Natalie had let her bathrobe fall open and Kaz saw that she was wearing a tight corset fringed with lace and a thong.
Slumping down on one of the kitchen chairs, Kaz leant her elbows on the table and put her face in her hands. Her brain was desperately playing catch-up. Seeing Ellie, now this – the events of the last few days had finally caught up with her. She was a physical and emotional wreck.
On the way to Southend she’d been hatching some kind of grand plan to take care of her baby sister, to make up for all the neglect of the past. But clearly Natalie didn’t need her help. She’d grown up, she was a mother and she could stand on her own two feet.
She patted Kaz’s shoulder. ‘You’ve had a rough time, mate. Fancy a nice cup of tea? Then we can discuss what we’re gonna do about Mum.’
42
The restaurant was buzzy, the food delicious, they shared an excellent bottle of Montepulciano and by the time they got to the coffee Nicci realized that she was happy without being completely drunk. Tom Rivlin was an entertaining companion when he chose to be and they avoided any discussion of the job.
He amused her with a convoluted tale of his various efforts to become an athlete. When he first went to uni his ambition had been to play American football, but he was too willowy for a linebacker and, although he could run and tried to be a wide receiver, he turned out to be rubbish at catching the ball. Turning his attention to the triathlon, he’d made some headway. He could swim well enough and run, but had a tendency to muck things up by falling off his bike.
The stories he recounted of his youthful self were both funny and self-deprecating, which didn’t exactly go with the reputation for arrogance. Moreover, his portrait of himself as a failed sportsman was belied by his physical appearance; he was lean and lithe as an athlete and Nicci concluded he must work hard at keeping fit.
Sitting back, she began to forget about the job and Stoneham and Karen Phelps and the web of favours and obligations that tied her to her old life as a police officer. She was just a woman in a restaurant, sitting across the table from a very attractive bloke who wanted to please her.
He talked with his hands; they were constantly in motion, fingers splayed or scooping the air to make a point – he couldn’t keep them still. And she found herself smiling and laughing, sipping the wine, savouring the piquancy of the pasta sauce. It was what people did when they went out for a meal. You could even call it a date.
For a long time after Sophie’s death she’d shut herself away. Divorced, bereaved, the last thing she’d wanted was to socialize. Time hadn’t really healed the pain of her loss but it had muted it to a dull ache. It was loneliness that’d finally dragged her from her redoubt.
She’d gone out a couple of times with a cop from Hackney; he was good company. Then they’d slept together and it didn’t work. He was awkward, uncomfortable in his own skin, embarrassed in the act. He was also a chain smoker and Nicci got the feeling he just wanted to get it over with so he could move on to the cigarette. She liked him but concluded that she didn’t have the energy to take on the sexual education of a repressed middle-aged man.
For a while she’d returned to Rory. But her erstwhile colleague at SBA was an accident that should never have happened. The sex was proficient, occasionally passionate, but the man himself was a seething cauldron of stifled needs with an unstable temper. Nicci didn’t much fancy the role of emotional carer to his damaged war veteran. So when he left the firm, she’d used it as an excuse to cut the connection.
But where had all this left her? Wasn’t she yet another thirty-something woman with her own indelible scars, a desire for sex and companionship but little toleration for the flaws of potential partners? In idle moments she’d surfed a few dating websites but concluded that joining the desperate shagfest they seemed to promise really would drive her to despair.
Now she found herself wondering if a man like Tom Rivlin would even look twice at her if he didn’t have an ulterior motive for wooing her. She doubted it. Still, to indulge in the fantasy, if only for a few hours, was pleasant enough.
He topped up their glasses with the last of the wine. ‘All I’ve done is talk. You must be fed up with the sound of my voice.’
‘It’s restful.’
He gave her a quizzical look, only too well aware that sarcasm was her default setting.
‘I read this article in a magazine about how women hate it when blokes take them out and then talk non-stop about themselves.’
Nicci laughed. ‘At least you’re not mad about football. Triathlons are quite interesting.’
‘Quite interesting? That’s a bit scathing. Right, now it’s your turn. I’m going to shut up.’
