Informant

by Susan Wilkins

  Kaz exhaled, plonked down on the bed next to him. ‘Think we both were mate.’

  ‘Part of me wanted to turn meself in. Then the old man got hold of me. Well . . . you don’t need me to spell out how that went.’

  Kaz shook her head sympathetically.

  ‘When he’d finished beating the shit out of me he said you knew the score, you’d never grass. And there was no point both of us going down. But it was my job to take care of things while you was away. That was my part of the deal.’

  Kaz shifted uncomfortably. ‘Joe, a lot’s changed in six years. I’m not the same person. I’m not out of my box on crack, for a start.’

  Joey seized her hand. ‘I ain’t the same either. I mean I know I muck about. But even back then I started to do some thinking. I mean proper thinking. Took me a while, but I got me head straight. Bunking off school, getting wasted – why did we do all that?’

  ‘To escape all this?’

  ‘Yeah well I started to think, at school they was on at us all the time to read books. Okay, I thought, I’ll read some fucking books, see what all the fuss is about. I was amazed, it’s all out there once you start looking. And on the Net you can find out about anything. I never took an exam in my life, but in the last six years I’ve learnt how the world works.’

  ‘Believe me little brother, I’m impressed.’

  ‘I knew nothing’d change while the old man was running things, so I kept me head down, waited. Then he had his stroke.’ Joey’s eyes lit up at the memory. ‘I went down the hospital with Mum. We thought he’d bought it. Then the doctors pulled him through.’

  Kaz gave him a cynical glance. ‘Bet that cheered everyone up.’

  Joey smiled. Then the warmth faded out of his face. ‘I dunno what made him survive. Bloody-mindedness probably. All that bastard ever cared about was having his own way. He’s a fucking monster.’

  A tear welled up in the corner of Joey’s eye, Kaz took both of his hands in hers.

  ‘You think I don’t realize you got the short straw. I was the lucky one – least I got away from him.’

  Joey let her hold on to him for a moment. Then he stood up, angrily brushing the tears away.

  ‘All the stuff he done to you and Mum over the years . . . when I see him in that chair I think, yeah mate, I hope you’re still in there, trapped inside your own bonce, screaming to get out.’

  Kaz watched her brother pacing the room, fuelled with inner rage. She got up and went to him. ‘Joe, I know how much it hurts, but . . . you gotta let it go, put it behind you.’

  He turned, seized her by the shoulders, his grip so powerful she winced.

  ‘Yeah, I know. I know!’ His eyes glistened with tears and fervour. ‘And now you’re out babes, I can. It’s gonna be me and you together, like it used to be. I been waiting, I been planning.’

  Kaz eased herself free, rubbed her arm.

  He looked mortified. ‘Sorry, did I hurt you?’

  ‘Don’t matter. Look, there’s a lot we need to talk about. I got some plans of me own.’

  ‘Great. Whatever. Bring it to the table.’ Joey gave her a wide smile, pulled out a tissue and blew his nose; his rage had evaporated as suddenly as it’d come.

  Kaz watched him, the same rapid mood swings as when he was a kid. Always sunshine and showers with Joey, that’d been the family joke. Now he was bouncing round the room, he picked up one of the gonks, tossed it playfully in the air.

  ‘Right, sod this.’ He tossed aside the toy and checked his watch. ‘Half nine, we’ll never make South London by ten, not even the way I drive. I’ll call the lawyers, get them on it with the hostel. We pay ’em enough.’

  Kaz shook her head. ‘It’s all right, I sorted it. Phoned them earlier. I’ve got to see my probation officer tomorrow anyway and he’s in Basildon. So I got permission to stay over.’

  A knowing smile spread over Joey’s features. ‘You’re a little tinker, ’n’t you? You just wanted to give me a bollocking!’

  Kaz gave him a hard stare. ‘No, I wanted you to see my point of view.’

  ‘I do see it babes.’ Joey nodded sagely. ‘They get you every which way, the bastards, don’t they?’ He scanned the room and started to giggle. ‘As for this … Still, kept her happy doing it I guess.’

  ‘She lives in fantasy land Joey. She always did. This is just a different fantasy.’

