by M. J. Ford
‘Are you supposed to be working tonight?’
Maynard shook his head.
‘Good,’ said Jo. ‘Detective Pryce, can I speak with you outside, please?’
Pryce stood up to leave.
‘What about me?’ asked Maynard.
Jo told him to sit tight. The last thing they needed was him tipping anyone off.
‘Risky move in there,’ she said to Pryce at their desks. ‘The stuff about the camera footage.’
Pryce looked surprised. ‘Really? What about your “kid”?’ Jo didn’t think the two deceits were comparable, but she didn’t need an argument. There was a hint of belligerence in his tone, and it couldn’t just be related to the interview tactics.
She ran a check, and ‘Cad’ was actually Qadir Suleiman. He was clean, but his brother Mohammed, aged thirty-five, previously registered as living in a flat just around the corner from Lounge Bar, had a conviction of possession with intent to supply a class A drug, dating from the previous year. Mohammed Suleiman was currently serving eighteen months at Her Majesty’s pleasure. It looked like Qadir might have been running the family business in the meantime.
‘Maybe we should visit incognito,’ said Pryce. ‘Fancy that drink?’
At the end of the corridor, Olly Pinker looked up sharply.
Jo focused on Pryce. She could tell from his open expression, the hint of a smile, that he was trying to make amends, to fix things. And though she wasn’t wholly convinced Suleiman was even linked to Natalie’s death, if there was a chance of a drugs bust, it would sweeten the pill for Stratton in the event the hit and run remained unsolved.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘But you’re paying.’
Chapter 14
Jo wasn’t quite the oldest person in the queue for Lounge Bar, she was pleased to see, but she was the most appropriately dressed for the freezing conditions of mid-December. The female clientele weren’t students, but scantily clad twenty-somethings in vertiginous heels with plenty of flesh on display; the men, as far as she could see, were a collection of hairstyles that hadn’t existed when she grew up. Pryce had returned to his place to change into jeans and a shirt, but he wore his long grey work coat. He just about fitted in, though he definitely looked like he’d come straight out after work. She’d taken longer than she’d intended at her flat, and wore black skinny jeans and kitten heels, and a silver halter-top under a black peacoat Amelia had bought her on her last birthday. It was the sort of thing Paul’s wife could carry off effortlessly, but Jo felt self-conscious and poorly insulated. However, all her other, more suitable, outer-garments were at Lucas’s. As a gust blew up the street, she hugged herself.
‘You want to borrow this?’ said Pryce, tugging the lapels of his coat.
‘Very chivalrous,’ said Jo, ‘but I’m okay.’
They were ushered inside by a huge, bored-looking bouncer who gave them little more than a perfunctory once-over. The place was packed with bodies, and pounding electronic music. In Jo’s sober state, the smell of sweet alcohol hit her hard, followed closely by the mingled scents of the clientele. It was about fifty-fifty in terms of gender, mostly under thirty years old.
‘I’ll get drinks,’ said Pryce. ‘Any preference?’
‘You choose,’ she replied.
She looked around, but there was nowhere to sit, so she shuffled across to a door reading ‘Staff Only’ at one end of the bar. Behind was a large fridge, occupied with craft beers at the top, wine bottles at the bottom. The bar staff were both good-looking Asian males. One was mixing cocktails with practised ease, while the other poured shots.
Pryce loomed over most of the other customers, looking out of place. A woman at his elbow spoke to him and he smiled as he replied.
Jo scanned the rest of the room. She had no idea what Suleiman looked like, but there was no one who resembled staff apart from the two barmen and a sulky white girl with a nose-ring collecting glasses. She leant against the ‘Staff Only’ door, but it was locked. A couple of lone males checked her out, but there was nothing suspicious in their curiosity. Undercover had never been her thing, and she forced herself to move a little to the music.
‘This is fun,’ shouted Pryce, coming along holding a long cocktail. He handed it over, saying something she couldn’t hear. She pointed to her ear, and he leant closer, so she could feel his breath on her hair. ‘Any sign of Suleiman?’