‘I don’t think you could do that if you tried.’
‘Oh, a challenge!’
He folded his arms and grinned.
Nicci shook her head and sighed. ‘Don’t torment me, Rivlin. I’m out of practice with all this male/female teasey games stuff.’
‘Then tell me something about yourself you wouldn’t ordinarily reveal.’
She took a sip of wine. ‘I don’t think you want to go down that road.’
‘What was she called, your daughter?’
Nicci’s gaze slammed into his. He’d caught her off guard well and truly. But his look was serious and full of concern.
She hesitated, but only for a second. ‘Sophie.’
‘That’s lovely.’
She didn’t know where to look or what to say. She’d been having a good time, but now she felt intruded upon, invaded almost.
He reached out across the table. ‘Hope you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Why the fuck are you asking?’ She withdrew her hand.
‘Because she’s obviously such a big part of your life. If I’m going to know anything about you, apart from trivialities, I need to know about her.’
‘Let’s stick to trivialities. It’s safer.’
‘I can see I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.’
Nicci swallowed hard. She was damned if she’d cry. She drained her glass and set it down. ‘Thank you for a nice meal. I’m going to let you pay because I’m sure you can put it on expenses: Dinner with new chis.’ She got up and plonked her napkin on the table. ‘Give my regards to Stoneham.’
He tilted his head and sighed. ‘Nicci, don’t do this. If I’ve been insensitive, I’m truly sorry.’
‘It’s me. Sometimes I can’t . . .’ She had to take a deep breath to steady herself.
Getting up, he beckoned the waiter. ‘At least let me get you a cab.’
She allowed him to take her arm and shepherd her towards the cloakroom. While she collected her jacket, he settled the bill. She heard him asking the maître d’ to call them a cab.
Determined to take care of herself, she pulled her jacket around her. ‘No, I don’t need a cab. I’ll walk. It’s not far.’
‘Five minutes, madam.’ The maître d’ gave her a superior smile. He probably thought she was drunk.
Nicci ignored him and pushed open the door. Stepping out onto the pavement, she walked into a sharp breeze. There was a dampness in the air and the chill of approaching autumn. Nicci found the shock of it refreshing and took a couple of deep breaths. She hadn’t been drinking that much lately, so maybe the wine had tipped her over the edge, loosened her emotions.
Rivlin came out of the restaurant behind her. ‘Nicci, don’t just walk off . . .’
She pivoted on her heel to face him. It was hard for her to say precisely what happened next. Did he touch her shoulder first, or did she put her arm round his neck? It seemed to all happen at once. She turned her face upwards – they kissed. Neither one hesitated or held back. She felt his arms close around her back as he pulled her towards him. He tasted of wine and she realized she’d spent the entire meal wanting exactly this. She could feel his energy and the rawness of his desire. It surged through her.
Some lads came strolling by and barracked them with a friendly cacophony of lewd comments an
d suggestive grunts. But neither of them took any notice. They continued to kiss until a black cab pulled up kerbside. Only then, when Rivlin finally released her, did Nicci notice that it was starting to rain.
43
‘Talk to the old bill. Use them. I would.’ Natalie placed a small ceramic cup of camomile tea on the table in front of Kaz.
‘All they wanna do is revoke my licence. Put me back inside.’ Picking up the tea, Kaz wrinkled her nose. ‘What is this?’
‘Camomile. It’s great for chilling you out. I drink it all the time.’
Ling had returned to the sitting room to continue the show and she could be heard chatting and laughing against a musical backdrop.
Kaz gave her sister a baleful glance. ‘She get you into all this?’
‘Not really. I had some mates who’d done it before.’
‘Yeah. Junkies.’
Natalie sighed. ‘You’ve had a rough time so I’m gonna ignore the fact you’re being completely snotty.’
‘Doesn’t it bother you, having a whole bunch of sleazebags out there wanking themselves off at the sight of you?’
‘That’s up to them. I don’t see it. I’m a recovering addict, Kaz. I got a baby to support. I got no qualifications. I don’t wanna live on benefits. I just wanna pay my bills and concentrate on keeping myself clean and sober, one day at a time.’
