Two Faced

by A. R. Ashworth

  Once past the McDonald’s, Brentford High Street opened ahead of her, wide and fairly straight as far as the Kew Bridge. To her right, the dark open space of Waterman’s Park, which ran along the Thames, meant no worries about vehicles from that direction. Elaine kept her speed steady at about fifty miles per hour, relying on her lights and siren to clear her path. Her mind reverted to Hughes and Novak.

  Fiona’s doubt had stung, but in her defence, recent loyalties had betrayed her. Fiona was in trouble because her own weakness and a series of bad decisions had turned a dilemma into an existential threat. True, the woman was working her way out of it and deserved help. Elaine had helped her, but none of Fiona’s troubles were Elaine’s fault.

  After hearing Novak’s claim of an NCA corruption investigation, she’d re-evaluated the story Hughes had told her. Which one of them was lying? Both? Neither? She was sure she wasn’t getting the whole truth from either of them.

  Novak had the power and hierarchy of the NCA behind him. How else could he have pulled the team together? From what she’d learned from Bull and Costello, he might be bent. Bent or straight, he struck her as the kind of cop who marched to his personal agenda.

  Hughes could be doing the same. Despite his betrayal of Fiona, to Elaine he felt straighter than Novak. He’d manoeuvred her extended leave and given her control of an undercover operation. Somehow, he’d managed to enlist Jenkins, whose exact status she didn’t yet understand. Was he MI5 or an operator from some other shadowy group? Either way, Hughes must have had budgetary approval to hire him from somewhere high up in the Met, or maybe even the Home Office. Was she now in the middle of a power struggle between the NCA and the Met?

  Hughes, Novak, Fiona. Did any loyalty she owed to those three override her personal goals? If so, who to trust?

  She slowed at the intersection before Kew Bridge. Cars and buses moved aside as she veered right, blue lights flashing and siren blaring, past the old hotel and across towards Kew Green. She needed to report. “This is DCI Hope, silver. Southbound A205, ETA seven minutes. Firearms officers and responders, seal off the house front and rear, and wait. Electricity may be tampered with.”

  “Received, silver. This is bronze. Where is the victim?”

  The voice on the radio belonged to Sergeant Holloway. As bronze commander, he was responsible for direct supervision of the officers on the scene. “Hi, Jamie. Good to hear your voice. Victim left the scene. I’m on my way to collect her.”

  “Received, ma’am. Hughes checked in with gold command. His wife’s not answering her mobile.”

  “Received.” Elaine set a steady, safe speed and resumed her thoughts. Picking the wrong side would be death to her career. It would end any chance of finding out who had betrayed her and of bringing Anton Srecko to justice. Even if she picked the right side, there were no guarantees. And frankly, neither Hughes nor Novak rang completely true in her mind. In spite of Fiona’s weakness and her degrading affair with Jacko, she seemed to Elaine to be no worse than a good woman gone astray, a decent person committed to changing her life. She deserved help.

  Only one path felt right. Who would she be, if she wasn’t there for Fiona?

  She steered the BMW around the hard right turn at the bottom of the North Sheen Cemetery. Two minutes more. Her communicator clicked.

  “Bronze. Lane and house are secure front and rear. Instructions, Silver?”

  “Do not enter until I’m there with Mrs. Hughes.”

  “Received.”

  Blues flashed through the intersection with Clifford Road, a few hundred yards ahead, moving north towards Fiona’s house. Instead of turning to follow them, she continued straight through the intersection. Past the new brewery, she slowed and turned left down a narrow, walled lane overhung by plane trees. At the end of the lane, the Thames glimmered in the moonlight. She turned off the siren and parked crosswise, blocking the road. As soon as she got out of her car, headlights flashed by the river. A dark Range Rover crept out of the shadows and stopped next to Elaine.

  Fiona emerged. “Nine minutes. What do I do now?”

  “Leave your motor here and ride with me. Hughes has been trying to call you.”

  “I left him a message after I spoke with you. Told him what a shite he was and that he and I are done. I’m not interested in what he has to say.”

