‘So it’s down to Paige?’
‘The interview the police conducted with her was stopped on medical advice. And I gather she’s being treated for severe depression.’
‘She took an overdose.’
‘Some might call that an unfortunate coincidence, Mr Hollister.’ Her cool grey eyes were boring straight into him and something in Robert Hollister snapped. Weeks holed up in that fucking flat, the paps chasing him like hounds, his friends ignoring his calls, his stupid mother sobbing down the phone and now this fucking bitch was laughing at him.
Shoving back his chair he stood up. ‘You don’t get to judge me. Not at eight-fifty an hour. You want my instructions? Here they are. Helen Warner was sixteen and gave full consent when I first had sex with her. And I’ve never raped a woman in my life, I’ve never had to. Now I expect you to do your fucking job.’
Isabel Merrow QC didn’t flinch or cower, she didn’t even move, although a glint of amusement flickered briefly behind her deadpan gaze. Hollister was steaming. But he read the look and realized he’d been suckered. She’d pushed his buttons to see how he’d react; if he hadn’t been so stressed out he’d never have fallen for it.
He took a deep breath and forced a smile. ‘Sorry. As you said at the outset, it’s been a difficult few weeks.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Do sit down, Mr Hollister.’ He shrugged with boyish contrition and obeyed. Her next remark would be placatory, that’s usually what women did. She’d want to make him feel better.
But she simply put her glasses on and glanced at the file. ‘If I were prosecuting this case I wouldn’t want to lose, makes the whole system look flawed and the papers would scream waste of public money. So if I had doubts – and I would, because there’s no sworn statement from Helen – I’d try and shelve it. I’d go for a discontinuance.’
‘That would mean no further action, right?’
‘No further action unless new evidence comes to light.’
‘Can you get me that?’
‘It’s achievable if the evidence looks weak.’
‘It is weak. It’s a pack of lies.’
She glossed over this with a chilly smile. ‘Only if, as you say, Helen was sixteen and Paige will corroborate that fact.’
‘That’s all you need, a statement from Paige?’ Hollister felt a surge of hope in his gut. This was what he knew, a process he understood. Every legal system ever invented was rigged and all you needed was the right move to play it.
Merrow nodded. Finally she was earning her fee.
Hollister drummed his index finger on the solid oak table. ‘Right. You’ll have it by Monday.’
7
The office of the local probation service occupied a two-tone brick building, fronted by a patch of parched grass, on a residential street in Laindon. The door was propped open and two removal men were struggling to get a desk through it.
Nicci had spent a sleepless night wondering whether she was doing the right thing. Her motives were mixed, to say the least, though she was having a hard time admitting that to herself. Blake had been hassling her with texts and finally, in the late evening, she’d called to update him.
‘Thing is, Simon, being helpful to Stoneham and her team is not going to do us any harm. We get a rep with them it could lead to business further down the line.’
‘Sounds worth a punt.’ His mood seemed lighter, the result, probably, of several large whiskies. ‘Is this your way of telling me you won’t be helping out on the security side?’
‘No. I told you, you can rely on me. I’ll babysit your HNWIs, whatever’s necessary.’ She didn’t mean her tone to be quite so tetchy. ‘Just give me a day to sort out this stuff in Essex, okay?’
‘Fine. Listen, I’m sorry.’
‘Stop apologizing. I’ll have to spend my time in some seriously posh shops. It’s not that much of a hardship.’
He’d chuckled. ‘Goodnight, Nic.’
She’d lain awake, her brain buzzing. Karen Phelps and her guilt trip; Nicci hated being under any sort of obligation to her, but she was. And Stoneham? She hadn’t told Blake the whole truth. It wasn’t the DCI she was hoping to impress, it was Tom Rivlin. He was playing her and she realized that. Did he even know her history? He might’ve heard the gossip. And the last thing she wanted was to be seen as some lonely basket case, forced out of the job for being an alchy. She’d sipped the wine he’d bought her in the pub and left half the glass undrunk. He knew he was good-looking and he used it like a girl. She hated blokes like that. He was a complete tosser; this was the conclusion she’d come to at around five a.m., when at long last she’d drifted into a fitful slumber.