The voice was calm and contained but there was a fierce determination in her little sister’s eye that Kaz had never seen before. She was only twenty. At that age Kaz had been in jail and still struggling. She found Natalie’s maturity astonishing.
She gave her sister a ghostly smile. ‘I never thought rehab worked, but it clearly has for you.’
‘Rehab gives you a starting point, space and support. In the end you have to make the choice to save yourself. You of all people should know that.’
Sitting in an unfamiliar kitchen, drinking an odd herbal brew while her baby sister stood there like a lap dancer on her tea break, struck Kaz as bizarre. But then why had she come and what did she expect to find?
Taking a sip of tea, she frowned. ‘Do you think Mum’s gonna die?’
‘Probably not. I talked to the doctor. He seemed quite optimistic. But it’s gonna be a long haul. She’s gonna need looking after and then somewhere to live. I don’t place much faith in Brian.’
‘I booted him out.’
‘Good for you.’ Natalie cradled the ceramic cup in both palms. She had a sad, faraway look. ‘Problem is, Joey always took care of everything for her. That’s what she’s used to.’
‘Joey had the money to do it. Push comes to shove, that’s what it comes down to.’
Natalie shrugged. ‘Is the house in her name or his? Was it even insured?’
‘Don’t know. But he was canny about all the business stuff. My guess is it’s in her name.’
Natalie seemed about to speak, then she hesitated, took another sip of tea.
Kaz gave her a direct look. ‘What?’
There was a deep crease in Natalie’s brow. Under the bright kitchen lights, the glitter and the make-up made her features seem hard. She put down the cup and folded her arms. She appeared to be struggling with something.
Kaz watched her. ‘Nat?’
A sigh, long and drawn out, was followed by a sorrowful shake of the head. Natalie turned to her. ‘I got something I wanna give you.’
Before Kaz could question her further she disappeared into the hall and up the stairs. Music leaked through from the sitting room, a popular disco track from the eighties. Kaz let her gaze rove round the kitchen. There was a calendar stuck on the fridge with a magnet, the days and details of her sister’s life.
On Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays there was a clown-face sticker. Finlay’s nursery days? Under each one was a time and the initials NA. On Friday evening it said NA social with an exclamation mark. Narcotics Anonymous. Kaz had attended a few of their meetings herself, but never regularly. Then on Wednesday at two p.m. there was a scribbled note: L and T at gym. Ling and another friend maybe? Staring at the calendar, Kaz realized these were the bare bones of a life she knew nothing about.
She was pondering this when Natalie returned carrying a white padded envelope, A4 size, which she laid gingerly on the table. It was sealed and blank, slightly crumpled with dog-eared corners as though it had been shoved away somewhere in a drawer.
It was impossible to read the expression on Natalie’s face. The eyes were wary with more of the hunted look Kaz associated with the old Natalie.
‘What is it?’ Kaz turned it over: no inscription of any sort.
Pulling the bathrobe round her tightly, Natalie settled in the opposite chair. ‘Doctor Iqbal gave it to me. When he arranged for me to go to the clinic where I had Finlay.’ She hesitated. ‘It came from Joey.’
‘Why haven’t you opened it?’
She shook her head, batting the question away. ‘You might be able to make some use of it?’
‘What’s inside? Money?’
‘I’ve no idea. And I don’t wanna know.’ There was no mistaking the bitterness in Natalie’s tone.
‘Joey must have been in prison by then. Did he know you was pregnant?’
Kaz started to pull at the tag to open the envelope but Natalie grabbed her wrist. ‘No! Just take it.’
Putting the envelope down, Kaz leant back in her chair. ‘What the fuck, Nat? Joey found out you was pregnant, maybe Iqbal told him, so he wanted to help. Why have you got a problem with that? Because he killed Jez? He was still your brother.’
As soon as she said it, Kaz knew the answer. It slammed into her like a bolt.
There was a tremor in Natalie’s hand as she stroked her cheek with her ring finger, gently rubbing away the glitter. Beneath the make-up she was pale.
