Ashley nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’
Joey turned on Bradley, still bound to the chair trying to free himself from the duct tape, and his fury exploded. He heaved the chair on its side, Bradley crashed to the floor and his head struck the concrete.
‘Fucking bastards! You got no respect!’
Joey booted him in the gut. Kaz launched herself at her brother’s back, spun him round and pointed the gun right in his face.
‘Enough!’
He simply stared at her, a tear rolled down his cheek. He sniffed. ‘I gotta go and see Mum.’
Ashley shook his head. ‘No you can’t Joe, there’s filth all over.’ He glanced at Bradley. ‘Probably looking for him.’
Joey turned, fury was still burning off him, he walked round in a circle, took a couple of deep breaths. Then he stopped, stared at the bricks overhead. It was almost as if he were counting them. The rage appeared to subside.
He looked at Ashley. ‘Call Neville. He’ll sort them out.’ He turned to Yevgeny and pointed at the semi-conscious Bradley. ‘Finish this off and clean up the mess. I gotta go and be with my mum.’
Joey headed for the door, as an afterthought he glanced at Kaz. ‘You coming babes? Mum’s gonna need her family round her.’
Kaz hissed in disbelief. ‘What planet you living on Joey? She and Brian are probably cracking open the champagne.’
Joey stared at her, his eyes cold and blank. ‘Fuck you then.’
And he was gone. Ashley scurried out of the door after him.
Kaz looked down at Bradley, it was hard to tell if he was still breathing. She glanced at the pistol in her hand, Yevgeny and Tolya were both watching her. She met their gaze, held it. Then she sighed.
‘Don’t you think that perhaps this particular tour of duty is over for you lads? Take a plane to somewhere hot, sit on a nice beach? Whad’you reckon?’
Yevgeny pondered this, turned to his brother, said something in Russian. Tolya nodded.
Unexpectedly Yevgeny smiled. ‘You a tough lady. I like you. See you around sometime maybe.’
Tolya gave her a nod and a smile then the two Russians disappeared out of the door.
Kaz dropped the gun, rushed over to the workbench and found a Stanley knife. She used it to cut Bradley free from the chair. He was conscious but disorientated. He was bleeding from the ear.
She cradled his head. ‘I got no phone, so I’m gonna have to get some help.’ Pulling off her jacket, she folded it up and made a pillow for his head.
‘They . . .’ The effort to speak made him clutch his ribs and wince with pain.
Kaz took his hand ‘They’ve gone, don’t worry. Just lie still. I’ll get an ambulance. You’re gonna be fine.’
He held onto her hand and squeezed it.
73
Helen Warner was sitting through what seemed an interminable partners’ meeting when one of the PAs came in and whispered that Karen Phelps was calling her collect from a kebab shop in Ilford. She gave Neville Moore an apologetic smile and slipped out of the room.
Since fetching Karen home from the hospital she’d taken a firm decision to put some space between them. But it hadn’t been easy. Now she found her heart was thumping and her palms were clammy as she headed towards the phone.
She and Julia had set a date, booked the registry office. It was the sensible thing, it was the life she wanted, the life she needed. Karen Phelps was definitely not what she needed. Being with Karen would be madness; it would comprehensively fuck her up, her nascent political career would be dead in the water. And yet the scent of Karen’s skin, the look of those intense dark eyes, the desire for her, niggled at the fringes of Helen’s consciousness, it simply wouldn’t leave her alone. Was this love? Stupid ragbag of a word. She’d loved before and look where that got her. Dumped flat to preserve the public image, to protect someone else’s interests. Well she’d learnt the lesson back then: stay safe, stay in control.
She took a deep breath and grabbed the phone. Her tone was clipped, businesslike. ‘Karen? What’s up?’
The voice on the line was tense, hassled, even so the familiar timbre stabbed Helen straight in the gut. ‘I gotta be quick, ’cause I’m waiting for the ambulance.’
‘Ambulance? What the hell . . .’
‘Just listen. Joey got hold of Bradley. Remember Bradley the cop?’
