by Jay Nadal
A coffee shop down a side street caught her attention and she ducked inside. She ordered a cappuccino and a Danish pastry and found a quiet corner. It was one of those trendy coffee shops with a more relaxed feel, featuring couches and armchairs. It reminded her of the place where the characters in Friends the TV series used to hang out, Central Perk. She sank into an armchair; it was one of those wingback chairs with a high back. It felt warm and snuggly as she pushed her head back and blew out a loud sigh.
She was tired of the job. She was sick of seeing the worst elements of society, and witnessing the pain they inflicted upon so many. Her career had been thriving until eight months ago, and following the ambush and return to work, she felt she had to prove herself over again. It probably wasn’t the case, but that’s how it felt to her. Her back had a target painted on it, inviting the next person to stab her when she least expected it. A blemish on her career, that’s what it was. Wherever she went, whichever station, whichever office or whenever she attended a meeting, she knew people were looking at her, questioning her capabilities and wondering if she truly did feel remorse.
If she was honest with herself, it pissed her off big time. She had considered the next steps in her career, and the prospect of making it to DCI had been taken away from her. Now she wondered if that would ever be possible. The process was long and drawn out, and she was certain that additional questions would be raised during the selection process regarding that event eight months ago.
She held her large cappuccino in both hands as she sipped at it and glanced around the café. She noticed two women huddled in one corner, out of the way. Karen put them in their late twenties, possibly early thirties. They were smiling and exchanging laughs as they listened to each other’s stories. They looked relaxed; they looked happy. Their skin looked smooth and free of worry lines. She wondered what they did for jobs, what their lives were like, and whether they had worries that bogged them down.
More than anything else, Karen wanted her reputation back. She wanted to avenge the deaths of those officers, and felt personally responsible for what had happened, but the official investigation had stalled. Her own behind-the-scenes investigation had been just as unproductive. The Connells had to be involved. They wouldn’t allow another firm to come on to their patch and commit such an act without their approval. But every lead she chased led to a wall of silence, an impenetrable wall of silence. People were ignorant or too scared to say anything.
The Commissioner had ordered a review into the transportation and protection of key witnesses in major trials following the ambush, and her actions had instigated the review. Only a handful of people had known they were moving Anne, so the most plausible explanation was an inside job. A mole. A betrayal of the oath to protect and serve. Perhaps it had been one of the officers who lost their lives? Maybe the ambush had been botched? Maybe the mastermind had planned on injuring officers to make it look realistic? If that was the case, she would never know.
At the time, the internal investigation had reviewed and interviewed every single member of the team to identify any weak links. None were found. That part baffled her more than anything else. It had to be the Connells, but they seem to be one step ahead of her. There had to be a mole in the force, and despite the initial finger of suspicion being pointed at her, she had fought tooth and nail to rebuff that particular accusation.
Karen pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes as she stared through the glass window of the café at the cars and vans that passed by. She heard the roar of motorbikes as they raced down side streets, their drivers risking their own lives and those of pedestrians brave enough to cross the road.
A mole?
There could be only one possibility she hadn’t yet considered, the DCI. But surely that couldn’t be the case? She did have doubts about him. He was always telling her to forget any investigation into the Connells. He often never supported her in her decisions, and to top it off, was a lecherous wanker.
Karen acknowledged that she’d have to investigate, but her mind turned towards her current efforts and the many unanswered questions she had. Reviewing the CCTV footage would be her next step. There had to be more they were missing. She finished her remaining cappuccino and realised she hadn’t started the Danish pastry whilst so deep in thought. She wrapped it in a serviette and decided to have it later.
The women she had watched earlier were still laughing and smiling, deep in conversation as she left.
Sometimes life seemed so unfair.
39
Karen returned to the office and made herself a cup of coffee before catching up with the team and getting any latest updates. Brad confirmed he’d been to see the manager of the convenience store to update him on his case. Brad commented that the manager was nursing his injury and struggling to come to terms with the assault, but pleased the police had got a result.
It was good news, but it didn’t help her murder cases. It complicated the matter.
After receiving the updates, Karen sat at her desk and nibbled on her Danish pastry. She cursed herself for not picking up a sandwich whilst she was out because she was both hungry and tired. She hoped the quick carb fix would help her to power through.
She opened the case files and then closed them seconds later with a sigh. She had looked through them, and analysed every element just hours ago and doubted that looking at them again would reveal any new facts. It felt like she was just spinning her wheels. There was something she was missing and felt that the motives behind the killings went back further than just the past few weeks and months.
Karen’s mind drifted to a conversation she’d had with Diane a few days ago. She’d questioned the woman about the history between Taylor and Macholl and what transpired to be a crude love triangle. It was an angle she hadn’t explored much. She’d overlooked it, preferring instead to focus on recent events. Had that been where she’d gone wrong?
