It Should Have Been Me

by Susan Wilkins

  ‘Is this why you’re following me? Because you want me to absolve your conscience?’

  He gave her a sullen look. ‘Is that really what you think?’

  Jo met his gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, he looked like he hadn’t slept. She was being aggressive, part of her knew it, but she was still aggrieved about Razan.

  She shrugged. ‘Okay, let’s hear it.’

  Khan rubbed his face with his palms and sighed. ‘It’s taken me nearly six months to get an in with the Kelmendis. Everything is tribal with them, anyone outside the family is automatically suspect. They’re possibly the biggest gang of traffickers currently bringing people into the UK. They’re certainly the most vicious.’

  ‘I’ve read the file.’

  ‘Yeah, well what’s not in the file is that they’ve got an informant of their own inside the Met. Not very high up, probably some disgruntled DC who thinks they can pocket the extra cash and get away with it.’

  ‘Does Hollingsworth know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that why he wanted you airbrushed out of the record?’

  ‘Yes. You have to understand my position.’

  ‘Believe me, I’m trying to.’

  ‘The Kelmendis don’t trust me. But they let me stick around because they think I’m a fucked-up jihadist with access to weapons.’

  ‘How do you explain to them the fact that you’re still walking around free when Ardi was nicked? Isn’t that likely to make them suspicious?’

  ‘Only Ardi and his sidekick know I was there at the bust and they’re on ice in Belmarsh. They think I’m in there too.’

  ‘Sounds risky to me. What if they find out?’

  ‘Thank you, Boden! Risky is what I do.’

  Although the sarcasm was a rebuke, his tone was weary. She wondered about the pressure on officers with any sort of vaguely Arab or Asian background, who could pass as jihadists. Terrorism and organized crime were becoming increasingly enmeshed and he was in the eye of the storm.

  She managed a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being arsey. It’s been a difficult day.’ And he didn’t know the half of it.

  He gave her a jaundiced look. ‘So the idea is I hold on for another couple of weeks. With the organization in a mess, Fejzi Kelmendi will have to come over himself to sort things out. Then we nab him.’

  Jo studied his face. He made a convincing gangster in many ways, except for the eyes. There was a softness, a hint of vulnerability. If the Kelmendis ever saw that, he’d probably be dead.

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t track me down just to tell me this.’

  ‘You’ve been a cop long enough to understand how villains like this work. They operate on the basis of fear. Violence is a tool and reputation is everything, the idea that they can get to anyone. You wrong-footed Ardi, pissed him off.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘No, not good. When his old man finds out he was taken down by a woman there’ll be hell to pay.’

  ‘I didn’t exactly do it on my own.’

  ‘You made yourself very visible, gave them something to focus their anger on. When Ardi threatened you, he meant it. They’re targeting you for payback.’

  Jo felt her throat constrict as she swallowed. ‘Thought you said he was on ice in Belmarsh.’

  ‘He’ll have got hold of a mobile. He’s sent instructions out to his subordinates. We didn’t net them all.’

  ‘Great. Hollingsworth omitted to mention that in his pep talk to the troops.’

  Khan shrugged.

  ‘If he’s got a phone doesn’t that put you more at risk too?’

  ‘He’s been fed a line that I’m in a special unit for suspected terrorists. We’re hoping he’ll believe that and forget about me. Might give me enough of a window if I’m careful.’

  She took a breath, she was tempted to laugh. But that was a knee-jerk reaction. The release of Nathan Wade was enough bad news for one day, even if she ignored her smashed nose and a chis she was supposed to protect but who’d ended up in ICU. And now this.

  ‘Have you told Hollingsworth about me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed, ‘but he’s not convinced yet of the credibility of the intel. Thinks it’s gossip, a bit of macho bravado. Y’know, “We’re gonna get the bitch”, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘What I’m hearing is that they’re asking their snitch on the inside to find out who you are and where you live, which is not going to be that difficult.’

  ‘And you don’t know who this person is?’

