by Linda Regan
“Only if CO19 find something.” She slowed for a traffic light. Banham squeezed her arm. “It’s dangerous and complicated, but keep your nerve. This time next week, we could be in Venice.”
Alison rubbed her eyes. There was a long way to go before that.
“You need something to eat,” he said, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.
She pulled away from the lights. “After the evening meeting.” He checked the time. “We’ve got half an hour. Let’s drop in on Lottie, then I can check on Bobby. It’s on the way.”
Lottie was cooking chips. The smell wafted through the hallway and out through open window beside the front door. It made Alison hungry.
“You skip too many meals,” Banham said. “I’ll have to get Lottie to feed you up.”
Alison bit back the sharp retort. She’d have to nip this in the bud. She would never cope with being mothered, especially where food was involved.
“I’m sure Lottie has enough on feeding her children,” she said, trying not to sound snappy.
The door opened to reveal Madeleine, who shrieked with joy. “Uncle Paul! Mummy, it’s Uncle Paul! And Alison!”
Banham scooped her up in his arms. “Where’s Bobby?” he asked, digging in his pocket for the box of Heroes he’d bought at a petrol station shop. “Half of these are for him.”
Lottie appeared at the end of the hall. “Have you come for tea? It’s only chips and sausages. There’s plenty. Not very glamorous, but it’s Bobby’s favourite.”
“I think Alison would like some chips,” Banham said.
Alison was embarrassed. “I really don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
Lottie winked. “My pleasure. Um, Bobby’s in the lounge watching a film. He’s been crying again. Bad day at school.”
“I’ll help with the tea,” Alison said tactfully, following Lottie into the kitchen.
“Uncle Paul’s got us Heroes,” Madeleine squealed as Banham carried her into the lounge.
“For after your tea,” Banham reminded her, depositing her gently on the carpet. Maddie poured the sweets all over the floor and opened two, popping them both in her mouth at once.
Bobby was lying on the floor on his tummy watching Shrek. He showed no interest in the Heroes, usually his favourite sweets.
Banham touched his shoulder and felt his back arch with tension. For a few moments they all watched the green monster romancing the princess.
“Did you see Otis Gladman today?” Banham asked casually.
“He doesn’t go to school any more.”
Banham frowned. After a few seconds Bobby went on, “One of the big boys said he’d left, but... but...” His eyes filled up and he swallowed hard. “But he’s watching me...”
“He got a letter,” Madeleine butted in through a mouthful of chocolate.
Bobby scrambled to his feet and ran out of the room. Banham heard his footsteps in the room above. Madeleine’s hand crept into his and he pulled her close to him.
After a long few moments Bobby returned, and handed Banham a screwed-up piece of paper. It had been folded in four, and on one quarter in block capitals was printed PIG’S BOY. On the other side Banham read If you squeal, then underneath in different handwriting, Your Turn Next.
Banham’s heart slid into his stomach.
Chapter Thirteen
Two minutes later, twenty-four hour surveillance was in place for Lottie and the kids.
“Stay in the house,” he told the children. “I’ll be back tomorrow with a bucketload of DVDs.” His face was grave as he said to Lottie, “I’m the other end of the phone, twenty-four-seven.”
She looked horrified. “You don’t think...?”
“No,” Alison cut in. “Paul is being careful, that’s all. You need to do the same.”
“Where to now?” she asked him as they left the forensic lab. He had put the note into Penny Starr’s hands himself.
“To find Otis Gladman.”
She opened her mouth to point that that this really wasn’t a good idea in his present frame of mind, but the chirp of her phone forestalled her. It was Crowther.
“Isabelle’s in,” he told her. “She’s a cocktail waitress.”
“Good. Is she there now?”
“Ask him if there’s any sign of Otis Gladman,” Banham said, holding out a hand for Alison’s car keys. She tossed them to him; he opened the door and slipped into the driving seat.