  ‘You don’t wanna stay here, come back to my place tonight.’ He raised his hand to pre-empt any objection. ‘I’ll take you to Basildon tomorrow myself. You’ll be on time I promise. Less you wanna sleep with the gonks.’

  He waggled one of the pink furry creatures in her face. She smiled, the day had exhausted her. Why shouldn’t she stay at his place? Who’d know?

  ‘What’s it like then, your gaff?’

  ‘It’s all right. Don’t worry, it’s got two bathrooms, so you ain’t gonna be grossed out by Ash. Also it’ll give me a chance to bring you up to speed with the business—’

  Kaz held up her hand. This was what she’d been afraid of: his assumptions and the unstoppable tide of his enthusiasm.

  ‘Look, don’t get me wrong, you’ve done really well for yourself, but . . .’

  Joey stood stock-still, his face a picture of boyish incredulity. ‘Not for myself. No.’ He shook his head emphatically. ‘For us. I done it for us. My part of the deal, like the old man said. Half the business is yours babes. You served the time for both of us, so you’ve earned it. We’re partners.’

  9

  Helen Warner told the taxi driver to drop her in Birdcage Walk at the edge of the park. From there she walked round the corner to the conference centre giving herself time to calm any nerves and focus. She was used to meeting people from all walks of life, getting up and speaking, she did enough of that in court. But this was a new departure for her, the first tentative steps in what she hoped would lead to a parliamentary career. She was thirty-two, a successful lawyer, she had all the right credentials, it was time to get moving.

  She entered the QEII conference centre by the main entrance, passed through security and saw that the event she was attending was in the Churchill Auditorium, an interesting choice, she thought, given the subject matter.

  The room was about half full, maybe a hundred or so people. She was handed a glossy brochure at the door emblazoned with the title ‘Broken Britain – A Way Forward’. Taking it she reflected that if they spent the money laid out on this shindig in some of the daggy neighbourhoods that had been the tinderbox for the riots, that might be a step in the right direction. She glanced round the room, saw a couple of Labour Party policy wonks she recognized; they gave her a friendly nod, and she took a seat towards the back.

  On her feet at the podium Assistant Commissioner Fiona Calder was presenting her opening remarks. It was all pretty standard stuff: alienation, gangs, poor role models, bad parenting, exclusion from consumer culture. Calder was a small woman, but made up for that fact with a large presence. She also looked good in the uniform, not all women did. Helen tried to listen, but she’d heard it all before, read it, regurgitated it herself. Since the August riots of the previous year she’d acquired a roster of new clients. The crackdown on criminality promised by the government had brought her firm a twenty per cent upturn in business and a slew of juicy appeals.

  Helen leafed through the brochure, admired the spectacular photos of London burning. Then she let her eyes range around the room, checking out who she recognized, who was on her networking list. It took her a few moments to become aware of the man sitting close to the podium on the Assistant Commissioner’s right-hand side. She realized with a start that he was staring straight at her. It was Detective Chief Superintendent Alan Turnbull and as soon as he caught her eye he smiled.

  Helen spent the coffee break on the fringes of a group she vaguely knew; some lads from Labour HQ were baiting a fat Lib-Dem, who was unfortunate enough to have a very junior role at the Home Office. She saw Turnbull bearing down on her, but there was nowh
ere to run. As usual he was immaculately turned out: a tailored suit, silk tie with platinum tiepin. As he held out his hand to shake, Helen reflected he dressed more like a high-priced corporate lawyer than a policeman.

  ‘Ms Warner! I thought it was you.’

  It was impossible to ignore him. His handshake was a grip, a subtle demonstration of his hidden physical power.

  ‘I see the Feds are out in force today Superintendent.’

  He smiled, crinkling the flesh round his eyes as if her quip had really amused him.

  ‘I’m only here to give the Assistant Commissioner some moral support. But I’m glad I ran into you.’

  ‘Isn’t that what these things are for, running into people?’

  He smiled again, Helen found him hard to dislike. He was certainly a cut above the average senior cop. As a lawyer Helen had dealt with quite a few, mostly they were snotty and arrogant. But Turnbull had an easy manner.

