All Things Nice

by Sheila Bugler

  ‘Ah,’ Ellen said. ‘So that’s why you’re interested in him?’

  Tramp was an ‘exclusive’ gentlemen’s club recently opened in a new development on the riverfront, near Greenwich Yacht Club. The owner of Tramp, Rob Brinton, was a leading figure in south-east London’s organised crime scene.

  ‘Cooper and Brinton go way back,’ Raj said. ‘Went to school together. We think Brinton’s been using Cooper’s business to syphon off money from his less salubrious income streams. Brinton’s into everything. Prostitution, dealing, probably trafficking too. Hard to tell Cooper’s involvement at this stage, but he’s definitely someone we’re interested in.’

  Ellen blew on her coffee and took a sip. It was good. It always was in Danilo’s.

  She was familiar with investigations like Operation Rift. They were part of a nationwide initiative. If you can’t get the criminals for one crime, get them for something else. End result is still the same. They’re locked up. They’d tried something similar with another south London bad boy a few years back. William – Billy Boy – Dunston. In Dunston’s case, the investigation never got as far as a conviction. Ellen had killed him first. Although not for money-laundering. Her motive had been purer than that. Revenge.

  A series of memories fast-forwarded through her head. Ending with the stench of burnt flesh and the image of Dunston’s ruined face after she’d pulled the trigger a second time.

  ‘You think Gleeson’s involved too?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ Raj shook his head. ‘He’s just an idiot who’s let Cooper talk him into investing in this new chain of restaurants he’s starting up. My guess is that he’s been wanting to start this new venture for a while. It’s ambitious. He’s taken over the building beside his existing restaurant in Greenwich. It’s meant to be the first of a chain. The tapas chain has been a success and this is basically the same concept only the food’s Italian, not Spanish. Maybe he feels safer going into it with someone else. Cooper can be charming enough when he wants and, on the surface, he comes across as pretty respectable. He’s the money behind the enterprise, Gleeson’s the brains. From Gleeson’s point of view, he probably thinks he’s got himself a pretty good deal.’

  Ellen thought of the smug, conceited man she’d dragged in for questioning the day before. Nick Gleeson oozed comfortable, well-off respectability.

  ‘Wouldn’t he know it’s potentially harming his reputation going into business with someone like Cooper?’ she asked.

  ‘He probably has no idea,’ Raj said. ‘Like I told you, Cooper puts up a good front. Gleeson’s a businessman, Ellen. Even the best of them don’t really care who they do business with once it brings in the money. Don’t tell me you’ve never watched The Apprentice?’

  ‘Never,’ Ellen confirmed. ‘And I hope I never will, either.’

  Raj grinned. ‘Should have guessed. Anything else?’

  ‘Is it possible Cooper is using Nick Gleeson’s new business as a channel for his mate’s dodgy money?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Very possible,’ Raj said. ‘That’s one of several things we’re looking into. Tell me, Ellen, what do you know about Pete Cooper?’

  ‘I know he plays golf with Nicholls,’ Ellen said. ‘And I know he’s probably involved in all sorts of dodgy stuff but proving it is the difficult thing. Why?’

  ‘This isn’t the first time he’s been the focus of an investigation,’ Raj said. ‘I’m not sure if you’re aware of that?’

  Ellen shook her head.

  ‘Fifteen years ago,’ Raj said, ‘Cooper’s wife disappeared. Annalise. Her body was found a few days later at the bottom of Beachy Head.’

  Two images side by side in Ellen’s head. Vinny’s body. Lying on the road after the car drove over him. Billy Dunston’s face disappearing a split-second after Ellen pulled the trigger.

  ‘Cooper was a suspect?’ she said.

  ‘The inquest gave an open verdict,’ Raj said. ‘But no one was ever charged with the death. And, of course, it’s possible she did kill herself.’

  Ellen thought of other suicides she’d investigated. She knew an open verdict wasn’t unusual in those cases. She knew, too, there was usually a reason why the coroner chose not to confirm the death as suicide.

  ‘You don’t think so?’ she asked.

