‘I understand you were known as Rigzi.’
He chuckled. ‘Not in a while. I prefer Richard. Richard sounds more businesslike.’
‘And that’s what you are, a businessman?’
He tilted his head and gave her a speculative look. ‘Rigzi? That takes me back. Fifteen maybe twenty years. So, what am I being accused of?’
‘Do you remember Nathan Wade?’
‘Oh yeah.’ He gave a throaty smoker’s laugh. ‘Killed his girlfriend.’
‘He was convicted of her murder.’
‘She was a lovely girl.’
‘You met her?’
‘Students were my best market. All these posh kids wanted to get stoned.’
‘You sold drugs to her?’
‘Maybe. I don’t remember. I only remember wondering what she was doing with a fool like him.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘What happened to her, that was sad.’
‘Did he work for you?’
‘Nah. He maybe put some business my way. Other students looking to score.’
‘Did he owe you money?’
He fixed her with an amused stare. ‘I see where this is going. And I’m looking at you and I’m thinking, is this personal?’
‘Sarah Boden was my sister.’ Jo saw no point in lying.
He grinned. ‘Sarah, yeah, that was her name.’ A wistful look came into his eye. ‘Y’know, if I’d kept things smallish, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I’d be on a beach in Jamaica sipping rum. But ambition got the better of me, bigger operation, more risk. Y’know what I’m saying?’
‘Not really.’
‘It was just a business. But I was good at it, that’s why they give me twelve years. Killing nice white girls, that’s not good for business. Campus full of students, that’s a lush market. Cops everywhere turning everything upside down. Why would I want that, eh?’
‘To punish Nathan.’
‘I wanna punish Nathan, I’d’ve cut off his supply. I ain’t a violent man. Violence costs. Stupid kids who wanna play the big man, gangs, that’s the weak link that got me here. I’m a businessman.’
Jo met his gaze. The argument made sense but then he probably wasn’t about to admit to murder.
Rigzi seemed to read her mind. ‘They had me in at the time, local cops. Think they woulda quite liked to pin it on me. But they couldn’t. It was the boyfriend.’
‘Nathan Wade?’
‘I dunno. Him. Some boyfriend. Your sister, she had lots of boys running round after her.’ He gave a gravelly chuckle. ‘Bet you do too.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Back at her flat Jo reviewed her notes. She felt weary. She was going round in circles, chasing her own tail, and she wasn’t even sure to what end. Had she expected Rigzi to confess to her sister’s murder? But he was a major league drug dealer; whatever his protestations, he would never have got into such a position without being prepared to use violence.
What interested her more was Nathan’s decision to confess. Was it even a real confession? It seemed to have come out of the blue. Why now? He didn’t kill Sarah, he said, but regarded himself as responsible for her murder because he thought Rigzi had done it to punish him. Was he just sending her round in another circle, lying to confuse the issue?
On the other hand, maybe it was Briony’s death that had pricked his conscience? Perhaps he believed she had committed suicide. But then what about Bruce? What about Sarah’s journals? The pregnancy and the abortion that no one knew about – except maybe they did.
Jo rubbed her eyes. Out of her window the afternoon light was fading. She felt a lassitude creeping over her. What was the point of any of it? Nathan killed her sister. Rigzi killed her sister. Bruce killed her sister. The ghost of Sarah had dominated her life forever it seemed. Carl was right about that. Why had she become a police officer? It made no sense. It was a thankless job at the best of times.
She was like most people, one day at a time, putting her best foot forward. The job she had rarely satisfied her. Mostly it was a frustrating slog. The money she earned barely covered her bills, leaving precious little to spare. A holiday or a meal out or a new dress, they all went on the credit card, and the debt mounted. She tried to be disciplined and keep things in check while she battled for the next promotion. But too many people were chasing the same few vacancies. You had to be special, or canny enough to make yourself seem special. The Met was being cut and cut again, nothing was expanding. No one in the hierarchy was about to move aside to make a place for you.