‘Of course . . .’
‘Joey was gonna shoot him. I stopped him, but Bradley’s beat up pretty bad. Hang on . . . here’s the ambulance now.’
Helen could hear muffled chat in the background, a siren, finally Karen came back on the line.
‘Romford. The A & E at Queen’s. That’s where we’re going. Need you to call the cops, Woodentop’s lot. Tell ’em. Okay?’
‘Karen—’
The line went dead.
Helen could feel her hand shaking as she replaced the handset. Across the office she caught Neville Moore’s gaze and he was zoning in on her. She’d had the odd barbed comment from him about professional standards and inappropriate relationships. He’d been watching her, monitoring her; maybe even checking her emails – she wouldn’t put it past him.
As he approached he gave her his gimlet-eyed smile. ‘Problems?’
She jutted her chin, no way was he getting the drop on her. Not now. She gave a diffident shrug. ‘I think you may have a problem Neville. Joey Phelps has just tried to shoot a police officer.’
74
Nicci Armstrong walked into the A & E department at Queen’s Hospital in Romford, headed straight to the front of the queue and flashed her ID at the triage nurse. She was probably being unnecessarily abrupt but the day had been frustrating in the extreme. They’d searched all the premises with known connections to Joey Phelps and drawn a blank. His vehicles had been flagged up, they’d put out an APW. With panic mounting Nicci had been rushing round in ever-decreasing circles wired on caffeine. As the hours went by the mood of the team had deteriorated, the theory gaining ground was that Bradley was already dead and Phelps had skipped the country. Then Nicci got a call from Karen Phelps’s lawyer.
It was Helen Warner who told her Bradley was en route to Queen’s Hospital in an ambulance with Karen Phelps. Nicci had run out of the Phelps family compound, leaving Essex Police to continue the stakeout. She was the first officer to reach the hospital.
The waiting area was in a late afternoon torpor, with a couple of unruly kids testing the patience of their vexed parents. Karen Phelps was sitting alone in one corner staring into space.
Nicci steamed straight up to her, she wanted answers and she wanted them now. Her temper was in danger of getting the upper hand. As she took a deep breath to rein it in, Kaz looked up at her.
‘You got him yet?’
Somehow this was so unexpected and direct that it floored Nicci. ‘Your brother? Not yet no.’
‘He’s on his way to my parents’ place in Essex. You’ll get him there.’
Nicci nodded. ‘Where’s Bradley?’
‘Doctors are looking at him, X-raying him, whatever.’
Nicci nodded again. A small oriental staff nurse came through the swing doors in front of them. She carried a clipboard and a rather bored, supercilious air. Her eyes flicked over them. ‘Which one is Karen? He wants to talk to you.’
Nicci pulled out her warrant card. ‘I’m DS Armstrong.’
The nurse looked at her dismissively. ‘No police interviews. He needs emergency surgery. You’ll have to wait.’ She turned to Kaz. ‘Follow me.’
For Nicci this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She stepped in front of the nurse and loomed threateningly. ‘Hang about sunshine. For your information he is a police officer. He’s been missing and we’ve been looking for him all day. Now you go and get someone a lot higher up the food chain that I can talk to about this.’
The nurse glared at her and spluttered. ‘This hospital has a policy of zero tolerance towards abusers of its staff.’
Kaz couldn�
�t help smiling, it was like a Pekinese in a face-off with a Rottweiler.
‘Really?’ Nicci put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, you’ve got one minute to get your boss or I’ll be nicking you for obstruction. That’s my policy.’
She didn’t have to say more. A burly charge nurse and a registrar in surgical scrubs were homing in on them to defuse the situation.
Bradley was in a curtained-off cubicle in the trauma unit with a drip in his arm. The dried blood had been cleaned away but his face looked like a punchbag. A nurse was prepping him for emergency surgery, shaving the hair off the side of his head. She let the dark locks drop on the floor. The registrar escorted Nicci and Kaz to the cubicle. She was a horsey young woman, auburn hair scraped back in a bun and an abundance of freckles, but her manner was breezy and confident.
