by Alex Caan
Emma sent him a contact card by text, which he forwarded on to Michelle.
‘Is there anything else you can tell me about Julian Leakey’s behaviour? How was he with other people he came across at work?’
‘The same. He really didn’t give a damn who he was speaking to. He would talk to government ministers like they were idiots, in a sneering and patronising tone. In meetings he was notorious for undermining the chair, and starting slanging matches for no reason. He was like an overgrown schoolboy, just causing trouble because people allowed him to get away with it and because he relished it.’
‘How did he get away with it?’
‘Men like that do. They are connected, and powerful, and they protect each other. It’s a scandal, but it happens everywhere.’
Zain knew how that worked. Justin Hope was a prime example. Survival of the cruellest, Kate had called it once.
‘The only time he showed any deference was when his wife came to see him for the odd lunch, or when his father-in-law would pop by. Then again, Lord Fox probably got Julian his job in the first place.’
‘Lord Fox?’
‘Oh, didn’t you know? Anya, Julian’s wife, her father is a peer?’
Zain hadn’t realised, but then most of the bio he had was from Julian’s HR file.
‘Yes, she has a Danish mother. Julian hit the jackpot when he married her, she’s stunning and connected. I still don’t know why she married someone like him; she’s absolutely lovely. Always so polite and funny when she comes in.’
‘Did she make many visits?’
‘No, not really. And, well, they were always impromptu really, never in his diary or planned. As though she was bored. Although Natalie had her own theory.’
‘Which was?’
‘She thought she was checking up on him, making sure he was at work. Silly really, all she had to do was call his private line and he would either pick up or not.’
Zain considered this possibility. Would Simon cover that private line, claim Julian was in a meeting if he wasn’t available? Anya had assured Zain she was happily married to a wonderful man. That wonderful man was fast losing his halo, so maybe the marriage wasn’t all that perfect either? Natalie and Anya: two women holding the keys to the inner sanctum of Julian Leakey’s life, and a possible reason for his death.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Michelle had worked fast to find Natalie Davies’ current whereabouts. She sent them to Zain while he was still speaking to Emma. When he came out of the room it was to see thunder on Simon and Clara’s faces. Zain wondered if they had been listening in somehow, or just guessed from the length of the conversation that Emma had been giving Zain the full low down. A version of their boss that they had both done their best to hide from him.
Natalie Davies was living in Southgate in North London, but when Zain called her she said she was on Oxford Street. Zain asked if he could meet her for coffee and discuss Julian Leakey. It was important. She seemed keen, and agreed to meet him at the PCC head office in St James’s. They had interrogation and interview rooms which he could use when she arrived.
Zain checked in with Michelle and Rob back at the office.
‘You look like you’re the one in need of an autopsy,’ said Rob.
‘Thanks, do you mean it or are you just buttering?’
‘Buttering?’ asked Michelle.
‘You don’t know buttering?’ said Zain. ‘Means he’s trying to make my day. Get with the slang, Cable.’
‘You can keep it.’
‘So what’s the latest?’
‘I’m bored as fuck. Looking at these videos, there is no one here who might be Julian Leakey. We’ve done a facial-recognition search, nothing at all. He was either already wearing his mask before he got on the Tube, or more likely he didn’t use it at all. Can’t find any vehicles registered to him in the area either, and his phone pretty much died as soon as he left his office.’
‘His wife said she saw him yesterday morning, he should have been in the office most of the day. What time did he leave?’
‘Not sure, but his phone died about six last night. After that, nada,’ said Rob.
‘His wife claims he didn’t say anything to her about being home late, or going to spend the night at his club. He would normally inform her, but not always.’
‘Night at the club?’
‘You know, those gentlemen’s clubs.’
‘Strip joints?’
‘Don’t be a knob, the private members’ clubs Leakey and his sort belong to.’
‘Did no one raise the alarm, or think it was a cause of concern when he didn’t come home?’ asked Michelle.
‘Apparently not. His wife assumed he just went off to his club and forgot to tell her.’
‘Lucky man. He seemed to have a blank cheque to do what the hell he liked, if you ask me,’ Rob said.
‘Different world and different rules for these guys,’ said Zain. ‘They seem loaded to me. And I’m guessing it’s Mrs Leakey’s money. Sorry, Mrs Fox-Leakey, daughter of a peer.’
‘Peerages are handed out like confectionary these days,’ said Michelle. ‘They don’t come with money.’
‘No, usually they come with a price tag; the rich adding another status symbol to their collection,’ said Rob.
‘So cynical for one so young,’ Zain told him. ‘Any word from DCI Riley?’
Michelle and Rob exchanged looks.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. There’s a blackout. No one at the Royal Free is responding to us, not DCI Riley, not the doc and none of the medical team. I’ve tried everything barring going down in person.’
‘Fuck, why does that send the panic up me?’
‘It’s meant to,’ said Michelle.
‘Well I think someone needs to get over there.’
‘Stevie already is,’ said Rob. ‘I called her told her the beauty sleep was over.’
‘You woke her up?’
‘Judging by the coarse language I would say yes.’
Zain laughed. He could imagine Stevie first thing. She wouldn’t be impressed by the wake-up call.