Reaching for her mouse, she opened a few screens on her computer and pulled up historical information relating to Macholl’s past. As far as she could tell, everything was okay until the botched raid on the bookies six years ago. Opening another screen, she pulled up records relating to the botched raid on the Paddy Power bookmakers. Karen spent the next hour reviewing the forensic reports, witness statements, and the investigating officer’s notes before picking up the phone and dialling a number.
Just over an hour later, Karen arrived at Kingston police station. She noticed that Kingston High Street was much quieter and more suburban in feel compared to London. A mixture of old and new buildings, independent stores and smaller chains, along with charming pedestrianised streets, offered a relaxed atmosphere. She stopped on the Clattern Bridge and peered over the edge at the Hoggsmill River that flowed beneath its arch and snaked its way through the town before joining up with the Thames.
The police station had the same features as most police stations in the Met. A large, ageing grey monstrosity, skirted on the ground floor by blue window frames.
Detective Inspector Andrew Morton greeted Karen at reception. He was a slender man, receding on top, with an angular jawline. Dressed in a navy suit with a garish pink tie and white shirt, he led Karen through to his office on the second floor. She was surprised at how small the room was in comparison to hers. It was cluttered with just enough room for his desk, chair, and two visitor’s chairs. Karen glanced around and noticed stacks of books cramming every single square inch of space on his bookshelf.
“Thanks for taking the time to see me. I needed to pick your brain about an old case.”
Morton shrugged. “Happy to help in whichever way I can. Although, I’m sure we could have done this over the phone?”
Karen nodded and agreed. “Absolutely. But to be honest it’s sometimes nice to get out and meet other colleagues, and I thought this was something that was worth discussing face-to-face.”
Karen took a few moments to get Morton up to speed. She spoke about the two murder cases, and how she was going round
in circles and missing the obvious.
“I’m struggling with the motives. I know the two men were associated and then they had a falling out. But from what I can gather, they’ve had no contact over the past five years whilst Macholl was in prison. So I’m thinking there must be a historical element to this, and I wanted to find out more about the Paddy Power case?”
Morton rolled his eyes. “I remember the case well. It was a right pain in the arse. We knew who did it, but the evidence was thin on the ground, and CPS wasn’t buying it. Taylor and Macholl were definitely involved; we even had informants confirm that. Taylor was in charge, and he ran the job.”
Karen listened as Morton recalled the salient points around the investigation. None of it was new, and frustration ate at her until Morton revealed a new and vital piece of information.
After Elaine Atkin’s death, the police discovered that following the analysis of her phone messages they had promised her a share from the raid. Where the messages came from hadn’t been discovered, and police at the time put it down to a burner phone. Who the phone belonged to remained a mystery, but suspicion had fallen on Taylor because Elaine Atkin’s had been dating him.
Karen listened intently as Morton went off on a tangent for a few moments. He reflected on the fallout from the raid and the fact that a young, single mum had been manipulated by Taylor. Ultimately, she’d paid the price with her life. Karen picked up on a bitterness in Morton’s tone.
They discussed the case for a while longer, and bandied about motives and theories, before Karen thanked him for his time and made her way back to Shoreditch.
As she walked past Skelton’s office, Karen did a double take. The man had his head buried in his hands, and his elbows resting on his desk. Just a few hours ago Skelton had been wearing a navy suit, and he was now wearing a grey suit. A shiver of surprise settled in her chest. She knocked on his door and waited for him to wave her in. She was taken aback by what appeared to be slight bruising to the side of his face. Sensing that Skelton had noticed her looking, she drew her eyes back level with his.
“Yes?” Skelton asked bluntly.
“Um, um… you’ve changed your suit…” Karen offered as she pointed towards him.
“Ten out of ten for observation skills, Karen.”
Karen waited for an explanation, and when one wasn’t forthcoming, she continued to fill the silence. She updated him on the meeting with DI Morton over in Kingston, and her new focus of attention. Despite sounding positive and encouraged by her visit, Karen couldn’t help notice how Skelton appeared more jittery than usual. His phone rested on the desk, and his eyes kept drifting to it, as if expecting a message or urgent phone call.
Come to think of it, Karen thought he looked far worse than normal. His face looked haggard and tired, the slight bruising only adding to his untidy look and his weary frame. He was present, but not present.
“Sir, are you okay?” she asked.
When Skelton didn’t reply, she asked again, jolting the man from his thoughts.
Skelton nodded and stood up, confirming that the one-sided conversation was over.
Everything about Skelton worried her. His ethics, his lifestyle, and his true intentions. He should be at home, enjoying retirement and the generous police pension, but he remained on the job. Wanting to probe further, Karen questioned him.
“It’s getting late now, sir. Have you got any plans for this evening? Or are you having a lazy one?”
Skelton shook his head. “No plans. You?”
“Not sure yet, sir. I’ll probably hang around here for a little longer. I’ve got a few things I want to check out.”
