“Directly to Dougal. But I told Jodie that if she ever needed anything, she should come and see me.”
The statement resonates deep within me. Jimmy made the same promise as we watched the caskets of my parents and my sisters being wheeled from the cathedral. He had no ulterior motive. It’s what he does.
“Is Dougal Sheehan working today?” asks Lenny.
Jimmy glances towards a four-car garage where two of the doors are open.
“Please don’t harass a grieving father.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Councilor,” says Lenny.
Jimmy tries to match her politeness but hasn’t taken his eyes off me. He thinks I’m responsible for bringing the police to his doorstep, for failing to warn him.
“You should have called,” he mutters when Lenny is out of earshot.
“I don’t have a phone.”
* * *
Dougal is polishing the Range Rover as we step into the dark cool of the garage, which smells of wax and window cleaner. He shakes out a cloth and dabs his brow before tucking it into the pocket of a vinyl apron that is protecting his clothes.
Lenny isn’t as polite as the last time she spoke to him.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were working for Councilor Verbic on the night Jodie disappeared?”
“I said I was driving a cab—same difference. I picked people up. I dropped them off.”
“Did you see Jodie that night?”
“No.”
“But she was here,” I say.
Dougal looks genuinely surprised.
“Jodie was dropped outside the gate just after nine o’clock.”
“Why would she come here?” asks Dougal.
“We’re hoping you can tell us that.”
He looks from Lenny to me and back again. “Did Jimmy see her?”
“Councilor Verbic doesn’t recall seeing Jodie that night.”
I notice a faint tremor in Dougal’s left hand, which isn’t a sign of infirmity. He doesn’t know how to react or what to say.
“Did Jodie know where you were working?” asks Lenny.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Has she been here before?”
“Once or twice. I can’t be sure.”
“If we have forensic officers look at these vehicles, are they going to find Jodie’s DNA inside?”
Dougal’s gaze drops to his feet as though he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure of whether he should jump. “She’s been in the Silver Shadow.”
“With Jimmy.”
“Yeah. We picked her up from skating practice and drove her to school.”
Lenny is walking around the Rolls-Royce. She cups her hands to peer into each window, deliberately leaving smudges on the glass.
“What else do you do, for Councilor Verbic?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Ever run errands?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“Pick people up.”
“Sure.”
“Drugs?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why would Jodie have a burner phone?”
“A what?”
“A cheap disposable phone,” says Lenny. “We also found spare SIM cards and hidden cash in her locker—all the trappings of a spy or a terrorist or a drug dealer.”
A light seems to trigger behind Dougal’s eyes, something red and bright, that flares and remains burning. For a moment I think he might tell us something important, but instead his voice drops to a harsh whisper.
“Our Jodie was raped and murdered. She was left to die alone in a dark cold place. I thought nothing could be more horrible than seeing my baby girl in the morgue, but I was wrong. This is worse. You’re the real monsters.”
44
* * *
CYRUS
* * *
“What did you make of that?” asks Lenny, shaking Tic Tacs into the palm of her hand. She rattles the container, offering me some. I refuse.
We’re still parked outside Jimmy Verbic’s house, sitting in her unmarked police car. An elderly couple shuffles past. The husband rocks forward on a walker and his wife pauses at each intersection to wait for him.
“Jodie didn’t come here looking for her father,” I say.
“Agreed.”
“She came to deliver something or ask for something.”
“I’m listening.”
“How much do you know about Felix Sheehan?”
“He has an alibi.”
“A partial one. You still haven’t confirmed where he spent the night.”
Lenny rubs her eyes with the heels of each hand.
“Does Felix have a criminal record?” I ask.
“Not as an adult.”
“Before?”
“Juvenile records are sealed.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Clearly, Lenny could tell me more but chooses not to. It’s another reminder that I may work for the police, but I’m not part of the club. I don’t have the unambiguous, unerring certainty needed by someone like her, a crusader who divides the world into good and evil.
She reaches for the ignition, but something moves in the periphery of her vision. The electronic gates are opening. Moments later, a black cab pulls out and accelerates past us. Dougal Sheehan is behind the wheel, in a hurry.
Lenny doesn’t hesitate before pulling out and following. She’s better at this than I am—tailing someone—keeping at the optimum distance to avoid being caught by red lights or clocked in the cab’s mirrors.
We drive in silence but my question about Felix is on her mind.
“Do you know why juvenile records are sealed?” she asks.
“To assist with rehabilitation and treatment,” I reply.
“Exactly. We don’t want youngsters stigmatized or labeled as career criminals. They deserve a second chance.”
“I agree.”
“Felix was picked up at a summer music festival in Sherwood Forest. A sniffer dog found him carrying small amounts of crystal meth and Ecstasy. He was fourteen—too young to be charged—but he was most likely a runner for a local gang.”
“Could he be still involved?”