‘What about PCC Hope? Has he been round?’
‘Yes, just asking for updates. But, listen: I know this is your bag, the paranoia and all that, but there was someone with him. A guy with silver hair, panama hat, flasher coat. And when he walked past I swear he was looking for you or DCI Riley. He was clocking your chairs and computers, didn’t really look at us.’
Silver hair, panama hat, flasher coat. Zain had a good idea who that was. DCI Raymond Cross. Question was, why was he here speaking to Hope already? Something was not right, and he needed to find out exactly what was going on. The mention of his old boss plunged Zain into the ice of his past.
Michelle’s voice cut through his thoughts. ‘Natalie Davies is here. Waiting for you in interview room four.’
Zain came to, pushing his past behind a mental barrier he knew wouldn’t hold for long. It was time to see what Natalie Davies had to say.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
So many different responses to Julian Leakey’s death. His wife had barely reacted, his PA had overreacted, and here was Natalie Davies. When Zain broke the news to her she clapped.
‘Thank everything in the fucking universe. Finally.’
Natalie was wearing a beige coat with a collar he hoped was faux fur, in case Rob saw it. Her hair was plaited with coloured bands and when he shook her hand he picked up the smell of alcohol on her breath. It wasn’t even midday yet. Zain did a double take. Today was interminable.
‘I take it you’re not a fan?’
‘Come on, DS Harris, there’s only one reason you would call me here. Because you know what that bastard did to me, and how much I hated him. And the fact you are questioning me: it’s not good is it? I’m guessing it wasn’t a natural death?’
‘We are exploring all possible avenues at present Miss Davies . . .’
‘Mrs. My husband did a runner of course, couldn’t hack
the stress of it all. Lightweight. Still, we’re not divorced yet.’
‘The stress?’
‘You know what happened, surely it’s why I’m here. And just so you know, I don’t have a fucking alibi for last night.’
Zain didn’t flinch, Natalie was obviously not well. Her hands were tapping on the table between them, her eyes darting around the room.
‘What is it you do now? In terms of work?’
‘Temp mainly. It was hard getting past what he did to me. Bastard. They wouldn’t give me a reference. Not a proper one; it was going to come from HR. You know how that looks on a job application? Previous line manager won’t give me a reference, so you have to go to fucking HR for one. Joke. The whole thing is a joke.’
‘Do you need to be anywhere today?’
‘I’m between contracts,’ she said, her eyes boring into him, before carrying on their scan of the room. There wasn’t much to see, just neutral greys and greens on the walls and the sofas they were sitting on. Natalie was leaning forward, as though gripping the table for support. Or to have easy access to it in case she needed a weapon.
Between contracts said enough to Zain. Natalie’s life really had gone off kilter. Civil Service employees usually expected lengthy careers, unless they were let go, and the shock was sweetened by a redundancy package. Natalie felt she had no choice but to leave, it seemed, and he got the impression there had been no sweetener.
She scratched at her wrist, but Zain couldn’t see signs of damage. The suicide attempts were probably tablet based. Shit, he was craving his own tablet hit.
‘Can you tell me about your relationship with Julian Leakey?’
‘What? Who the fuck told you about that? Was it that faggot, Simon? Or that fucking dumb bitch, Clara?’
Zain bristled at the onslaught, but was glad she had given herself away.
‘Why don’t you tell me, so I have the truth?’
‘I knew they would. Fucking bastards. Trying to ruin me; it’s all they’re good for, those two.’
‘Natalie, it would be good to hear it in your own words.’
‘What do you want to know? I started working there, and things happened. We started seeing each other.’
‘Who made the first move?’
‘Him. Obviously. And me, like a fucking idiot, I just went along with it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wish to God I could go back and slap myself silly, stop myself doing that again. But back then, I fell for his bullshit. He was so charming, you know? So smooth, and I just fell for it. I was struggling with Dougie at home, we were trying for kids, there was no money, life is just crap sometimes. And then it just happens, you blink and you’ve lost your fucking mind.’
‘How long did it last?’
‘Oh, maybe a couple of months. I soon woke up to it. He was just using me, like he used everyone.’
‘Using you?’
‘Have you met his wife? Frigid cow. He obviously isn’t getting any from his perfect little princess; she’s too busy doing her make-up and furnishing their home. She makes me sick, always so nice. Nobody is that nice, DS Harris.’
Was this why Anya’s reaction had been so muted? Was Natalie simply one of many? It had to be. Julian wouldn’t have started something so close to home, with someone in his office, if it was his first time surely? There must be a sordid history? Had Anya finally snapped?
But the hatred coming from Natalie made him think that she was the one more likely to have crossed the line. And she had no alibi. Julian’s manner of death and the time of infection might mean an alibi was needed for a few hours leading up to it.
Zain wiped his face with his hands, shaking off the pressure building in his thoughts. It just didn’t feel right. How could Anya or Natalie get access to something that was being treated as a Category A viral infection and possible bioterrorism?
*
Natalie was slurping the coffee Zain had got her. It put him off drinking the one he had got for himself.
‘Where did you carry out this . . . affair?’ Zain asked.
