Two Faced

by A. R. Ashworth

  Costello and Bull exchanged glances before Costello spoke. “Won’t be the first time we’ve trusted you, ma’am. We’ll let you decide.”

  “Thanks. She’s been attacked once, and I don’t think it will be the last time. She’s left town for the country. I’ll have another talk with her, try to get her to come in. Her name’s Lady Fiona Paternoster. She’s married to Commander Jonathan Hughes.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Wednesday night, New Scotland Yard

  “Not completely unexpected.” Hughes’s blue eyes shifted from Bull to Elaine. “Did you think you’d need a bodyguard? That I planned to abduct you, DCI Hope?”

  Elaine took a chair across the desk from Hughes. He leaned back in his brown leather chair and continued, “With everything you’ve been through, I can hardly blame you.”

  “Time will heal what I’ve been through, sir. It’s the why that nags me.”

  “The why?”

  “Why I got no backup. Why I had to respond alone.”

  “You were told to wait. Command policies dictate that—”

  “I heard a woman screaming in fear for her life and wouldn’t you know it, nary a policy manual in sight. What a pity. Actions count. A great American naval commander once said that the difference between a good officer and a bad one is about ten seconds. Sir.”

  Hughes nodded at Bull. “Bull and Barker were on their way. Late, but…”

  Bull growled a protest, but Elaine held up her hand. “They were on their own as much as I was, and they were on their way out of loyalty to me. Not because the Met directed them to be there, or even knew where the hell they were. Or that DC Barker had been savagely assaulted herself and was only alive because Bull saved her. Someone betrayed me. I need to know who.”

  Hughes spun his chair around and stared silently at a group of photos on his office wall, as if he were weighing a decision. Elaine followed his gaze. A country house, Fiona, dogs, and kids on the lawn.

  “So I’m correct,” she said.

  “How many conditions are there?”

  Elaine shrugged. “Depends. I can’t proceed blind, and my trust level needs topping up. To consider your proposal, I need something from you. Surely you understand.”

  “Financial Crimes has been running a long-term investigation into money laundering and real estate for about four years. Not just criminal organizations, but legitimate businesses, politicians, even some foreign government ministries. Growing their cash reserves at our expense. Then some murders started popping up that appeared linked to the money.”

  “The Srecko family.”

  “Before I go any further, Elaine—it wasn’t me making the decisions. It was someone in the National Crime Agency. We only knew them by code name. We got directives.”

  Elaine scoffed. “Everyone’s blameless, no one’s responsible. What about the Sreckos?”

  “They were involved with the money laundering, but we didn’t know how deeply. We were instructed to place an agent in their organization. One we could trust. One from outside who had been building his legend for years.”

  “And then the Watson girl was murdered, and you assigned our team to the investigation.”

  “Right. You and Benford arrested the American.”

  “Then I took over the team and let Willend go. I started sniffing around the Sreckos, and the NCA didn’t like that.”

  “Alec and I tried to manage it. Manage you. You’re not easily managed, Elaine.”

  “So it’s my fault? You botched it. Why didn’t you come to me directly?”

  Hughes made a wry face and held up his hand. “We tried to steer you clear of the family without compromising your investigation. Either investigation.”

  “Who was the gold commander that night?”

  Hughes shook his head. “No. We need to move on.”

  “It’s a condition, sir. Who was the gold commander?”

  “No, DCI Hope. That night’s gold commander made the decision he needed to make. He had limited options, and he had to make a snap judgement.”

  It was unlikely Hughes would give her any more tonight. She’d save it for later. “Right. What’s your proposal? You said corruption.”

  “A sad old story, really. Crooked money needs a place to hide. Casinos and real estate are excellent washing machines. On the other side, police, prosecutors, magistrates are just people, and some of them get in over their heads at the card tables. Or get involved in seamy love affairs. They make some bad decisions, and the next thing you know, they’re ripe for blackmail and extortion. The legal system, maybe even the country’s economy, gets undermined. Our investigation will target corrupt cops and other law enforcement staff. We’ll identify them, weed them out, and bring them to justice. We call it Operation Spectra. I want you to join my team. Give me your eyes and ears and brain until we bring this in.”

