Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6)

by Rachel McLean

  “Well aren’t you just the pair of love birds?”

  Connie forced a smirk, her cheeks reddening. At least embarrassment came naturally.

  Solsby looked down at her, a proprietorial look in his eye. “She’s OK,” he muttered. Connie flashed her eyes back up at him and caught a wink in return.

  “So what d’you want?” the woman asked.

  “Just moved into the area, yeah? Lookin’ for the best gym.”

  “Best is a big word.”

  Solsby licked his lips and leaned towards the woman. “You know what I mean.”

  She met his gaze for a moment then raised an eyebrow. “Who told you about the place?”

  He gestured down the stairs. “You got a fuckin’ big sign, can’t miss it.”

  “Not that big. Where else you been?”

  “Place over behind Somerville. Checkin’ out the new place, Fitness Fanatics, later.”

  “Those places are shitholes.”

  “Somerville was a dump. Not been inside the other one yet. So can we look around, or what?”

  “This isn’t David Lloyd, you know.”

  He shrugged. “Just wan’ see what you got.”

  “Maybe I’d like to see what you’ve got.” She looked him up and down. Solsby shrugged.

  “Next time, no worries,” he said. “But right now, me an’ Rita here, we’re on the clock.”

  MacDonald turned to Connie. “D’you talk?”

  Connie shrugged and nestled closer into Solsby.

  “She’s shy, yeah? Don’t talk for no one but me.” He licked his finger and ran it down the nape of Connie’s neck, making her shiver. “And boy does she scream!” He dissolved into laughter.

  Connie fought to keep the shock off her face. The boss was listening to this. Get on with it, she thought.

  “You want to join too?” McDonald asked her.

  Connie shrugged. “Maybe.”

  McDonald sniffed and looked Connie up and down. “You need it.” She blew out and returned her attention to Solsby. “Five minutes. Take a look. There’s a couple of guys in the ring up the other end. Don’t ask them any nosey questions.”

  Solsby gave a mock-salute. “Not too nosey, lady.”

  McDonald laughed. “I’ll be watching you.”

  I bet you will, Connie thought. She scanned the space as Solsby led her further inside. It was a large room, spanning three units on the ground floor. Front and back were lined with grubby windows and there was a smell of stale sweat. At the other end two young men, no more than kids, squared up to each other in a boxing ring. A man stood to one side, watching with his hands on his hips.

  Solsby snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her towards the ring.

  “Hey,” he said as they approached.

  The man turned to him. “Who are you?” He was short and wiry, with light brown skin and neck muscles that bulged.

  “Name’s Zee.” Solsby put out a hand which the man took reluctantly. “Just checkin’ the place out. This is my woman, Rita.”

  Connie gave him a shy smile. The man’s eyes travelled over her, making her squirm.

  “So what d’you wanna know?”

  “Does it get busy?” Solsby asked. “I don’t like busy.”

  “Not if you know the right day to come.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Mondays is quiet. Tuesdays not so bad. Come just after they open and you’ll have the place to yourself.”

  “It’s open till midnight, yeah?”

  “You don’t want to be here then. Full of wankers.”

  “What kind of wankers?”

  The man’s eyes darted to McDonald, who was fiddling with some mats and pretending not to listen. “Druggies, half of them. No way they’d beat anyone in a fight. They come to watch.”

  “And they can afford the membership?”

  A shrug. “There are various ways of paying.” He gave Solsby a conspiratorial look. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Shit!” One of the kids in the ring had fallen, his leg twisted beneath him. The man approached the ropes, wincing.

  “Just a sprain, Elon. You’ll be fine. Go on, get up again.”

  The kid who was still standing grabbed the other kid’s hand and hauled him up.

  “You run a youth boxing group?” Solsby asked.

  “Nothing as formal as that, mate. This here’s my sister’s boy. Keeps him out of trouble.”

  “They got anything else here apart from the boxing?” Connie asked.

  The man pointed along the space. “Some weights. There’s some girls what do kick boxing Wednesday nights. You should try it.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Solsby squeezed her closer to him. “Hush, woman.”

  She kept quiet, her eyes on the man. She hoped the boss could hear. Solsby squeezing her in like this would muffle the feed.

  “Come on, sweetie, let’s take the tour,” she whispered to him. He nodded at the man.

  “Good to meet you.”

  They bumped fists. “You too.”

  Connie started to pull her pretend boyfriend away. He stopped her, his arm around her neck. It made it hard to breathe, let alone to walk. After a few moments he muttered in her ear.

  “Don’t forget you move when I tell you to move.”

  She bristled but said nothing.

  “There’s nothing here,” he said.

  “Maybe.”

  “I can’t see anything, can you?”

  “Three doors leading off this space, all locked. Who knows what’s behind them?”

  “You want to see if we can get through them?”

  “Not today. Maybe some other time.”

  He pinched her arm. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

  “Shush.”

  McDonald was approaching. “You like what you see.” She handed over a dog-eared leaflet with prices on.