  ‘How’s your client?’

  ‘Which one? I’ve got over fifty.’

  ‘I was thinking of Karen Phelps. She’s a special project of yours, isn’t she? Bit of a poster girl for the rehabilitation of offenders?’

  There was only a hint of sarcasm in his tone. Helen painted on a smile. Did he have any inkling of just how special or was he simply being a cop? She concluded the latter.

  ‘She’s fine, but she’d be even better if you lot’d stay off her case.’

  Suddenly the smile vanished. Turnbull sighed and fixed her with a serious look.

  ‘Something you don’t know, but probably should, is that we had an undercover officer who got pretty close to Joey Phelps. We’ve just pulled his body out the river. Looks like Phelps murdered him.’

  He scanned her face, waiting for the reaction this news would bring. But Helen wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. She shook her head.

  ‘C’mon, what’s that got to do with Karen? She’s been in jail and she has no involvement in her brother’s criminality. I’m sure she knows nothing about it.’

  Turnbull inclined his head to one side as if dealing with a recalcitrant child.

  ‘My point is, Joey Phelps has murdered a police officer. What do you think he’s going to do to his sister when he finds out she’s been talking to us?’

  Helen raised her chin. This was really beginning to piss her off. ‘She hasn’t been talking to you, you’ve been badgering her and she’s made her position very clear. She’s not prepared to act as an informant and you can’t force her to. And if you continue to harass her . . .’

  ‘One of my officers went to visit her at the hostel. He even bumped into Joey. Now I wonder how Karen will have explained that away? If she lied, that could be tricky. Joey Phelps is not stupid, he sees the same officer hanging round Karen a couple more times, he’s going to get curious. In a paranoid individual like him, who knows how that’ll play out?’

  Helen stared at him in disbelief. ‘What is this? You’re setting her up? You’re hoping to provoke him into attacking his own sister?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m merely trying to point out to you the dangers of her situation. She’s not going to be safe to get on with her life until her brother is behind bars. You need to persuade her Ms Warner. It’s for her own good. I’m not the enemy, you need to tell her that.’

  Helen met Turnbull’s gaze directly. He exuded a confident masculinity. Crossing swords with him was exhilarating, at the same time Helen felt at a disadvantage. Some men seemed to be able to do that to her and she hated it.

  He produced a business card from his pocket. ‘Let’s keep in touch.’

  Helen took the card, but she wasn’t about to let him think he’d won. She eyeballed him, gave him the tough stare that had put the fear of God in more than one CPS lawyer.

  ‘Two things Superintendent. Karen Phelps has served her time and provided she abides by the terms of her licence she’s entitled to get on with her life free from police harassment. And if I have to go to the IPCC and lodge a formal complaint, I will. Secondly, even if I tried to persuade her, I don’t think I could. She’s given you her answer, she’s not going to change her mind. So back off.’

  Turnbull smiled, inclined his head. ‘Sooner or later he’ll turn on her. You know that, I know that. You really want that on your conscience?’

  It was a hit, Helen’s face remained a mask but they both knew it. Helen had expressed exactly that fear to Kaz on several occasions. But Kaz had simply dismissed it; Joey would never harm her. Helen wasn’t convinced.

  Turnbull knew he’d made his point. He gave her a lop-sided grin. ‘Come on Helen, are we that different, you and me? I’ll tell you how I look at it. Justice system can’t cope, the government’s got its head up its arse, police morale’s the lowest it’s ever been. But still the likes of us, we soldier on don’t we? Why?’ He glanced over her left shoulder with a faraway look in his eye. Then he sighed. ‘Fact is, we get on with it, don’t we. Do the job as best we can. Surely we’re on the same side you and me?’

  Helen inclined her head and laughed. ‘Nice speech. I’m still not buying.’

  Turnbull let his gaze travel round the room, then he zoned back in on her. ‘Well no one comes to these things for fun, do they? So my guess is you’re planning a career move. Politics is a whole new ball game. You’ll be needing a few friends and allies. And as you said yourself, Karen Phelps is one client.’

  Their eyes met, he seemed completely relaxed, which was maddening.

  ‘Good to talk to you.’