  Raj shrugged. ‘I wasn’t part of the investigation but I spoke to a retired detective who was. He said they all knew Cooper had killed her. Proving it was the problem. He had a cast-iron alibi for the night she went missing. And the investigation was never able to prove he’d got someone else to do it.’

  ‘Why was everyone so sure?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Annalise was having an affair,’ Raj said. ‘With a guy who did some occasional work for Cooper. Dan McNulty. The thing is, McNulty disappeared the same night as Annalise. His body was never found. The case is still officially open. Sitting with a pile of other cold cases, waiting for the day someone has time to revisit them.’

  ‘Did he ever remarry?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Never,’ Raj said. ‘There’s a kid, too. A daughter. Cooper’s brought her up alone since Annalise died. From everything I’ve heard, he’s a devoted father. The girl is twenty-two now. Still lives at home. Post-grad student at Greenwich University.’

  ‘Where Kieran Burton was doing his MA,’ Ellen said. ‘I wonder if they knew each other.’

  Raj pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Let me know what you find out. I’ve got a briefing in five minutes. Need to get back.’

  Through the steamed-up window, Ellen saw the blurred outline of Abby crossing the road towards the coffee shop.

  ‘I need to be getting off as well,’ she said. ‘Thanks for your help, Raj.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Take care, Ellen.’

  He touched her shoulder and then he was gone. Ellen watched him chat to Abby on the pavement before he ran across the road and disappeared inside the white, concrete hulk of the building that housed Lewisham police station.

  She drained the last bit of coffee and stood up, just as Abby came inside, brushing rain off her face.

  ‘Charlotte Gleeson’s in hospital,’ Abby said. ‘Claims she was attacked in her house last night.’

  ‘Claims?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘She’d had a few too many,’ Abby said. ‘Fell down the stairs. She says someone pushed her. Two of our boys answered the emergency call. They seem to think it’s more likely she fell. I’ve spoken to the hospital. We can go over any time this morning.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Ellen said, ‘you scoot across to the hospital, see what Charlotte’s got to say. I’ll go back to the station and deal with Ben Lowe, okay?’

  They walked out into the wet morning. A gust of wind cut down the street, gathering up bits of rubbish as it went. A blue plastic bag rose from the ground, floated high above Ellen’s head, then drifted down again, landing at her feet like a present.

  She pulled up her hood, stepped over the bag and motioned for Abby to follow her. By the time she reached the station, the lingering image of Billy Dunston’s face was gone.

  Two

  They’d kept Ben Lowe in overnight. Deliberately delaying the interview until the following morning. The longer they drew things out, the harder it was for the suspect. A night in the cells sent stress levels rocketing. Made suspects say things they shouldn’t. Sometimes.

  After giving disclosure to Lowe’s solicitor, Ellen went into the interview room. Ellen didn’t recognise the solicitor, a striking black woman who introduced herself as Janet Azikwe.

  It had been Abby’s idea to ask Alastair to be part of this. Ellen would never have thought of it. She’d always assumed Alastair preferred the other side of the job: the research, trawling through mounds of evidence, looking for things other people missed. But when she suggested this to him, he jumped at the chance. She’d have to try to remember, in future, to let him try new things. Alastair wasn’t the only person in her team who needed more development opportunities. When she compared her own
management skills to some people she’d been lucky enough to work with over the years, she didn’t feel good about herself. Somehow, along with juggling the other demands of the job and being a semi-decent mother, she would have to find the time to be a better manager.

  Straightaway, Ben Lowe started mouthing off. Banging on about his rights and how he had a business to run and blah-de-blah-de-blah-de-blah. When he finally shut up, Ellen pressed the button on the CD-recorder and started the interview. She noted the time and the names of everyone in the room, then sat back in her chair and stared at Lowe.

  He was a man who clearly cared about the way he looked. Blonde highlights through his thinning hair, a tan that definitely didn’t come from any natural source, and clothes that looked good even after he’d slept in them. It was a pity, Ellen reflected, he didn’t dedicate as much time to his personality as he did to his appearance.

