A noise in the adjacent cubicle woke her – a dropped metal dish clanged as it hit the floor. She opened her eyes; her mouth was very dry but her head felt clear. She sat up and examined the tube bandage on her arm. The arm was sore but not too painful. The left side of her jaw and ear felt tender to the touch. She remembered the blow – the girl’s pudgy fist socking into the side of her head.
The curtain was drawn back and another nurse appeared, taller and brisker than the first. ‘Good morning. How are you feeling?’
‘Thirsty.’
‘I’ll get you some fresh water.’
‘Thank you. Where am I?’
‘A&E at Homerton. The doctor wanted to keep you under observation overnight because of the concussion. She’ll come and speak to you in a bit. Oh, and there’s a policeman wants to talk to you, if you feel up to it.’
‘Yeah, okay.’
‘I’ll send him in.’
Nicci sank back into the pillows. It was morning, normality had returned, she was safe. And from her clinical refuge she could let her mind travel into the darkness.
It was Leon, the boy from the bus stop, the boy she’d suspected of Ethel’s murder. It was definitely Leon. But with three others. A girl – huge, close on six feet tall and overweight – she’d egged him on. Nicci had managed to disarm him, but the girl had been her main attacker.
The nurse returned with a jug of water and in her wake came Jack Delgado, shoulders hunched, hands in trouser pockets.
He gave her a sheepish smile. ‘How you doing?’
‘Surviving.’
Taking the jug from the nurse, he poured her a glass of water. ‘You’ll be pleased to know we nicked all four of the little bastards.’
Nicci sipped the water. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Don’t be. They’d been rounded up for us and locked in the walk-in freezer in the Indian restaurant across the road.’
This immediately broke for Nicci the memory that had been niggling the edge of her consciousness. Kaz Phelps. When Nicci had first come round, Kaz Phelps had been there.
‘Who intervened and why, we don’t know. A gunshot was reported. That brought Sanjay out of the restaurant. I think you know him.’
‘Yeah. I remember him helping me.’
Delgado puffed out his cheeks. ‘And my boss said to tell you we owe you an apology.’
‘How come?’
‘We should’ve taken a closer look at Leon before.’
‘He wasn’t the main assailant. He was being egged on by this girl.’
The cop nodded wearily. ‘Nearly tall as me but three times as wide?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s Buchi. The reason we owe you an apology is we didn’t realize she’s Leon’s stepsister. Different surnames. My fault, I should’ve checked it out.’
‘She’s known to you then?’
‘Oh yeah. Only sixteen, but she’s a complete headbanger. Antisocial personality disorder is what it says on her file. Runs this girl gang. They’re twice as vicious and vengeful as the lads.’
‘You think she could’ve killed Ethel?’
‘That’s what Leon’s saying. Poor little sod’s scared stiff of her. He’s been blurting it all out. Apparently word got round of your encounter with him at the bus stop. Buchi took it very personally. You’d made a fool of her brother and that reflected badly on her.’
‘I’m so stupid.’ Nicci’s bandaged arm was beginning to throb. ‘I should never have gotten into all that.’
Delgado smiled sympathetically. ‘She’s a complete nutter. It wasn’t your fault. She forced Leon to identify you and Ethel. Apparently, her backup plan was to burn down the flats.’
‘You got any forensics that can link her to Ethel?’
‘We’re hopeful. She wears this outsized hoodie, with a Slipknot logo on the back. Idolizes the band, never takes it off. It’s got fresh blood on the sleeve, probably yours. But there are some older stains too. It’s gone to the lab. And her knife with it.’
‘Otherwise her word against Leon’s?’
He jangled the change in his pocket. ‘She’s a piece of work, Nicci. And once word gets out that she’s going down I think we might get a few others willing to testify about all sorts.’
She smiled. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘Well, I’d best get on. Oh and I think your boyfriend’s waiting.’
Nicci gawped at him. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’
Delgado stared down at his scuffed shoes, gave her his hangdog smile. ‘Whatever. It’s none of my business.’