Friends and hobbies and getting bladdered on a Saturday night was how most people she knew got through. Until that was replaced by marriage and kids and sleepless nights and the odd trip to the pub. Love was an emotion that she’d waited for but it never seemed to arrive. Men asked her out, that had never been a problem. But they were all blokes like Foley. There was always a but.
Jo knew she had emptiness where her optimism should be. She was young and fit and healthy, she had physical energy, most of the time, but her spirit was forlorn. More than one former friend had accused her of lacking a sense of humour and she had to admit they were probably right. The world didn’t strike her as a particularly amusing place. If her sister had lived, would it have been different? She couldn’t say.
It was already dark when Marisa came bustling in with a bag of groceries. Her buoyancy seemed to immediately fill the flat. She switched on all the lights and dumped her purchases in the kitchen.
‘Hey, babe, why you sitting in the dark?’
Jo stood, arms folded, in her bedroom doorway and smiled. Seeing her flatmate was a relief. ‘Thinking.’
‘Thinking what?’
‘Trying to work out what the hell I’m doing and why.’
‘Oh, that old chestnut. Any luck?’
‘No.’
Marisa started to unpack her shopping. ‘Well, I’ve decided to knock the takeaways on the head and get healthy. Proper home-cooked food.’
‘Sounds like hard work.’ Jo had to smile. Marisa always had some project for self-improvement.
‘Doesn’t have to be. Salad and fish, simple and good for you. Fancy that?’
‘Okay. Want some help?’
Marisa laughed. ‘I can manage. Don’t want to stop your cogitations.’
Jo went back into her room, picked up her notebook and sighed. She envied her flatmate’s endless vitality. She was wondering how she could get a dose of it for herself when the doorbell rang.
Marisa called out from the kitchen. ‘I’ll get it! You expecting anyone?’
‘No.’ The word was hardly out of Jo’s mouth when an overwhelming sense of dread surged through her. ‘Marisa, wait!’
Jo flew out of her room and made it to the corner of the short hallway when the feral howl of pain ricocheted off the walls. Marisa was stumbling backwards as she kicked the door shut behind her. Screeching in panic, her arms were flailing. ‘Acid!’
Grabbing her by the shoulders, Jo propelled her into the bathroom, turned the shower full on and shoved Marisa’s upper body under the cold water. ‘Where did it get you?’
Marisa was gasping and spluttering. ‘Right arm! Side of my face! Aargh!’
Jo held her friend under the torrent of water. It cascaded over both of them, swamping the floor.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Jo hardly waited for the invitation to enter before stomping into Detective Chief Superintendent Hollingsworth’s office. She’d been up all night at the hospital and she wanted some answers.
Marisa’s own quick reflexes had saved most of her face. She’d thrown up her arm to protect it as her attacker squirted sulphuric acid from a squeegee bottle and she’d managed to kick the door shut. The fairly immediate dousing in water, when Jo pushed her into the shower, had also helped.
She’d been taken to the Royal London in Whitechapel Road, the same A&E department where she worked, and her colleagues had rallied round. Once the shock and trauma of the incident had begun to subside it became more appar
ent how lucky she’d been. She had acid burns on the underside of one arm and a small streak and some splashes across her forehead just below the hairline.
Returning to the flat, Jo had discovered that what had missed her flatmate had stripped paint off the front door. She’d spoken to the local officers who were the first responders, there was a possibility of some CCTV of the attacker from the security camera on the corner shop. They were looking into it. But she knew that there was only one place she’d get some answers. And she wasn’t about to be fobbed off.
Hollingsworth was behind his desk, but standing beside the window, arms folded in his usual restless stance, was Steve Vaizey. Jo felt a rush of relief. The two men didn’t get on, this much she knew. So the fact they were there together did at least suggest that finally they were taking the Kelmendis’ targeting of her seriously.
Hollingsworth seemed to be considering his opening gambit but Vaizey beat him to it. ‘How’s your friend?’
‘Traumatized. The plastic surgeon’s seeing her this morning. The main concern is her arm.’
