by Isaac, Jane;
Helen sighed inwardly. She’d arrested Gladstone in her younger days for affray. A beefcake of a guy that relied on brawn more than brain. If he was Hampton’s answer to replacing Chilli, the residents were safe in their beds for now.
She poured herself a glass of water. Jenkins shifted in his seat beside her.
Burns clicked a button on his laptop and another photo of Gladstone appeared, this time the lens had zoomed in and caught him front-on as he climbed into a BMW. ‘Gladstone grew up in the business, his father served eight years for kidnapping and possession of a firearm in the early noughties and passed away soon after he was released. That’s when Paul took over.
‘Many of Franks’s troop jumped ship and joined Gladstone’s clan. We’ve little intelligence on who is left or who’s in charge; the arrest in March has made everyone nervous. Even the registered informants aren’t talking. Our focus is on Gladstone at the moment.’
Helen passed over the still of their ATM suspect. Despite her officers retrieving CCTV footage from businesses and shops near the ATM, they hadn’t been able to retrieve any clearer images.
‘Do you recognise this man?’ she asked. ‘He used the victim’s bank card on the night of her murder.’
‘Doesn’t look familiar.’
She pulled the sheet back, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes – this was going nowhere – and wondered whether her team had traced Natalia Kowalski yet. The secrecy surrounding her association with the victim intrigued her; she was connected to Sinead, yet she hadn’t contacted them. Why?
Jenkins turned away from her, towards the screen. Burns was talking about the locations of the Gladstone gang, running through more photos of their members, his young sidekick glued to the screen enthusiastically. She slid her phone out of her pocket, glanced at the empty screen, then switched it to vibrate and placed it beneath her thigh.
‘We picked up a couple of boys last night,’ Jenkins said, passing the photos over the table. ‘They were seen leaving the factory on the night of the murder. Are any of them familiar to you?’
They scanned the photos, shook their heads.
‘What about their names, Rhys Evans and Connor Wilson? Do they mean anything?’
‘The Wilson boy isn’t known to us,’ Burns said. ‘Is Rhys any relation to Bronwen Evans?’
‘Bronwen’s his sister,’ Helen said.
‘She was running around with Stevie Baird, one of Gladstone’s minor operatives, earlier this year. I think she’s having his kid. A tenuous link really. He was using her to push his supply, dropped her like a stone when she was charged with possession with intent to supply.’
Jenkins straightened his back. ‘So, there is a connection between the Evanses and Bairds?’
‘A weak one. She was small-time. Wouldn’t give up her supplier in interview, but we had enough intelligence to know where it came from. Nothing to suggest her or her family are involved with the wider gang.’
‘What if she’s trying to get back into Stevie Baird’s good books, especially if she’s having his kid?’ Jenkins asked. ‘We interviewed Rhys Evans last night.’
‘You think he was involved in the murder?’
‘It’s likely whoever killed Sinead left her there and planned to move her later. We can’t dismiss the possibility that Rhys was a lookout. An old needle was found on the factory floor, we already know someone used the placed to shoot up. If Sinead was involved with—’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Burns cut in. ‘Are you implying that Sinead was bent?’
‘I’m not implying anything. She worked on response, was close to the streets. Her area covered the Rabbit Warren. She’d have been aware of the gang’s current set-up. If she was involved in something untoward, it might explain the torture.’
Burns looked wary. ‘Isn’t this a job for Professional Standards?’ The notion of a corrupt police officer clearly left an acidic taste in his mouth.
‘It’s a line of inquiry we need to bottom out,’ Helen said reassuringly. ‘If anything comes to light, then obviously we’ll take that route.’
‘So, it’s speculation?’
‘At the moment, yes.’
‘I see where you’re coming from. Her name hasn’t been mentioned anywhere though.’