“That’s why I rang,” Crowther said. “Penny just told me about Bobby’s note. Terry King gave Isabelle a piece of paper just before her audition. It said Your Turn Now.”
Alison froze. “Hang on a tick,” she said, and passed the phone to Banham. He listened for a few seconds as Crowther repeated his news, then turned the ignition key. “We’re on our way to the club. I’m going to find that little toerag.”
“Hold your horses, guvnor,” Crowther said. “We’ve got Johnny Gladman here. Otis’s number is in his mobile; we can find out exactly where he is from here. Best you don’t go to the club and rock any more boats. According to Millie, it’s usually Johnny who helps with the auditions, not Terry King. I’ve got Johnny to write Your Turn Next on a piece of paper and sent it over to Penny. Isabelle’s going to try to get hold of the note she was given and bring it back to the station with her. Penny can’t get the handwriting analyst in before tomorrow anyway.”
“I want to question Otis Gladman,” Banham yelled into the phone, swinging the car round in a u-turn. Alison took a deep breath as he pulled out into the main road without looking and received a tirade of car hoots. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, she thought.
“His phone is switched off at the moment,” Crowther answered warily.
“That’s it, then,” Banham said. “He could be hiding in the cottage. That’s where we’re going.”
He clicked the phone shut and threw it into her lap. Why would Otis be at the cottage, Alison thought; it wasn’t even logical. But there was no talking to him in this mood. They drove in silence apart from the horn blasts and shouts as his driving grew more and more erratic. Alison was relieved when they arrived outside the club.
As he drew into a parking spot, she tried again. “Paul, let Crowther trace him. We can get him picked up properly.”
“His fingerprints are on the knife that nearly killed Felix Greene, and on a gun found in a dead woman’s bag. And now he’s threatened my nephew. I want him brought in.”
“You’re letting your emotions blur your judgement. Nothing will happen to Bobby.” His rage was infectious, though; she took a deep breath to calm herself. “No one will let it. The house is already under surveillance.” She put a hand on his arm. “Please, Paul. Be guided by me, just this once. If he’s in there, he’ll run, and it’ll be harder than ever to track him. And the last thing we want is to cock up the CO19 operation.”
His tone was icy. “You were right, Alison. Business and pleasure don’t mix. A week ago you wouldn’t have dared speak to your senior officer like that.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” How dare he pull rank on her now!
“We’re going in. We have evidence connecting Otis Gladman to the attempted murder of Felix Greene, as well as to Sadie Morgan’s death.”
And if he hadn’t threatened your nephew, we’d be back at the station doing the job properly, she thought. But she said nothing. She couldn’t let him go in there alone in this mood. She stepped out on to the pavement, resisted the urge to slam the car door and followed him into the club.
Banham ignored the bouncer on the door and carried on walking. Alison flashed her warrant card as she went past; if the bloke had come the heavy, Banham would have knocked him to the ground without a second thought.
Eddie Chang rolled his eyes as they walked into the dimly lit club. Millie was standing by the bar talking to Andrew Fisher; she looked away quickly. Alison could have kicked herself; she should have found some way to let them know there was no need to worry – not that Banham had given her much of
a chance to think about anything very much. She had to just hope they wouldn’t panic and blow their cover.
She caught sight of Isabelle in a corner of the club; it was dark and she could just about make her out under the glamorous blonde wig and long, clingy dress covered in red sequins. She was serving drinks, and gave no indication that she’d noticed them. Thank goodness for a professional, Alison thought, feeling relieved Isabelle got the job, as well as taken aback at how glamorous she looked.
“To what do I owe this privilege?” Eddie Chang asked, his arms folded across his body and the enormous diamond ring glistening in the club lights.
“Where’s Otis Gladman?” Banham barked.
Chang shook his head and smiled. “Tut tut. Not a good day for the Gladman family. Your pint-sized colleague was in earlier. He arrested Johnny.”
“Where’s Otis?” Banham asked again.
“Why on earth would I know? Am I his keeper?”