She shook her head, then turned her chin up to tell him she was going to check out the back. She sipped the drink first. The fact that it didn’t contain alcohol only added to the feeling they were play-acting.
Handing him the glass, she threaded through the other drinkers, then along the corridor to the toilets, passing another door. When she pushed this one, it opened onto another short corridor with two doors off at right angles. The air was immediately cooler. She made sure no one was following, then walked to the first door. It opened into an office, where a man with a shaved head was wearing a suit and holding an espresso cup in his hand.
‘You can’t come in here,’ he said, putting the cup down.
‘Looking for the loos,’ said Jo. She couldn’t be sure, but he looked like a less fleshy version of Mohammed Suleiman in his mugshot.
‘Then follow the signs,’ he said. ‘Get out of here.’
Jo retreated, heart beating fast, and went to the ladies’. The room was painted black, with a large silver-framed mirror, and a single trough sink with faux-antique copper taps. A woman stood drying her hands. She checked out her face in the mirror, then went to the door. One of the two toilet stalls was occupied, so Jo slipped into the other. From the cubicle next to her, she heard the rattle of someone going through a handbag, before the sound of a door unbolting. Jo waited a few seconds before flushing and exiting too.
The woman at the sink was maybe twenty-five, heavily made-up, with a short black asymmetric dress and nails like talons.
‘Hi,’ said Jo, as she washed her own hands.
‘Hiya,’ said the woman, smiling.
‘You come here often?’ asked Jo in the mirror. The last time she’d worn this much make-up was for the photoshoot Thames Valley had forced her into.
‘A few times,’ said the woman. She looked faintly perplexed at being spoken to.
‘My first time in, like, three years,’ said Jo. ‘It used to be a real dump.’
‘Yeah, I heard that,’ said the woman. She shook the water from her hands and went to the drier. ‘Have a good night.’
‘Wait up,’ said Jo. ‘You know where I can get some blow?’
It was a tactic she’d pre-agreed with Pryce, and the woman laughed nervously. ‘Oh, right! No, I’m sorry.’ She hurried to the door, before adding, ‘Take it easy.’
Shit. That didn’t go as planned. The woman would probably tell whoever she was with about the weird old woman in the loos trying to score. Hopefully not a bouncer. And to think she’d accused Pryce of messing up earlier.
She couldn’t see the other woman when she went back into the bar, but Pryce was engaged in conversation with a different girl, stooped over, holding Jo’s drink. He saw Jo and raised the glass, and the girl looked across too, appraising.
She joined them. ‘Jo, meet Annabelle. Annabelle, Jo.’
‘Hi,’ said Jo, making no attempt to be friendly. They needed to get rid of her. ‘So Jack says you two are in accounts,’ said the girl. ‘My dad’s an accountant.’
‘Good for him,’ said Jo. ‘Jack, can I speak with you a minute?’
Annabelle’s face was close to a snarl, but she touched Pryce’s hand. ‘See you later, maybe,’ she said.
Once she’d gone, Pryce sipped his drink. ‘You scared her away.’
‘I think Suleiman’s in the back,’ she said, explaining about the office. ‘There’s a rear door to his office, so I think we need to take him out that way. Otherwise all hell will break loose in here.’
‘We could call for some back-up.’
‘I don’t know. If there are drugs on th
e premises, I’d rather do things as quietly as possible.’
‘Agreed,’ said Pryce.
Jo decided not to tell him about her embarrassing encounter in the ladies. She finished her drink. ‘You ready?’
Pryce looked across the bar. ‘Dunno. Maybe we should observe some more.’
‘I say we move,’ said Jo.
‘You’re the boss.’ He put his own drink down.
They both headed towards the back, when the bouncer from the door stepped in front of them.
‘Can I help you?’
‘We’re fine, thanks,’ said Jo.
The man mountain raised a hand. ‘No, can I help you?’ he repeated. ‘You’re looking for something, I think.’
‘Yes,’ said Jo. ‘Coke.’
‘You got money?’ he asked. Jo reached for her handbag. ‘Not here, not here. Follow me.’