Kaz swallowed hard as the realization sank in. ‘Finlay’s his, isn’t he? He’s Joey’s baby.’
Natalie fixed her with a glassy-eyed stare. ‘I want nothing from him.’
‘Jesus, Nat. When did this happen? When you was at Woodcote Hall? Did he rape you?’
A morbid smile crept over her sister’s features. ‘Did you ever say no to Joey? Did you even try? Did anyone?’
Kaz put a hand over her mouth. She felt sick. It was so obvious – those piercing blue eyes, the blond hair – Finlay was the image of her dead brother.
Natalie shook her head. ‘Joey had to be in control. You’d pissed him off royally. Having it off with some copper, is what he said.’
‘He got that all wrong.’
Natalie’s lip curled. ‘He wanted to be sure I really loved him. That’s what he told me.’
‘Babes, I am so sorry.’ Kaz could feel the tears running down her cheek.
‘Don’t be. Take the envelope and whatever’s in it and fuck off and let me get on with my life.’
44
Stepping in from the misty chill of an autumn morning, an hour and a half before sunrise, a smiling Tom Rivlin joined the Met briefing for the planned raid on Sadik Kemal. Someone handed him a coffee and DS Amy Raheem introduced him to the Project Team from SCD7.
Raheem was brisk. ‘You look happy. Does that mean you’re off Stoneham’s shit list?’
Rivlin grinned. ‘Yeah, well, she’s a fair boss. She’s never pissed for long.’ He didn’t mention that the real source of his sunny mood at such an ungodly hour was the night he’d spent in Nicci Armstrong’s bed.
He’d had his share of sexual encounters over the years, some more casual than others. But Nicci was a revelation. She was a woman with formidable defences and knowing even a little of her history he could understand why. When the barricades came down, a different person emerged. Once she’d made up her mind to let go, there’d been no holding back.
At first they’d both been shy and tentative but then it had turned into the most exciting sex he’d had since his first proper girlfriend. The wistful feeling left by that teenage romance had never gone away; they’d left home to go to different universities
and agreed that it was better to move on. But that first taste of a desire that was more than lust had never left him. He’d used the word love on several occasions because he knew women liked to hear it. But did he really know what it meant? Connecting his emotions to appropriate words had always been an uphill struggle.
Riding in the back of a cab to his pre-dawn rendezvous with Raheem’s team he’d tried to compose a text to Nicci. Thank you seemed a bit inadequate. I had a great time made him sound like a teenager. She’d probably gone back to sleep anyway and he didn’t want to wake her. He scrolled through the range of emojis on his phone and decided not to go down that route. Eventually he gave up and slipped the phone back in his pocket. After he’d slept with a woman he usually waited a couple of days before calling her. He didn’t want to seem uncool or creepy. But somehow, in this instance, that just didn’t feel right.
He tried to distract himself by thinking about the job. Taking Sadik Kemal off the streets was possible because of his hard work and Stoneham was recognizing this by relenting from her previous stance and choosing him to go on the raid. Even if they couldn’t hold the Turk for long, they could seize his computers, tablets and phones and take the house apart, which might give them something useful.
But as he struggled to focus, running through his mental checklist, he found his father’s image floating into his head. And Nicci: his senses were still full of the taste and smell of her. Impulsively he pulled out his phone again, searched for an appropriate website, ordered a dozen red roses and sent them to her without a card at her office address. Over the top, maybe, but this was his dad’s secret weapon and flowers had always brought a smile to his mother’s face.
An hour later, sitting in the back of a police van crammed with burly suited-and-booted coppers, sweating in his stab vest, Rivlin began to regret this impetuous gesture. She’d hate it, she’d be embarrassed, she’d think he was a complete plonker.
With dawn breaking, the police convoy drew up outside a substantial detached Edwardian property in East Finchley. The heavy mob went in first. The oak front door came off its hinges after three swings of the ram. A couple of Dobermans, more yap and bared teeth than anything else, had to be contained and restrained. Sadik Kemal was led out in a tracksuit, hands cuffed, looking moderately pissed off.
The Killer Page 19