The Killer

by Susan Wilkins

  ‘He’s gonna dump you anyway, soon as he gets it on with her.’

  ‘He might not.’

  ‘He will!’ they cried in unison.

  ‘He will.’ All three turned in surprise to stare at Eddie. He beamed. ‘I know I’m an old fart who should mind my own business, but look at you. You’re a lovely girl. You shouldn’t let any bloke give you the run-around. I’d give him a dose of his own medicine.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ The first girl smiled in vindication.

  Eddie held out his bunch of flowers. ‘Here, have these to cheer you up.’

  The eighteen-year-old gave him a suspicious what-kind-of-perve-are-you look. As if in answer, Eddie shrugged. ‘I’m a reporter. On a job. Came to visit this girl who was in a fire. But she’s done a bunk.’

  A salvo of looks flew between the girls. Recognition followed by hesitation. Eddie pretended to be oblivious. He chuckled. ‘Could be quite a story. I shouldn’t tell you this, but I reckon something’s happened to her and the cops are trying to cover their arses.’

  He took a large forkful of shepherd’s pie, chewed it thoughtfully and waited.

  It took about thirty seconds. Glances flashed between the young nurses. ‘Do you work for a paper or the telly?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t say, love. Forget it. I shouldn’t be talking about this.’

  But they’d swallowed the bait. Eddie watched out of the corner of his eye as two of them shot silent exhortations at the third to egg her on.

  Finally Eddie’s patience was rewarded. It was the nursing assistant with the unfaithful boyfriend. ‘I was on duty when she disappeared. But Sister told us not to say anything. One of the senior managers came down and gave her a right telling off. We all heard it.’

  ‘Really?’ Eddie tried to sound surprised. Ten minutes later he’d extracted the whole story: the security guards who’d come to transfer Phelps to the private wing, her flight, them chasing her out of a fire door at the back of the hospital, the confusion and subsequent realization they were imposters, the appearance of managers then the police. Red faces all round.

  Having cleaned his plate, he thanked them and presented them with the flowers. ‘Of course, I can’t say anything for certain. But we are the largest-circulation tabloid in the UK, so watch this space, as they say.’

  They assured him they would and dissolved into collective giggles as he left the canteen.

  Eddie soon located the fire door that Karen Phelps must’ve used. He peered through the reinforced glass at the metal stairway and gravel path leading to the concrete service road beyond. He was reluctant to open the door as it would probably trigger an alarm. Instead he headed for the main entrance and set off on a recce around the back of the building.

  It would’ve been dark and there were several avenues of escape Phelps could’ve chosen. But did she escape? There had been no mention in the media of a kidnap or a police search. If she’d been taken by the Kemals, it would’ve been impossible for the police to keep that under wraps for the whole weekend. Eddie concluded that somehow she’d got away.

  He wandered from the flank of the building to the front and saw the A&E department. Running from her pursuers in the dark, this would have been the beacon of light and help that she would have seen once she rounded the corner of the building.

  There was an ambulance bay directly in front of A&E and then further along, close to the main hospital entrance, a taxi rank.

  Eddie strolled along the column of parked taxis. Two drivers were leaning on the side of the front cab, chatting and smoking. They were both dumpy with beer bellies and balding pates, one older, the other younger; they could even be father and son.

  Eddie gave them a comradely nod. ‘All right, lads.’

  The elder of the two ditched his fag. ‘Where you wanna go, pal?’

  Opening his wallet, Eddie fished out a twenty-pound note. The old techniques were often the best and he usually opened the bidding with a score. ‘Looking for information.’

  They eyed him suspiciously. ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Friday night. Bit of a rumpus, I hear.’

  Dad was the spokesman. ‘Some kind of trouble kicks off at A&E most weekends. It’s the booze.’

  ‘This was a bit different. A girl. A patient. Being chased.’

  The cabbies exchanged looks.

  ‘You press? You ain’t local.’

  ‘Nah, mate. I’m from the fucking Guardian.’

  They all three laughed. Dad pulled out a packet of Marlboro Reds and sparked up with a chrome Zippo.

