Informant

by Susan Wilkins

  Joey shot him a look. ‘Nah. I can manage.’

  Yevgeny handed Joey the gun, reached into the backpack and brought out a pair of latex gloves. Joey took them.

  ‘Hope you haven’t got the powdered ones. They make me itch.’

  Yevgeny shook his head. ‘No powder.’

  Joey glanced from him to Ashley. ‘Don’t know what you two’re looking so fucking gloomy about. This is the fun part.’

  Ashley gave him a half smile. ‘Don’t enjoy it too much, ’cause we don’t want no forensics.’

  Joey huffed. ‘I know. I’ll put on the plastic suit and the hat. Happy?’

  Ashley nodded.

  The Range Rover pulled up across the street from a small parade of shops. Yevgeny indicated some steps at the side of the building leading to the flats above. ‘Up there. Number four.’

  Joey put the beanie hat on, pulling it low over his forehead and ears. The plastic suit was white, disposable, polyethylene coated. Joey zipped it up to his chin. ‘Anyone sees me, they’ll think I’m a right prat.’

  Ashley was wearing the ghost of a smile. ‘That’s the idea.’

  Joey slipped the SPS into the pocket slot at his hip, got out of the car and trotted across the road. He mounted the steps three at a time. As he went along the walkway in front of the flats he drew on the latex gloves.

  The door to number four was half glazed and Joey could see a faint glimmer of light through the frosted glass. He rang the bell, waited. A shadowy figure appeared behind the glass, the voice was anxious.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Joey. Joey Phelps. Come on mate, let me in. I’m freezing my nuts off out here.’

  The door opened a crack on the chain. Dave Harper had seen pictures of Joey, family snaps of the Phelps clan that Glynis had shown him, but they’d never actually met. He stared at Joey for a moment, Joey beamed back.

  ‘Open up Dave, I need a word.’

  Dave peered at him from behind rimless glasses. ‘You on your own?’

  ‘’Course I am.’

  ‘You know he’s got Glynis?’

  ‘That’s what I’m here about.’

  The door shut followed by a rasping as the chain was unhooked. Then it opened wide. Dave Harper was short, a small paunch hanging over his trousers and large dark eyes blinking rapidly behind his glasses. He was as unlike Sean Phelps as it was possible to be, which, Joey figured, must be the attraction as far as Glynis was concerned.

  Joey followed Dave down the short hallway to the living room.

  ‘Nice place. Cosy.’

  Dave glanced over his shoulder. Joey was wearing a white plastic suit, which struck him as decidedly odd, but it seemed rude to comment.

  ‘Comes with the job. Bookies is downstairs. You want a cup of tea or something?’

  ‘Nah, you’re all right. This won’t take long.’

  They reached the sitting room. Dave picked up the remote to turn off the television. It was a football match, a UEFA friendly between Brazil and Ukraine. They were already into injury time and things weren’t looking good for Ukraine.

  Joey glanced at the screen. ‘Leave that mate. In fact turn it up a bit.’

  Dave looked at him. ‘Thought you wanted a word.’

  Joey pulled the SPS out of his pocket.

  ‘Not really. As I said, turn it up.’

  Dave’s eyes widened, his nervous fingers fumbled on the volume control button as he stared at the gun in disbelief. ‘I don’t get it. Glynis said you wanted to help us.’

  Joey held the gun at waist height, his grip was easy, his hand steady as a rock. ‘My sister wanted to help you and I went along with it. But you should’ve got on that plane to Ibiza mate. I had everything worked out nicely. You missing that plane has caused me no end of stress.’

  Dave took off his glasses, wiped his hand over his sweaty face.

  ‘We was packed and ready to go. Then Glynis got a call. It was her next-door neighbour from the old place. He kept an eye on things for her. He said the alarm was going off and he sounded really anxious.’

  Joey shook his head and tutted. ‘What? And it didn’t occur to you two fucking knuckleheads that it was Sean?’

  ‘Oh yeah Glynis knew. But she was worried about her neighbour. Poor old boy has terrible arthritis and his wife’s in a wheelchair. They’d been really good to Glynis. She was scared Sean’d hurt them if she didn’t go back. I begged her not to go.’

  ‘She should’ve listened to you.’