She waited for about a quarter of an hour in the reception area together with two of the probation services’ clients. One was clearly a junkie – he avoided all eye contact – the other, a stocky youth, gnawed his fingernails and glared at her.
A tall, slightly stooped figure with greying hair appeared in the doorway. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Tom Rivlin. He smiled. ‘Nicci? I’m Steve O’Connor. Come on through.’
He held open a set of swing doors and she followed him down the corridor.
‘Tom mentioned you were with the Met.’ There was a definite Irish lilt in the voice.
‘Used to be.’
‘I worked in Camden back in the day, before it became so trendy.’
His office was tiny and crammed with cardboard cartons of files. He dismissed them with a flick of the hand. ‘They’re still trying to computerize something or other. More bloody systems that don’t work. Let me clear you a seat.’
He removed some documents from a chair and placed it in front of the desk for her.
‘Thanks for agreeing to see me. Looks like you’re very busy.’
‘I figure there’s a choice.’ He settled behind the desk. ‘You either drive yourself mad trying to keep up, or you work at the pace you can manage. The targets we’ve been set are nonsense – I’m just hoping for a decent redundancy package.’
‘You’re not in favour of the reforms?’
He simply chortled and shook his head.
‘Tom said you’re a fair-minded man.’
‘Did he now? Well, he’s my sister’s boy, so he has to say that.’
‘He didn’t mention you were related.’
‘He gets his good looks from our side of the family, can’t you tell?’
Nicci smiled and met his eye. Rivlin and his uncle shared the same twinkly teasing charm. But her mood this morning was prim and in control of all unruly emotions. She decided she could easily end up disliking the whole clan, or at least the men.
Steve O’Connor opened the file on his desk and picked up his glasses. ‘Okay, Karen Phelps. She was being looked after by our colleagues north of the border. But in July she emailed them and said she was spending the summer down here to further her artistic studies. Is that correct?’
‘Broadly speaking.’ Nicci felt uncomfortable. There was a moral line and she was skating perilously close to it.
‘The file was passed to us because her previous known permanent address, her mother’s, is in our area.’ He was gazing at her expectantly over the top of his glasses.
Nicci gave him a smile. ‘During her time in prison she took full advantage of the educational opportunities on offer. Her family background was grim. After her release she gave evidence in court, which led to the conviction of her brother. I worked on the case. Her testimony was vital.’
O’Connor nodded. ‘Her previous probation officer seemed pretty convinced she’d kicked the drug habit. That’s one of the conditions of her licence.’
‘She has. And she doesn’t drink. She has turned her life around.’ Nicci sat back in her chair and waited. If she was reading O’Connor correctly then the detached professional stance was probably her best bet with him. The easy-going manner, she judged, was a bit of an act. He was a career public servant, an old-school probation officer, and making the right decision mattered to him
.
He tilted his head and gave her a searching look. ‘If you’ll forgive the personal question, why did you leave the police?’
His enquiry hung in the air for a moment. It confirmed Nicci’s assessment of him: he wanted to know what sort of ex-copper he was dealing with. Had her cooperation simply been bought?
‘My nine-year-old daughter was killed in a road traffic accident.’
He frowned. ‘I’m so sorry. I really had no idea.’
‘No reason you should.’ The shift in his sympathy was palpable. She’d gone from being an unknown quantity to instantly trustworthy. But she found his pity annoying. That look, the saccharine words, she’d had a bellyful since Sophie’s death. So much for the detached approach, now she had to suppress her irritation. ‘Look, Karen Phelps’s brother was a nasty psychopath. He broke out of jail and she had every reason to believe he wanted to kill her.’
‘Because her testimony sent him down?’
