Two Faced

by A. R. Ashworth

  She didn’t resist when he took her hand. “I want you to join me in Texas for however long you can. I’ve arranged a house on Lake Austin. Quiet, herons, water lilies. There’s a separate cottage on the shore. You can dive in from your bedroom veranda if you want. You’ll have privacy, space. You can even bring Scratch. I’ve checked.”

  “He’s an urban cat. But he does like looking over the water.” She took his other hand. “It’s just … it’s like I said. I’m a British cop. I believe I was born to be one. I don’t know how the arrangement would work or how long I would last in Texas.”

  “I’m not asking for a commitment. I’m the one who changed direction. I know you have to decide what’s best for you. This is an open invitation, whatever you feel like you can give. Look at it as an interlude before you go back to work. I just ask you to please give me this time with you.”

  He wants me. On my terms. No man has ever loved me like he does. Touch him, Lainie. Show him you’re willing to give.

  The intercom on the wall beeped. Corporal Redmond’s voice said, “DCS Cranwell has arrived.”

  Elaine pulled Peter close, laid her forehead on his shoulder. “I have a case to wrap up. We’ll make some plans then, darling.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t wait to see your home town.”

  Saturday night, Kensington

  Novak’s high-pitched yelling grated on Costello’s nerves. He held his mobile away from his ear as Novak raged. “First that fucking American ass says he hasn’t heard from Hope, then he says Hughes’s wife needs medical attention. Have you found Hope and the other bitch yet?”

  Costello rolled his eyes and yelled back. “No!” He gathered himself. “Sir. No location on Hope’s phone. She must have removed the battery.”

  “There has to be something that shows where she went. I’m on my way in. Check ANPR for Hope’s number plate. Then get the CCTV from the cameras in the area around Hope’s flat. And Hughes’s house. Before I get there.”

  “Right, sir.”

  Novak breezed into the incident room thirty minutes later. “CCTV?”

  Costello pointed to a young, uniformed woman seated in front of a large video monitor. “PC Nelson, sir. IT boffin. We’ve been having trouble with the network connections. Just bringing it up now.” He and Nelson had spoken with Elaine and Cranwell before Novak arrived.

  Nelson grimaced. “Hold on. It was here. Lost connection again.”

  Novak fumed as Nelson’s fingers tapped away at the keyboard. “Hurry up, woman. Time’s critical. Can’t you do it any faster?”

  Costello made eye contact with her and smiled.

  “The IT folks must have been reconfiguring the routers today, sir,” she said. “Network’s always a bit twitchy after they do that. Lots of times the IPv4 to IPv6 address conversions aren’t fully repopulated, and I have to re-initialize the routing tables, and—”

  “Would you just shut the hell up!” Novak shouted. “Get it working, PC whatever-your-name-is!” He paced back and forth behind her.

  “Nelson, sir. PC Olivia Nelson.” She had a soft, deep voice that Costello found attractive. “And if you curse at me, or call me ‘woman’ in that tone of voice one more time, or yell at me again, sir, I’ll file on you. It’s not the way you should treat a fellow professional.” She folded her arms and looked at Costello. “I don’t have to put up with it.”

  Costello took a deep breath and nodded. “Just bring it back up as soon as you can, Nelson. I’m sure you’re working as fast as possible. One can only repopulate as quickly as the bits and bytes allow.”

  Novak’s face was the colour of a deep sunburn. “What are you saying, Costello? You don’t know shite about what she’s doing, so quit babbling.”

  Nelson said, “Here it is, sir. Four of them. This one shows the entrance to DCI Hope’s flat. This one’s the intersection leading to Commander Hughes’s residence, this one’s on Mortlake High Street, and this one’s—”

  “Move.” He motioned to Nelson to vacate her chair. “I’ll take it from here. Just leave me with it.” He glared at Costello, who smiled back.

  “Let us know if you need something, sir. Or if it breaks again. PC Nelson and I will be in the canteen.”