‘Try again,’ Jenkins said. ‘Ask you source handlers to check with their contacts in the field. Make sure they’re discreet, we don’t want to sully the reputation of a good officer. But if Sinead was involved with one of the gangs, we need to know. It could put other officers at risk, especially if someone thinks she’s been talking.’
‘You think this could happen again?’
‘At the moment, we’re treating this as an isolated incident,’ Jenkins said. ‘But if she was connected, we can’t rule out the possibility.’
He pushed out his chair and stood, indicating an end to the meeting.
‘I must stress this theory is confidential, to be kept amongst us four until we know more,’ Jenkins added.
Helen passed grateful thanks to the others before she followed him out of the room.
A stony silence accompanied them along the corridor.
‘I don’t like this,’ Jenkins said in a low voice when they reached the stairs.
Helen chose her words carefully. ‘You heard them, the links are flimsy. We do have other leads to follow up.’
‘We’re under a lot of pressure here. I have to make some decisions and, I’ll be honest, I’m not thrilled about you leading this inquiry, Helen, especially with your background and the family rivalry with Chilli Franks.’
Helen’s stomach pitted. She’d been expecting this. Although they hadn’t found any direct connection between Chilli Franks and Sinead’s murder and the meeting failed to bring them any closer in this regard. ‘With respect, I think you’re overreacting, sir.’
Jenkins frowned. ‘You were SIO on the investigation that put Franks away. You were off sick for eight weeks and, as soon as you return, another officer is dead. We can’t ignore the timing.’
She couldn’t deny the suggestion haunted her own thoughts. The very idea of Chilli Franks on a killing spree, wielding a personal vendetta against either her or the force didn’t bear thinking about. She shook the notion away. No. She wouldn’t give in and let the embers of an old case, let alone Chilli Franks, force her off a new investigation. She fought to keep her face impassive. ‘It could also be a tragic coincidence. Give me time to explore the evidence.’
When she tried to continue, he lifted a flat hand to silence her. ‘I’m sure you know I have a shortage of Senior Investigative Officers. And with DCI Shoebridge already engaged on a review team, I’m out of alternatives. So, I’m going to let you carry on for now. Though if anything comes to light to prove Franks’s involvement, then you’ll be removed from the case for the safety of the other officers, immediately.’
CHAPTER 28
Connor stood at the side of the makeshift pitch and placed his hands in his pockets. The little kids were playing football. Again. Running up and down, using their jumpers for goalposts. Four aside. Usually he’d be running with them, dribbling the ball in and out of their legs to show off, or acting as referee if the numbers were odd. But today he didn’t feel much like playing football with a bunch of primary-school kids.
He glanced back at the bench where one of the play leaders sat reading a book. Play leaders. Even the title was an insult. Hopefully, if anyone from school passed by, they’d assume he was working there or helping with football skills training. Anything was better than them thinking he was part of the club. His cheeks flushed at the very idea.
He stared up at the iron-grey sky. It was going to rain again soon.
His mother had barely spoken after they left the station last night, apart from to confiscate his phone, tell him he was grounded and to keep away from ‘that Evans boy’. She had no idea. She moved him from one area to another, at her whim, and he was supposed to slot in, make new friends, pick up his studies at a new school. Now she wa
nted to vet his friends.
And if that wasn’t enough punishment, she’d frogmarched him to the holiday club that morning, given the play leaders a full account of the events the evening before and asked them to keep an eye on him, much to his shame. ‘If you act like a child, you’ll be treated like a child,’ she’d said. No change there then. He noticed she hadn’t mentioned the syringe found at the factory. Thank God. It was bad enough his mother checking his arms, giving him lectures. Maybe he should actually try drugs. That’d give her something to talk about.
The ball came hurtling towards him. Connor jumped, chested it to the floor and kicked it back. Usually a ball took his mind off things. Not now. Today he felt as though he was carrying a boulder across his shoulders. When he tried to relax and clear his head, the grisly figure of the dead woman unwittingly sprang into his mind. He couldn’t escape.
