Caelan straightened again, hands on hips. ‘I didn’t want to be right about this.’
Somerville swivelled her chair so they faced each other. ‘Well, it seems you are.’
‘Has DCI Achebe seen the footage?’
‘The whole team has. Forensics have the vehicle, but as you can imagine, there’s not a lot left for them to work with. I’m expecting a preliminary report later today.’
Caelan nodded. ‘There’s something else.’ She told Somerville about Ben Rainey’s ambitions to be a detective. Somerville nodded, wrinkling her brow.
‘The boss mentioned it, but we hadn’t considered the possibility of him going out on his own and asking questions.’
‘Where is the DCI?’
‘Tim? In a meeting with the Chief Super.’
‘Adele Brady?’
‘You know her?’
Caelan snorted. ‘We’ve met.’
Somerville grinned. ‘I won’t ask.’
‘That… might be wise.’ Caelan didn’t elaborate, though her feelings about Detective Chief Superintendent Adele Brady were far from clear-cut. ‘Did the DCI say anything about the Rainey family’s church?’
A pause. ‘Why do you ask?’ Somerville sounded wary, and Caelan wondered what she had been told.
‘I emailed DCI Achebe last night, mentioning the church. I wondered what he thought, that’s all.’
‘I spoke to the pastor. I’m heading off to see her shortly.’
‘She couldn’t discuss it on the phone?’
‘Apparently not.’ Somerville screwed up her face. ‘Meeting her should be interesting.’
‘Could I come with you?’ Caelan regretted the words as soon as she heard herself say them. Why was she begging?
Somerville took a step backwards. ‘I’ll speak to the DCI.’
Caelan held up her hands. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. I probably shouldn’t be here anyway.’ Somerville waited. Caelan blew out her cheeks, stared at the carpet tiles. ‘I’m going to head back to my own station. See you around.’
She turned, walked away. No doubt Somerville would talk to Achebe; they’d shake their heads and get on with their jobs. They didn’t need her.
* * *
Out on the street, Caelan tipped her head back, gazing up at the grey sky. She didn’t want to go back to the flat. Penrith had promised to call her, but she didn’t believe him. She was being sidelined, not for the first time recently. Nicky and Richard were already in Edmonton, while she was here, kicking her heels. Why? Penrith had said it was Beckett’s decision. Bailey hadn’t needed an expert the previous evening, though Beckett might use the request as justification for keeping Caelan out of Edmonton until she gave the word. She was probably just reminding Caelan and Penrith who was in charge.
Caelan took the tube to Westminster, knowing there would crowds of people to disappear into there. In a coffee shop, she ordered tea and took it to a corner table. She checked her phone, knowing what she would find. No texts, no missed calls. Her social media presence was non-existent, except for the fake accounts set up in the names of some of the identities she used. Even those had probably been deleted. Since she had agreed to return to work, the feeling that she was half a person had dogged each step. Her family and friends knew nothing of her real job. She lived her life in the shadows, and it had taken its toll. She drank the last mouthful of tea, told herself to snap out of it. This was normal when she wasn’t on an active operation. Doubt set in, creeping around her head, eroding confidence and self-belief.
Nicky had understood. No doubt Richard would too, if she spoke to him about it. She had been told during training about officers who had burnt out, had breakdowns, walked away from marriages and children. She had told herself she was different. Now, she wondered.
On the next table, a group of tourists chatted and laughed. Caelan envied them, carefree and happy. Her last holiday had been taken alone, interrupted by a visit from Richard Adamson and an offer she now wished she had never accepted. She took out her phone.
‘What now, Caelan?’ Penrith was gruff. ‘I told you to wait for my call. I haven’t spoken to the boss yet.’
‘I’ll come in then. I can’t just wait around, Ian. Isn’t there something else I could be doing?’
‘No. You’ll be on your way later today.’
He hung up. Caelan set the phone on the table, wondering whether she should have told him where to stick his job.