Alison stepped forward, trying to give the impression that at least one of them had a cool head. “He lives in the cottage with Johnny,” she said. “Can we have a quick look, just in case he sneaked in without you knowing?”
“Be my guest.” Chang waved a flamboyant hand at the back door. “I presume you’ve got that warrant?”
“We can get one.”
“Then I suggest you do exactly that.” He stepped in front of them, blocking their path. His tiny eyes reminded Alison of Lily Palmer’s Siamese cat.
“Something to hide?” Banham asked.
“You know me. Clean as a whistle.”
“If you see Otis tonight, please ask him to call us,” Alison said patiently. “It’s important we talk to him.”
“Why would I see him? Surely you know I’ve barred him from the club. Why don’t you ask his broth...?”
Banham grabbed him by his silk lapels. “Just tell him.”
It was getting late when they got back to the station. Crowther was in the incident room, waiting for them.
“Johnny Gladman’s solicitor insisted I charge him or let him go,” he said. “I had to return his possessions including his phone. Didn’t matter, though – we’ve got a trace on Otis’s phone and we’ll be able to pinpoint the kid when he switches it back on. Meanwhile all spare units are out looking for him.”
“I’ll stay here,” Banham said. “I want to be here to interview him. You two go home.”
Alison and Crowther exchanged glances.
“They may not find him tonight,” Alison said carefully. “Why don’t you go and be with Lottie and the kids?”
“I’ll stay,” Crowther offered. “I’m waiting for Penny. She’s working on the double murder and might even have some results soon. And I’ve put a call out to my informant, Ray Adams. He’s not answering his phone.”
“We’ve just come from Doubles,” Alison said. “Adams wasn’t there.”
“Get a warrant arranged for first thing in the morning,” Banham said to Crowther. “I’m going to tear that cottage apart if Otis Gladman doesn’t show up tonight.”
“CO19 won’t like that,” Crowther said flatly.
Banham stared at him in disbelief.
Thanks, Col, Alison said silently. “We won’t find anything, guv. Otis knows we’re on to him. If he was there he’ll have moved on now.”
Banham face was a deep purplish-red. “He’s a murder suspect,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s our job to solve that murder. Get a warrant.”
That was it, Alison decided. Enough was enough. “I’m sorry, Paul, but you have to back off,” she said with authority. “This is my case, and I think your emotions are clouding your judgement. I’m asking you to go home and leave it to us. We’ll keep you up to speed.”
He stared at her. She held her ground and stared back. They had clashed before, but never like this.
It was Crowther who broke the electric silence. “She’s right, guvnor – you are emotionally involved. You don’t want to put our officers at risk.”
Banham closed his eyes.
“It feels like sitting on the edge of a knife,” Crowther continued. “But all we can do is sit out.”
The angry colour had drained from Banham’s face, but his expression was still impassive.
Alison knew she was on thin ice, but she held her own. “We’ve already got four murders,” she said. “We can’t afford any more mistakes.”
She was putting her neck on the line. Whatever their personal feelings, he was her senior officer. But he was out of order, his emotions were getting the better of him. “If Otis is involved in this case,” she said firmly, “or responsible for the stabbing at Bobby’s school, or the note, we’ll prove it. That’s a promise.”
Banham’s shoulders slumped, and Alison felt the tension give way with an almost audible twang. “I’ll come home with you, if you want,” she heard herself say.
Crowther frowned and shook his head.
“No,” Banham said. “You’re right. We can’t afford to make any more mistakes.” He walked heavily to the door and closed it behind him.
Alison blew out a long breath. “That took a lot of guts,” Crowther said. “But it was the right thing to do.”
It was nearly midnight and Isabelle’s feet were killing her. She had just given a cocktail order to the Marilyn barmaid, and was waiting with her tray.
Eddie Chang had been watching her all evening. When she auditioned for him, he hadn’t seemed very interested in her; she had given him a real sob story to get the job – she told him she was desperate, needed money, and any job at all would do. Somehow it had worked; he hired her, but only to wait tables and clean the loos. That suited her just fine; it meant she could move around the club without arousing suspicion.