  ‘She didn’t want them to suffer because of her.’

  Joey sighed. ‘Ironic really, ’cause it means you’re gonna suffer instead.’

  Dave was shaking, the sweat trickling from his receding hairline down his forehead. ‘Don’t shoot me Joey, I’m begging you. I’ll do whatever you want. Go to Ibiza, stay here, disappear, whatever. You just say.’

  Joey gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘That’s all very well Dave and I appreciate the offer. But what I want now is for you to be dead, so that when your body’s found there’s a good chance the old bill’ll go knocking at Sean’s door. Sorry mate. You seem to me like a decent bloke, so I’ll make it quick and clean.’

  Dave fell to his knees, sobs racked his body. He crawled towards Joey. ‘No please, I’m begging you . . .’

  Joey extended his arm, took aim. ‘Keep still and look up.’

  Dave’s dark myopic gaze met his. Joey could see the fear, smell it, it was exhilarating. He squeezed the trigger. The gun’s report coincided with the final whistle and cheering fans on the television. The bullet struck Dave squarely in the front of the forehead, his eyes froze in shock as it passed through his brain and blew off the back of his head. Blood and brains exploded over the sofa, carpet and wall behind him.

  Joey lowered his arm with a satisfied grin. As the body slowly came to rest in a heap on the floor, he glanced around. He hadn’t touched anything. The blood spray had missed him, and any tiny particles would’ve hit his disposable boiler suit. He slotted the gun into his pocket and headed for the door.

  The sense of elation he felt was like no other experience in his life. He wanted to join the Brazilian fans on the telly and shout with joy, he restrained himself. Tonight it was business. This killing was a strategic move, but it was also a pleasure, one day Kaz would understand that. It was the key to any kind of real success in the world. Natural selection, ensuring the fittest survived. And Joey knew he was special. He’d never suffered from the maelstrom of debilitating emotions that seemed to paralyse most people. He could always stand back, remain detached and see the bigger picture. It was a huge advantage.

  But in the meantime there was no harm in him having a bit of fun along the way.

  47

  Kaz spent the best part of a couple of days on her new sofa. She became intimate with its soft creamy undulations and the sharp smell of the leather. Making the bed up felt like too much of an effort. Helen had offered to do it for her, but Kaz had declined.

  After Bradley had made his exit Helen used the new kettle and mugs to make tea. Then she paced the room. Her phone trilled a couple of times, she checked it and avoided Kaz’s eye.

  Kaz watched her from the sofa; tense and awkward she was obviously looking for an excuse to escape. Kaz decided to put her out of her misery.

  ‘I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay.’

  ‘I can’t leave you like this.’

  ‘Yeah you can. You’re my lawyer, this is family stuff. It ain’t your problem.’

  ‘I still want to help you.’

  ‘Go home Helen. Nothing’s gonna happen tonight.’

  ‘You sure?’

  Kaz scanned her face, she wanted to say no, stay. She wanted Helen to insist, to put her to bed, to lie down gently beside her and protect her. But maybe it always was a fantasy. Helen hadn’t told her about Julia because she wanted to keep her options open. A walk on the wild side, that was her buzz. Kaz felt stupid, duped. Power and control – she’d met plenty of blokes who mainlined on th
at particular aphrodisiac. But Helen?

  Kaz struggled to her feet and, swinging along on her crutches, escorted Helen to the door. She shut it and locked it firmly behind her. Then she returned to the couch.

  She was dozing when a text pinged on her phone. Joey. His plane had been delayed, but he’d be with her soon as and he’d get everything sorted. Kaz thought about what that meant. Bradley’s accusation rankled. Did she really want her brother to go out and murder Sean on her behalf? She certainly hated him enough, but to have Sean’s death on her conscience . . . how would that make her feel?

  She’d grown up in the world of Terry and Sean Phelps, where killing was just part of the way things were done. It wasn’t spoken of that much, but it was the ultimate threat. You stayed in line or you paid the price. Violence and fear were the currency of family life. Lies and denial were what held it all together. Except underneath it didn’t, you felt like shit inside. Had she spent six years in jail, struggled to get clean and sober, to find some measure of dignity, simply to go back to all that?