  Helen watched him snake his way across the room. He homed in on Marcus Foxley, the Deputy Mayor for Policing and Crime. Foxley grasped his hand and gave him a blokey pat on the shoulder. Helen let her annoyance escape in a breathy hiss; bastard was just showing her how well connected he was. Rubbing her nose in it.

  She turned and walked away. She strode down the first corridor she came to until she found a quiet spot. Then she took out her phone, clicked it on and anxiously scanned the text she’d received earlier from Kaz: scuse mistakes jus getting hang of this been staying at mum and dads all ok b in touch K.

  Helen sighed as she clicked the phone off; on a personal and professional front this was all getting way too complicated.

  10

  Kaz stood before the wall-to-ceiling plate-glass window gazing out. Joey’s place was on the south bank of the Thames close to the Tate Modern. In one of the upscale new developments, which clustered behind the gallery, it commanded a river view with the dome of St Paul’s as a backdrop. She strolled over to the kitchen area and poured herself another coffee. She’d made a whole pot of Blue Mountain Arabica using the state-of-the-art coffee-maker. She wandered round the room letting the caffeine hum through her veins. Having given up cigarettes during her last year inside she was delighted to discover that there was still one hit she could legitimately indulge in.

  She’d slept like a log cocooned in a vast double bed in the apartment’s spare bedroom. It had its own en suite plus there was a shared bathroom with a massive Jacuzzi. The place was remarkably clean and tidy, she thought, considering it was occupied by Joey and Ashley. She later discovered a couple of Polish blokes in neat blue overalls turned up every afternoon at three, blitzed through the whole flat in less than an hour and disappeared again.

  As Kaz sipped her coffee her eyes roamed around the minimalist space. A large 3D, flat-screen TV dominated one wall with a stack of Blu-ray discs and a PlayStation on a shelf underneath. She was surprised to see a dozen or so books next to the discs. The titles ranged from self-help manuals about how to succeed in business to a couple of heavy-looking economics tomes. She pulled one out of the neat row: The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. It didn’t strike her as being very Joey, but then what did she really know about him now? Six years of prison visits had only provided a series of snapshots of a boy turning into a man.

  The front door opened and Joey bustled in with a couple of carriers of shopping. He dumped them down on the kitchen counter and beamed.
‘Great. You’re up. But it is only half eleven.’

  Kaz yawned. ‘Think my body clock’s up the creek ever since I got out.’

  Joey unloaded his bag. ‘We got pastries, some oranges to juice’ – he pulled out a pack of bacon – ‘plus, you ask me nicely, I’ll make you the best bacon butty you’ve had in your entire life.’

  Kaz grinned. ‘Okay, I’ll give that a go.’

  Joey pulled out a frying pan from the pristine bank of cupboards. ‘I sent Ashley on an errand, give me and you a chance to talk business.’

  ‘Thought Ashley was part of the business?’

  ‘Up to a point. He’s a good lad, don’t get me wrong. Totally loyal. But when it comes down to it, he’s not the sharpest card in the pack.’

  Kaz absorbed this. She’d been hoping to persuade her brother that while he had a sidekick like Ashley he didn’t really need her. ‘But he is your best mate.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’re my sister.’

  ‘Don’t give me that family first crap. ’Cause I’d run a million miles to get away from our lot.’

  Joey laughed. Kaz watched him slapping the rashers in the pan, he was a complicated boy, always had been. She remembered him as a small child, clinging to her when the old man went on the rampage. Usually they’d hide in one of the many cupboards in the house and frequently Joey would wet himself. It always made him cry, tears of rage and shame. But Kaz would tell him it didn’t matter, she’d clean him up and then she’d cuddle him until he fell asleep.

  As the delectable aroma of frying bacon rose up from the pan, Joey glanced at her. He raised his index finger, ticking off a mental list. ‘So . . . number one, let’s start with Ibiza.’

  Kaz took a deep breath, it was now or never. ‘Hang on, I got some stuff I need to say first.’

  He stared at her. His expression was hard to decipher. Joey didn’t like to be thwarted, Kaz knew him well enough to read impatience behind the look. But he simply shrugged. ‘Fire away.’