Bradley caught Nicci Armstrong’s eye; she was still steaming and was shifting impatiently from foot to foot. Turnbull stepped forward placing himself centre stage.
‘Right, this is a bloody shambles.’ He shot an accusing glance at Mayhew. ‘But here’s what we’re going to do. Bradley clearly needs help. Armstrong, you’ll become his handler, work closely with him from now on. It’s quite likely Karen Phelps became an accessory to murder this morning. So I want you on her case. Relentlessly. Threaten her with recall, do what you have to. She is going to be our chiz. And I couldn’t give a monkey’s uncle about maintaining a sterile corridor between her and the team. We don’t have the time or resources for that.’
Turnbull was warming to his theme. What he was saying was obvious, but somehow the pitch and delivery made his words sound momentous, even epic. He raised a finger, pointed it decisively at Mayhew.
‘Bill, Joey Phelps is our target and I don’t want Essex Police muscling in on the act. They want us to put details of our investigation up on HOLMES so they can access it. Well bugger that. Phelps murdered a police officer and that takes precedence over some two-bit drug dealer. Surveillance is key, we need to up our game.’
Turnbull paused and scanned the room. Most eyes were on him, although there was a bit of fidgeting, so he lowered his voice, adopting a softer more personal tone. ‘I don’t need to remind any of you that we’ve lost a valued colleague, not to mention a friend. So I want a hundred and fifty per cent from everyone. Time we nailed this bastard, so let’s get out there and let’s do it.’
Turnbull took a deep breath and smiled. That was it, briefing over.
As Turnbull sailed off through the swing doors and down the corridor Bradley turned to Nicci.
‘Thanks for that Sarge.’
She gave him a cursory glance and started to walk away. ‘Didn’t do it for you.’
Nicci joined Mayhew, who was pouring himself a coffee.
‘Sorry boss, but I wasn’t going to let him mug me. Not in front of the whole team.’
Mayhew smiled, patted her arm. He was a slow, benign bloke, nothing ruffled his feathers. ‘Don’t fret Nic. I’m his designated bum-boy, not you.’
Nicci ran her fingers through her hair wearily. ‘He blames everything on the bloody cuts. More like his lousy management.’
Mayhew shrugged this off, wiped a hand across his sagging face. ‘He’s been acting odd, I don’t know what he’s up to. Still, least you nailed him on the surveillance, which should help. Now I can insist on two units.’
Nicci poured herself a coffee. ‘So what was this bollocks about anyway? Why an emergency briefing?’
Mayhew gave a rumbling laugh. ‘Essex Police got him on the blower. Assistant Chief Constable no less. Started to throw his weight about. They plan to pull Joey Phelps in and they expect our full support and cooperation. Want it to be their collar. Turnbull went apeshit.’
Nicci grinned. ‘I’ll bet. Does it never occur to any of them that we’re on the same side?’
Mayhew sank half a cup of coffee in one gulp. ‘Turnbull’s got to keep an eye on his score sheet. Days like this I just think about my pension.’
Nicci topped up the mug for him. ‘I’ve been trying to get a line on these bastards in the Beamer. I got Payne trawling the Hendon database for more sightings. But they’re totally off the radar.’
Mayhew sighed. ‘Would be. Foreign, ex-military – smart move on Joey’s part. There are plenty of Russians in London, better to have them working for you than going into competition.’
Bradley came to the coffee station behind them, poured himself a mug. Then he sidled forward. ‘Listen, can I have a word?’
Mayhew and Nicci both turned to look at him.
‘Okay, so I’m Turnbull’s boy, that’s how everyone’s got me pegged . . .’
Mayhew chuckled. ‘You’re his Exocet missile, lad. The Assistant Commissioner is relying on you. ’Course we can’t admit it’s a honeytrap, ’cause they’re illegal. So it’s all very hush hush, eh Nic?’
She nodded.
‘Which is why we’re all running round fucking clueless, including you I suspect.’
Bradley shifted restlessly. ‘I’ve spent the last three days at a bloody art class.’