‘He has an epidural haematoma – bleeding inside his skull – so we’re taking him up to theatre immediately to deal with this. We presumed he was a victim of crime and pictures have been taken. He’s lucid at the moment, but I can only give you a couple of minutes.’
Nicci nodded her thanks, she and Kaz exchanged awkward glances. Then Bradley noticed them and attempted a smile.
‘Nic . . . glad you’re here. Can’t see that good, you need to come close.’
Nicci winced inwardly as she realized that probably meant serious neurological damage. She stood beside the trolley and took his hand. ‘We’ve been looking for you all day.’
He gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘Tell everyone I’m sorry.’
She could see he was having trouble focusing on her. ‘Jesus wept Mal! How am I meant to cover your sorry arse if you don’t talk to me, tell me what you’re doing.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘It was a secret. Wanted to help Karen but didn’t want Turnbull to find out.’
Nicci shook her head, she could feel tears prickling behind her eyes. ‘What, you think I talk to Turnbull any more than I have to?’
He was struggling to concentrate. He raised his hand in Kaz’s direction.
‘She saved my neck. Pointed a gun at her brother and stopped him from killing me. She wasn’t part of this.’
Nicci glanced across at Kaz, who was on the other side of the trolley.
‘Well we don’t really know that, do we?’
Bradley took a breath. He was focusing all his effort on speaking. His voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘Listen to me Nic, I know. Kaz and I were bloody lucky he didn’t kill us both.’
The curtains were drawn back, the registrar, a nurse and some porters were waiting.
Kaz lifted Bradley’s hand up gently and kissed the fingers. ‘Hang on in there PC Mal, ’cause we’ve got a date in New York.’
Bradley smiled, then he started to cough. The cough turned to a gasp and a splutter as he fought for breath. His left arm jerked, then his whole body went into convulsions.
The registrar took charge. ‘He’s having a seizure. Call crash!’
Suddenly people in surgical scrubs were rushing in. A trolley with equipment appeared, the registrar was issuing instructions while injecting something into the cannula in Bradley’s arm.
Kaz shot a glance at Nicci. ‘What the fuck . . .?’
Nicci swallowed hard. The small oriental staff nurse took her elbow, but there was no hostility, just a professional look of concern. ‘Please. You need to wait outside.’
She shepherded Nicci and Kaz to the waiting area. They stood in the middle of the floor staring at each other helplessly for a moment. Then Kaz sank down on her haunches, hugging her arms round her knees.
Nicci towered over her. ‘What the fuck did you two think you were playing at?’
Kaz glanced up, anger in her eyes. ‘He was trying to help me get away from my brother. It was his fucking idea!’
Nicci released a hiss of air between her teeth. She took out her phone. ‘He said you had a gun. Where’s the gun?’
‘I dunno. I left it on the floor in the lock-up.’ Kaz buried her face in her knees.
Nicci was turning the phone over and over, fast, jittery repetitions.
‘Where’s the lock-up?’
Kaz rose up in one fast and fluid action. At her full height she was a couple of inches taller than Nicci. She fixed her with a fierce glare.
‘Fucking cops! He’s probably . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘And all you can do is ask fucking questions!’
Nicci met her stare, raised her chin defiantly. ‘I’m doing my job. Preserving the evidence to make a case – to send your fucking psychopath of a brother to jail.’
Kaz seemed to deflate, her shoulders sank. She breathed a heavy sigh. Nicci was close enough to feel the exuded air on her face. She could see the tears welling in the corners of Kaz’s eyes. She watched the younger woman’s trachea rise and fall as she swallowed. Then on the periphery of her vision she saw the auburn-headed registrar come through the swing doors. She stepped back and turned.
The registrar met her gaze and Nicci knew at once what was coming: the professional condolences, the sparse medical details, the official pronouncement that DC Mal Bradley was dead.