  Solsby took it. “So far,” he said, the insouciance back in his voice. “Like I say, got a couple others to check out.”

  “Yeah, you’ll be back.”

  “Whatever.” He led Connie to the stairs and half-dragged her down. McDonald stood at the top, watching them.

  They crashed out of the door together. Connie wanted to spring away from him, to stop and breathe.

  “Keep it up,” Solsby said. “She could be watching.” He grabbed her by the hand and they strolled away from the gym, both scanning the area.

  Connie could see the wasteground where Petersen had been dumped as they approached the street. And she’d seen it from the upstairs windows of the gym. She had no idea if that was significant.

  If you were going to kill a man, would you dump him just across the road from your own business? And if MacDonald was working for Hamm, where was he? There was no fancy car out front, there’d been no sign of him inside.

  Her gut told her this place would lead them to him. “We come back tomorrow,” she said as they turned onto the street.

  “Day after,” Solsby replied. “Don’t want to look too keen.”

  “OK.” She held onto his hand as they made for the car, her heart racing.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  David Randle bloody hated Carl Whaley. He hated all those bastards at PSD. Even Malcolm Rogers, who at least was being reasonable.

  He was still itching with irritation when he hit the remote for the garage door, still muttering to himself as he heard it close behind him and opened the inner door leading from the garage directly into the house’s kitchen.

  “Arrogant fuckers,” he said as he yanked open the fridge door. Anita had better have bloody left him something to eat.

  He pulled a few things aside, looking for a plate. Finding nothing obvious, he searched for a Tupperware container.

  “Anita!” he called.

  Where was she?

  The kitchen was quiet, a pizza box standing next to the sink. He flipped it open: empty.

  Damn.

  He was starving.

&nbs
p; “Anita!”

  No response. She’d been acting odd lately, looking at him as if she was trying to fathom him out. Anita never did that. One of the things he loved about her was her unquestioning nature, the way she lived her life and let him live his without any questions.

  He went into the hall. “Anita!”

  “What’s up?” Carly stood at the top of the stairs. She wore an oversized Garfield t-shirt over bare legs.

  “Put your dressing gown on,” he snapped at her.

  She came down the stairs. “You’re pissed off with Mum. Don’t take it out on me.”

  “I think with the way things have been for you lately, you’d better keep your mouth shut.”

  She flinched. “Sorry.” He almost laughed at the unexpectedness of it. Carly never apologised.

  She brushed past him into the kitchen. She smelled of shampoo.

  “Where’s your mum?” he asked.

  “Watching TV, maybe. Gone to bed?”

  Anita never went to bed before he got home. Even if he was out working till one am, she’d wait in the living room, dozing on the sofa. A few times, she brought a pillow and duvet down. But she always stayed downstairs.

  He wandered into the living room. She’d be sprawled out on the sofa, fast asleep.

  The room was empty.

  “Anita!” he called.

  “Still not found her?” Carly was behind him, holding a tub of ice cream.

  “You can’t eat that at this time of night.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” He didn’t know why not. “Where is she, Carly? Have you upset her?”

  “Maybe she’s finally decided to leave you.”

  His fist clenched at her words. “Don’t talk like that.”

  She smirked and left the room, shovelling ice cream into her mouth. Chocolate. His stomach growled.

  “Can you make me some dinner?” he asked his daughter.

  She spat out a laugh. “No chance. Mum called out for pizza. You’ve got a phone, haven’t you?”

  Pressure filled his temples. “Tell me where she went.”

  “I already told you, I don’t know. Perhaps she’s gone to bed.” Carly wafted up the stairs, apparently unconcerned that her mum was missing and her dad was going hungry.

  Randle took the stairs two at a time and shoved open the bedroom door. He stopped himself as he entered the darkened room. If she’d been feeling unwell…

  “Anita?” he whispered.

  He reached a hand out to the bed, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

  The bed was empty.

  Maria’s room was next door. He knocked softly and opened her door.

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  “Huh?” Maria’s voice was thick with sleep.

  “Mum with you?”

  “She bought pizza. She was waiting for you.” Maria rolled over and went back to sleep.

  He closed her door and turned back to the landing. Carly’s door was closed and music came through it: Beyoncé.

  Anita, where are you?

  He pulled his phone from his inside pocket as he hurried down the stairs. She knew. She’d seen the trial on the news and she’d left him.

  No. Anita would never leave the girls behind.

  As he reached the bottom of the stairs, her voicemail kicked in. He hung up.

  “Anita!”

  He stood in the centre of the generous hallway, his legs numb.

  She couldn’t have left him. Anita had stuck with him for the almost thirty years he’d been on the force. He’d confessed to his affair with Margaret Jackson many years ago, and she’d forgiven him. She’d tolerated the late hours, the sneaking into his study when he got home at night, the fact he’d been closer to Bryn Jackson than to his own wife.

  She didn’t know anything for sure. OK, so that damn barrister had brought out the photo of him with that girl. But nothing had been proven.

  He could talk to her. He’d convince her, the way he always did.

  He went back into the living room. Anita, where are you?