Vaizey nodded. ‘She used it to protect her face?’
Jo met his eye. It was only the second time she’d seen him since they’d slept together. ‘Yes. She was lucky. But that’s hardly the point, is it. Sir.’ She added this for Hollingsworth’s benefit.
Vaizey returned her look with a glacial stare. He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets and sighed. ‘You seem to have got yourself in a pretty compromised situation, DC Boden. But this isn’t really a matter for me. I’m going to leave it to Superintendent Hollingsworth and obviously the IPCC to deal with you.’
‘What?’ Jo stared at him. What he’d said made no sense. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’ve been very foolish.’ He shook his head – sorrowfully, Jo thought – and headed for the door. ‘Very foolish.’ He walked out.
Hollingsworth tapped his pen on the file in front of him. ‘Sit down, Boden.’
She’d used the PNC to get Richard Green’s records, how had he found out about that? Had Foley twigged and started asking questions? But that had nothing to do with the acid attack and the fact she was still being targeted by the Kelmendis, which they’d failed to sort out. Now somehow they were blaming her. It was outrageous. She was determined to stand her ground.
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll stand. I can explain my actions.’
‘Can you? Well, I shall certainly be interested to hear what you have to say. This girl is your flatmate, so I’m sure you’re feeling guilty enough about that. But when you sup with the devil, Boden, you should use a very long spoon.’
Another glib old-fashioned cliché. Hollingsworth was full of them. She had to rein in her temper.
‘Yeah, I do feel guilty about Marisa, but—’
He held up his palm and picked up the desk phone handset. ‘Could you ask DC Khan to join us. Thanks.’
Jo’s stomach lurched. What the hell was going on? Jabreel Khan? Was it him at Bishop’s Stortford services? Had he been following her?
Hollingsworth gave her a considered look. ‘You can be a little strident, Jo. But I’ve always considered you to be a good officer.’
The door opened and Jabreel Khan came in. He avoided Jo’s eye.
‘I saw you at the services on the M11. You’ve been following me.’
‘DC Khan has been acting on my instructions. Now will you both sit down.’
Jo took the left-hand chair in front of Hollingsworth’s desk, Khan the right. A feeling of foreboding swept over her. He still didn’t meet her gaze.
The Detective Chief Superintendent opened the folder in front of him. ‘In fairness to you, Jo, I’m going to give you a chance to explain this first, before we move to a formal interview.’ He removed a sheet from the file. ‘A copy of your latest bank statement. Could you check the account number and confirm it is your account?’
She took the piece of paper. The truth was she could never remember her account number exactly but it looked close enough. Her hand was shaking. She’d come here to lambast them about the attack on Marisa but he was turning it around, acting as if she were to blame.
‘The last entry, a deposit of £5,000, dated yesterday and which we have traced to an offshore account in the British Virgin Islands. Would you care to explain who has given you this money and why?’
Jo stared at the document. After a sleepless night the figures danced off the page. ‘It must be a mistake. No one’s given me any money.’ She focused on the column of figures. She’d been slightly overdrawn, but now she was in credit to the tune of nearly five grand.
‘You went down to Winchester yesterday to visit a prisoner called Richard Green? How does that relate to any of your current enquiries.’
‘It doesn’t.’ She sighed. ‘Look, sir, I have no idea where this money has come from.’
Hollingsworth leaned back in his chair. ‘As I think Jabreel himself told you, we have known for some time that an officer or civilian employee in this building was passing information to Ardi Kelmendi and his associates.’
‘How could that be me? Ever since Ardi was arrested, they’ve been after me.’
Jabreel turned towards her. ‘So we’ve been led to believe. But it’s bothered me from the outset. You came blundering in that morning, to save your chis you said. What kind of idiot would do that?’
‘I’m the kind of idiot that would do that.’
‘I don’t buy it. I think you came to warn Kelmendi.’
‘That’s rubbish, Jabreel.’
