* * *
Superintendent Sparks’s funeral was held at a small church in Greenwich, high on the hill overlooking the Royal Naval College and the city. They arrived just as the service started and slipped into a pew at the back of the church. It was well attended, for a man who had been a bully and a divisive colleague. Erika wondered how many people had felt obliged to attend. Sparks’s wife was on the front row with an elderly couple and a little girl in a sombre black velvet dress with a matching ribbon in her hair. His coffin shone under the bright lights of the church, and a large spray of red and white roses sat on top amongst a cloud of gypsophila.
Did Sparks like roses? thought Erika. Was he religious? How many people in the congregation really knew him? All of these thoughts went through her head. Funerals were a time to remember the dead, but very often they struggled to do just that. Erika thought back to Mark’s funeral; of having to pick flowers and hymns, and who would say what. It all felt so alien, so unlike the youthful, vibrant man who had died.
The most poignant part of the service was when Sparks’s childhood friend gave the eulogy and told how they had been close growing up, and had gone travelling for a year after high school.
‘Andy was my buddy. He was a complex bloke, but he had a heart and he cared. Life and work got in the way of all that towards the end… I just wish we’d been able to talk more. Sleep well, mate,’ he said.
Erika looked to Melanie beside her, and saw a tear running down her cheek. She grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Melanie nodded and Erika let go. When they stood for the next hymn, Erika spied Marsh sitting a few rows forward with a few other senior police officers she recognised, but didn’t know by name. She leaned forward in the hope of catching his eye, but the organ started to play, ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country’.
An hour later, the service finished. Erika and Melanie left the church and hung around close to the entrance, as mourners filed out. There was an awkwardness between them, and Erika didn’t know how to broach it.
‘I’m going to give my condolences to Sparks’s wife,’ said Melanie, peering back through the church door to where she was surrounded by well-wishers.
‘Look, Melanie, earlier I was out of order. Sorry.’
‘It’s okay. It’s like Sparks’s friend said back there. This job, it…’ She looked like she was going to say more, then checked herself.
‘It gets in the way sometimes of being decent,’ said Erika, adding, ‘I’m talking about myself here.’
‘Let’s try to touch base a couple of times a day. I’ll make sure I’m available, when I’m not in the office.’
‘Sure.’ Erika nodded and smiled. Melanie went off back through the crowds, and she waited for a few more minutes as the church cleared out, and finally Marsh emerged. He looked exhausted, but still quite handsome. His short sandy hair was cropped close to his head and he’d lost some weight, emphasising his square jaw. He looked more like the officer she and Mark had trained with back in Manchester all those years ago, before his ambition had driven a wedge between them.
‘Finally I get to talk to you,’ she said. He leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek.
‘Why haven’t you been answering your phone?’
‘Sorry, Erika, things haven’t been all that good.’
‘I’ve heard. When were you going to tell me you’ve been suspended?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Can you keep your voice down?’
‘Can you return my calls, and then I don’t have to skulk around outside a funeral to get to talk to you.’
He ran a finger around the collar of his shirt. ‘Are you going to the wake?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on it.’
They stepped out of the way as a large group emerged from the church to shake the priest’s hand. They started to move off towards the gates.
‘I heard you were there when he died?’
‘I was in his office, having a go at him, when he collapsed,’ said Erika.
‘So you nagged him to death?’ said Marsh, deadpan.
‘Very funny.’
They got to the gates, and Erika saw the police car waiting to take her and Melanie back.
‘Come on, I’m taking you for lunch,’ she said, putting her arm through his. ‘I want to hear everything, and I want to pick your brains about a case I’m working on.’
Chapter Fifty-Six
They walked into the centre of Greenwich and found a smart little café. They ordered large coffees and a full English Breakfast each.
‘I know you’re not a man for details, but I’m shocked you’ve been suspended,’ said Erika when they were settled in a booth in the corner.
