The Killer

by Susan Wilkins

  Kaz glared at Stoneham. ‘You lot, you’re like fucking vultures. Can’t you leave him alone? He saved my life.’

  ‘I know that.’

  Darius grinned weakly from the bed. ‘And you saved mine, Kaz. I’d have bled to death if it hadn’t been for you.’

  ‘You came through for me, mate. I wasn’t sure I could trust you. Turns out I was wrong.’

  He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘Yeah well, not entirely. This is gonna come as a bit of a shock, but my name’s not Darius. I’m Danny.’

  Not Darius.

  ‘What d’you mean, you’re Danny?’

  ‘DC Danny Mullen. I’m an undercover police officer.’

  Kaz stared at him in disbelief. They were all looking at her: him, Stoneham, the girl holding his hand.

  She started to laugh. ‘What the fuck? You’re a fucking copper! Who was you after? Me?’

  Raheem appeared. She gave Stoneham an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

  The DCI sighed wearily. ‘It can’t be helped.’ She turned to Kaz. ‘He wasn’t after you, Karen. Not at all. Danny went undercover six months ago to target Paul Ackroyd. Part of our operation to round up the Essex drug dealers who thought they could step into your brother’s shoes.’

  Kaz shook her head. The Kemals, Paul, she’d anticipated all the moves. But not this. ‘I knew you never went to my school.’

  He smiled. ‘I wasn’t doing too well until you came along. Paul didn’t trust me. But once I’d helped you, he changed his mind.’

  ‘So you was using me? Maybe I should’ve let you bleed to death.’

  ‘It was a fluid situation.’ Stoneham sounded like most coppers: full of shit. ‘I told him to keep an eye on you – and not just so we could use you; it was way more complicated than that. You were the victim. And the Kemals were extremely dangerous. It was precarious for both of you.’

  Kaz jabbed a finger in Danny’s direction, her initial disbelief turning to anger. ‘Maybe you did put yourself on the line for me, but I’m no one’s fucking victim, okay? You suckered me, you bastard. And don’t tell me you was only doing your fucking job!’

  Danny shrugged. ‘I was only doing my job.’

  It felt as if her legs had been kicked from under her. Kaz could feel the tears prickling the backs of her eyes, but she was damned if she’d let them see her cry. ‘You bastards are all the same.’ She glared at Raheem. ‘I need to get out of here. And I don’t need a fucking babysitter.’

  DCI Stoneham moved towards her. ‘Hang on, Karen, we’ve got something for you. Bit of quid pro quo.’ She extracted a slip of paper from her bag and offered it to Kaz. ‘It’s Mika Koshkin’s address. Irina is staying with him. You told Danny you wanted to find her.’

  Kaz took the paper and glanced at it. If they expected a thank you they could fuck off.

  Stoneham smiled. ‘You’re not Joey. I know that. You took a huge risk today. And we are grateful.’

  ‘You think I’d’ve done it if I had a choice?’

  ‘I don’t know. But all you need to do now is keep in touch with the probation service and get on with your life.’

  ‘You expect me to be grateful? You lot make me fucking laugh. All the resources you got and you still couldn’t nick the Kemals. You needed me for that.’

  The DCI gave her a rueful shrug. ‘Evil triumphs unless good people are prepared to intervene. Whatever system we invent, in the end it’s not enough on its own.’

  ‘Sounds like pretentious bollocks to me, but I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Why don’t you let DS Raheem take you home so you can have a shower and sort yourself out a bit?’

  ‘Either I’m free to go or I’m not.’

  ‘You’re free to go.’

  ‘Then I’ll take myself home.’ Kaz turned on her heel and walked away.

  Raheem gave the DCI an enquiring look. Stoneham shook her head. ‘Let her go for now.’

  66

  Standing on the pavement, watching the belching queue of cars and buses and vans choking Euston Road, Kaz felt a degree of relief. It wasn’t so much the fact that Darius was a copper, it was that he’d suckered her. It seemed that most of the people she’d ever cared about in her life had fed her a pack of lies. Her brother, Helen Warner . . . the grief she felt for them still ripped at her insides. But neither had managed to be straight with her.