‘You don’t mean Rory?’ She chuckled. ‘When the place gets really messy I just get him round to clean up.’
The cop grinned and met her eye. It was only then that it dawned on Nicci that his interest in her was not purely professional. His long lugubrious face didn’t give much away, but the look in his eye was boyish and hopeful.
‘Okay, you reckon you owe me an apology? You can buy me dinner. But make it somewhere posh, Delgado. None of your rubbish.’
He beamed and pulled back his shoulders; she’d obviously made his day. ‘I’ll do some research, find somewhere special and give you a bell.’
He slipped out through the curtain, leaving Nicci to ponder. The lonely months of isolation since her daughter’s death had been like living in a time warp. The pain of that loss would always be there, she’d never stop thinking of Sophie. It was like her bandaged arm, sore but not agonizing, a wound that was maybe starting to heal. And now there appeared to be two men interested in her.
She was smiling to herself at this ironic turn of events, when Simon Blake pulled back the curtain. Somehow he seemed much more like a policeman than Delgado.
He was trying to look tough and professional, but at the sight of her his voice cracked. ‘Bloody hell, Nic. Why didn’t you tell me about this other thing? This neighbour who got murdered?’
His face was fierce, his jaw clenched against any display of emotion. And standing just behind his left shoulder was Rory.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realize it was going to turn into something . . .’
As she spoke Rory stepped round Blake, took her hand, lifted it gently to his lips and kissed it. ‘You okay?’
Blake did a double-take. He shot a look at her then glared at his Head of Security.
Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Nicci withdrew her hand. ‘I’m fine.’
The last thing she wanted was for her and Rory to be seen as an item. Especially by Blake.
He painted on a tight smile, now his tone was brisk. ‘Doc says you’re okay. Once she’s checked you over, we can take you home.’ He gave the other man a tepid glance. ‘I’ve decided to bring Rory in on this to handle our security, because I’ve been doing some digging on Viktor Pudovkin.’
Nicci frowned. ‘Oh yeah.’ She’d completely forgotten about him. But getting back to business did seem the best way to escape the awkwardness of the moment. ‘What did you find out?’
‘My contact at Vauxhall was very interested in what he might be up to. He’s ostensibly a businessman – oil and gas – but his background is the security service, FSB and before that KGB. He hails from St Petersburg – him and Putin go way back, apparently.’
‘How come he knows the Hollisters?’
Blake folded his arms, he was ignoring Rory completely. ‘He makes a point of getting to know anyone who might be in a position of political influence. He comes over like just another rich businessman living the high life in London. That’s just the day job. Basically he’s a spook.’
‘Wow! Murky waters.’
‘Indeed. Explains all the surveillance kit in Warner’s house. And it tells us we need to tread very carefully. We need to be very aware of our own security.’
Nicci eased back into her pillows. She just wanted them to go and leave her in peace to recover. However, the two men seemed to be vying to be her protector. Well, it was a bit bloody late for that.
‘So what are we talking about here? A Ru
ssian spy might be implicated in the murder of a British MP?’ She frowned. ‘What the hell do we do with that?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m going to see if anyone at the Met will actually talk to me. Meanwhile Rory’ll take care of you.’
‘Simon, I don’t need a minder.’ She avoided Rory’s eye.
‘You do. Just until I get the lie of the land. I don’t want any more trips to A&E.’
Before she could argue, he gave Rory a brusque nod and he was gone.
90
Kaz Phelps strode across the paved concourse, under the glass canopy and into the soaring cathedral vault of Terminal Three at Heathrow. Tolya had dropped her off and gone to park. The Saturday-morning traffic on the M4 had been slow and tortuous. Would she be in time? Kaz broke into a trot, weaving round gaggles of passengers with their loaded baggage trollies. She checked her watch – already half eight – she was cutting it very fine.
After the complications of the evening she’d fallen into bed exhausted. Her encounter with Robert Hollister had left her wound up. She found her anger with him all too palpable. The enigmatic Pudovkin, who’d been the intended object of the outing, remained a spectral presence in her mind. Hollister was the one she wanted to kill.
