Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6)

by Rachel McLean

  “I can’t believe it,” she said as she saw them enter. “Who killed him?”

  Greening sat next to her and placed a hand on her knee. She flinched but didn’t push it away. “It’s alright, Selina. I’ll tell you when to speak.”

  She nodded and rubbed the cat under the chin. It raised its head, eyes closed.

  Mo took a seat in a deep armchair opposite Mrs Petersen. Rhodri took the other wing of the sofa. He perched on its edge, clearly worried about getting sucked into the thing.

  “Mrs Petersen, we need to ask you some questions about your husband’s movements over the last couple of weeks. I know it’s hard, but it’ll help us find the person who did this to him.”

  She looked up at him, her chin trembling. Greening’s grip on her knee tightened. Mo wondered if they were more than lawyer and client. The solicitor was closer in age to her, certainly better looking than her husband, with his spiked blond hair and chin that looked like it’d been shaved to within an inch of its life.

  “When was the last time you saw Mr Petersen?” Mo asked. He nodded at Rhodri, who pulled a pad and pen out of his inside pocket.

  She sniffed. “I don’t know.”

  “Can you maybe cast your mind back?”

  She gripped the cat by the scruff of its neck. It mewed and she let go. “I think… last Monday. We watched Keeping Up With The Kardashians together. Or was that on Tuesday?”

  “That goes out on a Monday night,” said Rhodri. Mo looked at him, surprised.

  Selina stared at Rhodri like he’d sprouted another head. “We don’t watch it live. It was Wednesday. Yes, because Mrs Brooking had been.” She turned back to Mo. “She’s our cleaner. Housekeeper, I suppose. She does everything for me.”

  “Is this Margaret Brooking?”

  A frown. “Er, yes.”

  “How long has she been working for you?”

  “I don’t know. Howie found her after our old cleaner left. She was funny about his ankle thing. Four months. Three?”

  Margaret Brooking had been Trevor Hamm’s housekeeper, in his house outside Solihull. Another modern, soulless place. So he’d palmed her off on the Petersens when he’d gone to ground.

  “So, last Wednesday. You saw your husband at what time?”

  She stared at him. “Am I going to be in trouble for this?”

  Greening removed his hand from her knee and leaned forward. “Mrs Petersen had nothing to do with her husband breaking the terms of his sentence. She knows nothing about it. If you try to insinuate that she did, then I will advise her not to answer any more questions.”

  “We’re not implying anything,” said Mo. “I just want to know when Mrs Petersen last saw her husband. Did he tell you he was leaving the house?”

  She turned to her solicitor, who shook his head.

  “No comment,” she said.

  Mo’s least favourite words in the English language. “Your husband is dead, Mrs Petersen. Even if I did believe you were an accessory to him breaking the terms of his sentence, I’m not going to arrest you for it. I just want to know what he told you.”

  “He didn’t tell her anything,” said the solicitor. “What is it you don’t understand?”

  Mo slid forwards on the armchair, staring into the woman’s eyes, ignoring the man.

  “That’s not what you said, Mrs Petersen. I want to find the person who killed your husband. If we know where he was, it’ll be much easier to do that.”

  She wiped under her eye. “He said he had a meeting.”

  “What kind of meeting?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t talk to me about that kind of thing.”

  “OK. Did he say where it was?”

  She shook her head and sobbed.

  “I think it’s time you let my client have some peace,” said Greening.

  “Is there any possibility your husband could have been taken from the house?”

  Her eyes widened. “You think someone came here?”

  She’d said Petersen was going out. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have been snatched here.

  If so, it was a crime scene…

  “They might have. Have you noticed anything out of place? Any sign of a break-in?”

  She glanced at the solicitor, her eyes welling. “I did… there was a window open when I got up on Saturday. Patio doors.” She gestured towards the back of the building.

  Mo sat back, satisfied. “Could someone have broken in?”

  “I don’t know. Mrs Brooking had been the day before. They might have.”

  He stood up. “Do you have anyone you can go to, Mrs Petersen? Somewhere you can stay while we search your house?”

  The solicitor stood up, standing toe to toe with him. “Oh no, you don’t.”

  “This is a potential crime scene, Mr Greening. And as such, we have the right to search it. If you obstruct us, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  “OK,” said Zoe. “What’s the last known sighting of Hamm?”

  Connie stared at her computer screen. “He was involved in the bomb attacks.”

  “We never actually saw him, though. He was arrested for supplying drugs to an inmate in Winson Green Prison… when was that?”

  “October, boss. No charges pressed, his girlfriend was the one with possession.”

  Zoe shook her head. “A month after his wife died in suspicious circumstances and he’s letting his new girlfriend take the rap for his crimes. We have to find this guy, Connie.”

  “Yeah.” Connie stretched her arms out in front, her fingers entwined, and cracked her knuckles.

  Zoe paced back and forth in front of the board. “If you were a nasty bastard trying to evade the law, where would you go?”

  “Maybe he’s got himself a false passport. Left the country.”

  “He’s wanted in connection with a terror attack. Biometrics mean he’d never get out of the country.”

  “He might do if he went via Ireland.”