  He sucked down a lungful of smoke, exhaled through the nose and gave Eddie a speculative look. ‘Tell you what, pal, you make that a ton and I’ll tell you who picked the girl up and where you can find him.’

  38

  Nicci Armstrong got back to the office around five o’clock. She could’ve simply headed home, but she didn’t trust her mood. One single day working as a minder for some rich bitch who couldn’t even be arsed to get out of bed had offended her more than she’d expected. Being alone in her flat with a bottle didn’t feel like a sensible plan. She needed distraction.

  As she emerged from the lift she read a text from Eddie. It was cryptic: Could be on to s/thing. will keep u posted. Walking into reception, she raised her eyes from the phone and was nonplussed to see Tom Rivlin getting up from the sofa and beaming at her.

  The feelings of the next thirty seconds pitched her back into adolescent panic. Her stomach lurched and she flushed red from her neck to the roots of her hair. Or it felt as if she did. She covered this by scowling and looking down at her phone.

  Ignoring him, she continued to walk in the direction of the open-plan office and he fell into step beside her. ‘Nicci, look, I owe you an apology. Can we talk?’

  Having taken a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, she managed to stop and face him. ‘You can’t find her, can you?’

  ‘I was out of order and I’m an arsehole.’

  ‘Self-knowledge is a marvellous thing.’ The sarcasm helped her regain her composure.

  ‘Stoneham says you’re a good detective and I need your help.’ She knew he was trying to be appealing to hook her. But he did have an unnervingly gorgeous smile. ‘The Kemals tried to take Karen. We’re pretty certain she got away. She’s gone to ground. We’ve looked in all the obvious places.’

  ‘I doubt she’d put her family at risk if the Kemals are after her.’

  ‘We’ve got her sister and her cousin, Glynis, under surveillance in case she turns up or the Kemals get any ideas.’

  ‘That’s a bit stable door and horse, isn’t it?’

  He sighed. ‘Let me buy you a drink – dinner, maybe. We put our heads together and see if we can come up with a way forward on this. I know you want to help her.’

  ‘Don’t guilt-trip me, Rivlin.’

  He tilted his head; the eyes were possibly more seductive than the smile. ‘You know what Stoneham wrote on my last review? “He needs to be a less reactive and more strategic thinker.” I was reactive. I am reactive, it’s the Celtic blood. I know your dealings with Phelps have been complex.’

  ‘In a totally professional context.’

  ‘In a totally professional context, obviously.’

  She met his gaze directly, but only for a moment. ‘There’s a pub down on Gray’s Inn Road – the Blue Lion. I’ll meet you there in half an hour. I’ve got a few things I need to do.’

  ‘And will you have dinner with me?’

  She needed to escape and marshal her unruly desires. ‘I’ll help you, okay. You don’t need to do the full charm offensive.’

  ‘I’d like to have dinner with you because . . . well, because I’d like to have dinner with you.’ He seemed rather boyish and abashed which only made it worse for Nicci.

  ‘I’ll think about it. See you in the pub.’

  She turned and stalked away across the office without a backward glance.

  Pascale had been watching from the investigations section w
ith wide-eyed intrigue. ‘Who is that luscious man?’

  ‘Some cop who needs information.’

  ‘I volunteer – I’ll help him with his inquiries.’ She followed this with a lascivious err-hum deep in her throat.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Pascale! You’re worse than a bloke.’ Nicci wanted to cry or scream or both. She was way too old to be having these kinds of mad feelings. Especially for a man who was just trying to use her.

  Pascale raised her palms and her eyebrows and mouthed: Sorry!

  Nicci dumped her bag on the desk with some force and exhaled. ‘No, I’m the one should apologize. Bad day.’

  Pascale slipped her pen behind her ear where it habitually rested between two neat cornrows. Her brown eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘You need to sleep with him, girl. Now. Tonight. Before you blow a fuse.’

  39

  The clothes Rafaella lent her – Chloé jeans, a silk top – fitted perfectly; they were a similar height and build. Kaz considered herself in the full-length mirror. A whiff of Chanel and she could almost be Rafaella, the expensively dressed wife of a successful businessman.