  She fell asleep cocooned by the sofa and when she woke early morning sunlight was flooding into the room casting a warm glow over her new home. She got up and discovered that the swelling in her ankle had gone down considerably. She could just about hobble if she didn’t put too much weight on it. Realizing she hadn’t eaten since breakfast the previous day – most of which she’d barfed into Sean’s boot – she made herself a large bowl of cereal and fruit. She had consumed most of it when the entryphone system buzzed, she hobbled and hopped across the room, pressed the button and her heart soared as the tiny screen displayed Joey’s grinning face.

  He breezed into the flat but his smile dissolved into an angry frown at the sight of her.

  ‘Fucking hell!’

  ‘Do I look that bad?’

  He drew her into his arms, cradled her. Her head sank on to his shoulder and the tears came.

  Ashley closed the door behind them, stood watching, waiting, like an obedient hound.

  Joey glanced at him. ‘Got a tissue or something?’

  Ashley rummaged in his jeans, came up with a pocket pack, handed it over. Joey swept Kaz up in his arms and carried her, without apparent effort, over to the sofa. He opened the pack of tissues and handed her one. His jaw was tense, his expression fierce. ‘Bastard’s gonna pay for this.’

  Kaz dabbed her nose, blowing was still too painful. ‘Yeah well, we need to talk about that. Bottom line is Sean’s not worth going to jail for.’

  ‘You seen yourself babe? You need to take a good long look in the mirror before you start going soft on him.’

  ‘I don’t need to look in the mirror. And I’m not going soft.’

  Joey took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. Just . . . gets me in the gut seeing you this way. Looks like you been in a cage-fight.’

  She laughed drily. ‘Feels a bit like that too.’

  Joey shook his head wearily. ‘Well, Ash has got something for you.’

  At Joey’s nod, Ashley reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. He opened it to reveal a medium-sized pistol.

  Joey took it from him and turned it over in his palm. ‘SIG P220, semi-automatic, eight-round mag – one of the most reliable handguns you can get.’

  Kaz stared at him. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do with that?’

  Joey held out the gun. ‘Get any more unannounced visits from Sean you shoot the fucker, that’s what.’

  ‘Don’t be daft! I don’t know how to use a gun.’

  Joey gave her a reassuring smile, patted her hand. ‘Don’t be frightened of it. You put the clip in here.’

  Ashley handed him a cartridge magazine, he slotted it into the base of the handle, clicked it home with the heel of his hand.

  ‘Pull back the slide, make sure your decocker’s off.’ He indicated a small button on the side. ‘Point. Hold your arm out straight, two hands.’ He aimed the gun at the opposite wall. ‘Shoot. Bit of kick, but provided you got it firmly with both hands, you’ll be fine.’

  Kaz took a deep breath and fixed him with a hard stare. ‘Remember what happened last time I had a gun? No way.’

  ‘That was a long time ago. We was stupid kids. This is just a sensible precaution.’

  ‘I don’t want it.’

  Joey flicked the decocker back on, turned it over admiringly in his hand. ‘Swiss design, German made.’

  Ashley took what looked like a short metal gun barrel out of his other pocket and smiled at Kaz. ‘We got a suppressor too, so if it does go off no one’ll hear it.’

  ‘Fuck off Ash. I don’t want it.’

  Joey took the suppressor and screwed it onto the barrel of the gun. Once he’d assured himself it was firmly attached he handed the whole thing back to Ashley.

  ‘Put it in one of them kitchen drawers, case she changes her mind.’

  Ashley wrapped the gun in the bag and glanced at Kaz. ‘I made you up a couple of extra clips so that’s twenty-four cartridges in all.’

  Joey laughed. ‘That should be enough, even for a dinosaur like Sean.’

  Ashley put the gun in a kitchen drawer.

  Kaz huffed. ‘Am I talking to myself or what?’

  Joey put his arm round her, pulled her into a hug. ‘Only want you to be safe babe. Now what else d’you need?’

  She grasped his large paw in her own hand. ‘I need us both to be safe. I don’t want you going after Sean, getting hurt, getting arrested. Remember what we talked about, making the business totally legit? That’s what I need – to be free of the old life. For us both to be free. You’re smart enough Joey. Sean’s a two-bit drug dealer. It’s all he’ll ever be. The law’ll get him, or he’ll piss someone else off. The bottom line is he hurt me but I don’t want his death on my conscience. Got that?’