‘This notion you were being targeted? A dead cat? Bit of roadkill you’d picked up? That’s the so-called evidence you’re being targeted.’
‘You told me I was being targeted.’
‘I think it’s all a set-up. To disguise the fact that you’re the informant.’
‘Ardi Kelmendi is a thug. He’s not that bright.’
‘But you are, aren’t you, Jo? And Richard Green, he’s your go-between.’
‘What? You can’t find the real informant, so I’m being fitted up?’
Hollingsworth leaned forward. ‘Richard Green has had a long association with the Kelmendis. You wait for things to calm down after Ardi’s arrest, you go and see Green and within hours of that visit, you get your payment. You saying that’s a coincidence?’
‘Yes. I didn’t know Richard Green had any association with the Kelmendis. I can explain all of this. If I’d known which prison he was in, why would I’ve—’
‘Jo, I’m going to stop it there. I had hoped that, confronted with the facts, you would decide to come clean.’
‘What facts? Sir, I’m not lying. Let me explain.’
‘You can do all the explaining you like to the IPCC in a formal interview. You’re suspended from duty forthwith.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’ll take your warrant card. We’ll also need your work phone.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Expectation is a curiously human ailment. Perhaps we should regard it as a chronic disease because so many of us are afflicted by it. I’m as foolish as anyone, I have had such expectations, such hopes of how things could be turned around and the past redeemed. But we’re both fools, aren’t we, Jo? Both you and I.
The idea of you as a police officer did appeal to me. It seemed fitting. I don’t know what Sarah would’ve made of it. I mean, let’s face it, your sister was something of an intellectual snob. I’ve got a feeling she would’ve regarded it as not quite the thing. Not creative enough.
She could’ve been an actress who played a cop in some rubbishy TV series, that would’ve been fine. But doing it for real, as you have? Sarah wanted glamour, the admiration of the public gaze. But she was also young. So we’ll forgive her, shall we? She would’ve learned, as we all do, that expectations are rarely fulfilled.
I think you’ll find prison an interesting experience. But you’ll be okay. My advice would be don’t let despair get the better of you. And don’t turn to drugs. I know a bit about that. Plenty of bent coppers survi
ve the experience and come out all the better for it. It teaches humility and we could all do with a dose of that.
Bear in mind that I’m letting you off lightly. Your sister let me down, badly, but I was much younger then. Emotions got in the way. I’ve never been a person who enjoys violence. It’s a tool, to be used when necessary. I take no pleasure in it. You may end up feeling that you’ve lost everything. Your job, your friends, your reputation. But you’ve still got your life. That’s the important thing. And that’s my gift to you, Jo Boden.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Hollingsworth had her escorted from the building by two uniformed PCs. Two seemed excessive and unnecessary but Jo knew he was making a point. She was taken via the Grebe office to collect her personal belongings. The IPCC would contact her, she was told, with a date and time for her formal interview and she was entitled to ask for a Federation rep to be present. But Jo knew that if she was being accused of corruption she’d need more than that.
As she went through her desk drawers and transferred the few items to her bag she did a scan of the office. Vaizey’s door was firmly closed. Sandra looked up from her computer screen and gave her a chilly glance then turned away. News travelled fast, as Jo knew it would.
But it was Foley who got up from his desk and came over. Hands on his hips, his attitude was hard to decipher. ‘Well well, you are one slick operator, I’ll give you that.’
Jo decided not to engage with him. What would be the point?
He shook his head and she was aware of the sheer size of him looming over her. He was back to bullying, his true nature. ‘So what was it about, the money? You fancied a nice trip to the Maldives or maybe a new car?’
It didn’t seem as if he was about to move out of her way but she refused to be intimidated. ‘Look at it this way, Foley, by refusing to go out with you, I was doing you a favour. Saving you from the embarrassment of being associated with me.’
‘Go out with? Nah. What I had in mind was a couple of drinks and a quick shag.’ The glancing blow of male bravado bounced off her. Was this the best he could come up with?
It Should Have Been Me Page 27