  Elaine wanted more—what Hughes said sounded a bit vague. But he wasn’t going to give her more detail until she was on board. “And for me?”

  “You may get your spear back. Your attitude these last few months hasn’t won you many allies in this building. Alec Cranwell and I are about the only friends you have.” He glanced at Bull. “Apart from your old team, I mean. Play nice and there’s a chance you can get back into Serious Crimes. Maybe go after Anton Srecko.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “I find someone else and you go back to the college, for as long as you last there.”

  “All right then, I’m in. When do I start?”

  “Right now. I need to say, prepare yourself for a bit of a shock.” Hughes pressed a button on his desk. A door opened, and in walked a person Elaine only saw in her nightmares. A person she thought she would never see again. DC Arvel Jenkins.

  Chairs scraped and clattered as both Elaine and Bull jumped to their feet. She couldn’t help shouting. “Jenkins! This son of a bitch! What the hell?” She felt more than saw Bull at her side as she faced Jenkins.

  Hughes stepped from behind his desk, moving in front of Jenkins. “Steady, Elaine, Bull. I know this is unexpected, but—”

  Elaine stopped inches in front of Hughes. “You’re bloody well right it is. What’s that sorry excuse for a copper doing here?”

  Jenkins placed his hand on Hughes shoulder and stepped up to face Elaine and Bull.

  Bull growled. “Not an inch closer, bastard.”

  Jenkins looked up silently at Bull’s face, then turned to Elaine. “DCI Hope. I apologize for the trouble I caused to you and to your team. Especially to you and DC Barker. All I can say is whatever I did was in the line of duty.”

  “Line of duty? Harassing female colleagues is line of duty?” She couldn’t hold back. “Gross insubordination is line of duty? Foul sexual innuendo is line of duty? No line of duty I’ve ever heard of. If I’d—”

  “DCI Hope!” Hughes nearly shouted to gain Elaine’s attention. “DC Jenkins is the agent I spoke of. He was building a legend—”

  “Oh, he’s a legend alright!” Elaine pointed an accusing finger at Jenkins. “I know I’ll never forget him. A legend how to be a lousy, lazy bastard of a—”

  “Silence!” Hughes ran his hand through his hair. “Listen for a change, Hope! If you ever want to see the inside of an incident room again, you’ll shut up and listen. Now.”

  Elaine turned away and paced. Bull remained, facing Jenkins. Jenkins backed away and leaned against the office wall.

  “Stand down, Bull,” Hughes ordered. When Bull relaxed and returned to his chair, he continued. “Jenkins acted under orders. And he did damn well, right up until he was faced with a Hobson’s choice. Fortunately for you, Elaine, he made the right choice.”

  Elaine spun on her heel. “Fortunately for me?” She looked at Jenkins. “What does he mean?”

  Hughes answered. “Who do you think coshed and tied up that Goran bloke? Who left the footprints in the blood?”

  No wonder Cranwell had closed the investigation so quickly. He’d told her about the anomalies as
if they were true mysteries. Goran, the huge hit man, trussed-up like a pig, lying unconscious on the pavement in front of the brothel. A smeared puddle of her blood and broken teeth on the table, as if someone had inserted their fingers in her mouth and cleaned out her airway. Footprints in the blood, leading through the kitchen and out the back door. She remembered almost nothing of the assault—or the events immediately before it. Cranwell had said they thought perhaps there was someone else in the house, some unknown, decent person who had witnessed the assault and tried to help as best they could.

  She studied Jenkins. She remembered him with a shaved head, which accentuated his large ears. Since then he’d let his hair grow out and was now clean-shaven instead of sporting a three-day stubble.

  But the biggest change was his demeanour. She saw no sneer, no aggression in his eyes. “You scuttled your mission to save my life?” He met her gaze, then looked to the side.

  “I’m not that noble,” Jenkins said. “There was no choice to make. But what he said is true.”