Skelton’s phone buzzed with the news of an incoming text message. He grabbed his phone and read the message before grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair. Jostling Karen out of his office, he made his way for the stairs.
40
Skelton’s suspicious behaviour piqued Karen’s interest as she waited a few moments before heading down the stairwell. Her mind turned over the many possibilities that clouded her thinking. Was Skelton a loose cannon? Had the job taken its toll on him after all these years, leaving him weary, anxious and hard-nosed? Or was he on the verge of having a breakdown?
She stepped out on to the pavement and dipped in behind all the commuters heading home for the evening. She could make out Skelton about twenty yards ahead, ambling towards the Tube station. Small plumes of grey smoke billowed into the air as he puffed hard on a cigarette, keen to finish it before heading into the Tube station.
Karen wondered about the appeal of smoking. Especially, those who stood outside a Tube station waiting to finish the cigarette before going in. Were they so desperate for the nicotine, that they needed every last bit of each cigarette?
How is that any different from the bottle of wine you slosh down every night?
Chasing away the annoying voice of reason, she sidestepped into a doorway as Skelton slowed. He stood to one side of the pavement, working his way through his stick of poison and watching people walk by. The ability to size up a person became a subconscious habit that most police officers developed over time.
After a few moments, Skelton threw the butt on the floor and extinguished it with the sole of his shoe.
Karen followed him into the station, and down to the platform. She stood behind a large, burly man, hoping he would shield her from Skelton’s prying eyes. As the train arrived, she got on to the next carriage, but close enough to allow her to maintain eye contact.
They rode the train for seven stops before Skelton alighted, hotly followed by Karen. She maintained visual contact by focusing on his head as he weaved in and out of the throng of commuters, up the escalators, and through the ticket barriers.
By the time Karen had reached street level, Skelton had lit another cigarette and walked away. Karen wondered where he was going. She knew where he lived, but he seemed to walk in random directions, heading down streets that ran in the opposite direction to where he should have been heading. Curiosity ate away at her. She noticed he hadn’t picked up his pace, or slowed down, or looked around. He appeared to be in a world of his own, ambling along with no destination in mind, in marked contrast to his hurried exit from the office.
The sound of commuter traffic, car horns blaring, and the general hum of city life quietened as the minutes rolled by. They moved deeper into the network of residential streets. Karen felt the first sign of nerves creeping in. The further they walked, the fewer people she had to hide behind. If Skelton walked for much longer, it would just be the two of them in the street and she’d have to drop back further and risk losing him.
She wondered if this had been a fruitless exercise. She had to find out more about Skelton, but following him on a whim seemed foolish now. What was she thinking?
She watched as Skelton crossed over the road and disappeared into a small off-licence that nestled between two houses. Karen waited a minute or two, inching closer, before she found herself feet away from the glass frontage. She willed herself to walk away, fearing Skelton could walk out and catch her. Her thoughts abandoned her as she wondered what pathetic excuse she could come up with. But something inside pushed her on, an unknown force, a side of her that sought the truth.
As if an invisible force had pushed her with two hands, she stared through the glass windows. She watched Skelton pay for some cigarettes and a prepackaged meal before turning to leave.
Karen gasped and darted away from the window into the nearest doorway. She held her breath, hoping and pleading that Skelton wouldn’t walk past her. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as he walked off in the other direction. She waited until there was a sizeable distance between them before she continued.
Skelton headed back towards his house, and ten minutes later put the key in the door and shut it behind him.
Karen blew out her cheeks in frustration. She had been on a wild goose chase and cursed herself under her breath. “Fucking idiot.”
Sitting
on the edge of the pavement between two cars for over an hour, lost in her thoughts didn’t help Karen at all. A mixture of embarrassment and frustration seeped from her pores. She wasn’t sure what she had hoped to gain by following him. Answers perhaps? Proof?
But tailing the man hadn’t brought her peace of mind. She didn’t feel better, and returned to her apartment in Epping. She was too tired to do anything, her mind racing in turmoil. She settled for a few slices of toast with jam and a large glass of wine in front of the TV. With Manky by her feet, purring with delight that his mummy was home, Karen flicked through her recorded TV programmes. Even though her eyes were glued to the screen, she couldn’t digest it. Her mind drifted along, unsure which direction to take next.
Skelton rarely found himself in Sally’s bed so late at night, but she’d caught him by surprise with a late-night call. And if he was honest, he needed her. Finally around midnight, he’d left his house to meet her.
Watching through the closed curtains in his darkened room, Skelton had watched as Karen sat between two cars, looking like a miserable, homeless down-and-out. He waited a further hour after she had left before he slipped out of the door and made his way to Sally’s.
Sally had wanted to discuss business before moving on to pleasure. She’d told Skelton that they had some new girls coming in from Lithuania, and she needed Skelton to check out the police activity around the location. Skelton was told to find out what intelligence the police had gathered on prostitution rings close to the address. He reassured her he would make the necessary enquiries.