  “And once he’s there…”

  “Schengen Zone,” said Connie. “He could be anywhere in Europe.”

  “You still have to show a passport to get from Ireland to the mainland EU, though. And in practice, getting to Northern Ireland, too. He’d be flagged if they checked his biometrics.”

  “You want me to check if he’s crossed any borders?”

  “Organised Crime will have had a watch out on him.”

  “Still…”

  “If he’d been picked up at a border, we’d know. I reckon he’s still in the country. More than that. I reckon he’s still local.”

  “He’d have some neck to stay around Brum,” Connie said.

  “The slimy bastard is all neck. He’ll want to know what’s going on with Ian’s trial. And he’s got a gazillion business interests around here.”

  “Doesn’t mean he can’t export them.”

  Zoe tapped her teeth with her pen. She wrote Sheena McDonald’s name on the board. “She’s managing a gym in Chelmsley Wood. Opposite where Petersen was found. And she was managing the Hotel Belvista brothel for Hamm. We need to get her in.”

  “I’ve got a photo of her.” Connie pinned it to the board. McDonald was skinny, with dyed red hair and a look that would melt diamond. “Can’t believe she’s not doing time.”

  “The punters never visited that house. We couldn’t prove she knew they were being taken away and sold for sex.”

  Connie shook her head. “Those poor women.”

  “Kids, too.”

  “Yeah.” Connie’s shoulders slumped.

  Zoe jabbed her thumb into the photo. “I say we watch her.”

  “You want me on that, boss?”

  Zoe considered. Connie’s strengths were desk-based. Taking apart tech, chasing down digital leads. But she was the only member of the team McDonald had never seen. And a young black woman would be less suspicious hanging around the gym than a forty-year-old redhead.

  She turned to Connie. “I’ll
talk to Sheila. You and one of her guys can pose as a couple wanting to join the gym.”

  Connie’s eyes widened. “OK.”

  Zoe put a hand on the constable’s shoulder. “We’ll give you a wire. You’ll stick to the public places, we won’t put you at risk.”

  “Yeah.” Sweat had broken out on Connie’s brow.

  “You’ve gone undercover before, Connie. You did it on your own initiative. The cleaning company in the Osman kidnapping.”

  “That was a city centre office. This is…”

  “You can refuse if you don’t feel comfortable.”

  “I’ve been stuck behind a desk for too long, boss. I need to take some risks.”

  Zoe raised a finger. “Calculated risks. I don’t want you doing anything silly.”

  “I’ll have one of Sheila’s guys with me. I’ll be fine.”

  Zoe smiled. “Good on you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Anita was woken by the sound of a door slamming upstairs. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. How long had she been asleep?

  She pulled herself up from the sofa and dragged herself to the bottom of the stairs, listening. Carly normally shut herself in her room all night, but Maria wasn’t normally this antisocial.

  She trudged up and knocked on her younger daughter’s door, then pushed it open.

  “Hey, you.”

  “Mum. I’m on Discord.” Maria pulled a face.

  “Can I get you a snack?”

  “Cornflakes.”

  “Please?”

  “Please.” Another face. Maria waved a hand to shoo Anita away.

  Anita made her way to the kitchen, wondering when her daughters had gone from small mummy-worshippers to their current disdain. It was normal for teenagers, she reminded herself. Nothing personal. She just hoped it would pass soon.

  As she opened the fridge she heard another bang. She clenched her teeth, wishing the girls would learn to not slam the bathroom door.

  She’d left her mug in the living room. She was thirsty.

  She placed the milk carton next to the cornflakes on the worktop and padded into the living room. She needed to stop moving around, to watch for David. She grabbed her mug and took it back into the kitchen, flipping on the kettle.

  She poured milk on the cornflakes and called Maria’s name. No answer. Sighing, she took the bowl upstairs.

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  At least she’d got an unprompted thank you. She returned to the kitchen and poured out a cup of tea which she took to the living room. The street outside was dark, the streetlamp across the road the only illumination. No sign of David’s car yet. It was gone 9pm. She needed to get Maria off her computer, school tomorrow.

  She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and shivered, turning into the room.

  “You can’t be hungry again already.”

  There was no one there. She’d been imagining things.

  You’re losing your mind, she told herself. She sipped her tea and stood at the window, blinking to keep her eyes open. She could barely remember what it was she needed to talk to David about.

  The photo. That woman, the New Street bomber.

  Anita felt a chill fall over her as she remembered the image. David with his arm around the woman, smiling for the camera.

  Tears fizzed behind her eyes. She had no idea what she was going to say to him. But she couldn’t let it slide.

  There was the creak of a footstep behind her. She kept her gaze on the front driveway, her mind focused on her husband and not her children. She heard breathing.

  “I know you’re there.”

  Carly had liked to surprise her when she was younger. She could be playful even now, silly when she wanted to be. Anita smiled.

  She felt air brush the back of her neck and turned to her daughter, gasping as she realised it wasn’t Carly.

  She looked up at the shadow in front of her, mute.

  Something rushed in at her and she felt an object land over her mouth. She tried to scream but there was something across her mouth, inside it. It smelled of… what?