75
Kaz watched DS Nicci Armstrong disappear through the automatic doors and into the nicotine fug beyond. The doctor had explained in short, matter-of-fact sentences that the blood leaking inside Bradley’s skull had turned into a massive haemorrhage. There was nothing they could do. Nicci had thanked the doctor politely, turned and walked away. Kaz had simply stood there, thinking about him, how he’d kept turning up, cajoling her, harassing her. How was it that she should feel so much pain over the death of a cop?
She concluded she was in shock. Her mouth felt dry. Although she hadn’t eaten since breakfast she wasn’t hungry, but she was certainly dehydrated. She walked over to the vending machine. She was peering at the contents, looking for something that wasn’t entirely sugar water, when she heard a familiar voice at her back.
‘Need some change?’
Her heart leapt. She turned and there was Helen. Kaz didn’t want to feel so absurdly glad and grateful, but she was. They stared at each other awkwardly then Kaz stepped into her arms.
‘Thanks for coming.’
Helen held onto her but only briefly before stepping back. ‘I thought they’d certainly take you in for questioning. So best if I’m here.’
She fed some coins into the machine and a plastic bottle of water plonked into the tray; she handed it to Kaz with a smile. Her manner was friendly but business-like.
‘I’ve seen DS Armstrong outside. There are some other detectives who’ve just arrived. How do you want to play this?’
Kaz scanned her lover’s face. Although they’d only made love on one occasion she found it hard to think of Helen as anything else. The memory of that intimacy was too precious. She longed to stroke her hair or touch her cheek. Instead she cracked open the bottle of water and took a long draught.
She wiped her mouth with her hand. ‘Bradley’s dead.’
‘Oh, I see. That’s a bit awkward. Do they know you helped him?’
Kaz stared at Helen. ‘A bit awkward?’
‘What d’you expect me to say? Tragic obviously. But my main concern at this moment is that you may be about to be charged as an accessory to murder and have your licence revoked.’
Kaz let her gaze rest on Helen’s face. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. But then Kaz began to wonder, was that all an illusion, the product of confused feelings, but mostly desire? When she looked closer she could see a tightness round the lips, a prissiness, an assumption of superiority. Helen was certainly good-looking, but there was a harshness in her features, a need for control. Kaz wondered why she’d really come. To do her job? To salve her conscience? It was impossible to get behind the mask.
She took a deep breath. ‘I know I phoned you, asked for your help. But y’know, all this is complicated. I’ve decided I’m gonna get myself a new lawyer. Your firm represents Joey. Don’t think that’s gonna work for me any more.’
Helen raised her eyebrows, she seemed surprised and mildly offended. ‘Neville represents your brother and I’m quite capable of separating—’
Kaz reached out a hand and brushed Helen’s arm. The frisson was still there, and hard to ignore, but Kaz knew she had to.
‘I know what you’re capable of. And I’ll always be grateful to you. But I’ve made up my mind.’
Helen pursed her lips, it left her face tight and pinched. She wanted to be the one to draw the line, not Karen. The power had been wrested from her and she resented it. ‘Well . . . I hope we can remain friends.’
Kaz gave her a sombre smile. ‘Who knows? Maybe.’
Helen bit back an angry riposte.
Kaz tilted her head. ‘Sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.’
Helen shrugged, turned on her heel and stalked off. Kaz watched her go. She still looked magnificent, very haughty and very Helen. Kaz swallowed hard but the tears still came.
76
Terry Phelps’s funeral took place on a day of unseasonable autumn sunshine. The sky was cloudless, the temperature in the high teens. But even without the weather there was never any doubt that this was to be a spectacular send-off. Everything had to be top of the range, family dignity demanded it. A team of four plumed black horses drew a Victorian glass funeral carriage bearing the casket. On top of the walnut coffin a memorial ribbon wreath composed entirely of white roses spelled out two words: The Guvnor. This had been Brian’s idea. Kaz couldn’t remember anyone ever calling her father that, but the feeling was it fitted the occasion.
It took well over an hour for the horse-drawn cortège to wend its way through the Essex lanes to Chelmsford Crematorium. Sitting in the back of a vintage Rolls Royce, crawling along at less than ten miles an hour, Kaz had plenty of time for reflection.
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