The Killer

by Susan Wilkins

  The laugh was acerbic and brought on another coughing fit. ‘I’m not in a very trusting mood right now.’

  ‘Course you’re not. You feel like shit and you’re still trying to figure out what the bloody hell’s going on. But you need to think strategically. You can’t ignore the cops because they won’t ignore you. You need an ally. As ex-coppers go, she ain’t that bad – and she’s on your side.’

  Kaz looked at Eddie. He shrugged. She had to admit, if only to herself, that he was stating the obvious.

  ‘You want to know the truth, Karen?’ Nicci stood up. ‘I’m here because I feel guilty. The police told me about the Kemals yesterday and I should’ve warned you.’

  The dark eyes scanned her.

  ‘You ignored my calls. But I should’ve tracked you down. I’m sorry.’

  Kaz shook her head wearily. It was all starting to make sense. ‘The fucking Kemals! Can you believe it? I should’ve shot those bastards when I had the chance.’

  Nicci leant over, put a hand on Kaz’s shoulder. ‘Listen. I will talk to the police. I’ll get a uniformed officer here or, failing that, a private security guard from our own firm.’

  ‘Another ex-squaddie with an itchy trigger finger? Isn’t that what got me into this mess?’ Nicci shot her an acid look and got a grin in return. ‘It’s a joke, Nicci.’

  ‘Yeah, very amusing.’

  The staff nurse appeared at the end of the bed. She’d been keeping a careful eye on things after Kaz’s earlier outburst. The stream of visitors in and out of the bay and the disruption generated by Kaz’s presence didn’t please her. She also disapproved of the way Kaz had spoken to a police officer. Whatever the girl had suffered there was no excuse for bad behaviour in her book. Checking Kaz’s notes she fixed her with an imperious look. ‘I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day. You really need to rest.’

  Nicci took the hint. ‘We’re just going.’ She gave Eddie the nod and he got up.

  ‘Try to keep the nebulizer on.’ The instruction was accompanied by the nurse’s tight professional smile.

  Kaz complied and allowed herself to be settled back on the pillows.

  Nicci ran her fingertips lightly over the sheet. ‘Sit tight and we’ll get back to you. Okay?’

  Kaz nodded. As the nurse took her pulse she watched them walk away, Nicci and her short, fat sidekick. They were like chalk and cheese, and Kaz knew which of the two she preferred. Eddie Lunt had a far more realistic view of the world than the ex-cop. He understood the kind of weakness and pressures that could land you on the wrong side of the law.

  Nicci had always been prickly and buttoned up, hiding everything behind a professional facade. It was only by chance that Kaz had discovered why Nicci had left the police. The death of her daughter in a road accident must’ve been completely devastating, but Kaz had never heard her mention it. Nicci sat on everything, including her private grief.

  Even though she was still in her twenties, the shadow of death, often violent death, had been a presence in Kaz’s life ever since she could remember. She’d grown up knowing people who killed people: her father and then her brother, Joey. And she’d been forced, in self-defence, to step over that line herself. Her cousin Sean had raped her repeatedly as a teenager. But when he’d tried it again more recently, he’d got a bullet through his brain. Kaz didn’t regret her actions in any way. She’d simply done what she had to in order to protect herself.

  The world and the family that had shaped her had violence at its core. So the fact that possibly two attempts had been made on her own life didn’t feel as outlandish to her as it might have. She had very little sense of religion or faith but her underlying philosophy was fatalistic. If your number was up then there was nothing to be done about it. But, since you were unlikely to know in advance, you should fight until your dying breath, which she had every intention of doing.

  She feared more for others than for herself. Irina had hardly been out of her thoughts. She wanted her friend to stay safe. But that didn’t stop the need, the longing to be with her.

  The staff nurse made a note on her clipboard, gave Kaz another professional smile and walked away. Kaz knew the woman didn’t approve of her. But she was a Phelps, she’d been disapproved of her whole life. Teachers, social workers and the police themselves; there’d been plenty, like the nurse, who’d sat in judgement. Kaz had grown a thick skin at an early age. But privately she’d always longed to escape the taint of her tribe.