  They stood close to each other at a vending machine. Nelson leaned against Costello, her hip brushing his. She asked, “Was that performance worth a bottle of wine?”

  Costello put his arm around her shoulder. “Indeed. Plus a standing ovation and a bouquet.”

  She closely inspected the choices in the machine. “Oh, wouldn’t you know? No wine. Pity.” Her deep blue eyes met his. “I expect some later. But don’t throw bouquets at me, Sergeant. People might talk.”

  “Costello. Simon?” Bull’s voice came from the direction of the canteen door. “I hate to interrupt, but we’re to meet the guv and Cranwell in the incident room.” He acknowledged Nelson with a nod. “Philip Bull. Most just call me Bull. Better hurry if you want to be in on the fun.” At Nelson’s quizzical look, he continued. “We’ve seen the guv like this before. No better show than when she’s got her suspect cornered.”

  Cranwell and Elaine waited in the corridor outside the incident room with two uniformed officers. Elaine spoke. “Before we go in, Jenkins just got out of surgery. He’ll have a long recovery, but it looks good.” She nodded at Nelson. “I’m DCI Hope.”

  Nelson held out her hand. “PC Nelson, ma’am. Simon, Sergeant Costello, speaks of you often.” She glanced at Costello before she continued. “Um, ma’am, did you know you have a blood smear on your cheek?”

  Elaine’s eyes narrowed. “And on my jacket and trousers, and under my fingernails. I want the bastard to see what he caused. And good work with the CCTV.”

  Elaine’s burner phone pinged once, then again and again. She swiped the screen a few times and grinned as she held it up for Cranwell and the others to see. “Liz’s photos of Novak with the goons. We’ve nailed him.”

  The few detectives in the incident room watched and murmured to each other as the procession of officers, led by Elaine, marched through to where Novak sat in his glass-walled office, studying his computer screen. Elaine and Cranwell stood in front of his desk. Bull blocked the doorway. Costello and Nelson watched through the office window.

  Novak spun his chair to face them, and leaned back. “So, whose party is this? I’m sure I didn’t issue any invitations.”

  “DI Novak, can you tell us where you were between seven and eight o’clock this evening?” Elaine asked.

  “Seems these days you’ve always got backup, Hope. Not like before, eh, Bull?”

  Bull bristled. “Just answer the guv.”

  “And here I sit, thinking I’m your guv, Bull.” Novak tutted. “What’s become of loyalty these days?”

  Elaine placed both hands on Novak’s desk and leaned across. “Where were you?”

  “At my flat. I have a witness who can place me there.”

  “Lydia Anstey, I suppose. Were any others there at that time?”

  Novak’s eyes narrowed. “It’s possible. I wasn’t watching the clock.”

  “Perhaps we could ask one of these blokes.” Elaine placed her mobile on the desk, with the photo of Novak and the two hit men displayed. She swiped the screen. “In fact, we have pictures of them following you from Baker Anstey’s house. Do you recognize the car in the photo?”

  Novak looked away, his eyes scanning Costello, Nelson and the two uniformed officers.

  “I don’t need your answer. There’s only one way this ends, Novak. Stand up.”

  Novak didn’t move.

  Elaine took a step to the end of the desk. “I’d love to grab you by the scruff and pull your crooked arse out of that chair. One more time. Get up.”

  Novak stood. “Get it over with.”

  “Pathetic.” Elaine moved behind him and clicked the handcuffs closed. “DI John Novak, I’m arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if y
ou do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  She said nothing more as the uniforms led him away.

  EPILOGUE

  A week later

  When Elaine arrived at the address on the slip of paper, she was sure there had been a mistake. The concrete-walled building looked nothing like a hospital. The heavy steel door only opened after she’d been grilled by a faceless voice. Once inside, she signed an acknowledgement under the Official Secrets Act, pressed her thumb to a biometrics pad, and got scanned for metal and God knew what else several times.