They’d left the hotel before ten; Yev and Irina had gone to a club to join some friends, while Tolya had driven Kaz up to North London to see Nicci Armstrong.
Pulling up outside Nicci’s flat they’d found her under attack by a gang of local hooligans, which provided a surprising outlet for Kaz’s seething discontent. In spite of the fact she was wearing a tight designer frock and four-inch heels she waded into the melee. Things might not have turned out so well though if Tolya hadn’t produced a pump-action shotgun from the boot of his car, fired a shot in the air, then corralled the dumbfounded kids. Having called an ambulance for Nicci, they’d left before the cops arrived.
The landside area of the Departures Hall was choked with lumbering check-in queues – a July weekend, it was peak-time for holiday getaways. Kaz zigzagged around them, her gaze darting about in search of the coffee franchise.
She’d been heavily asleep when Joey had woken her shortly before seven. He’d just received the call from Neville Moore, who was at the airport. Moore’s message was cryptic – he’d had time to consider the situation and was prepared to discuss the matter further with Kaz, if she could meet up with him before he boarded his plane.
There were two branches of the coffee shop Moore had specified and Kaz finally found him in the second. He was almost unrecognizable. The smooth English lawyer had been replaced by the tourist. He looked like a preppy American on a world tour, which was perhaps the intention.
He removed his dark glasses and gave Kaz his lizard-eyed smile. ‘I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.’
She sank into the chair opposite him. ‘So was I.’
He checked his watch. ‘This’ll have to be brief. I should’ve gone through into the departures lounge by now.’
‘You’re headed for Australia presumably?’
‘Dubai first. Just a short stop-over. Did Joey tell you the deal?’
Kaz frowned. ‘What deal?’
A thin, sardonic smile spread over the lawyer’s features. ‘Very Joey. Oh well. That’s up to the two of you to sort out.’
He reached into the pocket of his chinos and produced a short stubby cylinder of grey plastic. He held it in his palm.
‘It had been my intention to ask for this to be admitted in evidence at the inquest.’
Kaz stared, her heart lurched. She could hardly believe it. Was it a memory stick? It certainly looked like it.
‘You got this from Helen?’
‘From a colleague of hers.’
Kaz picked it up between thumb and forefinger. ‘Have you looked at what’s on it?’
He sighed. ‘No, I was just an intermediary. My task was to place it in the hands of the Coroner. I planned to do that then make myself scarce. However, after the adjournment I was . . . made aware, shall we say, of how detrimental that might prove for myself and my family.’
‘This toerag Pudovkin threatened you?’
A low rumbling laugh shook his shoulders. ‘No no. I’ve never met the man.’
‘So how do you know he’s behind this? That he’s protecting Hollister?’
‘As I said, I received a visitor who clarified the situation for me.’ He glanced up at the Departures Board. ‘Now I really must go.’ Rising to his feet he slipped on his varsity jacket. It had Yale emblazoned across the chest and looked like the genuine article not some knockoff.
Kaz got up too, tucking the memory stick safely away in her jeans pocket. ‘How come you changed your mind?’
A weary, almost bitter look slid into his eye. ‘I haven’t, in one way. But Helen was a colleague and a friend. I don’t think these people should be allowed to dispose of her like so much excess baggage. It offends me.’
He hoisted a small backpack on to one shoulder. ‘Men like Pudovkin, to them London is like some kind of free port, an open city, where money buys them everything they want. That offends me too.’ The lizard eyes zoned in on her. ‘So when Joey phoned, I thought, well, maybe it does take a villain to catch a villain.’
She gave him a quizzical frown. ‘I thought you called Joey?’
He put the sunglasses back on and picked up his baseball cap from the table. She could no longer see his expression behind the dark polarized lens. ‘No, he called me. About six this morning.’
As he turned to walk away he raised two fingers in mock salute. ‘Take care of yourself, Karen.’
Then he melted into the crowd.
