Informant

by Susan Wilkins

  ‘I’ll be there in an hour, tops.’

  Kaz set the phone on its battered cradle. She’d been a free woman for little more than twenty-four hours, but already it was beginning as she knew it would. She thought of Yasmin; for her, prison was a sanctuary, the only escape from a series of men who’d used and abused her. But Kaz was tougher than that. At least she hoped she was.

  Her room was at the rear of the hostel overlooking the garden. It had been decorated to be cheerful. The walls were primrose with matching curtains in a lively abstract print. The small wardrobe, stack of drawers and bed were simple but well-constructed in bleached pine. It wasn’t much bigger than the average prison cell, but the window opened and the toilet was down the hall, not a smelly stainless steel pan in the corner.

  Kaz wandered back into the room and slipped under the plump duvet. As she pulled it up to her chin she smiled to herself. Helen was right about this place. Five stars definitely. She thought about Helen and the fantasies she’d had about her over the years. The age gap between them was probably only five or six years, but it had felt much bigger. Now she was out, Kaz could finally allow herself to wonder what might come next.

  Inside she’d had relationships, although she wasn’t sure she’d call them that. What they amounted to mainly was sex. But none of it ever conflicted with her feelings for Helen. Her passion for Helen was totally private, she never spoke of it to anyone. She couldn’t. Being with women on the inside was how it went. But on the outside? She’d never thought much about whether she was a lesbian. Anyway it was all just labels. There’d been boys before, when she’d managed to escape the old man’s oppressive orbit. And she assumed there’d be boys again. But also there was Helen, and for now that’s all she could dream about.

  She was dozing; warm, floating. She knew she should get up, but she couldn’t be arsed. For six years she’d been forced out of bed every morning at seven. Fifteen minutes to wash and dress before the cell doors clanged open and you were marched down to breakfast. She was reflecting on the small things that freedom came down to when there was a polite tap at the door. She didn’t have a watch but it seemed unlikely that an hour had passed since she talked to Joey on the phone. Puzzled, she flung back the duvet, stepped over to the door and opened it.

  ‘Hiya. I’m Mal.’

  He was probably about her own age, hands pushed in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched, trying to look appealing.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m one of the support workers. Saw you in the hall on the phone. Wondered how you’re settling in.’

  ‘Look, I filled in all the forms last night, ticked all the boxes, pissed in a pot.’

  He chuckled, which erased the crease between his eyebrows. Then he pulled his hands out of his pockets, straightened up and gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Well, I’m not going to ask you to piss in any more pots this morning.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad about that.’

  Kaz allowed the smile to wash over her. With it he was unnervingly gorgeous. He had dark curly hair, looked vaguely foreign, but there was something else, another element and it didn’t quite click. Inside Kaz had encountered a parade of professional helpers, they all had different titles and functions: offender manager, offender supervisor, probation officer, therapist. But to Kaz they all belonged to the same breed, ‘the social’, and you could spot them a mile off.

  She scanned her visitor, he could be a support worker, his clothes were scruffy enough and he had that middle class, bleeding-heart air. But something was off-kilter and experience made her wary. She returned his smile. ‘As you can see, I just woke up.’

  ‘Yeah, well, y’know. I only wanted to introduce myself, touch base.’

  She was aware of his eyes roving over her body, but not like your average perve. He seemed to be doing it more as an exercise, signalling that he fancied her. Then the penny dropped. Kaz gave him a sardonic grin.

  ‘And how is Woodentop?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Woodentop. I presume you’re one of his boys.’

  Bradley put his head on one side and sighed; he hadn’t expected to be rumbled quite so fast. He thought about lying, but decided it was futile. ‘They said you were bright.’

  ‘Could be you’re just crap.’

  He smiled weakly. Of course she was right. He stood there, his cheeks reddening, his career as an undercover cop over before it’d begun. He blamed Turnbull for pimping him out this way. But mainly he blamed himself for agreeing. Kaz continued to stare at him, her expression unreadable. She probably thought he was a complete moron. He was a complete moron. He sighed deeply.

  ‘Look . . . maybe we could . . . have a chat?’