  The nurse escorting Elaine through the featureless corridors was professionally pleasant, offering only innocuous replies to questions. Elaine had known some physically fit nurses in her day, but “Nurse Smith” went a bit beyond fit. Her biceps and flat abs indicated she followed a strenuous workout routine. Perhaps she was more than a nurse, like Jenkins was more than a cop.

  Nurse Smith finally indicated a half-closed door and stepped back. The room was larger than Elaine expected, twice as large as a regular National Health Service hospital room. Jenkins lay in a hospital bed. A frame suspended his heavily bandaged left leg.

  “Wrong leg,” Elaine said. “I could have given you advice if you’d been shot in the other one.” She smiled and extended her hand to the small, birdlike woman who sat in a wheelchair next to Jenkin’s bed. “I’m Elaine Hope.”

  The woman held out her hand, which was soft and had a slight tremor. “Roxy. Arvel speaks highly of you, DCI Hope.”

  “Completely unwarranted.”

  Roxy spun her chair away from the bed. “I think not. I don’t want to appear rude. I would love to stay and jabber, but I have a treatment scheduled in ten minutes. I’ll be back in about a half hour. I know the two of you have a lot to talk about.” She wheeled her chair out the door and pulled it closed behind her.

  When Elaine turned back to Jenkins, he was still looking at the door. After a few seconds, he said, “Multiple sclerosis. Started about six years ago. It comes and goes. This week, it came. He picked up a small container of orange juice from his bedside tray. “So, I thought this case was very strange.”

  “And that’s all you want to say about your wife?”

  “For now. You may have another chance to get to know her. Roxy and I have something to talk to you about when she gets back. Fill me in on what’s happened in the last week. What about Cranwell and Hughes? My contacts told me they were an item, but Cranwell didn’t say a thing when he brought me on board. Then he went and undermined Hughes.”

  Cranwell brought Jenkins on board? “Yeah, but according to Cranwell, they haven’t been an item for over two years. Jonny Hughes traded him in for a model with fewer miles on the clock. He had to keep that a secret for a very good reason. So, how’s the food here?”

  “Come on, Hope. I don’t want to have to twist your arm.”

  “I owe you lots of aggravation, Jenkins. If that’s your real name. His new amour was AC Collins’s son. And AC Collins didn’t know.”

  “Jeez-us! There’s a career-limiting move. The kid’s less than half his age.”

  “Mm-hmm. Jonny never told Fiona. And our money-grubbing Crownie Jacko found out.”

  “Tangled webs, Elaine. Where’s Jacko? Alive or dead?”

  “Alive. Beaten unconscious. Fingers and ribs broken, the works. Same goons who came after Fiona at the safe house. Jacko spilled Fiona’s name right away, but they kept beating him. Finally dumped him outside an A&E in Essex. No ID, unconscious. Took two days to find him. He’ll confess to blackmail and tax evasion.”

  “Hughes?”

  “No prosecution. Too much bad publicity. Forced early retirement.”

  “What about the murder?”

  “Looks like we were right. The hit men had the impression Dragan Bosko wanted revenge against Anton Srecko for killing his son. He made threats, demanded compensation. They tapped Duclerq as the killer. The poor sod was killed in that house because Jacko said meeting in East London wasn’t convenient.”

  Jenkins shook the container of orange juice. “You were after Anton Srecko, then you crossed over to the murder investigation. Decided to leverage the team. What was the connection?”

  Elaine considered whether she should disclose Joanna’s role. She said, “I’m not big on motive, but Bosko gave us a reasonable one. We knew the method, so my next question was opportunity. Why that house? Then I got information that Srecko and Anstey were connected through real estate holdings.”

  “You have a snout.” He smiled and took some sips of orange juice before continuing. “Could have been coincidence.”

  “Thou shalt not believe in coincidence. One of my commandments.”

  “I tagged Anstey but didn’t have time to follow up. Tell me about him.”

  “Baker Anstey. Rich, connected, very powerful. He owns the gambling syndicate Jacko owed money to, along with money laundering services, probably smuggling, and who knows what all. His legit real estate business makes piles of cash, and the Sreckos help him launder it. We have nothing to stick on Baker Anstey. Not yet anyway.”

