Kaz turned and eyeballed Bradley, she kept her voice low. ‘Know how hard it’s been for me to get here, to a place like this, to a proper college, where you can just draw all day? Actually learn something. I don’t give a monkey’s about you, Woodentop; bring the whole fucking Met down here if you like, you’re not robbing me of this as well.’
Bradley sighed. ‘No one’s trying to Karen. But people have been murdered, including, I suspect, Jez Harris. My job is to find a way to stop it.’ His look was deadly serious now, any hint of flirtatiousness gone. ‘So however much you or your lawyer huff and puff we’re not going to go away. Sooner or later we’ll get the forensics or the witnesses to convict Joey and send him to jail. What you have to decide is whether you’re going down with him.’
Bradley’s eye travelled in an arc round the quiet studio.
‘You go on backing him you’ll lose all this, all your dreams. It’s your choice.’
23
The bar was close to Hoxton Square and at six thirty it was standing-room only. It was a new venue building a reputation on arty cocktails at City prices and the last place Kaz wanted to be after her first gruelling day in the studio. Joey had bombarded her with texts and voicemails insisting that she should come down. He had a surprise for her. It would blow her mind. She was reluctant but she hadn’t spoken to him since he walked out of Southend nick in a huff.
Dog-tired, it was an effort to drag herself, her bag and her unwieldy A3 sketchpad through the chattering crush. Bradley was right about one thing, Mike Dawson knew his stuff. His students may be a bunch of amateurs, hobbyists and wannabes like her, however, Dawson paid them the compliment of treating them exactly the same as his proper art students. That meant half a dozen lightning poses, followed by a four-hour study of Leo lounging on the mountain of cushions like a dozing pasha.
Kaz had never spent so long on one drawing before. It was hard but exhilarating. She forgot about everything: Joey, her sister, the cops and their machinations. She even found herself glancing over at Bradley’s drawing and feeling a competitive buzz; he became just another student.
Dawson toured the room offering each of them comments and advice. The first time he came to Kaz he stood at her shoulder for several minutes, his eyes half closed, scrutinizing the drawing. Then he glanced at her, looked her up and down, assessing, pondering. He gave her a small smile. ‘Yeah . . .’ Nodded his head slowly and wandered off. She didn’t know what to make of it.
Bradley gave her a mocking glance. ‘Well look at you. Teacher’s pet eh?’
Kaz caught sight of Joey at a corner table. Ashley was in attendance, but Joey was lording it. A bottle of Cristal in his hand he was topping up champagne flutes held by two giggling girls, a blonde and a brunette, shoulder-length hair, thigh-high skirts. Kaz huffed to herself, she hadn’t come all this way to watch Joey pull. Her hands were filmed with charcoal, probably her face too, she felt a mess. She wanted to get home to her snug room at the hostel and take a long shower.
But at the sight of her Joey was on his feet waving her over, drawing her into the group.
‘Hey, this is my sister. She’s an art student too.’
Joey pointed at the girls, trawling his memory for names. ‘Chloe and . . .’ Kaz didn’t catch the rest, it was drowned out by the general cacophony.
The blonde gave Kaz a superior smile, flicked back her shining mane.
‘Awesome. Where you studying? I’m at Goldsmiths.’
Kaz considered telling her the truth for about five seconds. But as she took in the posh accent, the mix of designer labels and ethnic accessories she changed her mind. She returned the smile.
‘Doing an MA. At the Slade.’
The blonde nodded, trying not to look outgunned.
‘Cool.’
Kaz dumped her bag and sketchbook at Ashley’s feet.
‘Look after these Ash, I need a word with my brother.’ She beckoned to Joey, he put down the Cristal and followed her obediently out of the bar and onto the pavement. They picked their way through the huddle of smokers crowding the doorway and found a quiet spot.
Kaz scowled. ‘So what you got to say to me now eh? Still pissed off, are you?’
Joey put his head to one side, gave her a sheepish grin. ‘I was out of order babes . . .’
‘Yeah, you were. I got the filth on my back, fucking stalking me, thanks to you . . .’
‘It took me by surprise is all, seeing him down the nick. And you said you’d slept with him.’