Terry King fitted her out with a wig and dress, and she had been working for the last six hours with only a twenty-minute break, in crippling high heels. Fortunately it was Monday, Marilyn Monroe tribute night; she had the opportunity to chat to the other Marilyns. She’d watched Millie Payne’s Marilyn impersonation too, and she had to admit the girl was sensational.
She was booked to work until two o’clock, and Crowther had given her two tasks.
She had to get down into the cellar and check it out for firearms; and she needed to get back the note Terry King had given to her just before her audition. He had taken it from her as she was introduced to Eddie Chang, and given it to the girl behind her in the line.
Everyone’s attention, including Eddie Chang’s, seemed to be on the stage. The impersonator was about to appear for her next Marilyn Monroe set. The cellar door was ajar. Perfect. She nipped through it and down the steep stairs as quickly and quietly as the bloody shoes would let her.
She moved swiftly round, opening and shutting boxes and crates and feeling the wall for concealed hiding places. The floor was concrete so there was nothing under that. She found nothing. She made her way stealthily back up the stairs, and nearly jumped out of her skin as a shadow appeared at the top by the door. She pressed herself against the wall and waited for it to pass. It moved closer. Then a head appeared around the cellar door.
Millie Payne.
She continued up the stairs and walked past her into the club with a quick smile. Millie was learning.
Her drinks order was lined up on the bar. Millie came up to her as she put the glasses on her tray. “Everything OK?” she asked quietly.
Isabelle nodded and rearranged the drinks. “I need the find the note Terry gave me in the audition line.
“Note?” Millie looked blank.
“It says Your Turn. He gave it to each girl just before she auditioned. Any idea where it might be?”
“In the changing room, I should think,” Millie answered doubtfully. “That’s where Terry spends most of his time. I’m in there a lot at the moment. Shall I see if I can find it?”
“Do you think you can do it without getting caught?”
“If you can keep Terry occupied out here for a bit, I can try.” A note
of excitement crept into Millie’s voice. “What were you looking for in the cellar?”
The barmaid came back with the rest of the drinks for Isabelle’s order, so she didn’t have to answer. She filled her tray and headed back to the waiting customers. Flirting and joshing as she served them was the easy part of the job.
Next time she looked up Eddie Chang was staring at her. He beckoned her over. Her heart hit her stilettos. Please God she hadn’t been seen going down to the cellar.
“Something’s not quite right about you,” Chang said looking her up and down.
Isabelle pasted a defiant look on her face, but her heart was racing.
“It’s your make-up. You need to work on it. Your eyebrows are wrong, and you should have a beauty spot on your top lip to the right of your mouth.”
She was exhausted. Her feet ached, the rough sequinned material was rubbing into her legs, sweat dripped down the back of her neck from the disgusting wig. But she realised this was the best chance she would get. She batted her eyelids and turned on the pathetic act which had got her the job.
“I don’t want to let you down,” she said. “I really need this job, Mr Chang. I’m saving to get some private hospital treatment for my mother. My second break is due; I’m happy to forfeit that if Terry would give me a little time to help me get the make-up right.”
The snake-like face broke into a smile.
She’d done it. She’d fooled him. Terry King would be out of the changing room for twenty minutes: plenty of time for Millie that to find the note, ready for the handwriting expert in the morning.
For the second morning in a row Alison woke to the smell of fresh coffee. Today, though, it was Crowther holding the pot. Banham was nowhere to be seen.
It had been a strange few days. She’d been promoted to DI; her first case was shaping up to be one of the nastiest the squad had ever investigated; she had started and ended a love affair with the man she’d wanted for seven years. And on top of everything, she’d only had about two hours’ sleep in the last forty-eight. No wonder her head was spinning.
“Best thing he ever did,” Crowther said, annoyingly cheerful considering it was six o’clock in the morning.