  Jenkins said, “Novak was head over heels for Lydia. He had to play her daddy’s game to keep her. Duclerq?”

  “Mid-level muscle. We caught him yesterday, trying to get on a fishing boat in Ramsgate. No confession yet. Between Fiona and Jacko and forensics, we’ll have enough to convict.”

  Elaine could tell Jenkins was tiring. “It was Hughes who brought Novak on board, right?” At his nod, she leaned close. “You were working for Cranwell, but he doesn’t have the rank to pull many strings. He was your handler. Who do you really work for? I doubt it’s MI-5 or -6. But this hospital you’re in makes me think it’s something like that. MI-8.3?”

  Jenkins pulled on the small trapeze dangling over his shoulders, lifting his body slightly higher in the bed. “Have you thought about what you’ll do when you return from the sick?”

  “I want to know. What’s all this about?”

  “In good time. Answer the question. What will you do?”

  Elaine laughed. “Short term, I’m going down to Hampshire to visit Fiona for a few days. Then I have a date with a tall Texan. Long term, Cranwell has some ideas, but I’m probably more non grata than ever in the Met, so I don’t know.”

  “Have you considered janitorial work?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  Roxy’s voice came from behind her. “Then let us try to educate you about it, Ms. Hope.” She wheeled her chair next to Elaine. “Some find it fascinating.”

  The next day, Hampshire

  Elaine walked the heath over grass still brown with winter, between patches of heather. Deer, grazing at the edge of a copse, lifted their heads at her steps. Rabbits wound quick, erratic trails through the undergrowth. Grouse leapt into sudden, startling flight from hides not two yards in front of her. A hawk wheeled in the clear, cold sky.

  Life here at Waleham House was so different from London. She’d balked at first, when Fiona asked her to visit. But in afterthought, she’d enlisted Liz to feed Scratch and accepted.

  Thumping hooves told her Fee had joined her. They sat in the grass and talked while Trooper munched, his teeth crunching and grinding local botanicals.

  “Jonny won’t contest the divorce, so I’ll get the decree nisi in a month and should be completely free in less than a year.”

  “You’re going to New Zealand?”

  “For a while. The kids and Peg talked me into contacting my brother. Turns out he’s wanted to meet but felt guilty about the years of neglect. We’re going see if we can work out a different deal with the estate, because I don’t plan to marry again. Peg and Fritz won’t budge, and I can’t leave them alone here. I’ve got money put away, maybe still get the inheritance, and the gallery will bring a decent price. We’re thinking about turning Waleham House into a retreat. Renovate, put in a pool. Golf nearby. Host conferences. Do horsey events.
Plenty of space, a big house, close to London and Devon. It has lots going for it.”

  The two women sat silent until Fee continued. “What about you? Peter loves you.”

  Elaine lay back and stretched her arms over her head. “I’m going to Austin. He knows I have some recovering to do. He’s got a house on a lake. I’ll stay there, swim, rest. He knows I’ll come back here after my leave’s up. Then we’ll see how it works out. It’s open-ended.”

  “You’ll be a British cop.”

  “It’s what I am, Fee. I’d go nuts doing anything else. I have a couple of offers here. I’ve been asked to do some janitorial work.”

  Fee looked puzzled. “Janitorial work? Like cleaning buildings?”

  Elaine laughed. “I can bloody well clean up without pushing a broom.”

  ALSO AVAILABLE BY A. R. ASHWORTH

  Souls of Men

  Author Biography

  A. R. Ashworth earned a degree in history before working for twenty years in high tech. Along the way, he developed a lasting love for Paris and London, which inspired his writing. He lives in the Texas Hill Country with his wife, a cheese-seeking Chihuahua, and an oversized tabby cat. This is his second Elaine Hope mystery.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Russell Ashworth.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.

  Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.

  Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.

  ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-589-6

  ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-590-2

  ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-591-9