‘Brutally honest as always,’ he said, adjusting the cutlery awkwardly.
‘What happened exactly?’
He took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been suspended because the Met has suddenly decided to go after the Gadd family for money laundering on their import/export business. You remember the Gadd family when we were working over at Lewisham?’
‘I remember being in hot water for crashing Paul Gadd’s mother’s funeral wake to track down a witness,’ said Erika.
Marsh grinned ruefully. ‘Yes. I haven’t forgotten that. Took a lot of smoothing over.’
‘So what is the deal with the family?’ asked Erika.
‘For the past twenty-five years, the Met has turned a blind eye to some of their activities in return for information. Officially, the Gadd family run the contracts for recycling paper and plastics in and around London. They also own a warehouse complex out at the Isle of Dogs, used for import/export.’
‘So, they’re mafia?’ said Erika.
‘They don’t deal in drugs or weapons. It’s mainly black market cigarettes, alcohol…’
‘What about the recycling business?’
‘That’s a hundred per cent legit, and it’s very lucrative. They take in collections London-wide from the council and they sort it before it’s exported to China.’
They paused when their food arrived, a posh version of a full English breakfast, which came arranged artfully on the plate with the baked beans snug in their own little ramekin. They tucked into their food for a moment.
‘Okay, so what are you accused of? Taking bribes from the Gadd family?’ asked Erika, buttering some toast.
‘No, no, no.’ He took a sip of coffee and looked uncomfortable. ‘Now, bear in mind that when I was promoted to Chief Superintendent, I inherited staff, infrastructure, budgets…’
‘I know how it works…’
‘I also inherited my predecessor’s relationship with Paul Gadd. He’s seventy now, but still very much active in the family business. There was an arrangement in place whereby certain deliveries would come into their warehouses which Customs and Excise would turn a blind eye to.’
‘You don’t work for Customs and Excise.’
‘But I could have officers briefed to help, shall we say, disguise or divert attention, nothing dangerous, just to help to keep it away from prying eyes…’
‘Okay.’
‘Erika, everyone knew about this. It was an open secret. But as you know, things change, and when Camilla became Assistant Commissioner, she was eager to make her mark, curry favour with top civil servants and the government. Her husband is great pals with our Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Camilla saw an opportunity to claw back half a billion in unpaid tax duty from the Gadd family. An enquiry was launched, heads have rolled. My head is one of them.’
‘Can the Gadd family afford half a billion?’
‘They can afford a large chunk of it if they cut a deal with Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise. And Camilla scores a high profile win for the police.’
‘But, of course, it’s not really a win, is it?’ said Erika.
Marsh shook his head. ‘The flip side of our agreement with the Gadd family is that we’ve been able to control what comes into London via the river. They’ve helped us keep the doors shut on billions of illegal drugs f
looding into the city. Now that all stops, and the Met is going to be stretched to the limit both physically and financially to deal with it.’
‘More than half a billion…’ They chewed their food for a moment. ‘Are you okay, Paul?’
‘Not really. I’m on gardening leave, but I’ve got no bloody garden. Marcie has taken the twins to France with her mother. They’re staying in our cottage. She can’t bear the shame of being seen by the other woman, locally.’
‘She still wants a divorce?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Sorry,’ said Erika. She took a large forkful of food. ‘Where does Sparks fit in with all this?’
‘Sparks?’
‘Camilla was having him investigated too. Thought he was taking backhanders: Simon Douglas-Brown came up.’
‘Bloody hell, it is a witch-hunt,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘What happens now?’
‘I wait for a tribunal, which could take months.’
‘I’m sorry.’
They ate for a moment, watching the traffic go past on the road. An idea dawned on Erika, and her heart began to race.
‘When you worked with the Gadd family, you had a contact?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Have you heard about the case I’m working on?’
‘The girls found dead in the dumpsters?’