  ‘No. Obviously we’re trying to find out.’

  Jo swallowed hard. She didn’t want him to see her fear.

  His eyes rested on her face. ‘I’ve said to Hollingsworth that we should tuck you up safely somewhere. He thinks that’s overkill. If the gossip is true and any officer searches for your details, we’ve nailed our informant. His argument is that info on you will never get back to the Kelmendis.’

  ‘But Hollingsworth didn’t plan to tell me any of this?’

  ‘No. He says it’s not necessary.’

  ‘Another one of his strategic decisions! Excellent.’

  Khan sighed and rubbed his finger across the mossy bark of the tree trunk. ‘Most likely it’ll be okay. But it’s too easy for stuff like this to go pear-shaped. I thought you had a right to know.’

  She looked into his tense dark eyes. ‘Thanks, Jabreel.’ She hesitated. ‘You know I’ve been offered a secondment to Operation Grebe?’

  ‘I didn’t. Doing what?’

  ‘You’re probably going to laugh. Undercover.’

  ‘I’ve worked for Steve Vaizey myself.’

  ‘What do you make of him?’

  ‘Good boss. Tough. Doesn’t suffer fools. But he’s smart and he gets the job done.’ He smiled. ‘I’d take it, if I were you.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Pretending to be someone else is a good way to hide.’

  ‘You think I should hide?’

  ‘I think you should take sensible precautions. But it shouldn’t be for long. We will sort this out.’ The look was earnest. Without the hood up and the scowl, he seemed almost boyish. She could only guess his age but it was probably close to her own.

  ‘Is Hollingsworth going to be hacked off with you for telling me this?’

  He shrugged. Then he cracked a smile. ‘That’s his problem.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nathan received the news officially from a junior member of the offender management team. She was young, still in training, he thought her name was Rachel but he wasn’t sure. Too many had come and gone during his sentence, mostly they were gullible and vapid. There’d been a similar girl on the team before, who’d pretended to like his writing; she was called Rachel so perhaps he was getting confused with her. But this one did seem genuinely excited for him as she announced that the parole board had ruled on his case. He was to be released on a life licence and the board, together with the team supervising his sentence, had agreed a date. It was definitely happening, she handed over a document to confirm it.

  In accordance with his resettlement plan, a place in approved premises would be found for him in the Littlehampton area and he’d continue with his job at the coffee shop. The National Probation Service would take over his supervision, but she couldn’t yet tell him who his probation officer would be, due to problems arising from a shortage of qualified staff.

  Left alone in his cell to digest all this, Nathan felt odd, a combination of elated and twitchy. This had been the day he’d looked forward to for so long – the light at the end of the tunnel. It also scared him. Now what? He found it hard to keep still so he forced himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. Close his eyes, breathe. Opening them again, he let his gaze come to rest on an uneven patch of plaster on the grey wall. The faint blue stain. But in less than a week he would be out of here. No more dirty walls. He’d paint his walls every year, twice a year if he wanted. He would be a free man.

  Well, not totally f
ree. His release was conditional and it would always be conditional. A life licence meant that if he broke the terms of it he’d be subject to recall. Banged up straight away on his probation officer’s say-so. They drummed this into you, this motley crew of so-called offender managers. It was their mantra. They wanted you to know that you were still being judged and that you’d always be judged. You remained under surveillance forever. That was the system.

  The next morning Nathan returned to work at the coffee shop and his sense of irritation with anything and everything hadn’t improved. Lech wasn’t due in until lunchtime and the deputy manager, an ineffectual oaf who chewed his fingernails to the quick, was in charge.

  The queue was soon snaking out of the door, the bin was overflowing and there was milk splashed over the work surfaces and a sink piled with washing up. Daley, the oaf, was in the back skiving and texting his girlfriend, leaving Nathan and a new girl to cope on their own. The new girl was getting panicky, she wasn’t familiar with all the products and couldn’t find them on the till. Nathan was at the espresso machine turning out drinks as quickly and efficiently as he could.

