Informant

by Susan Wilkins

  ‘My brother spoke to Doctor Iqbal. We arranged with him that we’d collect Natalie from her flat in Southend and then she’d go back into rehab at his clinic in Yorkshire.’

  Nicci rubbed the side of her nose. ‘If Doctor Iqbal was coming all the way from Yorkshire anyway, why didn’t he accompany you to the flat?’

  Kaz stared straight back at Nicci, her eyes dark and brooding. ‘He’s a busy man. We was grateful that he was prepared to come in person, but we didn’t know exactly what time he’d arrive. So we thought it best to take Natalie to my parents first. Also it gave my mother a chance to see her.’

  Stoneham nodded, glanced at Nicci. It was a look between two experienced officers who knew they were playing the long game. Stoneham let her eyes travel slowly back to Kaz.

  ‘So . . . what happened when you got to the flat?’

  Kaz was warming to the tale, as she spoke she was loosening up. Lies were easy to tell once you got in the swing of it. She’d learnt this as a child. No one could see inside your head. The trick was to think of it as a story, make sure all the details fitted together. But the crucial thing was how you felt. If you felt you were doing something wrong, you’d mess it up. If you felt justified, it was fine. For Kaz, most of the time it felt justified, she’d spent a lifetime telling lies to save her own skin. Growing up in the violent shadow of Terry Phelps, honesty was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She’d followed her mother’s example, telling tales was simply how you survived.

  Kaz let her shoulders relax, she glanced from one detective to the other and began her tale.

  ‘Her boyfriend Jez let us in. He went back in the sitting room downstairs, carried on watching telly. Place is a sort of maisonette. We found Natalie in bed upstairs. She was pretty much out of it. Joey had to help me get her dressed. He carried her downstairs. I went into the sitting room, I told Jez we was leaving. He was crashed out on the sofa, can in his hand, drunk, stoned, I dunno, probably both. I told him we was taking Natalie and she was going back into rehab.’

  Stoneham dipped in. ‘Where was Joey whilst you were doing this?’

  ‘He carried Natalie straight out the flat, Ashley went with him to help. They had to carry her all the way to the car.’

  ‘What did Jez say to you?’

  ‘Nothing. He stared straight through me, like junkies do. So I left, caught up with the others by the lift.’

  ‘Jez didn’t follow you, attempt to stop you?’

  ‘He looked at me for a minute, then he changed channels.’

  Stoneham nodded thoughtfully. ‘So you were the last to leave the flat and Jez Harris was sitting watching television?’

  Kaz nodded. ‘Yeah. We went down in the lift. We was getting Natalie in the back of the car when it happened. There was like this crash. Sort of heavy thud. We all looked round and saw this body had landed on the bins . . .’

  Kaz paused for effect, then she exhaled softly. ‘When we saw it was Jez, we didn’t know what to do. I thought Natalie sees this she’ll freak.’

  Nicci chipped in. ‘But you said she was out of it, had to be carried.’

  Kaz looked at her. ‘She wasn’t completely unconscious. She was dopey, like a rag doll. We wanted to get her away from there. Various other people come running, someone got on their mobile to call an ambulance. There wasn’t nothing we could do, so we left.’

  Stoneham glanced at Nicci then back at Kaz. ‘So how do you think Jez Harris went from sitting on his sofa watching the television to throwing himself off his balcony less than five minutes later?’

  Kaz shook her head. ‘Beats me. Junkies do funny things. I know, I been one. Time gets all out of sync, slows down. You don’t react for ages, then you do.’

  Nicci frowned. ‘So you think it took time for it to sink in that Natalie was gone. But when he realized, he decided to commit suicide?’

  Kaz shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  Nicci inclined her head. ‘Seems a bit impulsive even if he was high. You take his girlfriend off to rehab, so he kills himself. Why would he do that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’m only telling you what happened.’

  Stoneham smiled, linked her fingers loosely in front of her, rested her elbows on the table. ‘C’mon, haven’t you spent enough of your life lying to protect Joey? Where’s it going to end Karen? You’ve just done six years, you’ve got six more on licence. Did you really rob that petrol station all on your own and beat the cashier half to death?’