91
Kaz thought for some time about whether she wanted to be alone when she viewed the footage on the memory stick. It was likely to be upsetting, she was expecting that. Still she needed a device to watch it on. Her own laptop had been abandoned at Mike’s. The last thing she wanted was to return to Reading with Tolya and have Joey looking over her shoulder.
Joey had lied. He’d called Neville Moore, not the other way round, and this was bothering her. Was it just a small thing, a slip of the tongue on his part? She didn’t think so. The end result had undoubtedly helped her, but he was still up to something. He was always up to something. All this ‘give me another chance’ bollocks, she knew from bitter experience that Joey had an agenda. The problem was now she had the memory stick burning a hole in her pocket and she hadn’t got time to be second-guessing her brother.
In the end she decided to go with her gut. She sent a text to Nicci Armstrong: ‘Got something to show you.’ She didn’t know how Nicci was or even where. Was she still in hospital? Either she’d understand what Kaz was on about or she wouldn’t.
Ten minutes later she got a text back: ‘Meet you at the office 11.30.’ There followed an address off Gray’s Inn Road.
Kaz left Tolya at the airport and took the tube into town. The side streets around the building where SBA’s office was located were comparatively quiet. The weekday scramble had been replaced by Saturday strollers and tourists taking advantage of the sunshine. Many of the cafes and sandwich shops were closed, although pavement drinkers sat languidly outside the pubs.
The foyer of the building was occupied by a solitary security man, who looked rather bored. He seemed unsurprised to see Kaz and asked her to wait while he made a call.
A few minutes later the lift doors opened and Rory emerged. The last time Kaz had seen him, he’d dumped her at Whipps Cross Hospital having sprayed bullets at the Kemals in a back alley in Tottenham with a gun he then purloined.
‘Morning. Nicci’s upstairs.’
His manner was a little starchy as he escorted her through the security barrier and into the lift. As it ascended, Kaz shot him a sidelong glance. ‘She okay?’
He nodded, avoiding her eye. ‘Yes.’ End of conversation.
They walked through the deserted office to a glass-walled boardroom. Nicci was seated at the table, her right arm res
ting in a padded sling. She was pale, but apart from that she seemed to be functioning. Simon Blake stood behind her chair, arms folded.
Nicci got up from the table a little stiffly, stepped forward and pulled Kaz into a one-armed hug. ‘Thanks.’
Kaz shrugged. ‘Now we’re even.’
‘I’m still grateful.’
Blake watched the two women. Involving an ex-con like this was against his better judgement. But Nicci was fairly convinced that Phelps had obtained vital evidence. He’d decided to go with the flow.
‘We’ll leave you to it then.’ He gave their guest a thin smile and sauntered out to join Rory in the main office.
Nicci offered her guest a chair. ‘I’m hoping they’ll bring us a coffee. But that might be a bridge too far.’
Kaz lounged back in her seat, affecting nonchalance. ‘I don’t think he likes me, your boss.’
‘He’s worried.’ Nicci adjusted her sling. ‘He has contacts in MI5 and they’re telling us that this Viktor Pudovkin is a fully fledged spook.’
Maybe it was because she was grateful, but Nicci’s tone of voice was amicable and her whole manner seemed open in a way Kaz had never experienced with her before.
‘So now you’ve decided to trust me?’ She gave Nicci an oblique look.
‘I think you want to see Helen Warner’s killers brought to justice as much as anyone. So yeah, I’ve decided to trust you.’
Kaz met the ex-cop’s gaze; it was steady, neither intimidating nor conciliatory. There was a candour about Nicci Armstrong that Kaz had always been aware of, but the layer of cop-caution that had previously covered it seemed to have been peeled back.
Slipping a hand in her pocket she brought out the memory stick and set it on the table. ‘Well, there it is.’
Nicci studied it. ‘How did you come by it?’
‘From Neville Moore. Who got it from the Labour Party bloke. He says he was going to give it to the Coroner. Then he got warned off.’
Picking up the stick, Nicci rotated it between her fingers. ‘He say by who?’
‘No. But I think that was when he found out Pudovkin was behind it.’
The Mourner Page 36