Ogilvy finished by tutting. ‘Well, my goodness. I’m really glad you’ve drawn this to my attention. It’s certainly something that shouldn’t happen. And I shall look into it with the utmost urgency.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
Bradley wasn’t about to let go. Nicci folded her arms, sat back and watched. The DC had blown it, there was nothing she could do.
‘Is Joey Phelps your client?’ He slapped his hand on the table.
Ogilvy held out her palms in supplication. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, there are issues of confidentiality here. I couldn’t possibly discuss any client without their prior consent. If you wish to pursue this, I’m only too happy to come back with my lawyer.’
Nicci gave her a long look. ‘You said a moment ago you think you know what’s happened. What did you mean?’
Ogilvy sighed. ‘Well I meant that somehow one of the company cards must’ve got used. And as I also said, I shall be looking into it. But at the end of the day it’s a matter between us and the credit card company.’
Bradley glowered at her. ‘Not if fraud’s involved.’
Ogilvy’s gaze remained unflinching. ‘The use of the card by a person other than the card holder is of course a technical breach of contract, though plenty of people do it. I think that what the credit-card company will be interested in is whether or not the funds were available to cover the purchase. They haven’t flagged up any problems to me. I doubt they’ll be interested in launching a fraud investigation for a minor infringement of the rules.’
Nicci tried again to subdue Bradley with a look. But he was fuming.
‘You know what Joey Phelps is, don’t you? We’re talking drugs and money-laundering here. Now either he’s lying to you or you’re lying to us and your oh-so-respectable firm is up to its neck in it. Which is it?’
Nicci had to admire Alice Ogilvy. Bradley’s rant simply rolled off her.
She smiled at him serenely. ‘Your accusations are entirely unfounded Constable. But I understand that at times your job must be very frustrating, so I won’t take offence.’
Nicci got up. They were getting nowhere fast. ‘This is a difficult case and we were hoping for your cooperation Ms Ogilvy.’
Ogilvy smiled. ‘And I’m more than happy to give it – so long as I’m not being asked to breach my professional obligations to my clients.’
Nicci walked over to the door and opened it. ‘Thank you for coming in.’
Alice Ogilvy rose to her feet in one fluid movement. She smiled at Bradley and offered her hand to shake. He ignored it and turned away. Nicci sighed, he was being a petulant boy. She shook Ogilvy’s hand and watched her sail off down the corridor. Then she turned on Bradley.
‘What the bloody hell is the matter with you?’
‘She was taking the piss!’
‘Y’know, I’ve had it with you Bradley. You’re arrogant, you’ve got no patience, and if there’s a way to fuck up, you’ll find it.’
Nicci turned on her heel and strode off too.
Bradley slumped down on a chair. He knew she was right. Through luck and solid police work they’d happened upon the firm of accountants Joey Phelps was using to front his business dealings. And true to form he’d behaved like a rookie DC with a bug up his arse. He wanted so badly to get a result, to prove to Nicci, Mayhew, Turnbull too, that he did know what he was doing.
Nicci was right, if there was a way to fuck up he’d find it. He wanted to go after her and apologize, but he didn’t think she’d listen.
45
Helen Warner had to admit to herself that she was relieved to have a reason to escape from the flat. She walked towards Canary Wharf, where she knew the underground shopping mall would provide all she needed. Karen was trying to be resolutely independent but it was clear that she needed help. Helen had been both shocked and enraged when she’d seen the state of her. Of course she wasn’t getting the full story, that was obvious. With Sean’s release from jail an eruption of violence within the Phelps clan was entirely predictable, but Helen had thought Karen would’ve had the sense to keep out of it. It seemed she’d been wrong.
She found a kettle, some mugs and decided to add a cafetiere, but was that going over the top? She stood in the kitchen shop debating the point with herself. Why was she even doing this, running round after Karen? She could’ve simply delegated the task to someone in the office. That’s what PA’s were for. But was her connection with Karen more personal than professional now? They’d only slept together once. Still, seeing her, and seeing her hurt, had stirred up a hornet’s nest of dangerous emotions. Helen put the cafetiere back on the shelf, paid for her purchases and headed for Waitrose.