He led them back towards the door Jo had gone through previously, but as he opened it and Jo walked through, he put out a hand and stopped Pryce. ‘Just her,’ he said firmly.
‘No way, mate,’ said Pryce. ‘Come on, babe – let’s leave it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Jo. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘I don’t like it,’ said Pryce, swatting the bouncer’s hand aside.
The security guy sized Pryce up and snorted. ‘I think you both need to leave,’ he said.
‘No!’ said Jo. ‘It’s all right, honestly. Seriously, Jack, I’m good. Wait outside.’
She stared hard at Pryce, wondering if his concern was an act or genuine. He backed away, with a bob of the head. The door closed in his face.
‘He’s just worried,’ said Jo.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ said the bouncer. He led her past the office to the door at the end of the corridor. Inside was a large stockroom, with beer barrels hooked up, and shelves on either side. The girl who’d been collecting glasses was waiting there.
‘Thanks, Duke,’ she said.
The bouncer waited, hands clasped in front of his waist.
‘You’ve not been here before,’ said the girl.
‘I’ve just moved,’ said Jo.
‘Where from?
‘Why is that important?’ asked Jo. ‘I just want to buy some coke.’
‘What makes you think we have anything like that here?’
‘I just heard,’ said Jo. ‘My friend.’
‘Who is?’
Keep it vague.
‘Her name’s Belle,’ she said. ‘Her ex got some pills here a few weeks ago.’
‘Is that right?’
‘So she said. Look, if you haven’t got what I want, fine.’
‘How much do you want?’ said the girl.
‘I’ve got fifty quid,’ said Jo. She opened her purse and took out the money.
‘And you just want coke?’
Jo shrugged. ‘What else have you got?’
‘We can get you anything.’
Jo feigned hesitation. ‘Nah. Just coke. For now.’
The girl took the money and disappeared for a moment through another door. Jo turned and looked nervously at the bouncer, who hadn’t moved. If things went south now, she was screwed.
But the girl came back, with a transparent bag of white powder, which she tossed on the table.
Jo reached out, took it, and put it into her handbag.
‘You aren’t going to test it?’ asked the girl.
‘Do I need to?’ said Jo. ‘It’s not for me, anyway.’
‘That other guy your boyfriend, is he?’
Jo nodded.
The girl gave an appreciative smile. ‘Next time, ask for Jenna at the bar.’
Jo followed the bouncer back through into the corridor, feeling a thrill of triumph. As soon as she was outside with Pryce, she’d call a tactical unit.
Before she was back in the bar, the office door opened, and Suleiman came out, talking to someone behind him and laughing. He saw Jo with the bouncer and frowned. Then a second figure emerged, a young woman in a chic belted overcoat. It took Jo a split-second to clock that the face was that of Ross Catskill’s receptionist, Selina. When she laid eyes on Jo, her jaw dropped. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.
‘You know each other?’ said Suleiman.
‘She’s police,’ said Selina.
Jo saw Suleiman’s eyes deaden like a shark’s, and she knew it was game over. She drove her elbow backwards into the jaw of the bouncer, then swung at Suleiman. He ducked underneath, charged forward, and lifted her off the ground. Selina wailed and backed away. Jo was thrown into the wall, then dumped to the ground. Suleiman lifted a fist to punch her, but she got an arm up and raked her nails across the side of his face. Something grabbed her ankle and she screamed as she was yanked across the floor on her back by the bouncer. He clamped his hand over her mouth and nose, and though she kicked and thrashed, there was nothing she could do. Suleiman was clutching the side of his face, and Selina was pressed into a corner. Jo tried to bite, but the bouncer’s grip was astonishing. She knew she didn’t have long before she blacked out.
Then Pryce came through the door, wielding a fire extinguisher over his head. For a terrible second she thought he was going to hit her, but he thrust the butt end into the bouncer’s face and Jo was dropped. Suleiman ran through the door into the store room, leaving Catskill’s receptionist standing with her hands over her mouth in shock.