‘I didn’t say that. You assumed and I let you. Why? ’Cause you had plans to set me up with Ashley! Stud fucking muffin Ashley.’
Joey couldn’t help laughing. ‘He ain’t that bad.’
‘I ain’t that desperate.’
Joey chuckled some more. ‘Well if you put it like that . . . Look, I knew you wouldn’t’ve slept with a copper really. I, y’know . . . well. I dunno . . .’
He gazed at her, gave her the innocent little-boy look, which she knew was the nearest he was ever going to get to an outright apology. ‘That’s why I wanted you to come down here. So I could make it up to you.’
‘Joey, I’m knackered. All I want is to go home.’
‘I got a surprise. Me and Ash been doing a bit of research. Talking to a few contacts round here. You’re gonna love this. Ready to be really surprised?’
Kaz exhaled. Joey in Santa Claus mode was not what she needed. He beamed from ear to ear, held out his hands. ‘I got you . . . an exhibition.’
Kaz stared at him. ‘What?’
‘Some fellas I know own a bit of property round here. Mate of theirs runs a gallery. Literally just up the road from here. Been to see him, explained about you. He’s agreed to give you an exhibition.’
Kaz blew out her cheeks, then she laughed. ‘Joe, I’m starting college. I haven’t got anything to put in a fucking exhibition.’
‘Well, you could knock up a few bits.’
‘I’m not ready yet. I’m a student.’
Joey seemed nonplussed. ‘I tell you, them girls you met – Chloe and her mate, can’t remember her name – well, they’re students too and I can tell you they’ll shag anyone or anything they think can give them an exhibition.’
Kaz laughed out loud, patted his arm. Any tension between them had evaporated. He meant well, she could see that. He genuinely was trying to make it up to her.
She smiled at him. ‘Look babes, I appreciate the effort. I do.’
Joey opened his arms. ‘Then gives us a hug.’
‘I’m all mucky with charcoal.’
‘So?’
He wrapped his arms round her, lifted her off her feet. She could tell he was being careful with her, his arms were gentle. She smelt his aftershave, something expensive no doubt.
He set her down, grinned. ‘Actually you do look pretty mucky.’
She batted him with her hand. ‘Fuck off!’
‘Seriously babes, you’re smart y’know. I been looking into this art game. Me and Ash, we spent the day going round these galleries. We seen paintings a kid of five coulda done and they’re asking thousands for them. I tell you it’s a right old racket. I never knew or I’d’ve been in it before.’
Kaz smiled. His boyish enthusiasms always had the power to charm her. It helped erase the other Joey from her mind, the one who’d tossed Jez Harris off a balcony as if he were a bag of garbage.
‘There is a bit more to it y’know, if you wanna do something good.’
Joey grinned. He was off on one of his flights of fancy. ‘Course. I know it ain’t all a con. Or if it is it’s a legitimate con. And that’s what we need. Paintings are a great investment if you pick the right ones. And you got the eye. One more string to our bow babes. We’ll clean up.’
Kaz fixed him with a thoughtful look. It was now or never. In a mood like this she had the best chance of making him listen.
‘Before we get into any of that, there’s something else we need to talk about.’
He cocked his hea
d, she could see the suspicion surfacing. She’d had plenty of experience of Joey’s lightning changes of mood. But she ploughed on.
‘What happened at Natalie’s – I’m not prepared to sweep that under the carpet.’
Joey shot an irritable glance at her, a warning of choppy waters ahead. ‘It’s sorted. On all levels. Natalie’s in rehab, the filth’s got nothing. What more do you expect?’
Kaz gazed into those baby-blue eyes, she could see the anger rising, but she held her course.
‘Jez ain’t the only one you killed, is he?’
Joey puffed himself up defensively. ‘What? What bollocks you talking?’
Kaz took a breath. She hooked his gaze, waited until he was looking right at her. ‘I want you to stop killing people.’
There, she’d said it. It was out there. Her words hung between them for maybe thirty seconds before Joey guffawed.
‘Jez Fucking Harris! Why you so hung up on him? He was a fucking waste of space in anyone’s book.’
