Informant

by Susan Wilkins

  Suddenly there was a noise in the hall. Kaz’s heart lurched. The front door hinges creaked. Someone had come in. Kaz’s first thought was Bradley. He’d finally turned up, too late to save her. Now she was most certainly going back to jail. But the prospect suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Life inside was predictable. She wouldn’t have to think any more, worry any more. She could give in, let the days and then the years simply wash over her. A sense of relief coursed through her sore, battered body and oblivious to the fact she was totally naked, she turned to face him.

  But the man who appeared framed in the hall doorway was larger and squarer. Tolya stood, hands on hips, wearing a big grin. He glanced at the corpse and nodded with approval.

  ‘Dead?’

  Kaz stared at him, completely thrown. Was he about to attack her? He simply smiled, then squatted down to take a closer look at Kaz’s handiwork.

  ‘Nice shot. I call Joey. You need take a shower, put clothes on.’

  Kaz clutched the kitchen worktop for support. She knew she was in shock, still none of it made sense.

  He stood up, gave her a reassuring look. ‘It’s okay. Go take shower. I call Joey.’

  ‘I don’t . . . understand . . .’

  Tolya frowned as if it should be obvious. ‘Joey, he say me keep eye on things ’til you kill him.’

  ‘Kill him?’

  ‘Kill him, kill Sean. Bam.’ Tolya mimed the shot and grinned.

  Kaz’s brain was racing to catch up. Tolya’s accent was hard enough to decipher. She shook her head. ‘Joey? But . . . you were working for Sean?’

  Tolya laughed. ‘No no, Yevgeny and me, we work always for Joey. Joey say me to . . . to . . .’

  He screwed up his face with frustration as he searched for the right word.

  Kaz’s mind was ricocheting between relief and anger. She clutched her arms round her naked torso protectively. ‘What the fuck you trying to say? Joey told you to what . . . pretend to work for Sean?’

  Tolya beamed and slapped his thigh. ‘Yeah pretend! I pretend. I keep watch on you, wait ’til you kill him.’

  As the truth sank in, Kaz’s brain exploded. ‘He could’ve fucking killed me and you stood by and watched!’

  Tolya looked mortified. ‘No no no! Sean, he beat women for his pleasure. He don’t kill them.’

  ‘He tried to rape me!’

  Tolya nodded sagely. ‘Joey say if he try rape you, you get mad enough then you kill him.’

  Kaz swallowed hard as she absorbed this. Joey had engineered the whole thing? She couldn’t quite believe it. Why? Why would he do such a thing to her, knowing how she felt about Sean? It was bonkers.

  Tolya watched her, he couldn’t help letting his eyes stray a bit over the contours of her naked body. He started grinning like an idiot, then he wagged his finger at her, as he supposed a concerned brother might.

  ‘Go shower, get clothes. I call Joey. Don’t worry. We clean this up.’

  59

  Bradley tracked Mike Dawson down to an office at the Slade only to discover he’d gone to an art history conference in Oxford. The departmental PA, a young African woman with an impenetrable accent, assumed Bradley was some kind of student and was less than helpful. Only when Bradley produced his warrant card and a tone of voice that promised trouble did she become marginally more compliant. He ended up exchanging texts with Mike and arranging to meet him in the early evening on his return from Oxford.

  All of which left Bradley at a bit of a loose end. He sat in a coffee shop feeling like a kid bunking off school. Was he really going to chuck it all in as he’d boasted to Karen Phelps? On a sunny morning with a head free of booze his career prospects didn’t look so bad. Maybe what he needed was a sabbatical? He’d never taken a gap year as a student, waste of time and money his dad had said. It was something rich kids did: help the poor for a couple of months then have an exotic holiday. Maybe he could persuade his bosses to give him some time-out now. He could travel, have time to think, reassess, pick up the job again later.

  He started to muse on the places he might visit and somehow that led him to a fantasy of him and Karen in New York. What if they met in a cool bar in Tribeca? Two Brits, far away from home, untainted by past complications, falling easily into conversation, liking each other, fancying each other? If they met like that he was pretty sure he would make her laugh. It would be like some indie rom-com with a soundtrack by Coldplay. She would be damaged and difficult, fleeing the past, but his love would save her, redeem them both. They’d live happily ever after in a cool loft apartment in some transatlantic nirvana.