He glanced around the park. A woman pushed a pram along the path. A dog walker wandered down to the river, an excited spaniel bounding beside him. A movement behind the trees lining the riverbank caught his attention. A man in a baseball cap, a dark T-shirt. He appeared to be watching the game from afar. It seemed odd to watch from such a distance.
‘Okay, last five minutes, guys,’ the play leader said. ‘Then we head back for lunch.’
A chorus of groans followed from the pitch. Connor looked back at the trees. The man had disappeared.
One of the girls kicked at goal and missed. The ball shot across the park, towards the river.
‘I’ll get it,’ Connor said and jogged across the grass.
The ball rolled in between the trees lining the river. When he reached the bank, it had disappeared out of sight. The dog walker was a spot in the distance now, striding along the bank, watching his dog swimming along beside him.
A movement in his peripheral vision made Connor turn. The man in the baseball cap was back, only twenty metres away. Leaning against the trunk of an old oak, staring at his phone. Although he kept looking up, making sweeping glances at Connor. Too many glances. The hairs on the back of Connor’s neck stood on end. He looked away, searched for the ball, all the time keeping half an eye on the man. There was something sinister about him. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.
The ball was nestled in the weeds at the edge of the river. He moved sideways down the bank, digging in his heels to keep his balance, and retrieved it. For a split second he lost sight of the man. When he turned back, he’d gone. Connor scooped up the ball and cursed his frayed nerves. Why was he so jumpy? He climbed the bank and started. There he was again. The same black T-shirt, dark jeans. Staring at him from beneath the cap, barely ten metres away. A menthol aroma filled the air. Connor quickened his step. As he did so, the man moved towards him. Connor’s heart pounded his chest. He could see the kids in the distance now, gathering up their jumpers in readiness to return to the centre for lunch. He moved faster, checked behind. A gust of wind blew, knocking off the man’s baseball cap in its wake. It stopped him in his tracks, just long enough for Connor to break into a run. Never had he been so pleased to see Cathy, the play leader, as he was now.
‘You okay?’ Cathy said. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m fine,’ he muttered and pushed past her, back towards the safe compound of the community centre.
CHAPTER 29
Back in her office, Helen took her time updating her policy log, diarising the day’s events and recording the basis for her decisions, a mandatory requirement for all Senior Investigating Officers leading a murder investigation.
According to Bracken Hall, Natalia Kowalski had taken a week’s leave and finished work on Tuesday. When Pemberton contacted the retreat Sinead was booked into, they’d confirmed an N Kowalski had also booked a room for the same dates. She arrived on Wednesday morning, a few minutes after 11 a.m., they remembered it because the rooms weren’t normally available until after 2 p.m. and she’d requested an early check-in. He’d spoken with the manager, taken time to track her movements. Another member of staff served her in the restaurant at 1.10 p.m. when she billed her order to her room. At 3 p.m. she’d received a massage in the spa and paid by credit card. Derbyshire was a couple of hours’ drive north from Hampton. Which meant she was out of the way and accounted for on Wednesday, when Sinead was killed.
Natalia checked out of the hotel today at 9.35 a.m. and that’s where the trail dried up.
What was she doing booking into the same hotel as Sinead and, if she was innocent, why had she ignored their messages? Sinead’s death was reported nationwide. Even at the outside chance her phone wasn’t working, she’d likely have heard the news.
The secret phone they used to keep in touch continued to niggle Helen. She’d instigated a search, but Natalia’s phone was switched off, untraceable. Police ANPR cameras were looking out for her car on the motorways. She wasn’t due back at work until Tuesday and her colleagues had no idea where she was. Once again, they were playing the waiting game.
Sinead appeared to adore her family and loved her job. If she was involved in illicit dealings, she’d be risking everything dear to her. Often, people coping with such a dilemma became anxious, but none of her colleagues had mentioned this when interviewed. Moreover, Sinead was painted as a strong officer, who appeared to put aside her home life when she was at work.