  Ironically the death of Joey had brought the family back into her life and now she felt responsible for them. Her mother, Ellie, was a woman ill-equipped to survive in the world without a man to protect her. But the men were all dead, if you didn’t count Brian. And Natalie had a baby son, which had come as a total surprise to Kaz.

  She’d walked away, cut herself off; it had been what she’d wanted. But the notion of a new generation was producing a welter of contradictory emotions in her. As soon as she saw Finlay her maternal instincts were aroused. He was so young and innocent and new. She wanted him to have a chance, not to grow up in the vicious cauldron of parental selfishness and neglect that had shaped her and Natalie and Joey. And although her sister seemed to be coping, there was no disguising the fact she was a recovering drug addict. If things got tough would she succumb to temptation? Kaz knew only too well what that feeling was like: the itch at the edge of consciousness, the desire for just one more fix.

  The life she’d been leading on witness protection as an art student in Glasgow seemed very far away now. Maybe that escape into anonymity had always been a dream. She’d hardly picked up her sketchbook since she’d been back home. And Essex was home, there was no getting away from that. Even with the house a burnt-out wreck she was back where she belonged. There were people who needed her and she couldn’t let them down. But first there was the question of the Kemals – and Nicci was probably right: it was this vicious bunch of scumbags who were out to kill her.

  25

  Sadik Kemal decided to take his wife shopping. He had his driver drop them at the back of Selfridges and they walked round to the side entrance. They were due to fly out to Turkey the following week for a cousin’s wedding and Elif didn’t want to go empty-handed. She always made a point of finding special gifts for Sadik’s mother and his married sisters. She was also on the lookout for a couple of new outfits for herself.

  In the perfume department they were waylaid by a sales assistant enticing Elif into trying the latest offering by a famous clothes designer Sadik had never heard of. As the sales assistant sprayed scent onto a strip of card and waggled it to help the fragrance settle, Sadik waited patiently and let his gaze rove around the store. But it wasn’t the merchandise that interested him, it was the customers.

  What he was looking for was some kind of recognition, a face he’d noticed before. He hadn’t been entirely candid with his brother; he knew the Met had them both under surveillance, although he doubted they had a full team on him. The cutbacks were biting – his sources kept telling him that – and, unless there was good reason, the usual five-man operation had been scaled back to three. Sadik concluded that now it was a joint investigation, with Essex taking the lead, they’d probably be even more reluctant to commit resources.

  Taking the escalator up to the second floor they wandered into the womenswear department. Elif made a beeline for the Whistles concession. She was a small woman, elfin as her name suggested, a seemingly fragile figure beside her husband’s muscle and bulk.

  Sadik had been advised by his brother to go back to Turkey to find a wife. But Elif was second generation, a London girl who’d been managing a hairdresser’s in Tottenham when Sadik first set eyes on her. He’d led such an unsettled life since his earliest years, always moving on, following Asil’s orders, wary of everyone he met. He never felt he belonged in London or indeed anywhere else until he met Elif. She was already past thirty and not considered marriageable, which helped persuade her respectable parents to accept a man they
suspected of being a thug.

  But Elif knew her own mind. She wanted an impressive house, her own business and an escape from the parental home and the pity of her married peers. She sensed in Sadik the raw hunger for acceptance behind the impenetrable facade. It wasn’t a love-match but they understood each other perfectly. She gave him two sons and the confidence to believe himself as good as his brother. He gave her a chain of hair salons and a large detached house in East Finchley, which was the envy of her extended family and friends. She never interrogated him about his business; he ran a taxi firm for his brother and she decided that was all she and her family ever needed to know.

  Elif pulled a blue, silky dress from the rack and held it in front of her. ‘Well?’

  He nodded and smiled. He didn’t need to be there. And she wondered why he was. She had a raft of credit cards in her purse and plenty of confidence in her own taste.