  His phone buzzing and dancing on the tabletop dragged him back to reality. It was Nicci Armstrong.

  ‘You really sick or just hung-over?’

  Bradley smiled to himself, she didn’t beat about the bush. ‘Neither as it happens. I’m out and about, pursuing a line of inquiry.’

  ‘Well if you’re still pissed off with Ms Alice Ogilvy and the forces of corporate capitalism, get your arse back here because I could do with some help.’

  This hooked Bradley’s attention. ‘Turnbull’s agreed to go after them for money-laundering?’

  He heard Nicci sigh and take a gulp of something, probably coffee. ‘Not exactly. But we’ve had a small window of opportunity open up. You in or out?’

  Bradley didn’t think twice, the dream vaporized.

  ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’

  Nicci put the phone down and drained her coffee mug. Caffeine was her drug of choice, she drank it all day, usually until it gave her palpitations. The morning meeting with Turnbull had been predictable enough. She and Bill Mayhew had hung around for half an hour outside his office to be granted a ten-minute slot.

  Bill had presented the case. The connection they’d dug up between Alice Ogilvy and Joey Phelps suggested that Mainwaring Grant, Ogilvy’s firm, might be involved in some serious money-laundering. Bill wanted a complete shakedown: a seizure of files, computers, the interrogation of staff. He gave Turnbull his usual diffident smile.

  ‘We line up the senior partners, put their nuts in a vice, I think that’ll give us the track we need back to Joey. Probably a few others as well.’

  Turnbull seemed preoccupied. While Mayhew talked he checked and rechecked his phone, he couldn’t sit still. When the DCI had finished he placed the BlackBerry carefully on the desk in front of him and considered the proposition for all of ten seconds. ‘A firm of City accountants, Bill – are you serious? How many man-hours do you think that’ll take?’

  Mayhew pondered. ‘Well it depends what we—’

  ‘Too many, that’s how many. We’re not forensic accountants. It could take months and we’d still come up with bugger-all.’

  This was much the response that Mayhew had expected. A small smile played around his lips as he lobbed in the grenade. ‘Nic’s had a word with an old mate at the SFO. The firm’s already on their radar, it specializes in helping clients place funds in tax havens. As soon as we mentioned Joey and the organized crime connection their ears pricked up.’

  Turnbull cast a baleful eye in Nicci’s direction. He might’ve guessed it was her stirring this particular pot.

  She gave him her best smile. ‘According to my contact, boss, money-laundering would be an easy score for them. As long as we’re talking over a million, which we probably are, then the SFO are within their remit. They’d provide us with their expertise and we’d—’

  Turnbull held up his hand. ‘No. No no no! I am not about to take part in some bloody SFO-sponsored circus. No bloody way.’

  Nicci and Mayhew exchanged glances. It didn’t really surprise them that Turnbull was getting so hot under the collar. Letting the Serious Fraud Office steal his thunder, definitely not Turnbull’s style. Still, he did seem unusually wound up.

  Turnbull huffed, got to his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets. Then he reined himself in, turned to Mayhew and sighed. ‘What is the matter with you Bill? Why are you trying to complicate the issu
e? Joey Phelps is a murderer, a cop killer, a two-bit thug. He’s our target, not some posh firm of accountants who will most certainly have the sense not to keep any kind of incriminating evidence in their files or databases.’

  Mayhew raised his palm in a placatory gesture. ‘We just thought that getting some leverage into Phelps’s drug dealing operation—’

  Turnbull’s index finger zeroed in on Mayhew. ‘I don’t want him for drug dealing, I want him for murder. Clear?’ He glanced at Nicci. ‘Alex Marlow’s murder, that’s our priority surely?’

  Nicci squirmed, Turnbull had an uncanny knack of putting his finger on the sorest spot. Mayhew was nodding.

  Turnbull checked his watch, he seemed edgy. He looked at Mayhew. ‘Now . . . unless there’s anything else?’

  Mayhew and Nicci both rose to their feet. He held the door open for her. They headed off down the corridor in silence.