Nicci looked him up and down, somehow his obvious good looks annoyed her. But she was working hard to keep her personal emotions in check. The only way she could do that was to focus relentlessly on the job. And that meant dealing with Bradley. She milked her coffee. ‘You tried approaching her yet?’
Bradley looked a bit sheepish. ‘Yeah well I went to the hostel. Posed as a support worker. Unfortunately she made me straight away.’
Nicci laughed out loud. ‘You mean she didn’t swoon into your manly arms? Well there’s a fucking surprise! We’ve got a murderous gangster out there, killed a police officer. And we’re relying on an airhead. A fucking rookie airhead!’
She took her coffee and strode off.
Mayhew gave Bradley a sympathetic look. ‘Nic and Alex Marlow were good mates.’
Bradley huffed. He knew he’d made a mess of things and that was starting to panic him. He didn’t want to plead, that would make him look more stupid. But what was the alternative?
‘Look, I’m not trying to replace Alex Marlow. All I want is to be part of the team and do my job.’
Mayhew nodded, eased the belt on his paunch. He’d seen plenty of versions of Mal Bradley, impressive on paper but not an iota of useful experience. Still, he felt for the lad and he knew Turnbull. If things went wrong, Turnbull would need a scapegoat and Bradley was perfect. He wondered if the young DC had figured that out yet.
He put a hand on Bradley’s shoulder. ‘I know you do. So back to square one, eh. Come in my office and let’s see if we can sort out a way forward with this.’
‘Thank you sir.’
Mayhew laughed. ‘Don’t call me sir. Everyone will think you’re a bloody rookie.’
Bradley hung his head. He shot a baleful look across the room to where Nicci Armstrong was lounging at her desk, phone to her ear.
Mayhew followed his gaze. ‘And you need to get on with her. When you’re undercover, your backup is your lifeline. Plus she’s probably the best copper on this team.’
15
Karen was pacing her mother’s kitchen. Her attempts to take control of the situation had been a dismal failure. Joey wasn’t answering his phone, Ashley and the Russians had simply dumped Kaz and her sister back here and driven off.
Ellie had fussed over Natalie like a mother hen. Kaz discovered that her sister’s bedroom had received a makeover very similar to her own, except Natalie’s colour scheme was yellow. Kaz had watched as Ellie settled her daughter under the plump duvet and rearranged the cuddly toys around her. Ellie cooed over Natalie as if she were a small child who’d come home from school with a tummy upset and just needed a bit of extra TLC from Mum. The charade simply annoyed Kaz; their life had never been like that.
Now Kaz faced her mother across the sleek granite worktops. Ellie was pouring boiling water from the kettle into a smart spotted teapot.
‘Nice cup of tea, that’s what we need. I don’t mind a cappuccino or latte when I’m out, but I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker. As your nan used to say, good strong cuppa, always sets you up.’
Kaz watched her mother as she rattled off this litany of nonsense. She’d rarely heard Ellie speak of her own mother. Their ‘nan’ had never been more than an abstract concept in their lives. Ellie was the youngest of five in a family of dockers, who’d shown her the door when she hooked up with Terry Phelps. The ‘nan’ in question took a dim view of her daughter’s attempts to better herself by marrying a villain, and Terry was not the sort of bloke to tolerate criticism from his mother-in-law. As a result Ellie became completely estranged from her family and didn’t attend her mother’s funeral. Kaz had never met any of them.
Ellie took down two flowery mugs from the cupboard. ‘You still take milk
and sugar? Joey still spoons it in, like when he was a little boy.’
‘Mum, I don’t want a cup of tea.’
Ellie was already pouring, but she paused mid-flow and gave Kaz a critical glance. ‘Suit yourself lovey. But I think it’d make you feel better.’
Kaz wanted to scream at her, but she reined herself in, focusing on the greenery out of the kitchen window. ‘What would make me feel better is to have a sensible conversation about the state Natalie’s in and what we’re going to do about it.’
Ellie picked up her mug, cupped her hands round it. ‘Oopsy, bit hot! Silly me.’ She put the mug back on the counter.
Kaz crossed her arms and huffed in disbelief. ‘Mum?’
Ellie was intent on carefully lifting the hot mug by its handle. She balanced it between thumb and index finger, took a tiny sip of tea.
