‘She’s OK, by the way,’ Stedman said.
‘Sorry?’
‘The cat. It is a she, isn’t it?’
Thorne nodded. He remembered Tanner telling him the cat’s name, remembered enjoying the joke.
‘She’s with the neighbour… same one that called the fire brigade. Poor wee thing’s a bit blacker than she was, but she’ll be fine.’
‘What about smoke alarms?’
‘Ah.’ Stedman stepped across to the kitchen door and motioned for Thorne to follow. He pointed to the ceiling, the melted remains of the familiar plastic disc, its lid hanging open. ‘No batteries, see? Same with the one in the hall.’ He shook his head. ‘Bloody stupid.’
Thorne was staring. ‘No.’
‘No, what?’
‘The alarms would have had batteries in. I know her. She would have put fresh batteries in everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘What?’
The look on Thorne’s face quickly wiped the smirk off Stedman’s. The FIU man looked at his feet for a second or two. ‘Do you want to see upstairs?’
‘No,’ Thorne said. He knew what he would see. ‘I’m done.’
Walking back towards the front door, Stedman said, ‘House should actually be all right, once it’s cleaned up. Fire brigade got here before there was any structural damage.’
‘Still not quickly enough,’ Thorne said.
Stedman said, ‘No,’ and as soon as they were outside he took off his mask and picked up another bottle of water. He stood watching Thorne removing his bodysuit. ‘Was it deliberate? The fire that killed your dad?’
Thorne grunted, though it might just have been the effort of climbing out of the suit.
‘Did they catch them?’
Thorne froze, just for a second.
He thought about a man who had once been the head of a Turkish gangland family. A trail of blood behind him as he crawled across the floor of his own restaurant; screaming into the napkin that had been stuffed into his mouth, both knees shattered with a claw-hammer.
‘Eventually,’ he said.
The General Intensive Care Unit at Hammersmith Hospital was on the second floor of a block behind the main building. It was certainly good that it was a little out of the way, though Thorne had still needed twenty minutes on the phone – at least half of which was spent shouting – before he’d finally been able to persuade the consultant in charge of critical care that the patient needed a private room.
Having put a call in first thing to Tanner’s DCI at Belgravia, it had been considerably easier getting authorisation to place an officer outside the door.
‘Consider it done,’ the man had said. ‘I’ll organise shifts, and I’ll obviously try and get down there myself, as soon as I can find an hour or two.’
‘I’m sure she’d appreciate it.’
‘Give her all our best.’
‘Course,’ Thorne had said. ‘Soon as she’s conscious.’
Tanner’s boss had been the one responsible for ‘encouraging’ her to take compassionate leave in the wake of Susan’s murder. He might or might not have known that she had continued working off the books, but he’d certainly been well aware of the theory that she had been the target when Susan was killed. He must have understood the implications of the previous night’s arson attack.
‘Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’
Guilt cut through a lot of red tape.
Approaching the door, the plain-clothes officer on a chair outside put down his newspaper, stood up and demanded to see ID. Thorne nodded his approval as he reached for his warrant card. It was good to see somebody doing their job properly.
‘There’s a visitor in there already,’ the officer said, sitting down again.
‘Who?’
The officer looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I’ve forgotten the name. He’s definitely Job though. An Asian bloke.’
Thorne moved towards the door just as it opened and a doctor stepped out. She said, ‘Oh,’ and closed the door behind her, and there was a second or two of awkwardness as they both moved the same way, then apologised at the same time.
‘How is she?’ Thorne asked.
‘Well, she’s completely out of it at the moment. Will be for some time.’
‘I meant how is she… generally?’
The woman looked down at her clipboard, lifted the glasses that were on a chain around her neck. ‘Lucky, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Considering the height. But still… both ankles shattered, fractured arm, fractured pelvis, fractured wrist, severe concussion and major facial contusions. We can’t be sure about the degree of the smoke inhalation injuries until we’ve run more tests, but we have to assume carbon monoxide poisoning.’ She removed her glasses. ‘Not good.’
Thorne nodded. ‘You should print that list out and have it laminated for her. She’d appreciate that.’
The doctor smiled, though she clearly had no idea what Thorne was on about. ‘We’re still trying to schedule the surgery, but it’s not life-threatening, so…’
‘Right.’
She nodded back towards the door. ‘I was trying to explain to your colleague in there. He wasn’t very happy, but there’s really not much I can do, I’m afraid. Obviously we’ll continue managing the pain.’
Thorne nodded and moved past her to the door.
Thinking that Nicola Tanner was very good at doing that herself.
FORTY-NINE
Thorne said, ‘You must be Dipak.’
Detective Sergeant Dipak Chall stood up from the chair next to Tanner’s bed and stepped across to shake Thorne’s hand. ‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘I was in court for a few days on the Finlay trial. Never got the chance to introduce myself.’
‘You did a lot of good work on that,’ Thorne said. ‘I read the files before I got involved.’
Chall sat down again and reached across to pat the bed. ‘All down to the boss.’