  “Did you tell him about the murder?”

  “No. Too complicated for the phone.”

  “Right then, park your beast, and get in.”

  Once inside the police cordon, Elaine sought out Sergeant Holloway and introduced Fiona. Holloway took Fiona aside to ask her questions about the layout of the house, then gathered his officers for a briefing. Within minutes, torches flared around the back corner of the house, and a few seconds later a light shone from the window above the front entrance.

  Holloway spoke softly to Elaine and Fiona, who stood near him. “The electricity main was off, but the intruders put an axe through the security system conduit. My advice, Commander Hughes needs to invest in an upgraded system with battery backup. We’re going in now.”

  Using a bullhorn, Holloway shouted, “Armed police. Put your weapons down and come out.” After ten seconds, he shouted again. When he still got no response, he motioned to his officers, who advanced to the front door, pushed it open, and entered the house. Voices from the house began shouting, “Clear! Clear!” A few seconds later, lights appeared through windows on the ground and upper floors.

  Holloway led Elaine and Fiona into the house. The air had a sickly sweet scent, like spilled perfume. Despite that, whoever had broken in appeared to have left the home’s contents intact. Elaine had expected to see wanton destruction, but in the front reception room the furniture and bookcases appeared undisturbed. Ceramics and small bronze sculptures were intact, apparently in their places.

  “Do you see anything missing?” Elaine asked.

  Fiona shook her head. “Nothing apparent. Everything looks in order. Don’t burglars usually turn out drawers and cabinets?”

  “What’s the smell? It’s too thick for air freshener.”

  “It’s my perfume.”

  An officer motioned to Elaine from the foot of the stairs. “Ma’am, I think you need to see this.” He pointed up.

  Elaine and Fiona followed him to a bedroom door, which he opened. The perfume stench increased noticeably. Fiona took hold of Elaine’s arm. “It’s my room.” When they entered, the shock affected them far beyond the odour.

  The intruders had rampaged through her room. Chairs had been smashed, curtains pulled from the windows. Make-up and perfume jars had been opened and emptied. All the drawers from her dresser had been turned out and lay splintered on the floor. Their contents, mostly lingerie and knit items, had been ripped apart and scattered throughout the room, along with all the bed linens.

  It was the bed, though, that chilled Elaine. The mattress had been ripped open, probably with the large kitchen knife that protruded from it near the head of the bed. The slash had been stained a deep, rust-red colour.

  “Ma’am?” The officer who had opened the room pointed behind them. “On the wall.”

  Elaine and Fiona turned. Elaine’s knees went weak. Her right leg nearly collapsed as Fiona leaned into her. Together they swayed, off balance. The officer reached out and took Elaine’s arm to help steady them.

  “Are you all right, ma’am? Do you need a chair?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.” She put her arm around Fiona, who stood with her mouth wide open, staring at the rust-red letters scrawled across the wall’s cream-yellow surface.

  KILL U BITCH!! Slashes of crimson pigment had run down the wall in rivulets that puddled on the floor.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Friday night, Brentford

  Hughes ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Fee, someone has threatened your life. How can I help you if you won’t let me?”

  “I’m not going to talk to you, and I’m not going anywhere with you, Jonny. I
told you, we’re done.”

  Fiona and Hughes stood in the sitting room of Elaine’s flat. The Mortlake house had been sealed as a crime scene, and the forensics technicians wouldn’t be finished for several hours. When Jonny had suggested they go to a hotel, with a police guard, Fiona had flatly refused. She instead said she needed to think, and asked if they could go to Elaine’s flat. Elaine agreed, as long as officers were stationed at the entrances. Yet even there, Fiona had refused to answer Hughes’s questions, despite his exasperated attempts at persuasion. She stared out the French doors into the night while her husband stood a few feet behind her.

  The new threat made quick action imperative. Elaine saw no choice but for Fiona to give her testimony and move into witness protection. She sat silent, watching Hughes grow frustrated and Fiona become more intractable. She weighed how to end the stalemate without violating Fiona’s trust.