  Joey pondered this. He gazed out of the window, banks of fluffy white clouds were racing across the sky. Finally he turned, gave her a lop-sided smile.

  ‘Okay, we’ll try it your way. See what happens.’

  For a moment she got the full force of his dark, unnerving stare. Did she believe him? She was getting used to his mercurial changes of direction. Much as she hated Sean, she wasn’t about to let him mess up her life any more than he already had.

  Joey was looking out of the window again, he seemed very far away, but then his gaze flicked back to her and he smiled.

  ‘Just remember the gun’s in the drawer if you need it. Okay?’

  Kaz sighed and nodded. It was pointless arguing, her body was weary and sore. ‘Whatever.’

  48

  It was still dark, a good half-hour before dawn, when Nicci Armstrong pulled into Thurrock services at the junction of the A13 and the M25. Traffic was already building up, taillights forming a red flickering arc across the Dartford Bridge. In a quiet corner of the lorry park there were a couple of patrol cars parked up plus an armed response team getting togged up and ready to go. DCI Cheryl Stoneham was chatting to detectives beside one of the vehicles, hands cupped round a hot coffee. As soon as she saw Nicci draw up she walked over. Nicci got out of her car. Stoneham looked remarkably cheerful considering she’d got out of bed at four.

  ‘Morning Nic, glad you could join us.’

  Nicci smiled. ‘Thanks for the heads-up. We appreciate it.’

  ‘Anything to do with the Phelps clan, we thought you’d be interested. Sussex have asked for our help, they’re obviously the lead on this because the murder happened in Eastbourne. You want a coffee? We got a flask somewhere.’ She swivelled her head to locate one of her uniformed officers. ‘Jimmy, can you get DS Armstrong a drink?’

  The PC acknowledged the request with a nod. Nicci smiled.

  ‘Cheers. So who’s the victim?’

  ‘A bookie, name of Dave Harper. Turns out Sean Phelps’s missus had been shacked up with him for years. Neighbours all knew her, assumed they were a couple.’

  Nicci nodded. ‘Sean gets out of jail and he’s not happy about it?’

  ‘That
’s the theory we’re working on. Confirmed by the fact that it looks like Dave and Mrs Phelps had planned to do a runner. Two plane tickets to Ibiza found in the flat.’

  Jimmy the PC trotted over, handed Nicci a styrofoam cup of coffee. She thanked him, sighed. ‘Sean’s likely to be expecting us then?’

  ‘Hard to say. We got a surveillance unit tucked up near the house and according to them everyone’s in bed.’

  Nicci inclined her head in the direction of the armed response team.

  ‘Still treating it as an armed digout though?’

  Stoneham laughed. ‘Victim had his head blown apart by some kind of serious Russian handgun. They pulled the bullet out of next-door’s wall.’

  The police convoy headed eastwards on the A13 then turned off north into Langdon Hills. Cheryl Stoneham coordinated their approach until they reached a suburban cul-de-sac. The target, a detached chalet bungalow sitting on a corner plot, looked a bit run down, garden full of weeds. A Mondeo was parked on the drive. Stoneham handed over to the skipper of the armed response team, and as the first hints of a grey dawn started to break in the eastern sky, they went in. Nicci sat in the back of Stoneham’s car and watched.

  Two swings with the Enforcer brought the front door off its hinges and four officers armed with MP5s piled into the house. In less than five minutes a dazed-looking Sean Phelps was brought out in handcuffs and pyjamas. He was put in the back of a patrol car.

  The skipper of the armed response team came towards Stoneham’s car. She lowered the window.

  He squatted down to her level. ‘All clear. First we thought it was just him and the wife. But then we found another woman locked in a back bedroom.’

  Stoneham frowned. ‘Interesting. Thanks John. You can stand your lads down.’

  He patted the side of the car. ‘Watch out for the wife, she’s got a gob on her.’

  As Sean Phelps was driven off to the local station to be interviewed by the officers who’d come up from Sussex, Nicci followed Stoneham into the house. Even before they crossed the threshold their ears were assailed.