  For the moment she was glad to be alone. All she wanted was to disappear into the swarm of eight million Londoners. The largest city in Europe offered a nook or cranny to all comers, native or immigrant. A glittering cultural hub and a haven for dirty money, it was also the best place on the planet to get lost.

  Now that she had access to her brother’s money and the Kemals were off her back, maybe she could finally settle. But where? The luxury apartment at Battersea Reach was very grand but it felt like a temporary bolthole. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do or where she wanted to be. It would depend on Natalie. And it would also depend on Irina. The problem was, neither of them would even speak to her.

  The phone in her pocket buzzed. It was Nicci, for the umpteenth time. Five missed calls.

  Clicking the phone on, she held it to her ear. ‘Did you know about fucking Darius?’

  The rumble of traffic drowned out Nicci’s reply. Plugging one ear with her finger, Kaz managed a brief conversation. Nicci sounded in a flap but there was nothing new in that. She’d come to the hospital and had been searching everywhere for Kaz. They made an arrangement to meet up in a Starbucks on Tottenham Court Road.

  Kaz wasn’t entirely sure what she felt about Nicci Armstrong. She could be prissy and judgemental, and although she wasn’t a cop any longer she still behaved like one. But since her release from jail, Nicci had been the one person Kaz had been able to consistently rely on. She didn’t do bullshit and she spoke her mind. Kaz hadn’t always liked what she said. But she knew where she was with Nicci, which was more than she could say for anyone else, including her own sister.

  As she entered the coffee shop, Kaz’s heart sank. Nicci was standing in line at the counter with her cop mate, Rivlin. They were laughing about something and he had his hand on her arm. It struck Kaz as an intimate gesture. Was something going on between them? The notion that Nicci Armstrong might actually have relationships had never occurred to Kaz. She was still wondering when they noticed her.

  Nicci came over immediately. She looked Kaz up and down, her eyes taking in the jeans, still caked in blood and smelling vaguely metallic. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Did you know Darius was an undercover cop?’

  ‘No. Not until Tom told me a minute ago. And he didn’t know until this morning.’

  ‘Am I supposed to believe that?’

  ‘The way the system works, other officers are only told on a need-to-know basis. Stoneham was the DCI in charge. No one knew about him but her.’

  Kaz considered this. ‘You sure lover boy is telling you the truth?’

  Nicci tilted her head and grinned. ‘Yeah. And it’s not just because he’s great in bed that I believe him. I also know that’s how undercover operations work. It’s kept as tight as possible, it has to be.’

  Kaz cracked a smile. ‘Tell him I’ll have a chocolate muffin and a double espresso. I’m starving.’

  After Nicci had relayed the order to Rivlin they found a table towards the back of the shop.

  Sitting down, the ex-cop interlaced her fingers and frowned. ‘You’ve been through a lot today.’

  ‘At least it’s over. And the Kemals won’t be out any time soon.’

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Karen. Maybe it isn’t over.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘When I told you before that you were wrong about Pudovkin and the problem was the Kemals, I think maybe it wasn’t the whole story.’

  ‘What, now you think Pudovkin was behind the shootings and the fire?’

  Nicci sighed. ‘No. That probably was all down to the Kemals. But I’ve since foun
d out that someone else is on the hunt for you. And I’m guessing it’s Pudovkin.’

  Kaz inclined her head in Rivlin’s direction. ‘You told him?’

  ‘We’ve discussed it. But it’s the same problem as before: the police would need a shedload of evidence to move against someone like Pudovkin. And, within the framework of the law, it’s very difficult to get proof.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter who he’s had murdered, he’s still fucking untouchable then.’

  Nicci opened her palms. ‘Let’s not panic. All we know at the moment is that he might, emphasis on might, be looking for you.’

  ‘Fuck me, Nicci. You know how this works. You’ll know for certain when my dead body washes up downstream and gets found by some bloke walking his dog.’

  ‘Yeah. But he’s got to find you first.’

  Kaz’s brain was reeling. Some instinct, a sixth sense, had always told her that Pudovkin was the real danger, but Nicci had talked her out of it. The dream of settling evaporated. Nothing had changed; she was still on the run.