‘Yes. I’ve been trying to find a link, something to tie the case together. The body of each victim has been left in an identical dumpster, and I’m wondering what if the killer works for the company which supplies the dumpsters? This could explain the random locations where he leaves them. What’s the company called?’
‘I don’t know; the Gadds run umbrella companies…’
‘Can you get me the info?’
‘I can tell you now, but this is strictly off-the-record.’
‘Okay, what will it cost me?’
‘Give me your fried bread, and I’ll call it quits.’
She smiled and passed it over to him. He smiled back at her, and thought, as he did often, that she was the one who’d got away.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
It had been an awkward day at work for Darryl. He had felt Bryony’s attentions keenly. Every time he looked up from his work, he would see her, staring at him across the partition. She then left early for lunch, returning with sandwiches and coffee for them both. She’d bought him egg and cress, which he hated, and for herself cheese and onion, which didn’t bode well for their ‘date’ later that evening.
When they had their weekly departmental meeting that afternoon, she’d saved him a seat next to her in the conference room. During the meeting, she’d slid a note across the table, which read:
Can’t wait 4 2nite Bryony x
He’d glanced over at her, and her eyes behind her thick glasses had been feverish with desire. Darryl had smiled awkwardly and then looked away, catching two of the younger more popular lads across the desk smirking. When they finished work, he expected Bryony to ask him if he’d like to have something to eat, but much to his relief she didn’t, saying that they should meet at the IMAX just before seven thirty.
He went for a walk along the South Bank next to the river, and then for a bite to eat in a modern Thai restaurant close to the Royal Festival Hall. It was half empty and he requested a seat at the end of one of the long benches looking out over the river. A slim dark-haired girl called ‘Kayla’ was his waitress, and when she seated him and took his order, she’d offered up a broad smile. When she brought his steaming bowl of Ramen noodles, she’d leaned across him and her tight T-shirt had ridden up to show a washboard stomach tattooed with a swirling mass, and two dragons engaged in combat. Darryl had felt his penis grow hard, and had inhaled her scent. She wore a heavy musky perfume. Slutty. It thrilled him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her as he ate, watching as she moved through the tables, seating customers and bringing out plates of steaming food. A few times she must have felt his gaze and she turned, but she didn’t return his smile. When Darryl finished, it was a tall skinny waiter who came and took his plate.
‘Any dessert?’ he said coldly.
‘No, just the bill…’
Kayla emerged from the kitchen at the other end of the restaurant and shot him a wary look. Then the waiter returned with the card payment terminal.
‘I thought you all had your sections in the restaurant?’ asked Darryl, handing over his credit card.
‘We do,’ said the waiter, slipping the card into the machine and keying in the details. He thrust it back at Darryl. ‘Pin please.’
‘So why didn’t Kayla finish with me? I wanted to give her a tip.’
‘You made her feel uncomfortable, sir. Here’s your card,’ he said chucking it on the counter with the receipt and stalking off.
‘Cunt,’ Darryl muttered, picking it up.
‘What did you just call me?’ said the waiter, doubling back and standing over him.
‘I CALLED YOU A CUNT!’ shouted Darryl, rising to his feet. ‘I’M THE CUSTOMER. I’M ALWAYS RIGHT!’
The restaurant fell silent. There was just a clatter of a fork in the kitchen.
‘You need to go, before I call the police,’ said the waiter, taking a step back. He was much taller than Darryl, but now looked afraid.
‘I’m going. It was a shitty meal anyway,’ he said, walking out.
He was furious as he walked back along the river, but the cold air soon began to calm his nerves. He wouldn’t let a lowly waiter spoil his evening.
* * *
Darryl left the embankment near Waterloo station, and passed through the dank underpass. Sadly, it was empty of homeless people, and he emerged at the base of the huge circular IMAX cinema. He could see through the glass that it was crowded inside, and more people were pouring out of the other three underpasses.