Had she approached a loan shark and something gone wrong? And what role, if any, did Natalia Kowalski play in all of this?
Sinead’s phone records suggested she exchanged a lot of messages with her neighbour. Perhaps Yvette Edwards could shed light on Sinead’s connection with Natalia Kowalski.
The trill of her mobile broke her thought process. She checked the screen, surprised to see Matthew’s name flash up.
‘Matt, Hi! Is everything okay?’
‘Hi, Mum. Yeah, it’s fine. You?’
Confusion riddled her. Her eldest son never phoned. It was a job to get him to send a text message when he was at a mate’s house and going to be late home.
‘I’m fine, thanks, darling,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice even. ‘Are you having a good time?’
‘Yeah, I was… err…’
‘What is it?’
‘I connected to the Wi-Fi at the centre and a news bulletin came up on my phone. About a cop that died in Hampton on Wednesday.’
Shit, shit, shit. She’d tried to reach her mother that morning. Meant to call again and, with everything going on, it slipped her mind. ‘Oh, it’s a new case we’ve got on,’ she said, lightly. ‘I meant to mention it to your gran last night. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Is it the same people?’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘As last time?’
‘No, darling, this is a separate case. Not at all linked to the last one.’ The lie slipped out too easily. She wrestled with her conscience. She was telling it for the right reasons, to reassure her son, but, still, it was a lie. While she was pretty sure Sinead’s murder wasn’t linked to Operation Aspen, she couldn’t be positive. Not until the murderer was apprehended. ‘It was a female officer, killed off duty,’ she added hastily.
The line went quiet.
‘Are you enjoying the holiday?’ Helen said to change the subject. She wanted to keep him chatting, check his tone to be sure his mind was put to rest and the only way to do that was to talk off-piste.
‘Yeah. We’re building another raft this afternoon.’
‘Wow! That’ll give you plenty of experience before your cadet field trip next weekend.’
‘I know. Can’t wait for that!’
The excitement in his voice at the mention of the Air Cadets jarred her. Only last year, Matthew, who’d always wanted to build aeroplanes, declared he no longer wanted to build them, he wanted to fly them. She’d never forget the day he told her: sitting at the top of the stairs outside his bedroom, barely able to move, winded by the shock. And, unbeknown to him, a part of her was still reeling. Losing John, so young, in a freak flying accident set her against anythi
ng air-bound. And now her eldest son’s ambition was to follow in his father’s footsteps. How could she be sure history wouldn’t repeat itself? But his passion was strong, and he was stubborn, just like his dad. She soon realised it was either a case of supporting or losing him. So, she’d enrolled him into the Air Cadets, rather hoping it would put him off, and, much to her dismay, he’d thrived. Even his grades at school were improving.
‘Good for you,’ she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. ‘Where’s Gran, and Robert?’
‘At the lodge. I’m on my way back there.’
‘Ah. Do me a favour, would you? Have Gran ring me? I’d like to tell them about the case I’m working on myself. No point in worrying anyone unnecessarily.’
‘Sure.’ He sounded distant. She’d lost him already.
‘Okay, have a great afternoon. I’ll see you when you get back tomorrow.’
‘Bye, Mum.’
Helen ended the call. Perhaps she could still catch her mother before she noticed the case on the news or heard about it from elsewhere.
CHAPTER 30
An hour later, Helen was finishing up her notes when Pemberton entered, carrying a steaming coffee. ‘Thought you could do with this,’ he said.
‘You know me so well.’ She smiled, took a sip. ‘I was thinking about Sinead’s neighbour,’ she said, glancing down at her notes. ‘Let’s make another appointment to see her, check the facts.’
He nodded.
‘Any news on Miss Kowalski?’
‘Not yet. We can’t cell-site her phone, it’s still off.’
‘What about her brother?’
‘He hasn’t heard from her since before his holiday.’