‘Exactly. He was involved with some Russian gangsters and, for whatever reason, they tried to murder a Russian businessman. Joey Phelps and one of his mates got themselves killed in the process.’ She was playing fast and loose with the truth, but somehow that had ceased to matter. ‘DCI Stoneham is assuming Karen had some involvement with this. I disagree. I don’t think she did.’
‘Now Tom’s lot are investigating a shooting at this brother’s funeral?’
‘The funeral was going to be a media circus. The Phelps family changed the venue to avoid this. As a result, the police were in the wrong place and ended up looking very stupid.’
‘So DCI Stoneham’s angry and she’s taking it out on Phelps?’
Nicci reined herself in. Had she gone a bit too far? ‘It’s not for me to comment on that. I’m saying if the police have a prima facie case that Karen Phelps aided and abetted her brother then they need to make it. In the meantime, she’s entitled to be released. Her mother was injured and is in hospital. She herself narrowly avoided being a victim.’
‘Why are you going to all this trouble for her?’
Good question, she thought. She was on slippery terrain, but following that copper’s instinct that Stoneham had reminded her of. At least, she hoped that’s what she was doing.
‘Joey Phelps murdered two colleagues of mine, both police officers working undercover. I know how dangerous he was and the risk Karen took when she decided to testify. This current situation was caused entirely by her brother and his criminality. I don’t think it’s fair that she should be dragged down by him.’
‘You’ll vouch for her then?’
‘Isn’t that what I’m doing?’
The probation officer nodded slowly. Annoyingly his smile made Nicci think about his nephew even more.
8
Brian Mason, feet up on the opulent peach sofa, can of premium lager in his hand, was waiting for the two thirty at Haydock Park to begin. The horses were being lined up at the starting gate and the 4K HD 65-inch screen, which occupied half the wall facing him, showed every flare of the nostrils and twitch of the rump in perfect resolution. He’d always been a betting man and regarded himself as a good judge of horseflesh. Nowadays there wasn’t even the need to go to the bookies. He could enjoy it all in the considerable comfort of his own home with a telly and a phone.
Turning his head away from the screen slightly to take a sip of ice-cool beer, he suddenly became aware of a figure standing stock-still in the doorway, watching him. It was Kaz Phelps.
‘Blimey. How did you get in?’
She held up a front-door key. ‘Mum gave me this. I just been down the hospital to see her.’
‘She all right? When’s she coming home?’
Kaz strolled into the room. ‘She’s a bit pissed off with you, Bri. You ran out on her.’
‘There was no point in us all getting nicked. I thought it was best to lie low.’
Kaz glanced at the massive screen. The horses were under starter’s orders. ‘You got ten minutes to pack your gear and get out.’
‘Excuse me?’ He laughed and took a sip of beer. ‘I think you’ll find your mum’d have something to say about that.’
‘Really?’ The starting gate flew up, the horses were off and in the same instant Kaz’s right foot struck the can of lager, booting it clean out of Brian’s hand. It landed on the carpet, fizzing spilt beer.
She loomed over him. ‘I’ve had a rough couple of days. I’m not in a good mood. Don’t push me, Bri.’
Struggling to sit up, he spluttered, ‘You can’t fucking come in here and chuck me out! You grassed up your own brother. You ain’t part of this family no more. Ellie fucking hates you.’
‘She’s a fickle woman, my mother. Her precious boy is gone and she’s scared shitless. But she’s also a pragmatist and she knows what a useless prick you are.’
‘Useless? I looked after your dad. Two years he was in that wheelchair after his stroke. I washed him, fed him, wiped his arse.’
‘My heart bleeds. Joey hired a couple of nurses to do all that.’
‘They wasn’t here 24/7. You was in the nick, you don’t know what it was like.’
Kaz placed her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t wanna argue with you. But we both need to get real. Joey’s gone and everything’s changed.’