* * *
In her kitchen, Liv Hobbs picked up her bag, ignoring the ache in her ribs as she pushed her feet into her shoes. Adam had gone to work, and there was no way she was spending another day sitting around at home. The garage hadn’t dropped off her courtesy car yet, but the gym was only a fifteen-minute walk away. It would do her good to stretch her muscles with a swim after so many hours spent sitting down. Maybe some time in the sauna would help her aching body too.
She went out of the front door, locked it behind her. She would have to be sure she was home before Adam. He wouldn’t be happy if he knew she’d left the house. Not, she thought as she turned onto the pavement, that it was his decision. He was looking out for her, she understood that. But she didn’t need wrapping in cotton wool.
* * *
Behind Hobbs, fifty yards away, a car drew up at the side of the road. She didn’t turn her head, didn’t register the vehicle was there at all. It was a busy road, people coming and going at all hours.
Inside the car, the driver glanced at his passenger. ‘Is it her?’
The second man shifted, nervous and ill at ease. He had a cap pulled down low over his face, but he still felt exposed. If she turned and saw them…
‘You know it is,’ he muttered. ‘Why are you asking?’
‘Making certain. When is it happening?’
‘Not yet. Tonight? I don’t know. Needs to be the right moment. We don’t want to start trouble.’
The driver laughed as Hobbs turned the corner at the top of her road and disappeared out of sight. ‘You’re worried about trouble? That’s what we’re hoping for, isn’t it?’
* * *
The flat in Rotherhithe was cold and felt unlived in. Caelan turned on the lights as she went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Everything was as she had left it. Nicky had said she wasn’t going to stay here, and when Caelan went into the bedroom, she saw that the bed had been stripped and made up with clean covers. Nicky’s bag had gone; there was no trace of her. On the pillow on the right-hand side of the bed, there was a piece of paper with Caelan’s name scribbled on it. Caelan stepped closer, picked it up. Her side of the bed, the only one she slept on, as Nicky would know. Caelan’s throat closed, tears blurring the writing as she unfolded the note and read what Nicky had written. More apologies, the same explanation. She’d had no choice, there had been no other option. She didn’t expect Caelan to understand, or to forgive her, but she hoped eventually they could be friends. Balling the note in her fist, Caelan turned away. She didn’t think so.
In the bathroom, she applied dye to her hair, plucking her eyebrows into thin lines while she waited for the dye to take effect. Her oversized hoodies would make her appear thinner. Make-up always helped; with her face as bruised as it currently was, it was essential. She painted her fingernails black, then used a nail file to scuff them. She rinsed the dye out of her hair, watching the red water swirl towards the plughole, and stared at herself in the mirror. Not bad. Caelan Small was beginning to disappear.
After drying her now coppery-coloured hair, she ran some wax through it to make it appear dull and unwashed. Coloured contact lenses changed her eyes from hazel to ice blue. Next, clothes. Skinny jeans, a vest top. The gaudy pink and purple trainers. A baggy navy hoody. A couple of fake piercings through the tops of her ears. Her teeth might be a giveaway, but they’d have to do. This wasn’t about deep cover; this was information-gathering. Thick foundation, mascara and black eyeliner. Done.
When she was satisfied, Caelan made herself a cup of tea and set
tled down to wait. She turned on the TV but left the sound muted as she checked her emails. Nothing new, except for the usual junk. She knew she should let her parents know she would be off the grid for a while, but she hadn’t spoken to them since she had agreed to come back to work, and wasn’t looking forward to the conversation when she did. They wouldn’t be happy to hear she was a serving police officer again, especially if they found out about her injuries. Instead, she sent a text to her brother, asking him to fill their mum and dad in. Within seconds, he was calling her.
‘Caelan? I thought you’d resigned from the Met?’
‘Hello, Andrew. Fine thanks, how are you?’
He ignored her. ‘You know how Mum and Dad are going to react, don’t you? They worry about you, it’s not fair. Every time the phone rings, we think it’s going to be about you being hurt or—’
‘I know, I get that. Good thing you have such a safe, boring job doing sums all day, isn’t it?’