The previous evening she’d taken Julia out to dinner at a smart new bistro in Soho in order to propose; it was supposed to be a romantic tryst but had turned into a strategy meeting. She’d had a call from one of her policy advisor mates at Party HQ. It hadn’t hit the news feeds yet but a Northern Labour MP was about to die of cancer and his death would trigger a by-election. The leadership was keen on a female candidate; someone modern, telegenic and on-message. Helen’s mate reckoned it was her big chance.
Helen was excited, she’d thought she’d be sitting it out until the next general election. But if this seat was up for grabs she was certainly going to go for it.
She realized there was no point being ambiguous about her sexuality or relationship status, the red tops’d sniff out any perceived weakness in a nanosecond. So she and Julia would celebrate their civil partnership openly and joyously, make it a real family occasion, and she’d defy the selection panel to hold it against her.
The real skeleton in her closet was Karen Phelps. Being Karen’s lawyer was one thing, but she needed to take a large step back from anything more than that. As she selected tea bags, milk, cereal and fruit from the supermarket shelves she told herself this was positively the last time she was riding to the rescue.
Loaded down with supplies Helen jumped into a cab for the short ride back to Narrow Street. She was at the front door to Karen’s building, paying the cabbie off, when she noticed a man in a parked car opposite watching her. For a moment she racked her brains, she couldn’t quite place him. Then he got out of the car and walked towards her. It was the cop with the photos who’d tried to lean on Karen.
As the cab drove off, he joined her. All smiles he reached down to pick up one of her plastic carriers. ‘Need a hand?’
She glared at him. ‘Do I know you?’
He pulled out a warrant card. ‘Sorry. DC Bradley – I bought you a cup of coffee in Southend.’
‘What do you want? I’m rather busy.’
‘Is Karen at home? I was hoping to have a word.’
Bradley gave her his most winning smile; it wasn’t an effort because the sight of the lawyer had cheered him up considerably. He’d been sitting in his car for the last quarter of an hour wondering how, without ringing every doorbell in the block, he was going to find out if this really was Karen Phelps’s new home. The probation service in Basildon might know, but they could be awkward bastards to deal with and had already made an official complaint about Bradley’s ruse at the hostel.
After some argument about cost, Mayhew had got authorization to have Karen’s mobile phone tracked. The signal location had led him to this residential block in Limehouse.
Helen looked him up and down. ‘Why are you here? Did the hospital get in touch?’
He frowned. ‘The hospital?’
‘Clearly not.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Oh what the hell, I think you probably should see what that bastard’s done to her. She’s been beaten up.’
‘By Joey?’
‘By her cousin Sean.’
Bradley’s face fell. The drunken phone call, the threat, all flashed through his mind. Oh shit. He thought it but didn’t say it.
Kaz had spent the latter part of the afternoon dozing on the sofa covered with the brand-new duvet, delivered with the furniture that morn
ing, which now seemed an age ago. The back of her head around the gash was extremely sore, the local anaesthetic they’d given her in order to stitch it had worn off. Her jaw was a dull ache. She’d sleep for a bit, then wake abruptly thinking she was in the car boot again.
The light was fading, the river ebbing. Helen had taken a door key to let herself back in. Kaz heard the front door open. She wanted to call out, to check, but that seemed childish, absurdly uncool. She waited a moment. The shadows in the room were lengthening, the hallway running off it was already dark, a sudden fear gripped her stomach. Why hadn’t Helen announced herself? She could hear footsteps in the hall, two voices, someone fumbling for the light switch. Suddenly she was close to panic.
‘Helen? That you?’
The light in the hall went on. Helen appeared round the corner, saw Kaz’s anxious face. She smiled. ‘It’s okay.’
Except it wasn’t okay, because behind her was Mal Bradley with two plastic carriers of shopping. At the sight of Kaz his jaw slackened.
‘Jesus wept. What happened?’
Kaz sat up abruptly and shot an accusing glance at Helen. ‘What the fuck’s he doing here?’