  Could she reconcile the insolent, slovenly Jenkins she had known with this quiet, confident man leaning against Hughes’s office wall? Perhaps, but it would take time. He’d have to prove himself. Elaine turned back to Hughes. “I’ll need another outside set of eyes. I want Liz Barker. I suppose I’ll be working with Jenkins too.”

  “Is Barker ready?”

  “I want someone I know.”

  “Right then, you have her. Call them in, Bull.” At Bull’s astonished look, Hughes tilted his head at Jenkins. “He watched all of you arrive. You’re wearing an earpiece so you expected to communicate with someone. Costello and Barker are probably freezing unless they found a friendly way to keep warm. I’ll send out for coffee. It’s going to take awhile.”

  Elaine wanted more specifics. “Where will we begin, sir?”

  “You need to ask?” He arched an eyebrow in the direction of Jenkins, who still leaned against the wall, with his arms folded. “Jenkins tells me you’ve shown an interest in one of our targets. And we think Bull and Costello have been talking to you about another.”

  Elaine considered. Had she been that close to the truth? And what about the argument she’d witnessed only the night before? Hughes was waiting for her answer. “Jack O’Rourke. Novak.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Thursday morning, Kensington

  “You say you represent a relative?” Blonde Helmet asked. Elaine figured the estate agent’s layered and lacquered coiffure would hold its own in a North Sea gale, competently deflecting any blown debris that threatened to crack her skull. The woman was dressed in sleek black, accentuated by the red soles of her Christian Louboutin pumps and her forest green and royal blue Hermes scarf. A gold bangle bracelet jingled on her left wrist. It was all part of the costume rich buyers expected.

  Blonde Helmet checked her diary. “Who is it you said, Ms. Speranza?”

  Elaine ignored her and inspected the glaring white walls of the murder house’s entry hall. Early in the week, the crime scene teams had finished their work, and the property had been released to the estate company. Elaine wanted to see the location but didn’t want word to get back to Novak that other cops had been interested in his investigation.

  Before they’d arrived, she’d instructed Liz to act as if the estate agent existed only on the fringe of their perception. Rather than try to dress up, she’d decided they would wear pressed jeans with jackets. As she had told Liz, “We’ll dress down as if we don’t care what people think.” She only owned one good suit, and it wouldn’t pass muster in the role she was playing.

  Elaine held the estate agent’s business card in the light from a window. “Boxe-Berkshire. Rings a bell. I believe my grandfather knew the owners at one time. Decades past, of course. I wonder if it’s the same family.” She looked a question at the blonde, who shrugged.

  “Wouldn’t know. Reg, the bloke who runs our office might. I can ask, if you like.”

  “That’s all right. Don’t bother him. Probably some Saudi prince or Russian oligarch by now. She slid the business card into her jacket pocket, and lied. “Ah, to answer your question. My cousin, Lady Fiona Paternoster. Viscountess Waleham. She feels isolated in Hampshire and wants central digs.” Fiona was the only woman she knew whose family even approached the wealth required to purchase a property like this. It was touchy going, but she wouldn’t have to keep up the deception long. Elaine decided to intercept any deeper enquiries. “She’s in the Turks and Caicos and asked me to run up a short list of properties to visit when she returns in a month.”

  Blonde Helmet peered at Elaine. “She’ll need to move quicker than that. This won’t be on the market long. It’s a bargain at three and a half million pounds.” She looked Elaine and Liz from top to toe.

  Liz had been busy scrolling through her smartphone. “Three point five’s a steal in this area.” She showed Elaine a screen. “I think this is the house where that chap was murdered.” At Elaine’s surprised expression, Liz continued. “All over the news last week, ma’am. The price was, umm…” She swiped her finger a few times. “Three point eight until then. Not been a lot of recent interest, I suppose.”

  Blonde Helmet’s squint tightened. “We’re still refinishing the walls and floors in the back room, but I assure you—”

  “Why don’t you wait here? We’ll walk this floor ourselves,” Elaine suggested. “Then you can show us the upstairs.” She and Liz turned and walked down the wide central hallway, leaving the estate agent standing speechless.