She stood her ground, Joey took a step back from her, anger fizzing into a physical need to just move. Kaz tried to hold on to eye contact. She needed him to look at her.
‘Joey, listen to me. I’m not talking about Jez Harris. I’m talking about you, what you do. It has to stop babes. For your sake.’
‘What d’you mean, my sake? What the fuck you talking about?’
‘No one else knows what it was like for you growing up. But I know. Okay, we did stuff, we did what we had to to survive. Those days are gone. You said you wanted a new start. Well now’s the chance. But you gotta change too. ’Cause if you don’t . . .’ Kaz had to swallow hard to keep her feelings in check. ‘If you don’t . . . you’re gonna turn into him. And I don’t think I could bear that.’
Joey stood there, arms clutched protectively round his own chest. His face was blank, there was no emotion in his eyes. ‘You saying you think I’m like him?’
Kaz blinked. She was close to tears, the idea of Joey turning into their father was a corrosive acid burning inside her. ‘No. But you gotta start looking at what you’re doing Joey.’
He looked straight at her. He seemed calm, but defeated.
‘What, you think I’m turning into some kind of psycho?’
‘No. ’Course I don’t.’ In her head there was a fine line between reassurance and lying, she wasn’t sure if she’d crossed it. Joey looked so forlorn. If a demonstration were needed of the effect she could have on him, this was it.
‘Someone called me that – a psycho. I thought he was a mate. People let you down Kaz. You trust ’em, they let you down. Is that what you’re gonna do?’
He looked so small and vulnerable now, turning in on himself, imploding. Kaz moved forward, put her arms round him. He let his head drop on her shoulder and the tears started to flow.
‘I never . . . never meant to hurt anyone. Even fucking Jez. I was just trying . . . I dunno . . . just sorting things out. You got to keep on top of things, y’know, or they get out of hand.’
Kaz stroked his hair, even cut short it was so thick, as it was when he was a boy. She let her fingers ripple through it. ‘Sssh, it’ll be okay.’
‘He’s . . . he’s a fucking monster! I don’t want be like him. No fucking way!’
‘You’re not gonna be. But you have to listen to me Joey.’
She could feel the heat of his breath, the wetness of the tears on her neck. A shudder quivered through him.
‘I am listening. See, this is why I need you in my corner. Tell me what to do . . .’
She lifted his head from her shoulder, wiped the tears and snot away with the back of her hand, as she’d done so many times before. She waited until he was gazing straight at her.
‘Okay . . . we follow your plan. Use the Net, move into the mainstream, make the business totally legit. But . . . no more killing. ’Cause the police ain’t idiots. They’ll keep going and in the end they’ll nail you. So it all stops, stops now, then they got nothing.’
‘They’ll try and fit me up.’
‘That’s what you got lawyers for. You have to put yourself out of harm’s way babes. Avoid trouble.’
He nodded. He seemed to be taking it in.
‘And that’s the deal between you and me. It all stops now. We go totally legit, stick to business. You agree to that, then we’re partners.’
Joey stared at her. He seemed flabbergasted. He started to chuckle nervously. ‘You mean that? We’re really gonna be partners?’
‘Yeah, if you accept the deal.’
He didn’t reply, just beamed from ear to ear, seized her round the waist and whisked her off her feet.
‘Come here partner!’
24
For Helen Warner Sunday mornings were sacrosanct. Maybe this was the result of growing up in a church-going family. Her parents were good people and robust Christians, which meant she and her two brothers had to be washed and scrubbed and paraded every Sunday morning in the pews of their quaint village church. They had no choice in the matter until Helen was sixteen and, as the eldest, felt duty-bound to rebel on behalf of them all.
Now her Sundays were all about doing exactly as she liked. Living alone had, in her view, many advantages. She only had herself to please. And what pleased her was to get up on a Sunday when she wanted, throw on an old pair of joggers and a sweatshirt and go out for the papers. During the week she relied on digital media, but the rituals of her new religion required she spent Sunday mornings immersed in the broadsheets, with a pot of good coffee, catching up on the week in politics.