Bradley put the carriers down on the kitchen counter. Helen went over to the sofa and sat on the end.
‘I found him on the doorstep. And I think you do need to talk to him. You can’t let Sean get away with this.’
Kaz was close to tears. She glared at Helen. ‘They was behind it, don’t you understand? To put the frighteners on me. ’Cause they don’t want Sean, they want Joey.’
Helen turned to Bradley. He was standing, hands in his pockets, with a sheepish look on his face. She cocked her head. ‘Well? Is this true?’
‘No no, ’course it isn’t . . . you got it all wrong Karen. I’m really sorry . . . this is terrible.’
Kaz glared at him, her face was tight and angry. ‘Sorry? He knew I’d talked to you. That’s why he did this. So who the fuck told him, eh?’
Bradley held out his hands in supplication. ‘It wasn’t us, I swear.’
But even as he spoke Bradley was thinking of Turnbull. Was he up to something? With Turnbull you could never tell.
Kaz’s tears were flowing now but she ignored them. ‘Remember what you said to me on the phone? Or were you too pissed?’
He turned away, ashamed. ‘I was pissed but I didn’t mean—’
‘You said the fact I’d talked to you lot could be used against me. Next thing Sean’s after me and he’s accusing me of offering to grass him up. Don’t take a genius to work out who told him, does it?’
Bradley shook his head. ‘Whatever Sean found out, it didn’t come from us.’
Helen took two steps across the floor until she and Bradley were face to face. ‘Let’s see if I’m understanding this. You thought it was a legitimate tactic to put pressure on my client by threatening her with Sean Phelps?’
‘Yeah, well sort of.’ Bradley sighed. ‘But it was just that – an empty threat. We didn’t actually do anything.’
Kaz hugged the duvet around her. She wiped away the tears with her hand. ‘He’s fucking lying. Look at him. Get him out of here, will you?’
Bradley tried to edge round Helen. She was standing, arms folded, making sure he kept his distance. He tried to get Kaz to meet his gaze, but she wouldn’t. ‘Karen please . . . you’ve got to believe me. If Sean Phelps did this to you, I’ll go and arrest him myself.’
Kaz sniffed wearily. ‘You’ll have to find him first.’
‘I can do that.’
‘He’ll have a lawyer and a rock-solid alibi. Anyway, I ain’t making a complaint, there’s no point.’
Helen and Bradley exchanged looks. She felt torn. Bradley was offering a solution of sorts to this mess. She moved towards Kaz.
‘Listen to me Karen. If what you say about the threats is true, then I’m going to the IPCC. No question. In the meantime, a crime has been committed and Sean needs to be arrested.’
Kaz looked up at them both. Helen, her brow furrowed with anxiety, Bradley, gazing at her like a sad puppy.
‘You two make me laugh. I don’t know what world you’re living in, but it ain’t the same as mine. You nick Sean, his lawyer’ll have him out, couple of days tops. You know that Helen. Then what do you think he’s gonna do? He’ll come looking for me again – and I don’t think I’ll be getting off with a beating.’
Bradley was shaking his head. ‘We can protect you. We’ve got safe houses, a witness protection scheme . . .’
Kaz laughed drily. ‘I just got out of jail. I don’t fancy going back.’
Helen returned to the sofa. She sat down on the end of it, put her hand on Kaz’s good ankle.
‘What are you going to do then?’
Kaz shrugged. ‘Do what the doctor said, rest up, get better.’
Bradley shovelled his hands in his pockets, strolled over to the window. Lights were now twinkling in the buildings on the far bank. He was annoyed, he was being made to feel responsible for something that wasn’t his fault.
‘It’s obvious what she’s going to do. Well isn’t it?’
Kaz fixed him with a hard stare, Bradley returned it. Any softness had gone from his features. He felt sorry for her, she looked a mess. But he had a job to do. People had been murdered, there was still the question of justice, not to mention the law. And the law was what he’d sworn to uphold.
‘You got a choice here Karen. Trouble is you don’t want the hassle and the difficulty of doing the right thing, acting within the law, do you? So you’re going to leave it to Joey. Let him sort out your little problem for you, deal with Sean his way. Even if that makes you an accessory to murder. But hey, you’ll probably get away with it. And anyway Sean deserves it, right?’