‘Well I don’t know what to say about it lovey. You’ll have to have a word with Doctor Iqbal yourself when he gets here.’
Kaz glared at her.
‘What? Who the fuck’s Doctor Iqbal?’
‘Oh he’s very expensive. But Joey sees to all that. He’s helped us before when Natalie’s been bad.’
‘Hang on, who’s called him? You?’
Ellie gave her a blank look, as if it should all be quite obvious.
‘No, Joey’s called him. Then sent me a text. Came just before you arrived.’
Kaz digested this. She wanted to scream at her mother. She could see what Ellie was up to. It was all a deliberate wind-up designed to put Kaz in her place. But Kaz refused to rise to the bait.
‘What is he then, some kind of addiction specialist?’
Ellie stirred two large sugars into her tea. ‘Oh yes, he’s very specialist. Nice manners too. Speaks perfect English, you can understand every word.’
‘Why did no one mention him before?’
Ellie gave her an aggrieved look. ‘You never asked. You jump to conclusions, my girl, always did. You come home, start throwing your weight about. You think we ain’t tried to get Nat off the drugs?’ Ellie fingered the small gold crucifix at her neck and a tear welled up in the corner of her eye. ‘We tried everything. As God is my witness, I spent nights sitting up, crying over that child.’
This was about as much of her mother’s shtick as Kaz could take. She turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen.
Kaz stomped through the sitting room and found refuge in the newly built conservatory. It was awash with exotic plants. She had wondered who in the Phelps clan had the patience or the skills to nurture anything and make it grow. Then she’d learnt the secret from her mother:
‘Couple of illegals that work for Joey – Vietnamese I think. Always very polite. They pop in twice a week, do everything. Joey reckons they’re dead clever, can make any sort of plant grow. They grow stuff for him. Suppose it’s all them rice paddies.’
Kaz found herself a chair between lush greenery, sat down and took out her mobile. Joey had bought it for her on their shopping trip and she’d nearly got the hang of it. She clicked onto Helen’s number, chose office over mobile and let it ring. She didn’t know what the hell she was going to say. She wanted to scream help, but that wouldn’t be cool. In spite of the panic that was tearing up her insides Helen’s good opinion still mattered.
The phone rang several times then went to voicemail. Kaz checked her new watch: Gucci, gold and platinum – another ‘essential’ picked up on the shopping trip. It was half past six, so Helen must’ve left for the day. Kaz was about to try her mobile, when she became aware of a low snuffling whimper. She peered through the foliage, it was coming from the other side of the conservatory and it was getting louder. It sounded like an animal, a stray dog maybe that had got shut in. But that didn’t make any sense. As Kaz got up to investigate, the whimper became a feral whine; she looked around for some kind of stick. She didn’t fancy confronting a trapped animal empty-handed.
Having armed herself with a cane from one of the rubber plants, Kaz stepped forward. Then she saw the source of the noise. Tucked away in a corner between some delicate orchids and a large yucca, Terry Phelps sat slumped in his wheelchair and an angry moan was rising up from his chest into his throat, causing saliva to bubble on his lips. Kaz stood and stared, though it was all she could do not to turn tail and run. His glassy black eyes seemed to bore straight through her, but if there was any recognition in them she couldn’t discern it. The hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle, maybe this tale of a stroke was all some elaborate scam of his and he was about to leap up from the chair and seize her by the throat. She could almost see him start to rise then the fear engulfed her. She stumbled backwards, turned desperately to find the door and fell straight into the arms of Brian.
He caught her by the elbows. ‘Hey, what’s up?’
Kaz pushed him savagely away. Her heart was thumping in her chest. ‘Fuck me, Brian! You scared me half to death!’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to creep up on you. I come for your dad. Heard him carrying on. Bit past his teatime. He gets hungry, he makes his feelings known – don’t you Tel?’
Brian patted his arm and reached for the joystick to put the wheelchair in motion. Kaz sucked in a couple of deep breaths as she fought to appear normal. Fortunately Brian was more intent on manoeuvring the wheelchair out of its corner. His attention was on Terry, who was still whining, but now it was more of a low grumble.