  Mayhew stopped at the vending machine, scooped a handful of change from his trouser pocket, fed several coins into the machine and selected a Mars Duo. Nicci gave him a censorious glance.

  ‘Does that really go with statins?’

  He cracked open the packaging and sank his teeth deep into the bar. With a mouth full of melting chocolate he was barely audible. ‘Turnbull gets to bully me ’cause he’s the gaffer . . . wife gets to bully me ’cause she’s the wife.’ He swallowed and took another bite. ‘But you Nic, you don’t get to bully me.’

  ‘Fair enough. So what now?’

  Mayhew moved on to the second bar, chewing it slowly like a ruminant. He folded the wrapper neatly and tossed it in the bin, then he hauled the waistband of his trousers back over his paunch.

  ‘Well . . .’ His tongue scooted across his front teeth collecting up the last remnants of chocolate. ‘I thought he’d say that, but we had to ask. Now we do what we’ve always done. We busk it.’

  Nicci sighed. ‘Ogilvy doesn’t strike me as a woman who’s that easily frightened. But I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Take Bradley with you. You were complaining about him ranting before, but sometimes playing the heavy does work. We can’t follow through, so may as well go for broke.’

  60

  Kaz stood under the shower for what felt like an eternity. She could hear coming and going, interior doors banging, an electric drill. But she let the water cascade over her head and drown it all out. Her limbs were a dead weight, she barely managed to hold herself up. As the hot water reddened her skin the welts and bruises from her two encounters with Sean all seemed to blend into a single battered body. If there was any part of her mind that felt guilty about what she’d done she couldn’t locate it. In the seconds after she’d pulled the trigger elation had engulfed her, then nausea, then shock. Now her entire system felt drained.

  Through the moisture-fogged shower screen she saw the bathroom door open and a figure appear. She rubbed her hand across the glass to clear it. But before she could see she heard the familiar voice.

  ‘Struth babes, it’s like a fucking sauna in here.’

  She peered through the glass at Joey. He grinned back at her.

  ‘Gimme a minute, I’m getting out.’

  Joey retreated to the bedroom. Kaz stepped from the shower and enveloped herself in a bath towel. She found him sitting on the bed checking messages on his phone. He looked up and smiled. She didn’t know where to begin.

  ‘Where’s Glynis?’

  ‘I got Ash to take her back to my place.’

  ‘Does she know?’

  He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘Know what?’

  This exasperated Kaz, she wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions. ‘About Sean. About me killing fucking Sean. That’s what.’

  A mischievous glint crept into Joey’s eye. ‘Okay, let’s talk about that. Glynis don’t know and she don’t need to know. In fact no one does, ’cause Sean ain’t dead.’

  Kaz screwed up her face, she wanted to scream. Frustration, anger, she wasn’t sure which was the overriding emotion. Joey stood up, slipped his phone in his jeans pocket. He towered over her. He put his finger under her chin, turned it towards him and fixed her with a laser-eyed stare.

  ‘Listen to me carefully babes, ’cause this is important. Sean ain’t dead. Cops are after him for Dave’s murder. He didn’t fancy the prospect of another twenty years in jail, so he done a runner.’ Joey checked his watch. ‘Small private plane’s taking off from North Weald airfield . . . in fact about now. Cops’ll find a couple of mechanics who work down there and saw a bloke get on it, who looks a lot like Sean. Couple weeks’ time someone’ll see him in a bar on the Costa. Once the rumour mill gets going, there’ll be sightings all over. Some lucky bastard cop might even get a trip to Spain to check ’em out.’

  Joey beamed and held out his palms like a magician who’d just pulled an ace from the pack and was waiting for the applause.

  Kaz stared at him. ‘It ain’t a fucking game Joey.’

  He tipped back his head and laughed. ‘Oh it is babes and the only one worth playing.’

  She continued to hold his gaze. His look was hard, but behind the eyes was a blankness, an emotional void. Sean was right and in her heart she’d always known it, Joey didn’t give a fuck for anyone and that included her. He only ever did things his way. She took a step away from him and sat down on the bed. Her whole body felt dislocated, her head was spinning. ‘Can I ask you a question and get a straight answer?’