  Nicci reached out and grabbed her hand. ‘Listen, Karen. Behind all his money he’s no better than the Kemals. He’s just another gangster.’

  ‘You’ve already said no one’s about to arrest him, though.’

  ‘Maybe not. But I’ll tell you something: I’ve had it with all this.’ There was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice.

  ‘All what?’

  ‘I may not be a police officer any more, but this is still my city. And it sticks in my throat that rich villains like him think they can come here and be above the law. It won’t be easy, but somehow I’m going to find a way to get the evidence to take him down.’

  ‘You serious?’

  ‘I’ll tell you how serious.’ A glint came into Nicci’s eye. ‘I’ve been inside his house. Well, mansion. You should see it. And I’ve bugged one room already. I’ve got Eddie listening in.’

  ‘Isn’t that ever so slightly illegal?’

  ‘I’ve come to the sad conclusion that sometimes the end does justify the means.’

  Rivlin was starting to walk across the room towards them carrying a tray of drinks. Nicci shot a quick look in his direction. ‘Tom doesn’t know about any of this. So keep it to yourself, okay? I don’t want to put him in an awkward position.’

  Kaz scanned her. Something in Nicci Armstrong had indeed shifted. The toughness had always been there but, as she talked about the Russian, a steely look had come into her eye. Her anxiety and habitual confusion over whether she was doing the right thing had gone. She seemed calmer and happy, smiling at her lover and joking with him as he unloaded the tray.

  Bugging Viktor Pudovkin’s house? That sounded like the far side of crazy. Kaz wondered what else she had in mind. Setting up the Kemals was one thing, but Viktor Pudovkin wasn’t some low-life drug smuggler with a gun. He had his own private army, for starters, plus a selection of influential people in his pocket. If he was looking for her, Kaz knew that the most sensible course would be to hide. Brave and bold as Nicci’s approach sounded, it was also naive – and there was a good chance it would get them both killed.

  67

  Although she’d only met him a handful of times, Kaz knew Mika Koshkin was some sort of third cousin to Irina and a surly individual who’d worked for Yevgeny on what had appeared to be an ad hoc basis. He’d served a short stint in the Russian army but had gone AWOL when his unit hadn’t been paid. Spare muscle when it was needed; he wasn’t that bright and after a year in the country his English was still rudimentary. He also had a thing for Irina; she and Kaz had even joked about the way he would gaze at her like a drooling bulldog.

  The address Kaz had received from Stoneham led her to a mansion block in Maida Vale. She rang the doorbell several times and got no answer. Finally she slipped into the building as another resident was coming out and made her way to the third floor. Then she simply hammered on the door until it opened.

  The flat, puggish features glared at her. ‘She don’t wanna see you.’

  ‘Come on, Mika. I ain’t going away. I just wanna talk.’

  In the hallway behind him, a female voice said something in Russian. With a shrug he let go of the door and allowed Kaz to enter.

  Irina was standing in the doorway to the sitting room. With her hair raked back in a severe bun, her pale face was starkly beautiful.

  She flapped a hand ineffectually at Kaz. ‘Cops come here, ask stupid questions. I don’t fucking know what’s going on. I think maybe they deport me.’

  Kaz followed her into the room. ‘All the more reason why you need my help. ’Cause Mika, bless him, might be useful in a punch-up but he knows fuck all about anything else.’

  An old sofa, covered in a tartan throw and littered with crumpled tissues, dominated the room. Curling her legs under her, Irina sank down in the middle of it like a broken bird settling on her nest. The room felt overheated and stale with the taint of nicotine and grief.

  Kaz folded her arms. ‘Is this what you been doing? Just sitting here.’

  ‘What the fuck should I do?’

  ‘Go back to your house.’

  ‘Mika say not safe.’

  ‘Irina, if the old bill can find you, anyone can. Anyway, the thugs that had Yevgeny shot have been arrested.’

  ‘How you know this?’

  ‘It happened this morning. I was there.’

  The Russian stared at her and tears welled up in her eyes. Kaz walked over to the sofa, sat down and pulled Irina into her arms. She stroked the fair hair and kissed her forehead. ‘Oh, babes. I know this is shit. But you gotta let me help you.’