She was lounging on her sofa doing just that when the doorbell rang. She thought it might be her neighbour. Henry was in his nineties, long ago widowed, a retired doctor. He had family who called in regularly, but Helen tried to keep an eye on him. He occasionally locked himself out and his daughter had given her a spare key. In return, Henry gave her plants for her window boxes. He liked to chat and was a bit of a flirt.
The flats were on five floors of a very elegant Edwardian mansion block in Bloomsbury. The rooms were high-ceilinged and spacious, and Helen had only been able to afford such a desirable apartment with a sizeable legacy from her grandmother and some help from her parents. It was her home and her haven.
She opened the front door with a smile, ready with a quip for Henry. Then she blinked with shock and the colour flooded up her neck and into her cheeks.
‘Karen? What are you doing here?’
Kaz smiled. She had spent some time weighing up the pros and cons of surprising Helen at home. In the end desperation got the better of her. Helen had given her the address years ago, during a prison visit; Kaz had wanted to send her a Christmas card she’d designed herself. When she started the art classes in Woburn Square and realized she was in Helen’s neighbourhood, she’d done a recce and searched out the flat. This morning she was about to ring the entryphone from the street, but someone coming out had held the door open for her. So she found herself standing on Helen’s doormat, feeling slightly awkward. The tone in Helen’s voice didn’t improve matters. Kaz knew at once that she’d made a mistake, crossed an invisible line. Now she had to front it out.
‘You said you wanted another drawing.’ She held out her sketchbook. ‘Thought I could show you a few. My life drawing class is round the corner in Woburn Square.’
Helen gave her a sceptical look. ‘It runs on a Sunday?’
Kaz had a ready-made lie, only a small one. In the circumstances it felt justified. ‘I had to pop into the studio, pick up some stuff. But you’re probably busy . . .’
Helen painted on a smile. ‘No no, I’m just slobbing about. Sorry, do come in.’
She stepped back from the door and Kaz followed her into the hallway. The floor was old-fashioned wooden parquet blocks, the smell of wax polish rose up from them. Helen was barefooted, Kaz watched as she walked ahead, her feet seeming to skate over the shiny floor. It was almost a shock to see Helen this naked. But isn’t that why she’d really come, to inf
iltrate her lawyer’s private life?
Helen led her into the kitchen. Though the rest of the flat retained its prized Edwardian features, the kitchen was ultramodern; the high-gloss surfaces were pristine and, with the exception of a matching kettle and toaster, the worktops were bare.
Kaz gazed around. ‘Wow, you’re neat.’
Helen filled the kettle. ‘Tidy home, tidy mind. Coffee?’
‘Thanks. Listen, I probably should’ve called first . . .’
Helen returned the kettle to its base and flicked the switch. ‘Let’s see then.’
Kaz was momentarily puzzled, the fact she was actually in Helen’s flat was absorbing all her attention.
‘Your drawings.’
Kaz became aware of the sketchbook she was clutching. ‘Oh yeah.’
She plonked the heavy pad on the kitchen counter and flipped it open to the first page. Leo was resplendent on his cushions, head flung back, legs akimbo, one hand suggestively close to his rather large penis. Helen looked the drawing over and smirked.
‘He looks . . . rather pleased with himself.’
‘His name’s Leo. He’s got a tendency to fall asleep, must have these wet dreams, ’cause he gets a hard-on like you wouldn’t believe. At one point, Mike, he’s the tutor, kicked his foot. Apparently it’s . . . unprofessional.’
Helen laughed. ‘A model with an erection? I should think it is!’ She turned to Kaz, her gaze had warmed up. Leo had proved an unexpected icebreaker. ‘It’s very good, but I’m not sure I’d want him on my wall.’
‘I wanted you to see what I been doing.’
Helen found it difficult to remain annoyed, she gave Kaz a diffident smile. ‘I’m sorry if I seem . . . I dunno, I am pleased to see you. You took me by surprise.’
Kaz nodded, inclined her head towards the sketchbook. ‘So whad’you think?’
Helen turned her attention back to the drawing and gave it some serious scrutiny.
‘It’s good . . . it’s, well don’t get me wrong, but it’s different.’
‘No one gave me the chance to draw naked men before. Or naked anyone for that matter.’
Informant Page 14