  Joey smiled. ‘You always get a straight answer from me babes, I ain’t a liar.’

  ‘Who told Sean I was trying to grass him up to the old bill?’

  Joey looked mystified. ‘How should I know? You said yourself them cops was playing all sorts of games—’

  With a surge of energy that surprised even her, Kaz leapt to her feet. Blind fury engulfed her. She thumped his chest with the flat of her hand as she screamed in his face.

  ‘Tell me the fucking truth Joey! You told him, din’t you! You told him! You told him so he’d come after me!’

  Joey’s face remained impassive, neither hostile nor upset. If anything he looked curious. Then he gently gathered her into his arms. She struggled to push him away, but he was insistent. The hug became firmer and she lacked the strength to resist. She let her body go limp and he gently rocked her.

  ‘Don’t get upset babes, don’t get upset. I’m gonna sort all this out, I promise.’

  He pushed her damp hair back from her forehead and gently kissed it. She could feel his warmth and his strength but it was no longer reassuring. Her body might be powerless to resist him, but her mind was focusing and moving into survival mode.

  There was a tap on the bedroom door, it opened a crack and Yevgeny stuck his head round.

  ‘We done now boss. Me and Tolya, we go.’

  Joey gave him a nod. ‘Door fixed too?’

  ‘Everything fixed.’

  ‘What about the neighbours?’

  Yevgeny shrugged. ‘No one home.’

  ‘Cheers mate.’ Joey held Kaz at arm’s length, as you would a child, and he smiled. ‘All cleaned up. So that means we can go make a nice cup of tea. I reckon you’ve earned it.’

  Kaz looked up at him, she found it hard to even focus on his face. ‘Yeah but what they done with the body?’

  ‘They’ll get rid of it. Burn it most like. You don’t have to worry about none of it. Sean’s gone. You got the job done. Now how about that cuppa?’

  61

  Mainwaring Grant’s offices were smart bordering on opulent. The company logo on the wall behind the reception desk was etched in gold. The building was Victorian but had been carefully refurbished to retain, in estate agent’s speak, many attractive original features. Bradley stared up at the ornate ceiling as Nicci Armstrong announced their arrival to the sleek receptionist. There was a large oil painting on one wall of a pink-cheeked shepherdess in a gauzy outfit petting a gambolling lamb.

  Nicci turned to Bradley, her eyes scoping the room. ‘Looks like they do a lot of bus
iness with the Middle East.’

  Bradley nodded, keeping his voice low. ‘Loads of front, remains to be seen how much backbone.’

  Alice Ogilvy came to greet them herself and she didn’t keep them waiting. She led them down a carpeted corridor hung with English pastoral scenes to a spacious conference room. At one end of a vast walnut table two men were already seated. They got up as Armstrong and Bradley entered the room. Ogilvy pointed to the younger man first, he was fresh-faced with a fashionably tight suit and a Justin Bieber fringe.

  ‘My colleague Anthony Hobbart.’

  Hobbart offered a damp handshake. Armstrong felt his nervousness and his youth. She couldn’t quite figure why Ogilvy had got him there. Maybe he was just ballast.

  Ogilvy moved on to the older man, ginger and balding with a vaguely foxy air. ‘And Nigel Puricelli, our legal adviser.’

  Puricelli shook hands firmly and met both Armstrong and Bradley’s eye with a sardonic gaze. They all sat down.

  Ogilvy smiled. ‘Coffee? Tea? We have an excellent selection of herbal infusions.’

  Armstrong returned the smile. ‘We’re fine.’

  The room settled into silence. Nicci knew they’d only get one bite of the cherry and she was determined not to rush it.

  Finally Puricelli pursed his lips and took charge. ‘So how can we help you Sergeant?’

  Nicci took a file from her bag. ‘As Ms Ogilvy knows we’re interested in any dealings your firm may have had with Joey Phelps.’

  Puricelli nodded slowly. ‘And this . . . Joey Phelps is currently under investigation for what particular crime?’

  Nicci cocked her head. ‘That I’m not at liberty to discuss, Mr Puricelli. But I do want to make it clear we understand that he probably deceived you. He presents himself to the world as a businessman and most certainly lies about his criminal enterprises.’