“If he’s stupid. We’ve had three stabbings since January, all of them unsolved. The Moss Side Bloods are moving in from Manchester, and those guys are seriously dangerous. Most of the gangs operate away from home because they’re less likely to draw attention from the competition or be known to the local coppers. When they move into an area, they look for a base—normally a squat or a derelict building, or sometimes they target the vulnerable, like an addict or someone with mental health problems, befriending them and moving into their house. They call it cuckooing. Once they establish there is a market, they begin recruiting runners. Usually they trawl the train stations, amusement arcades, and skate parks, looking for strays or kids on the margins, from dysfunctional families or failing at school. They might offer them alcohol or cigarettes or computer games. Some get turned into junkies, or the girls are groomed for sex.”
I remember following Felix to the train station and the job center. If he’s still involved with drug dealing, it could explain the mobile phones and the money in Jodie’s locker. Would he risk using her as a runner?
We’re heading along Maid Marian Way, past the Broadmarsh shopping center, and then along Canal Street towards the A612. As we reach the outskirts of Nottingham, the cab takes the exit on a roundabout signposted to Nottingham Racecourse. Another right turn and we’re almost at the river, approaching a newly minted high-rise development called Trent Basin. Cranes dot the skyline and a huge billboard advertises “Luxury Riverside Apartments.”
The cab stops suddenly in a loading bay. Dougal Sheehan leaps out, heading for the entrance, where he stabs impatiently at the button of an intercom. The glass door unlocks. Dougal takes the stairs. Lenny shoves her foot in the closing door and follows him, climbing quickly. I’m a dozen steps be
hind her, losing track of the floors.
We reach an open door and enter an apartment with a large open-plan living area dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. I hear raised voices.
“What did you do?” yells Dougal.
“Nothing. Get off me!”
“Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!” pleads a woman.
They’re in the bathroom.
“Why was Jodie there?” demands Dougal.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re hurting him! Let him go!” cries the woman.
“Police!” yells Lenny, spinning through the door.
Dougal Sheehan is crouching over his son, gripping Felix by the hair and forcing his head into the bowl of a toilet. He presses the flush lever, draining the cistern. Water sloshes over Felix’s head, spilling onto the floor.
“You’re killing him! You’re killing him!” yells Maggie Sheehan, begging him to stop.
Dougal presses the button again. Felix can’t breathe. His legs are twitching.
Lenny kicks Dougal hard in the back of his knees, making his legs buckle. She twists his arm behind his back and forces his face against the white tiles. Felix rolls away from the toilet, opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish. His teeth are stained pink by blood and water drips from his hair.
Maggie drops to her knees and hugs him, wetting her blouse. He pushes her away and manages to sit up, leaning against the bath. Shirtless and concave-chested, he’s dressed in baggy jeans that hang low off his hips, showing the crack of his ass.
“What’s this about?” asks Lenny.
Felix wipes his wide, slack mouth. “Ask him.”
Dougal’s face is still pressed hard against the tiles, twisting his mouth out of shape. “It’s family business,” he mutters.
“Does it involve Jodie?”
Neither man answers. Lenny looks at Maggie. “Are you going to tell me?”
She’s too frightened or clueless to respond.
As the silence stretches out, Lenny realizes that she can’t force the issue.
“I should charge all of you,” she says disgustedly, releasing Dougal, who rubs his shoulder and glares at her belligerently.
“You can both leave. I want to talk to Felix,” she says.
“You can’t talk to him without us being here,” replies Dougal.
“Sure I can. He’s over eighteen.” Lenny looks at Felix. “Do you need Daddy or Mummy to hold your hand?”
“I want a fucking lawyer.”
“By all means,” says Lenny. “You can wait for him at the station. Our holding cells are just like this place—well-appointed, fully furnished, with hot and cold running junkies and scumbags. You’ll be right at home.” She pauses and wipes her hands on a towel. “Your other option is to talk to me now—a novel approach, I know, but you’re not under arrest . . . not yet.”
Lenny looks up at Dougal. “You’re still here.”
“He’s my son.”
“You tried to drown him.”
“What’s he done?” asks Maggie. “Is this about Jodie?”
“Leave now, Mrs. Sheehan. I won’t ask again.”
I can hear husband and wife whispering harshly as they wait for the lift.
“But what’s he done?”
“Nothing.”
“It must be something.”
“Shut up, woman!”
Felix uses a towel to dry his hair. Still shirtless, he walks into the living room, where he opens the sliding glass doors and takes a packet of cigarettes from the balcony table. He takes one and taps both ends against his wrist—an affectation that predates filters on cigarettes.
The view sweeps across the south of the city and as far west as Lady Bay Bridge.
“Nice place,” I say, glancing around the room, noting the flat-screen TV, gaming consoles, and expensive sound system. “Yours?”
“I’m looking after it for a friend.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“John Smith.”
Felix lights up, swallowing smoke. He slumps onto a leather sofa, knees spread, convinced he knows exactly what happens next.