  ‘A chat?’

  ‘Yeah, I could . . . buy you a coffee if you like. There’s a place down the road.’

  Kaz started to laugh. Was this really the best they could do? He was handsome in a sappy sort of way. But did they seriously think she’d fall for this? Still chuckling, she shook her head. ‘Okay, this is the spiel I gave Woodentop when he came to visit me inside. Now I’ll give it you. I’m stuck with my family, love ’em or hate ’em, just like you’re stuck with yours. But I have no involvement any more and no intention of being involved in . . . what shall we call it, the family business.’

  ‘We accept that.’

  ‘Good. ’Cause I just wanna go to college and get on with my life. I don’t plan on breaking no laws.’

  Kaz’s response provided Bradley with a few vital seconds to gather his wits. He decided to stop playing nice and go back to being a copper. ‘You really think Joey’s going to let you do that?’

  Kaz cocked her head. Now he was being snotty and that didn’t amuse her. ‘Listen . . . Malcolm,’ she spat the name at him, making it sound like an insult.

  He jutted his chin. ‘Actually it’s Malik, not Malcolm. My mum’s Persian.’

  ‘So? I don’t care if you just rode up on a fucking camel.’

  ‘I was born in Basingstoke. Not a lot of camels down that way.’

  ‘Whatever. You know fuck all about me or my brother.’

  ‘I can give you a ballpark estimate of the number of people he’s suspected of murdering or having murdered in the last three years.’

  Kaz thought about slamming the door in his face. She knew what bastards they could be, now here was the proof. ‘Yeah? Well I was in the nick, so I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘I’ve been reading your file quite carefully. The psychiatric evaluations – you’re not like him Karen. He’s a cold-blooded killer. And you don’t have to cover up for him any more.’

  Kaz folded her arms tightly across her chest; she knew he was lying, it was typical, they’d make up anything about anyone. But she wasn’t about to let him push her buttons, she was determined to front this out.

  ‘So why’d he pick you, eh? The prettiest boy in the office? I’m gonna shag you and tell all? Is that Woodentop’s plan?’

  Bradley had the grace to blush, he couldn’t help it.

  Kaz shook her head. ‘What a bunch of tossers!’

  Bradley sighed, this was going nowhere, it was a complete balls-up. He gave a diffident shrug. ‘You’re right, this is bollocks. Truth is the hats at the Yard don’t give a monkey’s whether you go straight or not. And Woodentop’s not going to go away. They’ll hound you Karen.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘But there is a way out of this.’

  ‘Yeah? And, what, you’re my fairy godfather?’

  The door to the next room opened and a young African girl came out, she gave them a nervous smile.

  Bradley’s eyes didn’t leave Kaz’s face. ‘Let me come in for a minute. Listen to the deal I’m offering. If it’s not fair, then I’m on my way.’

  Kaz glanced at her neighbour; they’d exchanged a few pleasantries the previous evening. Kaz gave her a nod. ‘You all right?’

  The girl was frightened and needy and too young to cope
with all the trouble she’d landed in. But Kaz didn’t want to adopt her, she’d been through plenty of that inside. So she turned to Bradley. ‘You got two minutes. Clock’s ticking.’

  Bradley nodded and followed her into the room. He moved immediately over to the window, making sure to give her plenty of space. Kaz felt exposed in her skimpy vest and pyjama bottoms, but she wasn’t letting him know that. She put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Okay, let’s hear the pitch.’

  Bradley took a deep breath. ‘Any information you pass to me is in the strictest confidence.’

  Kaz spluttered at the hilarity of this.

  ‘Karen, the CPS are not going to want to put you, a convicted felon, in the witness box. So that makes the whole thing simple. You tell me what’s going down and when, the heavy mob arrive and nick them red-handed. No one ever need know of your involvement. You’re my anonymous informant. I’ll never reveal your identity.’

  Kaz raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘How you financing your belated education? Student loan? Believe me, that doesn’t go far.’

  ‘I’ll get a part-time job.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky. Even shit jobs there are dozens of applicants for every vacancy. And you’re an ex-con. Going straight is going to be harder than you think.’