  ‘You met Kieran Burton for a drink on Friday night,’ she said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Hang on a second,’ Lowe said. ‘Haven’t you heard a word I just said? I asked you why the hell you’ve kept me locked up all night and when you’re going to let me out of here? I haven’t done anything wrong and you’re treating me like a bloody criminal. It’s not right and I’m not having it. You hear?’

  ‘Friday night,’ Ellen repeated.

  He started to protest – again – but Janet Azikwe put a hand on his arm. With an expression of weary patience that reminded Ellen of her mother, Janet suggested to Ben that answering questions was the fastest way out of here.

  He shrugged off Janet’s hand and scowled at Ellen.

  ‘Yeah, I met him,’ he said. ‘He’s a pal. Wanted a bit of advice so we went for a drink. Chose the Dacre because there was less chance of bumping into someone we knew.’ He snorted. ‘Not that it seems to have made much difference. Someone obviously saw us. Who was it? Not Freya, I know that much. She had no idea Kieran was meeting me.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Because he didn’t tell her,’ Ben said. ‘She can be a bit much, you know? It was easier for him to do his own thing from time to time.’

  ‘And what was his own thing?’ Ellen asked.

  Ben shrugged. ‘The guy just needed a bit of space sometimes, you know? Listen, I work with Freya, yeah? So I know what she’s like. Full of her own importance. She didn’t treat him like he was her boyfriend. It was weird. She acted more like she was his mother. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She looked after him all right. But that came with a price, you know?’

  ‘No, I don’t know,’ Ellen said. ‘What sort of price?’

  ‘She wanted to control him,’ Ben said. ‘Everything he did, she had to know about it. Which is why he went AWOL from time to time.’

  ‘What about uni?’ Ellen said. ‘Freya couldn’t keep tabs on him there, surely?’

  Ben smirked. ‘She didn’t know the half of it. Ironic, if you think about it. She spent all that time and effort and money trying to turn him into her personal lapdog and all the while he was off at college everyday getting up to all sorts.’

  ‘All sorts of what?’ Alastair asked.

  ‘Let’s just say,’ Ben said, ‘Kieran was the sort of bloke who didn’t put much importance on monogamy. Far as I know, he had several girls on the go. Some of them real lookers as well. In a different league to poor old Freya.’

  ‘You don’t know any of this for sure, though,’ Ellen said. ‘This is only what Kieran told you?’

  ‘He was seeing other women,’ Ben said. ‘I’m telling you. I even met one of them. Bloody gorgeous she was.’

  ‘Sounds like you and Kieran were good mates,’ Alastair said.

  ‘We were,’ Ben said. ‘I still can’t believe it, if I’m honest. I mean, for all I know I was one of the last people to see him before it happened.’

  ‘Or the last,’ Ellen said.

  ‘I didn’t kill him,’ Ben said. ‘We met for a drink, that’s all. Well, okay, maybe it was more than one. We had a few drinks and then he went on to the party and I headed back to the bar. You can ask anyone who was at the Meridian that night. I was back by ten at the latest.’

  ‘If you were such good pals,’ Alastair said, ‘what was the fight about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Ben said. ‘Like I said, we’d had a few. Said some stuff we shouldn’t have. But that’s what happens with drink sometimes, you know?’

  Ellen nearly laughed. Ben Lowe had had all night to come up with a story about why he and Kieran had argued. She couldn’t believe this was the best he could think of. From the look of barely concealed contempt on his solicitor’s face, neither could Janet Azikwe.

  Ellen leaned forward in her chair and stared at Ben. He stared back at first then dropped eye contact and fidgeted in his seat. His right hand was on the table in front of him, fingers tapping a discordant rhythm on the stained Formica.

  ‘Ben.’

  The tapping stopped and he looked up. His face was blank, but Ellen saw the first flicker of real fear in his blue eyes.

  ‘We have several witnesses who can confirm they saw you and Kieran rowing on Friday night. You were overheard threatening to kill him at one point. A few hours later, Kieran was killed. At this point in the investigation, you are our number one murder suspect. Believe me when I tell you it isn’t helping your case in any way by deliberately lying to me. If you really want me to believe you didn’t kill Kieran, you’d better start telling me the truth. And if you think for one second that I’m going to believe you can’t even remember why you argued, you can think again. So let me ask you for the final time. What was your argument about?’