He found Bryony waiting just inside the main entrance, by a small table where leaflets were laid out. He still wore his work clothes, and for a brief moment wondered if she had expected him to get changed. She wore a purple diaphanous dress which came down almost to the ground. The tips of a pair of silver shoes peeped out from under the layers of fabric. Wrapped around her doughy shoulders was a black pashmina. She’d also done something odd to her hair. It was still pulled back into a ponytail, but she’d added a sort of small beehive at the front, which, with her prominent nose, made him think of the alien from the Sigourney Weaver films.
‘Hi, Darryl,’ she said, her face lighting up.
She held a small silver bag on a chain in her right hand, and she hooked it up over the crook of her arm nervously. It felt quaint, this meeting, and he leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. He could smell alcohol on her breath, whisky or brandy. Had she taken a nip for Dutch courage? Yes, more than a nip. She swayed a little and put her arms around him. Over her shoulder he saw a group of teenagers waiting in the ticket line. One of the girls took a sly photo of their awkward embrace and they all laughed. He pulled away from her and smiled.
‘Do I look alright?’ she said, touching a hand to her hair.
‘Yeah. Great.’
She beamed again, displaying an inch of gums above her teeth. ‘I’ve got the tickets already. Would you like anything to eat, any snacks?’
‘Popcorn?’
She nodded, smiling again.
It was a smile of complete… complete what? Adoration? Awe? Drunkenness? Or could she see into him; could she see the real person inhabiting this unremarkable shell? He suddenly felt strength from being with her. It was as if he cast a light and she was basking in it. For a brief moment he thought he might be able to tell her the things he couldn’t tell anyone else, and that on hearing them, she wouldn’t run.
When they’d bought popcorn, Bryony guided him to one of the lifts.
‘We’ve got seats right at the top,’ she said excitedly.
They came out of the lift and went into the auditorium. Darryl had never been to an IMAX cinema before; he’d only been to the cinema once, w
hen he was nine, with his mother and Joe, but Joe had stuffed his face with popcorn and thrown up all over the place before the trailers had finished, and they’d had to leave.
The size of the screen and auditorium shocked him.
‘It’s as tall as five double-decker buses,’ said Bryony, enjoying his awestruck face and leading him up to the back row, which was empty. They sat down, and he peered forward at the crowds of people stretching away below them. The lights dimmed and then the trailers started. They ate their popcorn for the first few minutes of the film, a box each on their laps, and they had the back row to themselves, save for a young boy at the far end.
Bryony placed her popcorn on the floor, and took his from his hands.
‘What are you doing?’ he whispered.
She leaned into his face, and he got another whiff of the booze on her breath.
‘Just sit back and relax,’ she said. She looked around, then put her hand down into his lap and started to rub his crotch.
‘Bryony… What are you doing?’ He flinched.
‘Shush, you don’t need to say anything,’ she whispered. She started to rub harder, and he shifted in his seat awkwardly.
‘You don’t have to…’ he started.
‘Oh, I want to,’ she crooned in a soft voice. ‘Is this okay? Am I doing it right?’
She started to work at the outline of his penis with her fingers, then squeezing and cupping his balls. He looked around at the auditorium, at the backs of people’s heads watching the huge screen. Kayla, the girl with the tattoo, swam into his thoughts, and he gave in and put his head back.
‘Oh, I can feel it, you’re getting hard,’ whispered Bryony, then hiccupped. Darryl opened one eye. ‘Sorry, I had a little drinky-poo before I met you,’ she said, pulling her hand back.
‘No. Don’t stop, Bryony. It’s good,’ he said, taking her hand and placing it back.
She nodded and smiled. The light from the cinema screen was reflected in her huge glasses. He closed his eyes as Bryony started to rub again. His thoughts went back to Kayla. How she smelt, her dark skin with the tattoos. He unbuckled his trousers and pulled down the waistband of his boxer shorts. He felt the cold air on his hard penis and opened his eyes again.
Last Breath Page 20