  Kaz gave him a baleful look. ‘You don’t say.’

  He smiled like a magician about to pull a rabbit out of the hat. ‘You’ll manage much better with a totally legitimate monthly sub from the Metropolitan Police. We have a special fund for informants.’

  Kaz shook her head. ‘I’ll bet you do.’

  Bradley puffed his cheeks. He had that young male arrogance, like Joey in many ways. ‘So? What d’you reckon? If you really want to go straight, go to college, this is the deal. It’s a no brainer.’

  Kaz had to smile, she couldn’t help it. ‘Don’t take this too personally Malik, but there’ll only ever be one answer: fuck off.’

  He ruminated on this for a moment. ‘Is that fuck off maybe or fuck off definitely?’

  Kaz laughed, this was getting surreal. ‘Even if I did fancy dobbing my own brother in, don’t you think he, or some of his mates, might put two and two together? I know they haven’t got your schooling Mal, no posh degrees, but they ain’t daft.’

  ‘We can protect you.’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  Kaz held out her hand to shake. She realized that the years inside had changed her. Sparring with cops now brought her a kind of wry amusement. She could see straight through him and out the other side. This relaxed her, made her feel confident. The anger had long since evaporated.

  ‘Very nice meeting you PC Malik. Now if you don’t fuck off definitely and conclusively I’ll set my lawyer on you. She’s a bit of an anarchist at heart, loves having a pop at the old bill. But Woodentop already knows that.’

  Bradley took her proffered hand. His look was steady, the handshake firm with a gentle squeeze. She felt his palm soft and dry. He hooked into her gaze, treated her to the smile again. ‘I’ll see you around Kaz.’

  Kaz stood at the door smiling to herself as he set off down the hall. He turned to give her a nod as Joey came bounding up the stairs towards him two at a time. Joey stopped, allowing Bradley to slip past. Then he paused at the sight of Kaz in her doorway. He didn’t say anything but walked down the hall grinning like an idiot, arms wide open. Kaz had no choice but to be hoisted off her feet in a brotherly hug. Though he’d visited her regularly in prison the reality, the hard-muscled solidity of him, was a shock. Younger he might be, but there was nothing little about him any more. He held her at arm’s length, tilted his head to one side, fixed her with those piercing blue eyes.

  ‘Who’s the fella then?’

  Kaz didn’t miss a beat. ‘Social. Works here. He was just . . . well, y’know, seeing if there was anything I needed.’

  Joey considered this for a moment then tipped back his head and howled with laughter.

  ‘You slapper! You naughty naughty girl! Only been out five minutes and already you’ve pulled!’ Tears of laughter coursed down Joey’s cheeks.

  Kaz smiled. ‘Yeah. And?’

  Joey turned and Kaz realized that someone had followed him up the stairs.

  ‘Now you know where I get it from.’ Still convulsed with mirth, he drew his companion forward. ‘You remember Ashley.’

  Kaz remembered a weedy boy with corrosive acne, who’d shadowed Joey all through school. Now she faced a smaller, shyer clone of Joey. He smiled nervously. Joey clapped him on the back.

  ‘Actually, I brought him along in case you was in need of a quickie. Six years is a long time to be banged up with a load of dykes. He’s a real studmuffin, ain’t you Ash?’

  Ashley reddened. Kaz gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘I think I can sort myself out on that score little brother.’

  Joey snorted. ‘I can see that.’

  Ashley, visibly relieved that he wasn’t to be called upon to service the boss’s sister, managed to open his mouth and speak. ‘All right Kaz? Joey’s been like a kid waiting for Christmas.’

  Kaz gazed at her brother’s beaming face. He slipped one arm round her shoulder, the other round Ashley’s.

  ‘Well boys and girls, Christmas has come early this year. I got the whole day planned. But first up we are going shopping!’

  6

  Nicci Armstrong had been hiding all morning. The women’s toilet, the canteen, anywhere but the incident room. These avoidance tactics had nothing to do with laziness. She’d made DS in record time because she was smart and she was a grafter. The Job was her life, she loved it, which was probably why her marriage had gone down the pan. That and the fact she’d been promoted out of uniform way before Tim.