  She noticed the restlessness in his eye. Sadik was a man of secrets but that had never bothered her. She closed her ears to the gossip that swirled her way from time to time. And if she wondered, in the privacy of her own mind, whether the law would ever catch up with him, she didn’t worry unduly. The house, the hairdressing business, it was all in her name. It was the price of her acquiescence and discretion, and Sadik had been happy to pay it.

  ‘Try it on.’

  ‘I think I will. You want to hang around? Or maybe get a coffee?’

  ‘Yeah. A coffee. Maybe make some calls.’

  She patted the sleeve of his expensive leather jacket. ‘Good idea. I’ll catch up with you later.’

  The hooded eyes considered her for a moment. He had certainly made a better choice than his brother, whose wife was both stupid and had a tendency to nag. Asil lost his temper from time to time and hit her. But the great thing about Elif was that violence was never necessary. She always read his mood and understood his needs; to his mind, that made her the perfect wife.

  Even before he reached the escalator she had plucked two more dresses from the rack and was heading for the changing rooms without a backward glance.

  He rode the escalator to the top floor. It was mid-afternoon but there was no lull in the shoppers’ appetite to browse and buy. He scanned each floor as he passed; plenty of people were milling about. Craning his head, he gazed down through the open shaft surrounding the moving stairway. A young man in a rugby shirt was riding upwards from the floor below. His hands were in his jeans pockets, he looked completely bored and he was wearing an ear bud with a wire trailing to a phone in his back pocket.

  Sadik smiled to himself. He’d already clocked him in the perfume department, staring intently at some macho eau de cologne. He made a mental note: number one.

  On the top floor Sadik meandered among the lighting, keeping a wary eye on number one, who wandered through the furniture section. Then, turning on his heel abruptly, Sadik executed a U-turn and headed into the coffee shop. He stopped at the counter to consider the array of cakes and pastries and out of the corner of his eye caught sight of number one following. The young man appeared to be mumbling to himself but stopped short when he saw Sadik smile and look directly at him. He knew he was blown and he walked briskly away.

  Sadik chuckled. Looking at his watch he saw he had plenty of time. He liked playing cat and mouse with the cops. He ordered himself a black Americano, sat down and waited for number two to show up.

  A woman with a backpack joined the queue at the counter. She had a dykey haircut and also seemed intent on listening to music from her phone. Whilst she had her back to him Sadik got up and, abandoning his coffee, slipped through a side door to the toilets. He strode down a short corridor, which brought him back to the shop floor. Doubling round, he returned to the entrance to the cafe. The dyke was standing there, anxiously scanning. Their eyes met and she immediately turned away. As he walked past he gave her a sardonic grin. Two down, one to go.

  Returning to the second floor, Sadik found his wife. Loaded down with several bags, she was browsing among the shoes. ‘I couldn’t decide between the blue or the green, so I got both.’

  ‘Good idea. Something has come up. I need to go.’

  ‘I can get a taxi. It’s no problem.’ Her smile was serene and detached.

  He nodded. She really was the best sort of wife. She offered him her cheek, which he brushed with his lips. As he walked away he caught sight of a solid-looking bloke in his thirties. He had a ladies’ knee-high boot in his meaty fist and was intent on examining it. Number three?

  Sadik took the down escalator two steps at a time. He glanced back and the bloke was following. When he reached the ground floor he stopped abruptly at the sunglasses display, forcing number three to execute a sideways feint into jewellery. Sadik tried on a few frames as he tracked his pursuer with his peripheral vision. He wanted to give him time to settle before making his move.

  From behind the jewellery counter an enthusiastic young sales assistant came to Sadik’s aid. She engaged the bloke in conversation and he was forced to respond. While his attention was on the sales assistant, Sadik scooted round behind the racks of sunglasses and headed for the main doors. Out on Oxford Street he threaded rapidly through the crowds and darted down Duke Street. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed a sea of meandering faces but no sign of number three.