  It had crossed her mind that the resemblance between her and Paul’s wife might not be coincidence. Attraction was an odd thing and it worked at such a subconscious level. When Paul Ackroyd had met a girl in a bar in Ibiza and fallen for her, had he still been pining for his lost first love? Kaz smiled at her own vanity; it would suit her ego to believe that. But now Paul was the one who thought he could play her to get his hands on Joey’s hidden stash, so it was reasonable, even necessary, for her to find a way to pull his strings. The fact that he was a married man and she was gay may have seemingly ruled out reigniting their romance. He was relying purely on charm to get her onside but, as she gazed at her own image in the mirror, it occurred to Kaz that lust might be the way to beat him at his own game.

  Darius Johnson arrived to drive her in his minicab. Paul was insistent that she should be properly protected even on a short trip to the hospital to visit her mother.

  Kaz had not seen Darius since he plucked her out of harm’s way and hid her in his taxi on the night she was running from Sadik Kemal. He greeted her with a shy smile but she immediately pulled him into a hug and squeezed him tight. She’d modified her behaviour into something slightly more girly, but that was for Paul’s benefit, not Darius’s.

  ‘Thanks, mate. I owe you. Big time.’

  He seemed embarrassed. ‘I just, y’know, wanna help out.’

  Releasing him, Kaz smiled. ‘Well you did. You were fucking brilliant.’

  Paul slapped Darius on the back. ‘Take care of her today. Keep an eye out.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m on the case.’

  As Kaz climbed into the front of the MPV beside Darius she glanced over at the back seat and the tinted windows. It was the cover provided by those windows, coupled with Darius’s quick thinking, that had saved her.

  He started the vehicle up and with a wave from Paul they set off through the maze of leafy lanes. Kaz sat back for a bit and simply enjoyed the ride. It was good to be out, to escape the confines of the farmhouse; somehow she felt more comfortable with Darius than the Ackroyds. He had an easy presence and a quiet manner; he was undoubtedly tough without being macho or aggressive. She had a lot to think about and the drive offered her some much-needed headspace.

  They were cruising along the A12 when she finally turned to him. ‘I’m gonna ’fess up. Truth is, I don’t remember you from school. I wish I did.’

  He chuckled. ‘I was a miserable, skinny little runt back then. It ain’t so surprising.’

  ‘You and Paul seem pretty tight?’

  It was obviously Darius’s job to keep a close eye on her and report back to Paul. But he took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a direct look.

  ‘Nah, not really. He gives me stuff to do from time to time. Deliveries. Y’know. But I don’t work for him.’

  They drove in silence for several moments while Kaz digested this.

  ‘Yeah, but he’s paying you for today?’

  ‘I’m freelance though, work for who I want to.’

  Kaz glanced across at him. This was interesting. He was making it pretty clear that he had no loyalty to Paul. Either that or he was trying to sucker her into trusting him. Darius Johnson, her self-effacing saviour in Paul’s presence, was cannier than he looked.

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. ‘Cops have been asking loads of questions, but I’ve avoided them. I’ve kept away from the hospital. But this afternoon this bloke came looking for me – Eddie. Says you know him and his boss is a friend of yours.’

  Kaz took the card. ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Nothing. And I’ve told no one else about him.’ He shot her another direct glance. ‘That includes Paul.’

  She turned the card over in her hand. On one side a smart company logo, on the other: Eddie Lunt. Simon Blake Associates, followed by an email address and several phone numbers.

  ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘He mentioned a Nicci? Said she’s worried about you. Will you just call them. They won’t tell the cops.’

  Kaz sniggered. ‘Not much. Eddie’s all right. But Nicci was a cop.’

  ‘You don’t trust her?’

  ‘Oh, I dunno.’ She leant back on the headrest and sighed. ‘Joey always insisted there was two sides: them and us. I used to think that was ridiculous. I didn’t want to be put in a box like that.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘I was a stupid kid who deserved to get nicked. But I’ve served my time. As far as the cops are concerned though, I’m a villain. People are trying to kill me, but to them I’m still a villain.’

