first clue, and proof that Charlie Flynn wasn’t killed when we originally thought, but ten minutes later.’
‘Ten minutes?’
‘Per the recording, yes.’
‘And who had the opportunity to go back in and kill him?’ Caelan felt sick, her mind refusing to accept what she had seen and heard. She knew she had to push the horror and fury away, to concentrate on the only thing she could do to help Charlie now – finding the person who had killed him.
Finding the shadow.
The knowledge that she and Sam had left Charlie, drugged and alone, to die in that place haunted her, and she knew it would for the rest of her life. But she had trusted Sam’s judgement, followed his lead as she had been trained to.
‘Sam knew, didn’t he?’ Her own voice sounded strange to her, the words hesitant as she struggled to even acknowledge the thought.
Beckett squinted at her. ‘Knew? What do you mean?’
‘He knew Charlie was alive. He must have done.’
‘We’ve no evidence to suggest—’
‘I don’t need evidence. That’s why he hid away, drank himself stupid every minute of the day. He fu
cking knew. He was part of it.’ Caelan ground her teeth, white-hot fury tearing through her again. Sam was dead, removed and disposed of. He was a victim too, but Caelan could no longer feel any sympathy for him.
‘We don’t know for sure,’ said Penrith. ‘Not until we find our killer, anyway.’ He nodded at the tablet. ‘Check the emails. There’s CCTV footage from today, some from the street Walker was found in. I’ve not been through all of it yet.’
Caelan looked at the screen again. ‘Today was reckless. Before this, he’d planned carefully, left nothing to chance.’
‘He’s desperate now,’ said Beckett. ‘He must have guessed we’d turned Walker, probably after he missed when he shot at you today. He wanted Walker out of the picture, unable to talk. He’s backed himself into a corner.’
‘You told me the Charlie Flynn files were interesting.’ Caelan turned to Penrith. ‘Was this what you meant?’
He nodded. ‘Unanswered questions.’
Beckett’s phone rang. ‘Our crime-scene manager.’ She lifted the handset to her ear as she stood and moved away. Caelan looked at Penrith.
‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to, instead of making me hate you?’
‘You know why. Having all eyes on you was the best way of keeping you safe.’
‘It’s hard to believe Michael or Richard could be behind this.’
‘Nevertheless, it’s true. Walker must have been acting under instruction.’
‘Who is it, Ian?’
Penrith looked at the carpet. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t know. My guesses are useless. We need evidence. Watch the CCTV footage, read the reports.’
‘Surely they’d both know how to avoid the cameras? Half of them don’t work anyway.’
‘But half of them do.’ He stood, stretched his back. ‘See what you think.’
Caelan watched him move to the table where the flask of coffee stood and pour himself another cup. Beckett hurried towards them.
‘The pathologist has confirmed that Walker could have shot himself. The weapon was found in the footwell of the car. Walker’s fingerprints are on it – he’s definitely fired the gun recently.’
‘A few minutes earlier, at Caelan,’ said Penrith. Beckett nodded.
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