  A hatchet-faced woman with a bad blonde dye job shoved her way past the waiting customers and thrust her paper cup at Nathan.

  ‘There’s no fucking coffee in this latte.’

  ‘Did you ask for a double shot?’

  ‘I don’t have to. It should come with a double shot.’

  The cup was small, therefore it came with only one shot. She probably knew this, but didn’t want to pay. She was trying it on. They got this all the time.

  Completing two cappuccinos, Nathan placed them on the counter.

  ‘I’m happy to make you another.’ He forced a smile as he imagined punching her.

  ‘Pisses me off that I gotta ask.’

  ‘I can only apologize.’

  The woman fixed him with a gimlet eye, he could feel the suppressed fury pulsing off her. He’d encountered it plenty of times on the inside – all that angry energy with nowhere to go – she was spoiling for a fight. And the queue was getting restive. Someone else pitched in.

  ‘If you didn’t ask for a double shot, how’s the poor bugger supposed to know?’

  She turned on the interloper – he was short, paint-spattered trackies and builder’s boots, he had a big order for the site down the road – and glared. ‘Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?’

  ‘Cause I’m stood here waiting for my coffee, love, and you already got yours. Plus you’ve drunk most of it so you ain’t that bothered.’

  As Nathan watched them all he felt was contempt. These were his fellow citizens, members of the society he was finally being allowed to rejoin. Did they always follow the rules? Had they ever crossed the line? Were they better people than him? Hardly. They were just luckier.

  The blonde dye-job fronted up to the builder, her face red and crumpled like a furious toddler. ‘I hope you fucking die of cancer!’

  ‘Charming!’

  She hurled her cup and the remaining coffee across the floor and stormed out.

  The builder shrugged and turned to Nathan. ‘Stupid cow.’

  Nathan turned on his heel and walked away. He headed for the kitchen. Daley was rocking back on a chair, talking on his phone.

  He waggled a finger at Nathan. ‘This is a private conversation, mate.’

  In a single fluid movement, Nathan seized the back leg of the chair and flipped it, tipping Daley on to the floor. Their eyes met, Nathan didn’t speak. Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten.

  Daley scrabbled to his feet. Then Lech appeared in the doorway.

  The deputy manager spluttered. ‘He’s gone fucking mental! Fucking convict scum! No way I’m working with him no more.’

  Lech gave him an equable smile. ‘I agree. It’s probably better if you leave. Then I can get someone in who maybe wants to do a day’s work.’

  Daley glared but he was backing away. ‘You lot, you all stick together. You’re all scum.’

  ‘Write a letter of complaint to the company.’

  ‘I fucking will.’

  Retrieving his phone, Daley slunk out of the door.

  Lech turned to Nathan and grinned. ‘He won’t. Couldn’t even fill in the form by himself when he applied for the job.’

  Nathan took a long slow breath. ‘I’m sorry. I lost it there for a bit.’

  The Polish manager shrugged. ‘You got a lot going on.’

  ‘They’ve given me a release date.’

  ‘Yeah? Whoo-hoo! We need to celebrate!’

  Nathan took another deep breath. He could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. ‘I’ve been thinking. Have you got a number for Briony Rowe?’

  ‘The telly woman, yeah. She leave me her card. You gonna do it?’

  ‘I’ve been giving it some thought. Could you call her for me? Say I’m sorry I was rude. And I’ve changed my mind about her film.’

  Lech clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hey, that’s great! Double celebration, my friend! We’re gonna clear your name.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  The swelling across her cheekbones had subsided and closer examination of her nose in the bathroom mirror reassured Jo that it was straight. An operation was probably unnecessary. It was still painful, her whole face felt taut, as if it had been shrink-wrapped. But she was useless at doing nothing, inactivity depressed her, so she decided to take a couple of co-codamol and return to work. She opted for a suit with a skirt, hair up in a French twist, a discreet amount of make-up. She wanted to create the right impression at Operation Grebe. But she set off early with the intention of making a stop at St Thomas’ first to visit Razan.