  ‘Yev, always so tough. I can’t believe he dead. Why he dead? So not fair, Kaz. Yev, he a good man.’

  ‘Both our brothers were the same. They chose the life for themselves. They knew the risks.’

  ‘My mother want me to go home.’

  ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘I want Yev back. And Tolya.’ Her head sank on Kaz’s shoulder.

  Small and muscle-bound, in a soiled vest, Mika was scowling at them from the doorway. He mumbled in Russian.

  Kaz shot him a stony look. ‘What’s he saying?’

  ‘He say is your fault my brother’s dead.’

  Kaz got up. In two strides she was in Mika’s face. ‘Don’t piss me off, you little scrote. I’m here to help. You know how things work over here? How you get the coroner to release a body? How you arrange a funeral? I’m guessing not.’

  Irina translated and there followed a rapid-fire exchange in Russian between her and Mika. Kaz read the escalating tension between them and the rising anger in his voice.

  ‘What’s he saying now?’

  But Mika answered for himself, spitting the words in Kaz’s face. ‘You, queer bitch! You sick! No good! No fucking good for her! Yev knew this, he kill you!’

  So that was his beef. He wanted someone to blame, someone to hate. She took a step back.

  Irina was sobbing and Kaz could tell from her tone of voice that she was trying to placate him. She wondered idly if Yevgeny had been as homophobic as his cousin. Would he have been shocked and disgusted if he’d realized she was in love with his sister? The fact he’d never remotely suspected probably gave her the answer to that question.

  Ignoring Mika, she calmly turned to face Irina. ‘What do you think? Do you agree with him? ’Cause if you do, I’ll walk away.’

  Placing her palm over her mouth, Irina gulped down her tears. She couldn’t speak.

  ‘I’m in love with you, Irina. Is that sick? You tell me.’

  Mika was talking again, short argumentative phrases, emphasized with a jab of the finger.

  Kaz stood stock-still in the middle of the room and waited.

  Irina looked up. ‘You love me? Really?’ She seemed puzzled.

  ‘Yes, why the fuck d’you think I’m here?’

  The Russian wiped the back of her hand across her tear-stained face. She’d been holed up in this crummy flat for nearly two weeks
and the truth was she was frustrated and bored. It reminded her of Magnitogorsk and the life she’d escaped. Mika was like her mother, full of dire warnings and foreboding. But here, in England, they did things differently and it was definitely more fun. Kaz was more fun.

  Irina frowned. ‘Girl with girl. Is probably wrong. My mother, she would not like. Church say is a sin.’

  ‘Okay.’ Kaz nodded and turned to go.

  ‘But I don’t care.’ A grin spread across Irina’s face. ‘No, I don’t fucking care!’

  She burst out laughing. Kaz joined in. Mika cursed them in Russian.

  Kaz held out her hand. ‘Good. So let’s get out of this shithole. It stinks.’

  68

  Tom Rivlin was as good as his word. The restaurant had a Michelin star and a price tag to match. Looking up from her menu, Nicci smiled at him across the table. ‘You eat out in places like this, people are going to think you’re bent.’

  ‘They can think what they like. We’ve done a good day’s work. We deserve a treat.’

  Nicci gazed around. There were as many waiters as diners but the atmosphere was relaxed. She reflected that this was what London offered now: the best of everything for those who could afford it.

  Rivlin adjusted his cutlery and put on a serious face. ‘So now, Ms Armstrong, we need to order. Then you and I need to have a talk.’

  ‘That sounds ominous. Am I in trouble, officer?’

  Ignoring the question, he beckoned the waiter. She ordered a complicated confection with quails’ eggs followed by lamb. He chose some sort of pâté and beef.

  The waiter topped up their glasses. The wine was red, a Margaux; it tasted rich and decadent to Nicci.

  Rivlin raised his glass. ‘Confusion to the enemy.’

  ‘But who is the enemy?’

  They chinked glasses and each took a sip of wine.

  Rivlin placed his glass back on the table and turned the stem. ‘The thing is this: I’ve had a word with Stoneham and she agrees.’

  ‘Agrees to what?’

  ‘You should come back. You were medically discharged, so there’ll be a lot of paperwork and the pension to sort out. But if you apply, she’ll back your application.’