‘I wanna talk to Ellie.’ He managed finally to scramble to his feet and face her. But she was taller and the energy pulsing off her was unnervingly threatening.
‘She don’t wanna talk to you. She’s coming home this afternoon and she wants you gone.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Kaz folded her arms. ‘Oh come on, Bri. You’ve lived pretty high on the hog for the last few years. But when the shooting started and Mum really needed you, you bottled it. You only got yourself to blame.’
‘This ain’t fair.’
Kaz took a step towards him, fixed him with an icy stare. ‘That’s life. What you gonna do about it?’
He didn’t reply. With a sullen glare, he scooted around her and disappeared out of the door. She could hear him climbing the stairs.
She leant over, picked up the can of lager and carried it through to the kitchen. Her torn ear was throbbing; she’d spent an uncomfortable night sleeping in a police cell. But then this morning, out of the blue, some spotty-faced uniform had appeared and told her she was free to go. He’d handed her a card with a phone number – the probation service; she had forty-eight hours to contact them and make an appointment to see her new offender manager.
As she emptied the remains of the beer down the sink and chucked the can in the bin, she looked around her. Being back in this house, the place where she grew up, the scene of so many difficult memories, felt decidedly odd. But with the afternoon sun flooding through the kitchen window it seemed benign enough now. She didn’t have a plan, but she needed a bolthole, a place to hide and think; this was as good as any.
Returning to the sitting room with a cloth, she turned off the television and swabbed the scum and remaining beer from the soggy carpet.
She’d arrived at Basildon Hospital shortly after midday and had found her mother tucked up in a corner bed, eyes glazed, looking lost and abandoned. The nursing staff had greeted the appearance of a relative with enthusiasm. They needed the bed, insisted she was ready to be discharged, the doctors had signed her off; all that remained was to order her medication and arrange transport.
Mother and daughter had faced each other with wariness on both sides. Then Ellie had started to cry. ‘What’s going on, Kaz? I don’t understand none of it.’
‘Joey’s legacy, I think that’s what I’d call it.’
‘Why do they wanna kill us? We ain’t done nothing.’
Kaz smiled to herself – was the naivety real or feigned? ‘Come on, Mum. You was married to the old man for long enough. You know how it works.’
‘I never asked him about business and he never told me. Your dad took care of things, that’s all I knew.’
Kaz perched on the bedsi
de chair. ‘Then Joey stepped into his shoes, right?’
‘I know you think I’m a stupid woman. And maybe I am. But I done my best for all three of you. Terry was never an easy bloke.’
‘Amen to that.’
Ellie gazed up at her daughter. Her eyes were shiny and moist, reminding Kaz of a frightened lapdog. ‘What we gonna do now?’
‘We? Where d’you get we from?’
As fear turned to desperation in her mother’s face, Kaz had wondered if she could ever feel anything more than contempt for this woman.
Then Ellie’s small, pudgy hand had emerged from under the covers and clutched her daughter’s arm. ‘I know I said some stuff to you that I shouldn’t’ve. But, well, families fall out, it’s natural.’ A tear spilled from the lapdog eyes. ‘In the end, family’s all we got, innit?’
Kaz returned to the kitchen and rinsed the cloth out in the sink. Then she went to the foot of the stairs and listened. There was a sound – a soft clonk, then another – of furniture being moved. Mounting the stairs silently, two at a time, she crept down the hallway to the master bedroom.
The door was ajar and through it she could glimpse Brian, on his knees and hunched over, in the far corner of the room. Her mother’s dressing table was at an angle and a section of carpet behind it had been pulled back. Brian had a claw hammer in his hand and he was carefully levering up the floorboards.
Kaz crossed the room in four swift strides, grasped him from behind by the shoulders and threw him sideways.
He raised the hammer to strike her. ‘You fucking bitch!’
She kicked it out of his hand and socked him under the jaw. All her pent-up fury and grief flew into the blow and it left Brian reeling on his back on the floor.
The Killer Page 5