  They’d met at Hendon as equals and mates and as she surged ahead her jokey, easy-going husband pretended that he preferred being a traffic cop, far more fun burning up and down the motorway. When she took time out to have Sophie he changed his tune though. He got his head down and got serious. He saw himself as provider and protector for his wife and baby and it became increasingly apparent that’s how he thought it should be. He didn’t want Nicci to go back to work, but she was never going to be a stay-at-home mum and that’s when the rows had begun.

  Nicci poured herself a strong black coffee and took it back to her desk. She clicked her phone on just to see her daughter’s smiling face. Then she returned to her computer screen and tried to concentrate. She’d been hiding out to avoid having to accompany the SIO to the post-mortem currently being performed on Alex Marlow. This was a dead cop so they were going to town. The Home Office’s most senior pathologist was conducting it himself. But Nicci knew what it would confirm: Alex had been bludgeoned to death, chucked in the river, and they had not a scrap of evidence to connect it to Joey Phelps.

  She scrolled through the case notes. She’d been in charge of Marlow’s backup and since he went off the grid two weeks ago she’d worked herself into a sleepless frenzy trying to find him. The trace on his phone hadn’t been that accurate. Heavy traffic on the network caused it to ping off various masts in the vicinity of Whipps Cross Hospital. They’d done a search of the immediate area, every dumpster, wheelie bin and lock-up. They’d come up with a couple of dope dealers and a large stash of illegal cigarettes, but no sign of Alex or his phone.

  When she and Tim finally split up, Alex Marlow had been her divorce buddy. He’d been friends with both of them but he took her side, which at the time felt like a moral victory. He’d listened to her rants, gone over the paperwork with her, accompanied her to the so-called mediation sessions, threatened to punch Tim’s lights out on one memorable occasion and babysat Sophie. And Nicci had discovered that having a gay man in this role was perfect.

  Her parents were disappointed with her; they basically agreed with Tim, she should be at home with her daughter. Her unmarried girlfriends seemed to relish her failure and the married ones gave her a wide berth in case
it was catching. So bitching and drinking and clubbing with a gay bloke and his mates had got her through.

  Alex didn’t look or behave like anyone’s idea of a homosexual. On a night out he could queen it up with the best, but the rest of the time, if he seemed to be anything, it was a copper’s copper. Large, lean, gym-fit with a mordant sense of humour, he was always popular on the team. He made no secret of being gay, but he didn’t advertise it either. He didn’t join any organizations or carry any banners.

  One of Nicci’s frustrations, the question that had kept her up at night, that she was desperate to ask him, was how the fuck did he let Joey Phelps get the drop on him? He was a tough bloke, why didn’t he fight back? Beat the shit out of the twisted little fucker. But in a way she already knew the answer.

  Alex had jumped at the opportunity to go undercover. To the bosses he was eminently qualified, but it was probably only Nicci who knew that he had a thing for Joey Phelps. Phelps was handsome and dangerous, a fatal combination for Alex. As far as anyone knew, Joey was straight. His taste was fairly predictable: glamour models and actresses, anything fuckable that also looked good on his arm and confirmed his status. Alex never lost sight of what Joey was or the task in hand. But still there was part of him that loved hanging with the bad boys, worshipping at the shrine of testosterone-driven power. Nicci’s private view, which she’d never expressed to anyone, was that Alex Marlow had fallen in love with his murderer.

  Nicci sipped her coffee and scanned the office. There were few people about, leads were being followed, witnesses sought. She felt vaguely guilty; since she didn’t have the stomach for the PM she herself should be out there working the case. But she was exhausted, close to breaking point and she knew it. All she wanted was to go home, hug her child and curl up on the sofa until the pain stopped.

  She was staring into space, trying to pull herself together, when the new DC wandered across her eyeline. He was called Bradley and according to the DCI, he’d been asked by Turnbull to go undercover. Just the notion of this struck her like a slap in the face. It was an insult to even imagine that anyone could step into Alex Marlow’s shoes. She knew this was an emotional reaction dictated by grief, but still what the fuck was some rookie DC going to achieve that Alex couldn’t?