‘Cheap hotels, mainly. You know there’s a website you can hire rooms by the hour? Sordid bollocks, isn’t it? Julian would book us rooms and text me the address. We barely spoke in the office, he virtually ignored me, just so no one suspected anything. Which was crazy, because he treated everyone else like he’d just stepped in them.’
‘So you think he’s used this website before then?’
‘I’m not an idiot. I mean I was a fool to get involved with him, but of course he did.’
‘There will be a trace on his credit-card history?’
‘I doubt it very much. He always paid in cash. I knew I wasn’t his first, and I wouldn’t be his last. But for the briefest moment, DS Harris, I actually thought we might have a future together.’
‘And then you didn’t?’
‘No. I had a scare, I thought I was pregnant. It was a false alarm. Me and Dougie had been trying for ages, but it wasn’t working. We’d stopped bothering by the time I started things with Julian. So I knew it was his. It was the slap I needed, and I stopped. I told Julian it was over and we couldn’t do it again.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘Well, he said he understood, and it was fine. I think he was already shagging some other tart by then anyway.’
‘How do you know?’
‘His patterns. We would always meet during lunch, and he would always take a ninety-minute lunch. Give him enough time to get there and back. He was always fastidious about showering afterwards.’
‘So he had quite a few of these ninety-minute lunches? And you weren’t part of them?’
‘Yes. Not a lot, but enough for me to realise. That also made me want to stop.’
‘And so when you stopped, what happened?’
Natalie stilled her nervous behaviour, her tapping and shifting. She held on to the table in front of her, and glared at Zain. Her face reddened.
‘He turned into a fucking psycho, that’s what. Before that, he’d ignored me. Treated everyone else like crap, especially Emma. Did you meet her? She’s about the only one I trusted. She’s a good woman.’
Natalie paused, thinking about some happy times, Zain hoped.
‘How did this change in behaviour show itself?’
‘Oh, it was classic Julian. He did to me what he did to the others, only worse. He wouldn’t just shout at me in meetings; he would properly call me out, calling me incompetent and telling everyone else there how you just couldn’t get the staff. Stupid things like that. Then he would pick up on every little thing I would do. Change memos, complain about reports I produced, call me out if I was even five minutes late into work or coming back from lunch. It sounds so petty doesn’t it, so small? But when you face these little things every day, every hour you are in the office . . . it just made me ill, I hated going in. Then bloody Simon got involved, probably jealous he wasn’t the one Julian was screwing around with, and he started to do Julian’s dirty work. Picking holes in everything I did. That I could take, but being abused in meetings? And when he wasn’t happy, he wouldn’t just say things to me, he would come up to me, and scream in my face, publicly. He didn’t care who was watching. I would break down in tears, rush to the loo to calm down, and instead of showing me some sympathy, he would simply tell me I needed to make up my time because I had taken an unauthorised break. And in the end, I just had to leave. But I wasn’t going to let that bastard get away with it.’
‘So you took him to a tribunal?’
‘Yes. That was a fucking joke and a half as well. HR were really on my side at first, encouraging me and asking me to tell them what had happened. So I explained it all, not about the affair of course. Just how he was treating me. And that was fine. Until he got involved and they asked him for his version of events.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said I was a stalker of some sort, that I had fallen for him, and wouldn’t leave him alone. His behaviour was challenged of co
urse, and he was reprimanded for it. But he made me out to be obsessed with him, and then claimed I was a fantasist.’
‘How did you respond? Did you tell them about the relationship?’
‘No, of course not. I was still married; I didn’t want that made public or put on record somewhere.’
‘And you lost the tribunal?’
‘Yes. They said his behaviour was something that needed improvement, but that it was consistently bad to everyone and I couldn’t be singled out as having been particularly at the receiving end of it. Can you believe that? But that’s the Civil Service for you. Don’t pick on one person, but you can bully an entire department and get away with it. Fucked logic. But it was all a fix anyway. I didn’t stand a chance against someone like that.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘There is no afterwards. Except my life falling apart bit by bit.’
*
Natalie had gone for a comfort break, while Zain checked in to see if Stevie had reported back from the Royal Free yet. She had arrived OK, but was then caught up in the same blackout as everyone else there. No communication at all.
Natalie seemed more relaxed when she was back, and Zain got the smell of spirits again. She was obviously carrying some flask or something on her. It wasn’t an official interrogation, she wasn’t under suspicion yet, so he couldn’t really do much to stop her unless she drank in front of him.
‘Dougie moved out. A week after I lost the tribunal. He said he’d had enough. And that’s when I . . . well, the first time I tried to end it all. After that, I didn’t know what was happening. I was broke, signing on, alone, messed up. I was in and out of hospital, trying to make it all stop. I wish they had just let me do it. Saved themselves the hassle and the cost. But they didn’t. Stupid social workers actually doing their jobs and saving my life.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘Great. Because then I got angry, and I realised that bastard had got away with it. And, well, I had nothing to lose. Dougie was gone, and he’d started divorce proceedings. Weak man, love of my life, but spineless. And with him gone, I sent a letter to HR telling them all about the affair and what had really gone on between Julian and me.’