Thorne took the other chair, and for a few slightly awkward seconds he and the DS stared across the bed at one another. Chall was tall and skinny, early thirties, Thorne guessed. He was wearing a smart grey suit, all set to head to work after his visit, though it was obvious that he had not yet found time to shave. ‘Anyway, nice to finally meet you,’ Thorne said. ‘I’ve heard great things.’
Chall grinned. ‘From… Nicola?’ He said the name as if it were one he was not accustomed to using. ‘Blimey.’
‘She was grateful for all your help the last couple of weeks. She knew you didn’t have to stick your neck out.’
‘She’d have done the same thing for me.’
‘Really?’ Thorne looked at him. ‘Unauthorised access to files from other teams’ cases? Transcripts of emergency calls, CCTV footage… passing all that information on to someone who was supposed to be on leave?’ He smiled. ‘I don’t think she’s broken that many rules in her life.’
‘Well…’
‘Don’t forget, I’ve been working with her the last few weeks.’
Chall laughed and nodded. ‘Bloody nightmare, isn’t she?’
Thorne looked at the table on Chall’s side of the bed. There was fruit and a few paperback books, and he guessed that Chall had brought some of them. He didn’t know if any of Tanner’s family had been to visit yet. ‘She thought you were probably doing it because you felt sorry for her… after what happened to Susan.’
‘Well, yeah… maybe a bit.’
Chall turned to look at Tanner and for the first time, suddenly aware that he had been putting the moment off, Thorne did the same.
There were just about as many tubes and monitors attached as he had been expecting, as many machines humming and beeping. There were several intravenous drips, at least one of which, Thorne knew, was dosing her with diamorphine; the cannula taped to the skin of her left hand. Most of her face was obscured by dressings, and as Thorne had already been told that Tanner had escaped without any serious burn injuries, he guessed they were covering the co
ntusions the doctor had mentioned.
She seemed to be breathing easily enough.
Looking down at her now, unconscious and broken, ‘lucky’ seemed a strange word to have used, but Thorne knew the doctor had been right. Lucky to have avoided the flames and to have survived the drop; twenty feet or more on to a concrete patio. A few seconds after she’d heaved a bedside table through the window, according to the neighbour who’d called the fire brigade and watched her jump.
Luckier than Susan had been, certainly.
‘You been to the house?’ Chall asked.
Thorne nodded. ‘Petrol or paraffin, front and back,’ he said. ‘And they’d removed the batteries from the smoke alarms.’
‘How the hell did they get in?’
‘Maybe she leaves a spare key somewhere. They’ll have been watching her. Doesn’t really matter, does it?’
‘I suppose not.’ After a few seconds, Chall nodded towards the bedside table. ‘Fruit. How bloody ridiculous is that? Be rotten by the time she can eat any of it. Didn’t know what else to bring, though.’
‘Not your books, then?’
He shook his head. ‘I think those must have been from one of her brothers. He came first thing.’
Thorne nodded, imagining the officer outside demanding to see identification from members of Tanner’s family. It was the right thing to do, he knew that, but still, it must have been alarming. He wondered if he should call and explain, though that would almost certainly make them even more worried than they already were.
When she was awake, he’d ask Tanner what she thought.
‘So, where were you with everything?’ Chall asked. ‘The honour killings.’
Thorne told Chall about the visits to the AHCA meetings and Tanner’s visits to the mosque in Palmers Green. He told him about the men who seemed to be in charge of the AHCA and a go-between named Ilyas Nazir. Tanner had mentioned the name in a message she had left late the night before. She had sounded excited, said that she thought the pieces were finally coming together.
Having been too drunk to send Tanner the message about Brigstocke, Thorne had already been in bed and dead to the world for an hour when she had called and left hers. Still feeling the effects of his night on the beer, he had eventually listened to it when he’d woken up, only fifteen minutes before hearing about the fire at Tanner’s home.
The news had got rid of his hangover quickly enough.
Chall glanced at Thorne. ‘Looks like you got too close.’
Thorne shook his head. ‘No, I think they’ve been planning this a while. Ever since they messed it up the first time. They decided she needed getting rid of weeks ago.’ He saw the look of confusion on Chall’s face. ‘They’re the men who killed Susan. They thought she was Nicola.’
Chall nodded slowly, processing it. ‘She never told me.’
‘She said she tried to tell the team that was investigating Susan’s murder, but between you and me I don’t think she tried too hard. She said there wasn’t much point, because nobody believed her theory about the hitmen in the first place. I think the real reason was that she wanted to catch them herself.’
‘With your help, right?’ Chall was still looking a little disappointed.
‘What would you have done if she’d told you? I mean, it would have been perfectly understandable if you’d gone straight to the SIO on the Susan Best case.’
‘I don’t know,’ Chall said. ‘I think I’d certainly have told her to be careful.’
His mouth dry suddenly, Thorne spent a few seconds listening to the machines hiss and beep. He swallowed and said, ‘Yeah, course.’
‘You think she was close back then? When they killed Susan.’
‘They knew she would be, eventually,’ Thorne said. ‘They knew she wasn’t the type to give up.’ He looked at Tanner. The wires and the bags, the bandages and the needles. ‘Unfortunately, she’s also the type who doesn’t worry too much about herself, and some people who should have known better didn’t do enough to talk some sense into her.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Chall said. ‘She’s stubborn.’