  Kaz shifted in her seat. ‘That’s water under the bridge.’

  Helen leant forward. ‘That case is closed Chief Inspector. Karen’s come here voluntarily to tell you what happened at her sister’s flat. Unless you have any more questions on that subject I think we’re done.’

  Cheryl Stoneham pushed her chair back. ‘I’d say you went to see your sister, found her in a right state and you lost your rag. Jez Harris was a small-time dealer and general low-life. According to a social worker who tried to help Natalie a couple of years back, she got clean before. Then she went back to Jez. She was dependent on him and he fed her habit. I’d say that’s a pretty good motive for murder.’

  Stoneham fixed Kaz with a direct look. ‘If I hadn’t seen my baby sister for six years, I come home and I find she’s gone down more or less the same path as me, I’d be pretty gutted. So why don’t you tell us what really happened Karen?’

  Kaz met Stoneham’s look and held it. ‘I have told you.’

  Stoneham gave Kaz an appraising stare. ‘Plausible but not convincing. There’s no emotion in it.’

  ‘Yeah all right, when I saw the state of Nat I was upset. But it made me feel I wanna get her out of here, get her home, get her to the doctor. That was my priority and that’s what we did.’

  Kaz locked on Stoneham’s gaze, Helen watched. It was a battle of wills between the two women. There had been a time when her client couldn’t even make eye contact for more than a few seconds. All that had changed. Helen wondered what had really happened in that flat. Stoneham was right, the story was plausible but hardly convincing.

  The detective shook her head slowly. Her tone was rueful. ‘You look strong and fit enough. But Jez Harris was a good six foot, albeit a streak of piss. So I’m guessing it was Joey picked him up and chucked him over the balcony for you. All in a day’s work for Joey, he wouldn’t blink, would he? But you’re the one that got mad, aren’t you Karen? Jez Harris is dead because of you.’

  22

  The life drawing course was part of a summer school run by the Slade and was being held in studios off Woburn Square. Kaz had a place on a full-time art foundation course at London Met starting in the autumn, but she knew that the art classes she’d attended inside were more therapy than the real thing; when it came to proper drawing she needed some practice.

  She stood outside the building for a few moments finishing her fag. The police had simply let her go; Stoneham clearly didn’t believe her story, but as Joey had pointed out, they had no evidence to contradict it. She’d travelled back to London in Neville Moore’s car. Helen and her boss had chatted between themselves, Kaz had sat behind them, said little and got them to drop her near the tube. She went back to her room at the hostel, flung herself on the bed and sobbed. She felt wretched, the pictures of that kid, Stoneham’s accusation ringing in her head. She must’ve cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, it was the early hours and she was freezing. She crawled under the duvet fully clothed.

  The next morning she took a long hot shower and contemplated her options. Helen had undertaken to explain the incident to Jalil Sahir. With the story they’d told there were no grounds for a recall. She’d merely acted out of concern for her sister and the probation service would have to accept that. She knew Helen would convince them.

  That left Joey. Should she see him, explain about PC Mal and why she’d lied? But keeping Joey happy, was that her priority? Underneath it all was she scared of him? Kaz dismissed this notion out of hand. Joey would never harm her, he loved her. If any
thing he loved her a bit too much. She decided he was the one who’d been unreasonable, kicking off like that because he recognized the cop. He’d caused this mess, it was up to him to come to her. Kaz was done with dancing to everyone else’s tune. She was going to her art class.

  She ground the cigarette butt into the pavement with her heel, picked up her sketchpad and headed into the building. A series of spidery handwritten notices directed her to the lift, ancient and clunky, and up to the fourth floor. She wandered through several large, white-walled studios until she came to the one where the course was being held.

  About a dozen wooden studio easels were grouped in a semicircle round a small dais. A couple of students were already setting up, putting boards on the easels and taping paper to them. A skinny old geezer in a faded denim shirt and even more faded jeans was arranging cushions on the dais. He glanced at Kaz speculatively, tossed the last cushion on the pile and strolled over. His narrow face was sculpted and bristly, he gave Kaz a lop-sided smile.