  The weekend had been odd. She’d walked away from her encounter with Jabreel Khan, brain and body reeling. A gangster wanted to kill her? She was a police officer, she was used to risk, any nutter on the street could come at you with a knife, but this still felt unreal.

  Before returning to her mother’s house she’d scraped the mud off her shoes then taken a turn around the park, wandering past the formal flowerbeds of winter pansies and the children’s playground – beacons of safe everyday life – as she let this information percolate through her consciousness. Like him or hate him, Khan was an experienced officer and he had nothing to gain, as far as she could see, by ignoring Hollingsworth and tracking her down to give her this warning. If he thought the Kelmendis were out to get her he was probably right. She wasn’t taking any chances.

  Her mother had been nonplussed by the news that she was coming to stay and did her best to resist it.

  ‘I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not going to do anything stupid.’

  ‘I might do something stupid.’

  Jo was finally serving the promised cheese omelette, dividing it between two plates.

  Alison shoved the food away. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  Covering her mother’s clenched fist with her palm, Jo’s chin quivered. ‘Mum, maybe I need you. Can I come and stay? Please.’

  Alison glared at her daughter. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I don’t believe that for one minute.’

  Early next morning Jo had gone home to her flat in Lant Street, packed a suitcase, told Marisa she was taking a holiday, a last-minute deal – two weeks’ skiing in Meribel – and returned to Greenwich by a circuitous route. She walked to London Bridge, took the Northern Line to Moorgate, where she got out and made a beeline for the nearest coffee shop.

  The Saturday-morning City was quiet, many places weren’t even open; she bought a coffee and a croissant and sat at the back of the shop, monitoring the comings and goings. Once she’d registered every face, stored them in her memory for future retrieval, she got up and headed for the door. She paused outside the shop, on the pretext of retying her scarf, but she was scanning the street for anyone who appeared to be hanging about without purpose. It was a cold day and most people were in a hurry.

  She walked rou
nd the block using windows and reflective surfaces to check if she was being followed. Satisfied that she had no obvious tail, she set off in the direction of Liverpool Street, jumped on the Central Line to Mile End, switched to the District Line and rode one stop to Bow Road.

  All the while she was on high alert – checking faces, anyone who’d been in the coffee shop, anyone she’d passed on the street. This was what Jabreel Khan spent his life doing and, she mused, it was hard work. Early in her career as a DC she’d done three months as a watcher on a surveillance team so she knew the drill. But it felt totally different when you were out there on your own, when you were the potential quarry.

  She took the DLR to Greenwich and edged into the trickle of tourists meandering out of the station. There were others like her, towing their cases on wheels, visitors from Asia and China shivering in newly acquired bobble hats. She let herself be carried along in the slipstream of sightseers until she got to the park, then she cut through into Crooms Hill. No one followed, as far as she could see. Confident that she was off the grid, she turned the corner into her mother’s road.

  Alison had adjusted to her presence and Jo even got the impression that it had cheered her up. She’d cooked a chicken casserole for Sunday lunch, which her mother ate. They lit the wood burner and spent a cosy afternoon on the sofa watching Bridget Jones’s Diary.

  Having given the matter some thought, Jo explained to Alison that she had a new job, a secondment to a special operation. It could possibly lead to promotion and she wanted to get it right. The problem was her flatmate’s boyfriend who was a total dick, and she needed some peace and quiet until she could arrange to move. It wasn’t the truth, nor was it a total lie, but her mother had bought it.

  On her arrival at the hospital, Jo threaded her way through the bustle of a busy Monday morning. People arriving early for outpatients appointments. Staff getting coffees, chatting about their weekends as they prepared to tackle the working week.

  Making her way up to the quiet oasis of the ICU, Jo found Razan awake. She’d been taken off the ventilator. A staff nurse explained that she was doing well and would be transferred to a high-dependency unit later in the morning.