  “If I may suggest…” Elaine sat forward and cleared her throat. “Emotions are running high. With all due respect, sir, perhaps Fiona will speak with me. I’ll record what she says and send it to you. If she’s agreeable, that is.” Fiona’s quick glance told Elaine she agreed.

  Hughes didn’t notice. “I have to ask, Hope, why are you involved? Why did my wife call you?”

  “We met outside Gionfriddo’s the other night. I suppose I should have told you, sir. Someone accosted her on the pavement, and I happened to be there.”

  “Gionfriddo’s?” A look of fear crossed Hughes’s face. “You didn’t bother to tell me this? Either of you? Elaine, I’m giving you a chance to recover your career, and this is how you show your grat—”

  Fiona spun away from the door. “It’s always about you, isn’t it, Jonny? You don’t do anything out of concern for anyone else. You lied your way into our marriage. You make me sick with your posing and your deceit. Just shut the fuck up. I’ll talk to Elaine. She’ll do the right thing, and it won’t be based on her ego. Now I want you to go away. I won’t say a word until you do.”

  Elaine needed keep things moving forward. “Sir, I need time to brief Fiona, and we need to keep her safe. Perhaps you might discuss what to do with AC Collins?”

  Hughes resisted the idea but mumbled agreement when Fiona refused to budge yet again. After he’d gone, Elaine motioned Fiona to sit at the kitchen table, and began. “Consider this a rehearsal. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I expect answers. When you answer, don’t volunteer any information I don’t specifically ask for. Understood?”

  She turned on the record app of her mobile phone and began asking questions about what Fiona had done and seen on the night of the murder—short, simple, step-by-step questions, carefully leading her through the evening’s pertinent events. She stayed well clear of questions about Fiona’s sexual relationship with Jacko.

  After Fiona related her stealthy walk home from the station, Elaine asked, “Why did you think we’d arrest you for not reporting the murder?”

  Fiona cleared her throat. “Jacko. He said it was perverting the course of justice to run like we did and not report it immediately, and we could get prison.” Her face was slack, tired. “He’s a Crownie. I didn’t know any better. I never talked about legalities with David or Jonny.”

  “What else did Jacko say?”

  “He said he didn’t tell them who I am because he was trying to protect me, but I know him. I’m his bargaining piece.”

  “Do you know who ‘them’ is?”

  Fiona shook her head. “No. All I saw was the one guy, and he was in a balaclava, dressed in black, head to foot. With the shotgun.”

  Fiona wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her body. Her voice rasped, “He asked if Jacko was trying to bribe him with me! Not for the first time! Displaying the goods!”

  Nothing Elaine could ask would extract more truth. She stayed silent.

  “And he said you weren’t part of the debt.”

  “That’s right. He was clear on that.”

  It made sense based on what they knew about Jacko’s gambling debts. The murder was an execution, staged to intimidate him.

  “Okay, then. Right now we just wait until Hughes calls back. You’ll get protection, and Collins should allow a neutral safe house given our suspicions about Novak.”

  “I want to get this over with and move on.” Fiona stood and paced the length of the kitchen. “I got fucked over because I was too bloody weak to stand up for myself and make my own decisions. Now I’ve got two shites to deal with, and I’ve had enough. It’s ended and it bloody well won’t happen again.”

  Fiona stopped pacing and sat at the table across from Elaine.

  “I gave up control when I agreed to this sex farce.” She leaned over the table. “I’ve been fucked by that bastard at least once a month for almost two years now. Forced to do disgusting things. Two years of anger and shame and guilt, consuming me. I strayed from who I am.”

  Elaine sat silent. Most would judge Fiona and not even consider what she’d endured. Abused by that pig because she felt helpless to demand otherwise.

  “Last year you were raped and disfigured by that criminal, and that’s horrible, something no woman should ever have to endure. Now you’re hard. Angry. You said you’ve got this justice mission. Vengeance, more like it. I saw that board in your bedroom. I think this mission, your hate, is eating you alive.”

  “Right. What’s your point?”

  “If I can change, you can too. You said Peter’s a good man. Maybe he can help you.”