‘Not funny. Why can’t you tell them yourself?’
‘Because they’ll react like you have. There’s no risk.’
He snorted. ‘We’ve all heard that before.’
‘Come on, Andy—’
‘What? This job will kill you, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no danger at all.’ She raised a hand to her bruised face. Lucky he couldn’t see her, that he didn’t know what she was really going to be doing. ‘Just tell them, Andrew, please?’
A sigh. ‘All right. Be careful, that’s all we ask.’
‘I know. I will be.’ She coughed, cleared her throat. ‘How is everyone?’
After diverting Andrew’s attention onto his wife and two daughters, Caelan managed to get him off the phone. Immediately, it rang again. Ian Penrith didn’t bother with a greeting either.
‘Ready?’
‘Where am I going?’
He gave her an address. ‘It’s the flat Nicky stayed in before. It’s owned by the local authority but they’re generously letting us rent it for a while.’
‘Who am I supposed to be?’
‘Use Kay Summers again.’
‘That’ll be the fourth time…’
‘And?’
Caelan stood, went over to the window. Far below, the Thames surged past. ‘Just seems risky, that’s all.’
‘Nonsense. Kay’s never been to Edmonton, has she?’
‘Apart from earlier today.’
‘Fine then.’
‘What about Nicky and Richard? Am I to make contact?’
‘Up to you. They know you’re coming.’
‘Who are they?’
‘No one to you. If you meet them, it’ll be for the first time. Let them introduce themselves.’
‘Okay. Anyone else I need to look out for?’
‘Remember Frankie Hamilton? We’ll have someone follow him to Edmonton, then it’s up to you. We’ll be in touch about that. We’ve left a phone and your ID in the flat.’
‘How do I get in?’ Even as she said the words, Caelan heard the entryphone buzz. Someone delivering the keys. ‘Never mind.’
‘We’ll speak soon.’ He was gone. Caelan turned off her mobile, picked up the entryphone.
Time to go.
13
Mealtimes had always been something to look forward to, especially when he had been a child. His mum and dad both loved cooking, and sitting down to plates piled high with curry or stew, rice and vegetables was a memorable part of his childhood. Time to sit with the family, chat about their day. Important times. He had a brother and a sister, and they had always got along well. They’d argued, of course, but stuck up for each other when it mattered. Now, though… He shook his head. They had both let him down. He was alone, and mealtimes were to be endured, not enjoyed. The slop they doled out here didn’t deserve to be called food.
And he had sixteen years of it to come.
Jackson swung his legs off the bed, got to his feet, straightened the covers on his bunk. He picked up his plastic plate, mug and cutlery from the table and stood by the locked door. He’d been allowed out of his cell to collect his breakfast, but then had been banged up again. Nothing but a few battered paperbacks and mindless daytime TV to keep him occupied. They didn’t seem to know what to do with him. He wasn’t an escape risk, had no convictions for violence, whatever he might or might not have done in the past, so what was their problem? He didn’t need to ask. No staff, no morale and too many prisoners. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. At least the screws went home at night, saw their families, slept in their own beds.
Jackson clenched his fists. He’d been inside before, served his time, and it had been a breeze. This time, though… this time, he had his business to consider. He’d lose the lot, if it hadn’t happened already. He’d built an empire, and it was crashing down around his ears. He stood on tiptoes, stretching his back. If he spread his arms, his fingertips touched the walls on either side. He’d done it often enough, especially the first night. Those first few hours, when Jackson Hobbs, feared and respected throughout west London, had sat with his head in his hands and sobbed at the thought of sixteen years in a concrete cage. It had been his lowest point. Now, though, now he was looking to the future. He had to keep his nose clean, and his hand in. There were ways. They’d never find his money, and there were people he still trusted.
His lip curled as he thought of his sister, working away to bring people like him down. Well, good luck to her. He knew which side of the fence he’d rather be on. When Liv had joined the police, she’d started a prison sentence of her own. Bound by rules, trapped by regulations. The straight and fucking narrow.