  She threw her arms out, trying to fight. The girls! Where were they? Oh, God. Don’t hurt them.

  She tried to kick out but her legs were weakening. An ankle buckled beneath her and she felt heaviness wash over her. The gag was pushed further into her mouth, making her retch.

  She felt herself being dragged towards the door. She struggled to gain control of her legs, but it was like they’d gone. She was numb from the waist down.

  As they reached the hallway the numbness caught up with the rest of her and she flopped into her assailant’s arms, unconscious.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Connie sat in silence as they drove out to Chelmsley Wood. She was in the back of the car with DC Solsby, while the boss sat up front with DS Griffin. DS Griffin was on the phone.

  “Yeah… OK… yes, of course… no, we won’t… yes... thanks. I’ll keep you updated.”

  Griffin turned to DI Finch. “I’ve got authorisation.”

  The boss nodded, her eyes on the road. Connie felt the butterflies in her stomach take flight.

  DC Solsby grinned at her. She wondered how many times he’d done this kind of thing. Meat and drink to him, she imagined. How could she pretend to be this guy’s girlfriend? He wasn’t even good-looking.

  Given the number of times Connie had to pretend to be something she wasn’t, it would make more sense for CID to recruit people from drama school.

  They pulled up at the back of the Co-op supermarket, out of sight of the gym and the spot in which Howard Petersen had been found. The boss turned in her seat.

  “You ready?”

  “Yup,” Connie replied, giving the DI the most confident smile she could muster.

  “All you’re doing is checking the place out, OK? In and out in less than fifteen minutes if you can. See if you can have a nose around, pretend you want to see what equipment they’ve got.”

  “The sarge said it was a boxing gym,” Connie replied. “I don’t…”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” said DS Griffin. “You’re not going to be using the facilities today. Just enquiring.”

  “Do people enquire in places like that?”

  “It’s OK, Connie,” said DC Solsby. “I’ll do the talking.”

  Connie swallowed the bile in her mouth. She could do this. She’d barged into Hatton and Banerjee and pretended to be a cleaner when they were looking for the Osman kids. She’d faced up to the bolshy supervisor, and she hadn’t blown her cover. And this time, she wouldn’t be alone and the boss would be just around the corner.

  DS Griffin had her phone out. She tucked an earpiece into her ear. “Try saying something.”

  Connie resisted touching the wire under her shirt. “Can you hear me?”

  DS Griffin nodded. “Loud and clear.” She checked her watch. “Eight thirty pm. See you back here, no more than thirty minutes.”

  What happened if they weren’t back in thirty minutes, Connie wondered. Would the two of them storm in after her, all guns blazing, DS Griffin and DI Finch to the rescue?

  The thought made her smile despite herself.

  DC Solsby opened his door and stood on the pavement, stretching. He wore a pair of joggers, saggy around the bum, and Nike trainers that looked expensive. Connie was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans with a tight pink shirt and matching bomber jacket that looked like she’d bought it in the market. The cheap fabric made her neck itch.

  She hauled herself out of the car, acknowledged Solsby’s nod, and walked with him around the supermarket. As they rounded the corner he took her hand. She forced herself to relax. He was her boyfriend, they were out for a stroll.

  “Don’t grit your teeth,” he muttered.

  Connie stretched her jaw, unaware she’d been clenching.

  “Come here.” He stopped and pulled her to him. She felt ice travel across her skin, terrified he was going to kiss her. But ins
tead he slid his arm around her neck and drew her in for a hug, his lips close to her ear.

  “I’m going to pretend to be the kind of arsehole who treats a woman like he owns her. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “OK.” It was part of their cover. She’d be fine.

  They’d only met an hour ago.

  He draped his arm around her neck, hoisting her in, and bumped his hips against her waist. He was tall, well over six foot. She focused on dropping into the same rhythm as him, on walking like this was how she always did it. Don’t think, she told herself. Just feel. She closed her eyes, aware of his movements beside her.

  As they approached the gym she flicked her gaze around the scruffy tarmacked area in front, her eyes moving but her head still. She could sense Solsby doing the same.

  “See anything?” she muttered, turning to bring her mouth to his shoulder.

  “Just the CCTV we already knew about.”

  “Don’t look at it.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  They arrived at the door and he pressed the buzzer. He shoved her in front of him and leaned over her, draping his body over her shoulders. She stood as straight as she could, forcing herself to lean into him a little. He was calm, his body language fluid. How did he do this?

  A voice came over the intercom. “Can I help you?”

  “Hey,” Solsby said. “You a gym, yeah?”

  “That’s what it says on the sign.” The accent was Scottish: Sheena MacDonald. Connie had seen the woman in the video of her police interview, but they’d never met.

  “Sick. We wanna check the place out.”

  “You want to join?”

  “If we like it, like.”

  “Hmm.” There was a buzz and the door gave under Connie’s fingers. She pushed it, Solsby still draped over her from behind. He grabbed her arm and pushed her sideways so she was next to him. She wanted to tell him to fuck off, but then remembered his warning.

  They sashayed up the stairs together, Connie considering how much easier this would be if they walked normally. At the top a skinny woman with purple hair was waiting for them.