  Elaine’s burner buzzed. It was Hughes. “I talked to Collins, and he won’t budge. You’re to deliver Fiona to Kensington nick as soon as possible. Novak’s waiting.”

  Elaine couldn’t believe it. Hughes had failed. “That’s outrageous, sir. Her life’s been threatened. Why wouldn’t he agree?”

  “We don’t have anything solid against Novak, and the Met can’t show favouritism just because she’s my wife. So it falls back on police protocol. Novak’s the SIO—he’ll interview her and decide what to do.”

  Elaine thought it was a load of bollocks. Something else was going on. Had Hughes even tried to talk to Collins? Was Hughes running Spectra as a rogue operation?

  It was time to leave. She had no choice but to play it out.

  Forty-five minutes later, Elaine stopped her BMW a block short of the entrance to Kensington nick and turned to Fiona. “Right, then. You understand? Once more, quick. Novak’s an abrasive git, and he’ll try to get under your skin from the start, so what do you do?”

  Fiona stared straight ahead through the windscreen. “Don’t get emotional. Never answer quickly. Think and breathe before speaking. Stick to the facts. No more, no less.”

  “And?”

  “Answer questions directly with short sentences. Stick to what I saw and heard. Don’t expand on anything, don’t volunteer anything, don’t apologize for anything.”

  “Good. What else?”

  “Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t speak for Jacko or anyone else. Don’t give opinions, even when asked.” Fiona sighed. “He’ll press me about the affair, won’t he?”

  “Definitely. Novak and whoever’s with him will switch between empathetic and bullying. Don’t let them pry lurid details from you. Just don’t answer. If he asks about Hughes, say he needs to talk to your husband.”

  “What if he says he won’t protect me if I don’t talk?”

  “He’ll say that, but when he does, laugh at him and tell him you know he’s bluffing. You’re the wife of a Met police officer, and you’ve been threatened. If he abandoned you, he’d never set foot in an English nick again. The Met will protect you, no matter what he says. He’ll say he’s with the NCA and has special powers. Doesn’t matter. Everyone will back you, all the way up to the Commissioner herself. You’re scared for your life, and you haven’t broken any laws. Got it?”

  Fiona nodded. Elaine studied her face. At first, Fiona had been emotional, nervous, sighing, her voice shaking at times. But in the last fifteen m
inutes, she’d calmed. She appeared to be as ready as could be expected for having so little real prep time.

  Elaine continued. “Whatever happens, don’t lie. If they catch you lying, it throws everything you’ve said into doubt, and they’ll spend hours picking it apart. You can be charged, and you might do time at Her Majesty’s pleasure. If you’re being pressed and you think you’re losing control, focus on something important to you.”

  “Right. Andy, Stella, Peg, and Fritz.” Fiona looked straight ahead and smiled. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “After you identify yourself, before you answer any questions, what do you ask?”

  “I ask if I’m being charged with an offense, and if they say yes, I ask for my solicitor and clam up.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t ask for a lawyer if I’m not being charged.”

  “Right.” Elaine rang the desk sergeant and identified herself. “We’ll be there in two minutes.”

  Novak and several uniforms attended the car when Elaine pulled up to the entrance. She got out and started up the steps to the nick, but Novak blocked her way. “You can go in, Hope, but you can’t watch or listen. I won’t allow it.”

  “What? Are you daft? I brought her in. I’ve got a—”

  “A right to be there? You bloody well don’t. I decide. You’re not on this case, nowhere near, even. Which makes me wonder why you’re bringing in the poor little wretch. Why did she call you? Why not Hughes?”

  Elaine stared down at him but didn’t answer.

  “No beefy barman to back you up here? You’re supposed to be on the sick, so at least fake it. Go home and drink some cocoa. Shag your American doctor. I don’t give a bloody toss what you do as long as you’re not anywhere near my witness.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Friday night, New Scotland Yard

  “Novak’s being a shite, as expected. He won’t allow any of us to observe.” Hughes sat at his desk, twisting a paper clip, staring at the photos on his office wall. “It’s his prerogative. He said we’ll get a transcript.”