Thorne shook his head. ‘I should have done more.’
Chall looked at his feet. His shoes were nicely polished. He said, ‘They won’t get away with it.’ A shrug, a simple statement of fact. ‘I know you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. And you know… if you need a hand.’
‘Thanks,’ Thorne said. ‘But I’d be lying if I said I had the first idea what to do next.’
Chall nodded towards the door. ‘Well, whatever happens, she’s safe in here. Well done for getting that organised.’
‘Yeah,’ Thorne said. He looked at his own, somewhat less presentable shoes. He’d certainly made a very good job of closing the stable door after the horse had bolted. It meant nothing, though, less than nothing, because he knew damn well he hadn’t done nearly enough to prevent its happening in the first place.
Tanner’s DCI wasn’t the only one feeling guilty.
Chall looked down at Tanner again. ‘Stupid thing is, we’ve been working together for over a year and I can’t really say that I know her. Not properly. I never met Susan and I’m not sure she even knows what my wife’s name is. I’ve only been to her house once and that was just a couple of weeks ago. She’s not the type for all that, you know? Going out with the lads, the banter, all the matey stuff. She just gets on with it. But she gave me credit whenever I’d earned it. She listens if I’ve got something to say and she’s always straight. She never plays games, like a lot of them do. You know what I mean?’
Thorne said that he did.
‘So, like I said… whatever needs doing to help you catch the people that did this, I’m bang up for it. Seriously, whatever you need.’
Thorne thanked him again and nodded towards the fruit on the bedside table. He said, ‘You could chuck me one of those bananas for a kick-off. I’ve not had any breakfast.’
PART THREE
FROM CHAOS
FIFTY
Friday, June 2nd
So, another night hiding in my room again, like I’m this house’s dirty secret. Well, not hiding exactly, because they both know where I am. It’s not like we live in a mansion or anything. Be nice though, obviously! Escaping to my room, that’s probably closer to it. Trying to get away from more shouting and stupid arguments and it’s starting to really wear me down. It’s so unfair, and I know that sounds like whining, but it’s the simple truth! No point lying in a diary, is there?
They go on at me like I’m such a disgrace and sometimes I catch them looking at me like I’m something on the bottom of their shoes.
And they’ve got NO idea! At work today, some idiot was ranting about muslims. ‘Bloody muzzies’ he called us. Only he used a worse word than ‘bloody’ and I lost it with him in the end and stuck up for us. I told him he was a moron and I defended our faith.
I COULD HAVE KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT, BUT I DIDN’T!
And then I have to come home to all this SHIT. To the rows and the rubbish that’s got NOTHING to do with our religion. I mean, I know I haven’t studied as much as I should, but I know the difference between what the faith teaches us and the things I have to put up with at home every day. Mind you, even if I WANTED to study the religion a bit more it would be tricky, wouldn’t it? Say I wanted to be a proper muslim scholar (I DON’T by the way!), there’s not exactly tons of places that would allow it. I don’t even think there are any female imams yet, or only a couple anyway. And there’s NOTHING in the Quran that forbids it and all these places that don’t allow men and women to pray together are just basing it on something that the Prophet – peace be upon him – is supposed to have said. But nobody knows for sure, do they? None of it’s about what God wants, it’s just about men wanting to run everything and girls like me knowing their place.
Behaving PROPERLY.
What makes it all so much worse is that I know things would be easier if Mum was still around. Now she’s gon
e, the pair of them can talk to me how they like and just treat me like I’m here to do stuff for them. Like I haven’t got a full-time job already! When I’m not running around after them ,I’m having to listen to them telling me what a disappointment I am to them, what a terrible sister and daughter.
Mum would have stuck up for me. She’d have tried to, anyway. She’d be here right now, listening to me ranting, rubbing my back and telling me how silly I am to be getting upset.
But I AM upset.
I’m SICK of putting my make-up on in the toilets at the office and taking it off again before I come home. I’m SICK of making excuses when the girls go for a drink after work. I’m SICK of creeping around like a spy and living in a corner.
Worst thing is, if I told them any of this, gave them a hint even, that’s exactly what they’d think of me.
It’s what they’d think I was.
SICK!
FIFTY-ONE
Muldoon sat down next to his partner on a bench in Soho Square Gardens. Riaz nodded a greeting and shifted across a little. Muldoon watched him fold the corner of a page in the book he had been reading and slip it, somewhat reluctantly, into the M&S bag at his feet.
Muldoon nodded down at the bag. ‘Bought yourself some new pants?’
‘I needed a few things.’ Riaz did not look at Muldoon, but after a few seconds he caved in to the pressure to make conversation. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Oh, all sorts.’ Muldoon leaned back and stared around, watched the comings and goings, from Oxford Street to Soho and vice versa. It wasn’t warm, but there was just enough sun to tempt people out; to eat their lunch on the grass, or, for those with rather more flexible hours, to drink their Special Brew and shout at passers-by. ‘When Cash In The Attic and a quick wank are the high points of your morning, you realise that your life’s going nowhere, you know what I mean?’
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