  On the corner of Edwards Mews he hailed a cab. Settling down in the back he told the driver to drop him at Baker Street tube. It was a busy station and though he was pretty sure he’d lost the tail it paid to be cautious. He’d take the Jubilee Line to Finchley Road, giving him a couple of stops to do a final check, and his pick-up would be waiting. It was a clean vehicle, hired that very afternoon. He never used stolen cars; that was plain stupid.

  Glancing at his watch he decided he was still in good time. The M25 would be busy but that didn’t matter. Once he got to Basildon he wanted to do a proper recce of the hospital himself. Their contact there, a hospital security guard, would provide them with uniforms and that should make the snatch straightforward. But these types were not always reliable and Asil insisted that in all their operations they erred on the side of caution. It’s what had kept them out of jail.

  As the cab cruised round Manchester Square, Sadik imagined the look on Kaz Phelps’s face when they spirited her away. She was a smart girl, she’d have no illusions. She’d know what was coming. And that would intensify his pleasure.

  26

  Tom Rivlin didn’t hang about at the hospital. He had little toleration of failure or weakness in others and he hated it in himself. The fact that Nicci Armstrong had witnessed the fiasco with Karen Phelps made it ten times worse. He went straight back to Brentwood where the incident room was ticking over quietly: actions were being followed up, calls answered, leads chased. The hum of quiet industry reassured him. This was what he was good at.

  As he sifted through the reports on his desk he tried to put Phelps out of his mind. His job was to gather and collate intelligence. If he had a responsibility to her, he’d discharged it. Her refusal to cooperate or even listen to him made it impossible for him to help her. But her attitude told him one thing: she wasn’t simply an innocent victim caught in the crossfire. When gangsters fell out the results were usually bloody. And this was clearly an argument between what remained of Joey Phelps’s firm and the Kemals.

  Rivlin’s main problem was what to tell the boss. The fact he’d failed to make any headway with Phelps was the last thing he wanted to admit to Cheryl Stoneham. But he couldn’t lie. She’d sniff him out in a nanosecond. He was pondering the best approach, how to achieve some sort of middle way, when a phone behind him rang. One of the new DCs he didn’t really know, who’d been brought in to beef up the investigation, answered it.

  She swivelled her chair, cradling the receiver in her hand. ‘DCI wants a word, sir.’

  Rivlin stared at her. Maybe the rumours were right and Stoneham did have second sight. He got up and took the phone.

  ‘Rivlin.’


  ‘I’ve been ringing you on your mobile.’

  ‘Sorry, boss. Battery’s on the blink.’

  The truth was, as he left the hospital, he’d switched it off. He shouldn’t have, but he needed time out and to avoid exactly this: interrogation by Stoneham.

  ‘You sound a bit down in the mouth, Tom. What’s up?’

  ‘Frustrated, more like. I went to see Karen Phelps in hospital.’

  ‘I gather.’

  He felt his hackles rising. Bloody Nicci, she hadn’t wasted any time. She’d gone running straight to Stoneham.

  Rivlin took a breath. ‘She’s obviously in shock and it’s making her quite reactive. I think we’ll get her to cooperate eventually, though.’

  ‘When do we expect to hear from the fire service?’

  ‘The official report will take a few days. But as I said before, they reckon it’s arson.’

  ‘And they’re convinced about that?’

  ‘I went down this morning, talked to the fire officer myself.’

  There was a moment of silence as the DCI pondered. She sighed. ‘We can’t wait for their report. These two incidents so close together mean that we have to construe them as attempts on Karen Phelps’s life.’

  ‘I agree, boss. But if she won’t even talk to us—’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Nicci Armstrong and she thinks Phelps will agree to some form of police protection. And we can’t afford to be negligent in this regard, Tom.’

  The rebuke was mild but it was there and he felt its sting. Bloody Nicci Armstrong.

  ‘I was about to—’

  ‘It’s an exceptional situation and I think the fact that a former officer of Nicci’s calibre is prepared to work with us on this is something we should be taking full advantage of. I don’t blame you for not being able to manage Phelps on your own. She doesn’t like the police and she’s a complete handful. If the probation service had agreed to revoke her licence, we wouldn’t even be in this situation.’