He pulled a business card from his inside pocket and dropped it on the kitchen counter.
‘You have a change of heart, call me. I can’t guarantee we’ll succeed in putting Sean away, but you’ll have done the right thing. That’s got to be the way you get your life back surely.’
He gave them a thin smile and headed out. They heard the front door close behind him.
Kaz glanced at Helen, she raised her eyebrows and sighed. Kaz pulled the duvet up to her chin. ‘Pompous prick.’
46
Joey Phelps strode through the doors from Customs at Gatwick’s North Terminal carrying a light leather holdall. Ashley was two paces behind. The flight from Amsterdam had been subject to a three-hour delay, some kind of security alert, which hadn’t improved Joey’s temper. Many flights had been disrupted and the Arrivals Hall was crowded and chaotic. Yevgeny was waiting behind the barrier in a crush of bored taxi drivers and anxious relatives. Joey scanned the crowd, their eyes met and Joey gave him a curt nod. Yevgeny pushed his way forward, took the holdall and they headed for the short-stay car park.
As Yevgeny waited in the long queue at the ticket machine, Joey became increasingly impatient. Finally he snapped, barged in front of an elderly man who was taking an age to work out what to put in which slot.
‘Sorry mate, bit of an emergency here. Yev!’
Yevgeny stepped up, slotted his ticket and some coins in the machine.
A woman two places behind them in the queue started to object. Her tone was upper class and commanding. ‘Well, if everyone jumped the queue there’d be anarchy.’
Joey turned, in less than a second he was in her face. He towered over her.
‘You talking to me love? ’Cause if you want a bit of anarchy, I can certainly arrange that for you.’
Ashley was at his elbow. ‘C’mon Joe, leave it. We don’t want no trouble.’
Joey continued to fix the woman with a cold, intimidating stare until he was satisfied that she was scared stiff. Then he turned abruptly away, following Yevgeny across the car park.
Ash glanced at the woman. ‘Sorry. He’s had a bad day.’
She pulled out her mobile, her hand was shaking. ‘I’m calling the police.’
Ashley sighed
and trotted after the other two. Yevgeny clicked the door lock to the Range Rover, Joey climbed into the front passenger seat and folded his arms.
‘Fucking security alerts. And what is the government doing about these bloody terrorists? They should stand ’em all up against a wall and shoot ’em. I’d do it for ’em if they asked for volunteers.’
The Range Rover navigated the tight turns of the exit ramp and emerged from the multi-storey car park into darkness and rain. The wipers started to slap across the windscreen. Joey glanced at Yevgeny.
‘You track him down then?’
The Russian nodded. Joey checked his watch.
‘How long?’
‘Satnav say one hour fifteen minute.’
Joey folded his arms and settled against the headrest. ‘Maybe I can get a bit of kip then.’
He closed his eyes. The Range Rover negotiated two roundabouts then headed south on the M23. Low cloud made the night very black, the taillights ahead of them were red pinpricks, the glare of oncoming headlights spiked and refracted in the rain.
Ashley sat with his feet up in the back. For an instant he caught Yevgeny’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. The Russian was alert and ready, every inch the professional soldier. He might not wear a uniform any more, but he remained focused and disciplined. Ashley understood why Joey relied on him so much nowadays, but it still left him feeling a little jealous.
An hour down the road and several miles from their destination Yevgeny pulled into a lay-by. The rain had eased off and a waxing crescent moon could be glimpsed behind scudding clouds. Joey had been heavily asleep for the whole journey, his breathing low and steady. Ashley put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Joe.’
Joey opened his eyes, blinked, rubbed his face.
Yevgeny got out of the car, went to the boot and returned with a small backpack. He opened it and pulled out a pistol. It was the latest version of the Russian SPS, a powerful and deadly handgun capable of penetrating most Kevlar vests not to mention titanium plate. Yevgeny looked it over with an expert eye and loaded a clip. He glanced at Joey. ‘You want me to do this?’
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