  ‘Mike Dawson. Welcome to Life Drawing.’ The name came out with the rasping growl of a forty-a-day man.

  Kaz returned his smile. ‘Karen Phelps.’

  Dawson picked up the register and flipped it open. ‘Ah, the elusive Ms Phelps. We were beginning to think you’d run for the hills.’

  Kaz noticed his eyes, almost obscured by lines and wrinkles, they were the dark grey of wet slate and the gaze didn’t waver.

  ‘Sorry, couldn’t get here before. I’ve been having a few problems.’

  Dawson nodded, concern or amusement, Kaz couldn’t tell. ‘Nothing . . . medical I hope.’

  Kaz caught the twinkle in his eye. Was he taking the piss? Or was this how artists behaved? He looked about ninety, his fingers curled like claws, the nails rimmed with black. Kaz had met villains who were less intimidating.

  She forced a smile. ‘No, nothing like that.’

  Dawson turned abruptly and seized one of the easels. ‘Ever used one of these beasts before?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Well, they have a habit of defeating the novice. So I will demonstrate.’

  He picked up a drawing board from a stack against the wall, hoisted it on to the crossbar support, which he ratcheted into place and fixed by tightening several paint-spattered wing nuts. Kaz nearly jumped out of her skin when his bony fingers suddenly clutched her arm as he manoeuvred her into position beside the board. He raised his hand, forming his fingers into a flat, horizontal plane about three inches from her left eye.

  ‘Here is your eyeline, which wants to be two thirds up the board, so you can look back and forth, continually back and forth from the drawing to the model. Got it? Here to there.’

  He jabbed his finger in the direction of the dais. A fit young man in a bathrobe and odd socks had appeared and was rearranging the cushions. This attracted Dawson’s attention. He tutted and strode over to the young man.

  ‘No no, we don’t want a neat pile, neat is boring Leo. What we need is disarray! Disarray!’

  Kaz gazed around the room, it was filling up with other students. A small oriental girl took the easel on her left, they exchanged polite nods. This was the normal world, away from police stations and prison cells and trouble. It was where Kaz so desperately wanted to be. It was freedom. Kaz started to unpack her bag, getting out her box of charcoals and tin of pencils. Her first proper art class and here at the Slade, of all places. She had to admit she was feeling nervous, but also excited. She opened her sketchbook, tore out a sheet of cartridge and started to tape it to the board.

  ‘Is this easel taken?’

  She glanced to her right and did a double-take. Mal Bradley had dumped his bag beside the adjacent easel and was beaming at her. She stood rooted to the spot just glaring at him. She really couldn’t believe it. She wanted to punch him.

  ‘What the fuck you doing here?’

  He looked offended. ‘That’s not a very friendly way to greet a fellow student.’

  Kaz was about to respond to this when Mike Dawson returned.

  ‘Aah great, this is Mal. He can show you the ropes. When we started the week he was an absolute beginner, but he’s coming on in leaps and bounds. He’s really loosened up. Though when you didn’t show yesterday, Mal, I thought you might’ve thrown in the towel.’

  Bradley grinned. ‘No Mike, you’ve converted me. Something came up at work, had to pop in.’

  Mike gave a gravelly laugh, which dissolved into a fit of coughing. ‘Problems on the money markets eh? Fucking wanker bankers. Still, you’re going to buy one of my paintings, aren’t you Mal?’ Chortling to himself, he wandered off.

  Bradley grinned at Kaz. ‘Bit of a weird bloke, but he knows his stuff. Even got me drawing and I was completely crap before.’

  Kaz stared at him, her chest was tight, she felt she might choke. She picked up her bag and headed out.

  ‘Where you going?’

  ‘To the bog. Gonna follow me there too?’

  Kaz discovered that the women’s toilets were on the ground floor. She booted open the door of an empty stall and locked herself in. She realized she had tears in her eyes. Was it rage, frustration? She couldn’t decide. Would she ever be free of these bastards? She got out her phone, she should call Helen, get this scumbag off her back in a proper, legal way. But she hesitated. She’d had no chance to really talk to Helen the day before. She’d wanted to explain, she’d wanted to feel that Helen was still on her side. But everything had started to unravel.