Lenny takes an armchair. “Why was your old man so pissed at you?”
“Whites and coloreds.”
“What?”
Felix grins. “I put a pair of red socks in a white wash. Spoiled Mum’s favorite blouse.”
Lenny’s gaze is absolutely neutral. “I’ve had smarter bowel movements than you.”
I’m standing at the open glass doors looking across the river at a nature reserve called The Hook, where acres of woodland are fringed by wildflower meadows and orchards.
“Do you know Councilor Verbic?” I ask.
“Isn’t he the mayor?”
“Used to be.”
“What about him?”
“Is he one of your customers?”
“Never met the guy.”
“Your father works for him as a driver,” says Lenny.
Felix wrinkles his nose as though some unpleasant smell has reached him.
“If we ask Councilor Verbic—will he say he knows you?”
This time Felix takes a moment, considering his options.
“I might have met him. I meet a lot of people in my line of work.”
“What exactly do you do?” I ask.
“I told you—I buy and sell stuff.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Antiques mainly.”
“I can’t see any antiques around this place,” says Lenny.
“Not fond of them myself,” says Felix, “but a lot of folks like old shit. Your old man must tell you that all the time.”
Lenny doesn’t rise to the bait. “Business must be good.”
“I do OK.”
“The police found six thousand pounds in Jodie’s school locker. Do you know how she got it?”
“No idea.”
“Can we look around?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“With your permission.”
Felix spreads his arms. “Knock yourselves out.”
Clearly, he’s too experienced to keep anything incriminating in his apartment, but I still wouldn’t mind seeing more of the place—learning things about him. I notice a BlackBerry phone on the glass coffee table. It’s a brand favored by criminal gangs because it can use military-grade encryption, making it almost impossible for police to access the data or intercept messages.
“Jodie was using a mobile phone the night she disappeared,” I say, still looking at the BlackBerry. “Not her usual one, but another handset, a cheap disposable most likely. It’s only a matter of time before the police identify her new phone. They’ll be able to read her text messages and look at her call logs.”
“Maybe even trace her movements,” says Lenny, picking up on the theme. “You think you’re safe, Felix, because your data is encrypted, but you can’t hide the signal. Every phone has a unique signature that pings the nearest mobile phone towers, which means we can see where you’ve been—every house, pub, car park . . . Every girlfriend. Every business meeting.”
Felix has gone quiet. He draws on his cigarette and exhales, blinking into the smoke. His eyes drift lower, focusing on the BlackBerry. He lunges, grabs the phone, pulls back his arm, and hurls it towards the balcony door and the river beyond. In the same breath, I shove the sliding glass door. It closes on smooth runners and the phone clatters against the double glazing, landing at my feet. I pick it up.
“Give it back,” says Felix.
“It’s a criminal offense to dispose of evidence,” replies Lenny, taking the phone from me and sliding it into her pocket.
Felix is less certain than before. “You need a warrant.”
“We’ll get one.”
I watch how the young man changes. He wants to be menacing, but like a lot of weedy men, he’s all push and self-possession, whereas someone like his father, a shambling shaggy heavyweight, w
ears the crown more easily.
“Was Jodie a runner?” asks Lenny.
“No comment,” he replies.
“Did you know she was pregnant?”
This time Felix hesitates and tosses us a bone. “She came to me a few weeks ago, said she was up the duff.”
“Who was the father?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Did you ask?”
Another shrug.
“What did Jodie tell you?”
“She didn’t want Mum and Dad finding out. Mum would have thrown a wobbly, you know. Crying and praying.”
“Jodie must have wanted something.”
“Cash.”
“Why?”
“The scrape, I guess.”
“Terminations are free—why would she need money?”
“She wouldn’t get it done in Nottingham. Too many people know her. She said she was going to London.”
“And you gave her six thousand pounds—that’s very generous of you.”
“She stole that from me. I keep a bit of cash around the place, you know, in case of an emergency.”
“Why didn’t you get it back?”
Felix doesn’t answer.
“She was blackmailing you,” I say.
Again, silence. Felix puts his thumbnail between his teeth and bites at the edges.
“Did you send her to a house on The Ropewalk on the night she disappeared?”
“No comment.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Who was she delivering to?”
Felix laughs. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
“That’s a given,” says Lenny. “The question is—how big of an idiot.”
I want to get back to Jodie. “When was she going to London?” I ask.
“She didn’t say. She brought an overnight bag around here and put it in the spare room. Said she’d come by and pick it up when she was leaving.”
“Where is the bag now?” asks Lenny
Felix nods towards one of the bedrooms.
“Can we take a look?” I ask.
Felix’s expression changes, his features pushing outwards in a calculating smile. “Do I get my phone back?”
I see Lenny weighing her options.
“If everything you’ve told us is true, I’ll return your phone, but if you’ve been lying to me, Felix, I’ll be all over you like a drunk aunt on a dance floor.”
Good Girl, Bad Girl Page 25