The bouncer was squirming on the ground, blood pouring between his fingers. Jo stood up and went after Suleiman, back into the store room, through another door that led down a set of stairs into a cellar lined with more barrels. His feet were just exiting to street level through a hatch up a set of metal steps. She wished she’d worn different footwear, because her heel turned over and pain lanced up her ankle. As she emerged to street level, in a quiet road beside the bar, Suleiman had vanished.
‘Fuck!’ she shouted.
Gathering herself, she got on the phone and called it in.
Chapter 15
SATURDAY
Jo could’ve done with a real drink.
Uniforms cleared the place out and set up a cordon, though there were plenty of people still milling around at one am, as the dog unit arrived with a sniffer called Fergie. It took approximately two minutes for him to identify crates in the cellar that were filled with various prohibited substances, and all helpfully stickered with the Calibre logo. Selina claimed she knew nothing about any of it, and that she’d just been discussing business with Suleiman on behalf of Ross Catskill. When she refused to come to the station willingly, Pryce arrested her and she began to cry.
Inside the Lounge Bar, the barmen were detained, along with the girl who’d sold the drugs, and the bouncer who Jo had floored temporarily and whose nose it appeared Pryce had rearranged with the fire extinguisher.
‘Officers have been dispatched to the Calibre offices,’ Pryce told Jo. ‘Stratton’s been notified.’
Jo nodded, wondering about the next play. If there was a chance Catskill was linked to Natalie Palmer as well as Malin Sigurdsson, that changed the complexion of the case considerably. The DCI would probably sideline them at once in favour of Carrick. ‘No need for us to stick around,’ she said to Pryce.
* * *
Goring was a small town clinging to the banks of the Thames, with nice houses and two pubs, their car parks stuffed with upmarket vehicles. Catskill’s house, in one of the quiet residential roads, was a detached thirties place. A swing hung from a tree in the front garden and a security light came on as they approached. A 4x4 and a convertible Porsche Boxster sat under a carport. Inside, a dog barked. It gave Jo little pleasure to think about the peace she was about to shatter.
She rang the bell, long and firm.
A teenage boy opened the door surprisingly quickly given the late hour, over-sized headphones looped over the back of his neck. The striking blue eyes gave him away as Catskill’s son. ‘Hello?’
Jo held up her badge and hoped her tone was friendly.
> ‘Is your dad in?’
‘Mum?’ called the boy. ‘The police are here.’
An attractive woman of about Jo’s age came down the stairs, tying a satin dressing gown. Emily, wasn’t it?
‘We’re looking for Ross,’ said Jo, showing her badge again.
‘What’s this about? Have you any idea what time it is?’
‘We’re sorry about that. It’s important we speak to your husband.’
Catskill’s wife paused, and in her face Jo caught a hint of comprehension or recalcitrance. Perhaps she wasn’t quite the innocent spouse after all. She didn’t invite them in, instead nodding to the boy. ‘Sam, fetch your dad. He’s downstairs in the gym.’
Catskill came to the door sweating and wiping his head with a towel. He wore a T-shirt with dark patches under the armpits and descending his chest, jogging bottoms, and Nikes. When he recognised them, he came outside, pulling the door until it was almost closed behind him. ‘What are you playing at?’
‘We raided Lounge Bar this evening,’ said Jo.
He didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘And?’
‘Come on, Mr Catskill, save us the time.’
‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to be more specific.’
‘Selina March is in custody already, and we’ll begin questioning her shortly.’
The wind left Catskill’s sails, telling in the sag of his shoulders. ‘Right.’
His wife opened the door from within, where she must have been listening. She stepped closer to his side, a look of barely concealed hatred on her face. At the top of the stairs, another boy of six or seven was watching too, dressed in his pyjamas.
‘What’s going on, Ross?’ said his wife.
‘You need to come with us and answer some questions,’ said Pryce. ‘You can come voluntarily, or we can arrest you.’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Catskill. ‘Put Harry back to bed.’
‘But, darling—’
‘I said I’ll deal with it.’
He turned to Jo and Pryce.
‘Have I got time for a shower?’
‘No,’ said Jo. ‘Time’s up.’
* * *