  ‘They should’ve protected you.’

  ‘Yeah, but ’cause of my dad, ’cause of my brother, I’m on the wrong side of the line. Don’t matter what I do, that’s how they see it. They only want to use me.’

  Darius kept his eyes on the road ahead. ‘So now you think Joey was right?’

  ‘I think I have to take care of myself. No one else is going to.’

  ‘Well, you got my help if you want it.’

  She’d had Paul’s pitch, now this was his. The myth of Joey’s money was a magnet. But did these blokes think that because she was female she’d be an easy mark? Well, they were wrong about that.

  She shrugged. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  They skirted the suburbs of Chelmsford and arrived at the hospital around seven p.m. The outpatient clinics were over for the day and most visitors had left, so it was easy for Darius to find a slot in the car park.

  As he backed into the space, he turned to her. ‘Have you considered that the old bill might have someone keeping an eye on your mum?’

  Kaz lifted the large Mulberry handbag she’d borrowed from Rafaella on to her lap.

  ‘Why d’you think I’ve got this?’ She pulled a pair of heavy-rimmed black spectacles out of the bag and put them on.

  He switched the engine off. ‘You got something to cover your hair?’

  Rummaging in the bag, she produced a long silk scarf and arranged it loosely around her head.

  They both got out of the cab. She looped the bag over her arm and posed. ‘What d’you think?’

  He grinned. ‘Makes you look about forty.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s too obviously a disguise?’

  ‘Depends how sharp they are.’

  Sighing, she peered anxiously at her reflection in the wing mirror. She did look faintly ridiculous. ‘Aaww, fuck it! Let’s just do it.’

  Kaz strode imperiously into the hospital with Darius at her side. They followed the signs, which eventually led them down the main corridor to the Burns Unit and its specialist ITU. There was an entryphone on the door. Kaz pressed the button and put on her poshest voice. ‘I’ve come to see Mrs Phelps. I rang up. I’m Mrs Ackroyd, her sister-in-law.’

  They were buzzed in. A charge nurse
in blue surgical scrubs emerged from behind the desk to meet them. He was thin and balding with a polite, professional smile.

  ‘Mrs Ackroyd? We spoke on the phone.’

  Kaz slipped seamlessly into the part. ‘Yes. Is it all right if my driver waits out here?’

  ‘That’s fine. As I said on the phone, Ellie has already had some surgery. She’s in a side room – for security reasons, while the police investigate the fire.’ He led her down the corridor. ‘And she’s partially sedated.’

  A young female PC was seated outside the door. She got up as they approached. Kaz met the cop’s eye firmly as the charge nurse addressed her. ‘This is Mrs Phelps’s sister-in-law.’

  The PC simply smiled at Kaz and opened the door for them.

  The ease with which her mad impersonation had worked buoyed Kaz; it all seemed like a surreal joke. But stepping into the room, she came down to earth with a jolt when she saw her mother.

  Ellie was lost in a sea of tubes and drips and leads connecting her to an array of machines around the bed. Her face was covered in white gauze with small slits for the eyes, giving her the appearance of an already mummified corpse.

  Kaz must’ve gasped because the charge nurse gave her a concerned look. ‘Sit down next to her and talk to her.’ He turned to the patient and removed the nebulizer covering her nose and mouth. ‘You’ve got a visitor, Ellie. Your sister-in-law. Let’s take this off for a moment.’ He removed the mask and turned to Kaz. ‘The pain relief makes her drowsy, but she can understand you. Ten minutes?’

  Kaz nodded dumbly. He left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Kaz dumped the bag and the glasses and pulled off the scarf. She felt a panic rising in her throat. Was her mother going to die? Ellie wasn’t a small woman but even her stout frame looked frail and overwhelmed. She’d been shot at the funeral and then this.

  On the night of the fire it had been Ellie who’d shouted for help, but her bedroom had been much closer to the flames as they roared up the stairwell. Kaz herself may have escaped the inferno relatively unscathed, but clearly her mother had not. Tears of rage and impotence began welling in Kaz’s eyes.