  Kieran glanced at Azikwe, who rolled her eyes.

  ‘DI Kelly,’ she said. ‘Could you give us a moment, please?’

  Ellen located the Pause button on the CD-recorder and stood up.

  ‘We’ll take a break,’ she said.

  She left the room with Alastair. They got coffees from the machine and Ellen asked Alastair what he thought so far.

  ‘He’s a nasty bastard,’ Alastair said. ‘But I don’t think he killed Burton.’

  ‘Why not?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘He’s not scared enough,’ Alastair said. ‘I agree he’s lying and I’m intrigued to find out why. From what he’s said so far, it wouldn’t surprise me if the row was about a woman. Just not poor Freya. Maybe they were both sleeping with the same girl, something tawdry like that.’

  Ellen agreed. Ben Lowe wasn’t their killer. Which left them right back where they’d started. The task ahead suddenly seemed impossible. A huge, impassable mountain she didn’t have the strength for. She didn’t think she could continue to do this, over and over and over.

  ‘You okay?’ Alastair asked.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, giving the same lie she always gave. ‘Come on. Let’s go back and finish this.’

  She pushed open the door and walked back into the interview room. The expression on Ben Lowe’s face was defiant, like he was preparing for a fight. Resisting the urge to punch him, Ellen sat down, pressed the button to start the CD recording again.

  * * *

  Whatever advice Lowe’s solicitor gave him, it worked. When Ellen and Alastair went back in, he was ready to talk.

  ‘We did row,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘So what was it about?’ Ellen asked.

  Lowe glanced at his solicitor, who nodded.

  ‘Kieran was meant to be getting me a bit of speed,’ Lowe said.

  ‘You’re telling me Kieran was dealing drugs?’ Ellen said.

  Lowe shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t call it dealing. He got me some speed from time to time. But only because he knew some bloke at the uni who could get some easily.’

  ‘And the row was about the drugs?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Just speed,’ Lowe said. ‘Not drugs like I was getting all sorts. Kieran stole my money. I gave him fifty quid and never saw a thing for it. He told me his usual guy had taken the money then refused to give him the speed. Said there
was nothing he could do about it. He was a lying bastard. He kept the money for himself. When I challenged him, he laughed and said if I didn’t believe him, I could always go to you lot.’

  Ellen’s spirits deflated. A petty row over a petty drug deal. Ben Lowe was a piece of shit but Ellen was pretty sure he hadn’t killed Kieran over fifty quid. In a pointless attempt to make herself feel better, she charged Ben Lowe for conspiracy to supply drugs under the Illegal Drugs Act. After that, all she could do was have him released on bail pending an appearance before the Magistrate in a fortnight’s time. He would get a fine and a record. Which was something, she supposed.

  When she’d finished with Lowe, she went back to her office and found a note on her laptop: Gone to hospital. Ger wants to see us both for a coffee and catch-up when I’m back. A

  Ellen rolled her eyes. The prospect of a decent coffee was poor compensation for being dragged away from her work just because Ger Cox felt like it. What the boss wanted, the boss got. Ellen knew that was the way things worked. But knowing it didn’t mean she had to like it.

  Three

  Nothing was broken. The doctor – tall and thin with an over-long nose – told Charlotte she was lucky. She didn’t feel very lucky. She had concussion and her right arm was badly bruised. It hurt like hell, despite the painkillers they’d given her. She’d made the mistake of asking the doctor if she could drink on them.

  ‘I’d have thought alcohol would be the last thing on your mind right now,’ he said.

  Supercilious bastard. No point telling him – again – that someone had done this to her. She’d seen from his face what he thought of her.

  She was in a public ward. Eight beds in the room. Each one occupied. She was wearing a pale blue, nylon nightgown that they’d put her into when she arrived. One of the nurses, the fat blonde one, said that her clothes were in the small bedside locker. Which meant they’d be horribly creased when she put them back on.