  A glint of something caught his eye. He bent down to pick it up. It was her necklace, the one he’d bought before their wedding. A weekend in Rome, an escape from wedding preparations. It was the cheapest thing he’d ever bought her, picked up from a street vendor. But she’d worn it every day since.

  The chain had snapped. It draped over his hand, accusing.

  Had she torn it off, in her anger at him?

  His phone buzzed. A photo message. The number was withheld.

  He tapped to open the photo. It showed Anita, curled on the floor of a grey room. Her mouth was gagged but her eyes were uncovered.

  He sank into the sofa, staring at the screen.

  His phone buzzed again. A text message this time.

  Keep your mouth shut.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Connie lived in Gravelly Hill, on the other side of the city. Zoe drove her to University Station, having first checked there were still trains running.

  “It’s not late, boss. The last one’s at half eleven.”

  “I’m not going to leave you stranded, am I? You sure you don’t want a lift home?”

  “Don’t be daft. I get the train all the time.”

  Connie often took the train across town, bringing her bike with her, if the weather wasn’t good. Tonight her bike was still parked in town, where she’d left it when she got a flat.

  “What you going to do about your bike?” Zoe asked.

  “My mum says she’ll give me a lift to it in the morning. I’ve got a repair kit.”

  Zoe winced at the through of Connie having to repair her bike before she could cycle to work. “Good luck.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  A train approached the station. “Better go.”

  “You did good work tonight,” Zoe said. “Well done.”

  “I actually quite enjoyed it, when I stopped being scared.”

  “DC Solsby said you were very convincing. You’ll have him thinking you fancy him next.”

  Connie grimaced. “Don’t.” She slammed the car door and ran for the station.

  Zoe waited a few minutes to be sure Connie had made the train, then started the car. She swung around the university and towards the Bristol Road, turning right for Selly Oak. But instead of turning into her road, she carried on driving.

  Ten minutes later she was outside Mo’s house. Catriona opened the door.

  “Zoe, good to see you.”

  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “He told me you’d be popping in. Fancy a brew?”

  “Please.” Neither Mo nor Catriona drank coffee, but they did keep some very good Peruvian roast in for when Zoe came round.

  She followed Catriona inside and closed the door. The house was quiet, the girls in bed. Zoe slipped off her shoes and left them at the bottom of the stairs with the rest of the pile.

  In the kitchen, Mo already had a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, alongside a cup of herbal tea.

  “You shouldn’t have,” Zoe said.

  “I know you too well.”

  “Thanks, Mo.” She raised her mug. “And you, Cat.”

  “My pleasure. I’ll be in the dining room. Emails to check.”

  “You don’t have to leave on my account.”

  “You’ll be talking shop. Not my bag.” Catriona patted Zoe’s arm and left the room.

  Mo sat on one of the stools at the large island. “So?”

  “So.” Zoe sipped her coffee. “Carl hasn’t taken us off the Petersen murder...”

  “But it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How much has he told you?”

  “You know what it’s like. Nothing.”

  “Hmm. You hear about what happened at the trial today?”

  “If you mean me being made a complete prat of—”

  “Not that. Randle.”

  “Oh?”

  “That phot
o. The one of him with Alina Popescu.”

  Zoe felt her eyes widen, her mouth fall open.

  “The CPS barrister had it.”

  “No.” She grabbed the granite to keep herself from toppling off her stool. “How does that help their case against Ian?”

  “They also asked Randle if it was him who told Ian to plant the evidence.”

  “Shit. I assume he denied everything.”

  “Oh, yes. Claims the photo is innocent too. Didn’t know who she was. Certainly didn’t know she was a prostitute.”

  “Has Ian’s barrister cross-examined him yet?”

  “That’s to come tomorrow morning.”

  “Should be…” She hesitated.

  “Explosive.”

  “Knowing Randle, he’ll squirm his way out of it.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “OK,” she said. “So that makes it even more important we find Hamm.”

  “Hamm?”

  “We’re off the Starling case. We’re about to get booted off Petersen. But the Magpie inquiry is still open. We have reason to be tracking Hamm down.”

  “We already tried that.”

  “I say we pick up where we left off. He’ll be resting on his laurels.”

  “Or he could be the other side of the world by now.”

  She shook her head. “He’s wanted in connection with a terror investigation. There’s no way he’ll have risked flying.”

  “You think he’s still in the country?”

  “I think he’s still in the city.”

  “No way.” Mo slid down from his chair and filled the kettle; his mug was empty.

  “I’ll have another one, too,” Zoe said. “If you don’t mind.”

  Mo grabbed the tin of coffee. “The quicker you drink this stuff, the less likely it is to go stale.”

  “Seriously, there’s no one else drinks this?”

  “My mum drinks coffee. But she wouldn’t know the difference between Nescafé and best Peruvian roast if it smacked her in the face. I keep this for you.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “I know.” The kettle boiled and he refilled his mug of tea. He took Zoe’s mug and refilled it from the coffee maker.

  “So how you gonna find him?” he asked.