‘I know I know, teatime’s a bit late today. But we got a nice lasagne, you like that.’
Kaz glanced down at her hand, still grasping the cane, realized it was visibly shaking much like the rest of her. So she focused on returning the cane to its slot next to the rubber plant.
Brian was guiding the wheelchair out through the doorway then a thought struck him, he paused and glanced over his shoulder at Kaz. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot – your mum said to tell you Joey’s arrived.’
16
Once Kaz had composed herself she entered the kitchen to find Joey cracking open a beer he’d taken from the fridge. He gave his sister a sunny smile. It was as if nothing had happened.
‘All right babes?’ Then he turned back to Ellie and threw an arm round her shoulder. ‘But the important thing is I don’t want you to worry, Mum.’
Ellie’s expression was petulant, her cheeks were pink and tear-stained. Her fingers were busy shredding a tissue.
‘Ain’t I had enough to contend with? Your dad in a wheelchair, your sister in jail . . .’ She shot an accusing glance at Kaz. ‘Now all this trouble with Natalie. I don’t think my nerves can take it son.’
Joey drew her into a hug. ‘It’ll be all right, I promise.’
Ellie briefly returned the hug, then edged away from him and cast a baleful look in Kaz’s direction. ‘She blames us y’know. Thinks we din’t keep a proper eye on Natalie.’
Joey shook his head. ‘No she don’t Mum. ’Course you don’t, do you Kaz?’
Kaz took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but Ellie didn’t give her the opportunity. She started to wail.
‘I know I ain’t been the best mother in the world. But I loved my babies, all three of them . . . as God is my witness Joey . . .’
Joey pulled her into his arms again, then over her shoulder he mouthed at Kaz: ‘Say something.’
Kaz snorted contemptuously. ‘Like what?’
She glanced through to the dining room where Brian was patiently shovelling liquidized lasagne into Terry Phelps’s slack mouth. It was a messy process, Terry gagged on almost every mouthful and half the food ended up on his improvised bib. Kaz reflected on the years of bullying Brian must’ve endured at her father’s hands. Now he was his part-time nurse, yet there was no resentment. Or there didn’t seem to be. But behind closed doors? Brian had all the power. Kaz rather hoped he abused it.
She looked back at her mother and brother, still locked in each other’s arms; she’d forgotten what a clever manipulator Ellie had always been. Terry had thumped her often enough – that was his
way, he thumped everyone – but he wasn’t an out and out wife-beater. Ellie knew how to play him, just as she was playing Joey now. And it came to Kaz in a blinding flash that that was why she hated her mother so much. Ellie had known only too well what Terry Phelps was doing to his young daughter when he went up to tuck her in every night. But she’d turned a blind eye. Her priority was to keep Terry sweet and stop him from bothering her all the time.
Kaz remembered those long ago desperate attempts to get her mother’s help and protection, and she remembered Ellie’s response: ‘What a lot of nonsense! Your daddy loves you, so don’t you go making up wicked stories ’cause he gives you the odd clout now and again.’
The ‘odd clout’, Kaz thought ruefully. That she could’ve coped with.
The entry system intercom buzzed, Joey went to answer it. Kaz watched from the kitchen window as the heavy wrought-iron gates swung open and a silver Mercedes luxury people carrier with darkened windows drew up in front of the house. A small, sharply suited man in rimless glasses climbed out, flanked by two middle-aged women. Joey already had the door open. He held out his hand.
‘Doctor Iqbal, thanks for coming.’
The doctor smiled politely as his small, neat hand disappeared in Joey’s paw.
‘I’m sorry you have need of my services again Mr Phelps.’
The women wore matching pale mauve nurses’ tunics and one of them carried a black medical case; they followed the doctor into the house.
In the kitchen Ellie glanced resentfully at Kaz, dabbed her eyes with a tissue and swept out into the hallway.
‘Oh Doctor Iqbal, we’ve been having such a time of it. My poor baby, I been so worried.’
Doctor Iqbal gathered both Ellie’s hands in his compact capable clasp.
‘Where is Natalie now Mrs Phelps?’
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