  That fat cop Stoneham was probably right, she was to blame for Jez’s death. She’d completely lost it when she saw what had happened to Natalie and she’d turned that anger on her brother. She’d accused him, she’d really had a go. Like when they were kids and the old man used to lay into them for some trivial misdemeanour. Kaz remembered letters coming from school, the ponce of a head teacher going on about Joey playing truant or some schoolboy prank. Terry Phelps would be mad at the school, but he also hated the way it reflected on him. He would thrash Joey, knocking the boy round the room until he was bruised and bleeding. Then he’d tell Joey that the punishment wasn’t for what he’d done, but for getting caught and showing up his family as a consequence.

  It dawned on Kaz that she’d behaved just like the old man; she felt so bad in herself, so responsible for what had happened to Natalie that she’d dumped it all on Joey. She’d used him as her punch bag, much as the old man did. And she’d made him feel ashamed, as if he’d let her down. But Joey wasn’t a kid any more, he wasn’t going to curl up in a ball and take the kicking and to make that point to her he’d killed Jez Harris. He’d done it, but it was her fault.

  Kaz sat in the wooden cubicle, staring at the graffiti hacked into the door, wondering how on earth she was going to explain any of this to Helen. Could she ever? How would Helen understand? How could anybody who hadn’t lived their life in the Phelps family?

  She wasn’t surprised when she came out of the toilets to find Mal Bradley leaning against the wall. He smiled at her.

  ‘Class is about to start. Mike asked me to make sure you hadn’t got lost.’

  Kaz gave him a sceptical glance. ‘As if.’

  ‘Actually I was worried. Thought you might be considering jacking it all in.’

  This stopped Kaz in her tracks. ‘’Cause of you? Don’t flatter yourself.’

  ‘I do genuinely want to help you. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘You’re stalking me, how’s that help?’

  Bradley pondered this. ‘Well, it’s more honest than covert surveillance.’

  Kaz headed for the lift, Bradley followed. The heavy metal mesh gate stood open, Kaz stepped inside.

  ‘The stunt you pulled with those pictures, that was sick.’

  Bradley hauled the gate shut, it clanked into place, he hit the button and with a shudder the lift started to rise.

  ‘You’re right, I owe you an apology. I was trying to manipulate you, play on your conscience. Why? Because I know you have a
conscience. You’re not like him Karen.’

  Kaz took a step forward, Bradley was maybe an inch taller, but she was right in his face. Her eyes bored straight into his. ‘Sure about that? How d’you know I’m not gonna get pissed off with this, borrow a gun from one of my brother’s “associates” and shoot a fucking hole in the middle of your chest? ’Cause that’s what us villains do, innit? Least in your book.’ She jabbed her finger into his sternum.

  Bradley smiled. His dark liquid eyes rested gently on her face. ‘I’m not the enemy Karen.’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m not some stupid poncey girl who’s gonna swoon in your arms.’

  He laughed. ‘Yeah, I think I already figured we’re on a hiding to nothing with that.’

  ‘My lawyer could have you for sexual harassment y’know.’

  He held up his hands. ‘Be fair, I never laid a finger on you.’

  ‘Why the fuck should I play fair? You lot are out to make my life a fucking misery ’til you get what you want. I’m being stalked by an undercover cop. Maybe I should take my story to the papers. That’d piss Woodentop off I’ll bet.’

  The lift clunked to a halt. Kaz seized the handle to the gate and hauled it open. She was straight out and striding down the corridor. Bradley had to trot to catch up with her.

  ‘Strictly speaking I’m not undercover, ’cause you guessed I was a cop as soon as you saw me. So I’m not lying to you about who I am.’

  Kaz glared at him. ‘You’re lying to people here though, ain’t you? To the tutor, what’s-his-face, Mike?’

  Bradley fell into step beside her. ‘To tell you the truth, it’s my first attempt at all this and you’re right, I am crap. Total crap.’

  They’d reached the door to the studio, the class had already begun. Leo was striking an action pose, balancing a ball in one hand, leaning on a stick with the other. The muscles in his back rippled with the strain. The room was silent but for the furious scratching and scraping of charcoal on paper.