Good for her.
The door opened.
‘Come on, Hobbs. Egg and chips today, you lucky bastards.’
Jackson left his cell without a backwards glance, pushing his sister out of his mind. He’d had plenty of practice. She was part of his past, and there was no room for her in his future.
14
The flat looked like a shithole. Big surprise. It was on the third floor of a four-storey building, beside a row of terraced houses and hemmed in by several taller blocks. Cars were parked or abandoned everywhere, and the flat below had a boarded-up window. Music echoed around the stairwell, and as Caelan locked the front door behind her, she heard voices raised in argument. There was a thud, more shouting. She closed her eyes, reminded herself why she was here. Opened them and kept walking.
The living room was square, clean and clinical. A scuffed two-seater fake-leather sofa and a coffee table were the only furniture. In the kitchen, a free-standing cooker, a small fridge and a microwave waited. There was a new kettle, still in its box, and cutlery and crockery in a cupboard. In the bedroom, a divan bed, unmade. She dumped her rucksack on it, decided to leave her clothes inside. There would be laundry facilities somewhere in the block where she could wash bedding, but she resolved to buy a sleeping bag instead. Hopefully she wouldn’t be hanging around for long. The bathroom was tiny, but clean and functional. She’d lived in worse places. In the single bedside cabinet she found her Kay Summers ID, debit and credit cards, and the mobile phone Penrith had promised her. She slipped it into her pocket. There was also a phone charger and an envelope containing cash.
In the flat below, the argument was still raging. A female voice, then a bang and a clatter. A man yelled back over the pounding music – something about missing money. Caelan tuned them out. She wasn’t here to get involved in domestics.
Back in the living room, she paced over to the window, which opened onto a tiny balcony, and looked out at the scrubby grass behind the block. More cars, parked impossibly close together, battered concrete. A children’s playground, hooded teenagers riding bikes around it. A couple of trees doing their best. Caelan turned away, slumped on the sofa. Took out the phone, scrolled through the contacts. There were enough to be convincing, but most would ring and never connect. Fake names, fake numbers. All part of the smokescreen. She wondered which name Penrith was
hiding behind. No doubt she’d know soon enough. And where were Nicky and Richard? Would they be informed she was here? Would they find her? She didn’t know, and she ought to. She knew Penrith would be in touch, but when? And what was she supposed to do until then?
She needed food, other supplies. She slid the bank cards into the empty purse she’d brought, along with some of the cash.
As she jogged down the concrete stairs, the front door of the flat below opened, and a man stuck his head out. Thin and pale, he wore a grubby grey T-shirt and jogging bottoms. The music had been turned down.
‘You new upstairs?’ he demanded. Caelan looked at him, noted his blackened teeth.
‘Might be.’
‘Sorry about the noise, yeah? You know how it is. Didn’t realise you were up there.’
So how did you know I was? Caelan wanted to ask. They couldn’t have heard her moving around, not with the row they’d been making.
‘Mate of mine in the block opposite saw the lights go on,’ the man continued. Caelan smiled, nodded.
And immediately contacted you. Interesting. ‘Just got the keys,’ she said.
Behind him, a young woman appeared, her long dark hair hanging lank. ‘You must be fucking desperate.’ She began to cough, stumbled away with her hands over her mouth. The man grinned, called after her.
‘Keep telling you to cut down on the fags, April. Ignore her. I’m Leon.’
Caelan nodded, relieved he hadn’t tried to shake hands. ‘Good to meet you.’
‘If you need any help settling in…’ He raised his eyebrows, even winked. The woman reappeared.
‘Give it up, Leon. Why would she want a scrawny bastard like you?’ She elbowed him out of the way and gave Caelan a long stare. Not aggressive, just appraising.
Caelan shifted her feet, pointed downstairs. ‘Need to get to the shops before they close, so…’
‘Yeah, see you.’ April was already closing the door, and Caelan hurried away.
Tell No Lies Page 11