  They entered the room Bull had told them was the murder scene. Canvas tarpaulins hung from scaffolding along two walls and spread across the floor, covering any remaining bloodstains. Tile-cutting equipment and paint paraphernalia sat against another wall.

  The agent had followed them. She sounded anxious, “We need to leave. The property isn’t ready to be seen. I normally wouldn’t have opened it for you, but you said on the phone you were in a hurry. I’ll ring you once we’ve completed the repainting.”

  Elaine smiled at Liz. “I’m sure it will all be put right before too many days go by. Back garden? Through here?” She unlocked the kitchen door and stepped outside. It was as she had imagined from Bull’s description. The herbaceous border along the house wall, the landing spot of Fiona’s vomit, the garden shed, the paving blocks. She re-entered the house.

  Liz checked the screen of her mobile and touched Elaine’s arm. “Eleven thirty, Ms. Speranza.”

  Elaine breezed past Blonde Helmet on her way to the front door. “I think I’ve seen enough. It’s too large. Fiona almost never entertains. Thanks so much. We need to have some lunch before we go to another appointment.”

  The agent’s face reddened. “There’s no Lady Fiona Patter … pitter, is there? What are you, reporters?”

  Elaine managed to look taken aback and smile at the same time. “Reporters? Oh, heavens no. Wouldn’t be caught dead in a newsroom. And the name’s Paternoster. From Anglo-Saxon days. Means “our father” in Latin.” Blonde Helmet glared. Elaine continued. “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s a common mistake. I assure you my cousin exists. Check DeBrett’s. We have your card, in case.”

  Once they were on the pavement, Elaine said, “The back garden was as Bull and Costello described it. Not hard at all to get in and out. Paved, so there would be few tracks, especially after a rain. Shame about the interior, though.”

  “Yeah. Already being plastered and painted.” Liz made a wry face. “Although I’m not sure I wanted to see the stains. I wish we could meet La Veuve and Lydia Anstey.”

  “Me too. The Anstey woman is interesting, but it would be too risky. We’ll rely on Costello’s description for now.”

  They paused just across the street from the Onslow Arms. “Tell me about Kerry,” Elaine asked. “Mild Down’s syndrome?”

  “Right. Bull said not to underestimate her. Apparently the two of them hit it off well. He and Costello have met in the back room of the pub a couple of times. She’s
always very attentive.”

  Kerry was behind the bar when they arrived at the Onslow Arms two minutes later. Elaine extended her hand. “DCI Hope. You must be Kerry. DC Bull speaks highly of you. This is DC Barker. Did a messenger leave a parcel for me earlier?”

  Kerry smiled and produced a zippered bag from under the bar and handed it to Elaine. “By motorbike. He was all in black. Asked my name, gave me the bag, then left. Bull said you were tall. You certainly are.” She studied Liz. “He didn’t say nothing about her, though.”

  “Thank you, Kerry. He didn’t know she would be with me. Is there someplace DC Barker and I can talk privately?”

  Kerry showed them to the small room at the back and asked if she could get them something. Elaine ordered an orange juice.

  Liz pondered before deciding. “A bottle of your best Vesuvius water,” she said, smiling broadly. “Bull laid some in at the flat. Said it did wonders for his digestion.”

  It took Kerry a moment to respond. “Yes, alright. Chips? Crisps?”

  Elaine lifted an eyebrow at Liz. “An order of chips between us. I’m a bit peckish. Thanks, Kerry.”

  When Kerry had gone, Elaine leaned across the table. “Now, let’s get clear; then next steps.”

  “Okay, I’m your liaison with Bull and Costello. You’re to stay away from them.”

  “No contact unless absolutely necessary. I’ve emphasized to them their first job is to find the killer. Second, they report on progress and Novak’s behaviour.” She unzipped the bag and extracted four mobile phones, each wrapped with a slip of paper. “We each get a burner. The numbers are programmed. I’ll keep this one, you take one, and give those to Bull and Costello.”

  Liz inspected the three phones, pocketed one, and left the other two in the bag. “Right, Chief. Last night you told Hughes I’d be on Novak.”