Spider Trap

by Barry Maitland

  Brock nodded patiently. ‘But?’

  ‘Well, they’ve been away before, when Michael said he couldn’t stand London any more and wanted to “go to ground”—that’s what he called it. A cottage that belongs to a friend of his. I don’t know if that’s where he’s gone, but it’s possible.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Somewhere in the country.’

  ‘Didn’t he mention where it was, or send you a postcard?’

  ‘No.’ She saw the frustration on Brock’s face and added, ‘The friend who owned it was someone he knew from his days in the building industry. A builder, I think.’

  Kathy met them in the corridor as they were leaving the station. Martin started at seeing her, then recovered and gave a cautious smile. Vexx, at his shoulder, glowered.

  ‘Do you have a moment, Mr Connell?’ she asked.

  He glanced at Vexx, then reached into his pocket for his keys. ‘All right. Do you want to wait for me in the car, Teddy, while I have quick word with DS Kolla here?’

  Vexx took the keys and shouldered past Kathy with a casual roll to his stride. Kathy showed Martin into an unoccupied interview room. They didn’t sit down. Kathy folded her arms.

  ‘You’re very trusting,’ she said, ‘giving your keys to a bastard like that. He’s probably driving your car back to your home right now, to steal your Georgian silver and rape your lovely wife.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Kathy.’

  ‘He drove a six-inch nail into a kid’s head because I tried to talk to the lad, who never told me a thing. It’s amazing the boy isn’t dead.’

  Seeing how angry she was, Connell replied carefully, trying to sound calm and reasonable. ‘They can’t prove that.’

  ‘I know, I was watching. Interesting that you put it like that, Martin. Interesting that you don’t say he’s innocent, because of course you know he’s not.’

  ‘He’s innocent until proven guilty.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can do it, how you can live with yourself.’

  He seemed about to frame a response, then simply shook his head and said wearily, ‘Is that all you wanted to say?’

  ‘Not all, no. I wondered if Tom Reeves had been in touch with you.’

  Martin looked alarmed. ‘Christ, no. Has he spoken to you?’

  ‘No. I just wondered, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, when you do see him make sure he understands that nothing happened between us and he must keep his trap shut. That’s the last thing I . . . either of us needs right now.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Martin,’ Kathy said softly. ‘We’re innocent, remember? Until proven guilty.’ She walked out of the room.

  As she paced down the corridor her phone rang. She opened it and heard Brock’s voice.

  ‘Kathy, what can you tell me about that builder friend of Michael Grant’s?’

  Kathy led the way across the mud towards the hut where she’d met Wayne Ferguson before. The site looked different now, with steel framing erected on the concrete slab. The site manager was standing talking to a man with a roll of drawings. He waved when he saw them and came over.

  Kathy introduced Brock. ‘Look, Mr Ferguson—’

  ‘Wayne, please. You’re lucky to catch me—it’s St Patrick’s Day. I should be down the pub.’

  Kathy thought his joviality exaggerated. ‘Wayne, we thought you could help us get in touch with Michael Grant.’

  ‘Did you now? What gave you that idea, I wonder?’

  ‘He’s not staying at your cottage?’

  His mouth dropped open, then he frowned and examined the toe of his boot while he thought. ‘Michael needs a bit of peace and quiet right now. He wouldn’t thank me for answering that question.’

  ‘We’re in much the same boat,’ Brock said. ‘I’ve been suspended, and Tom Reeves who was helping him will probably be kicked out of the force. We need to talk to each other, see what can be salvaged, if anything.’

  ‘I felt pretty bad changing my story about seeing those two Roach boys in the Cat that night. I felt I’d let Michael down, and offering him the cottage was the least I could do.’

  ‘Why not give him a ring and let me talk to him?’

  ‘No, I can’t do that.’ He saw Brock about to argue and raised his hand. ‘I mean, it’s not possible. There’s no phone.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘North Wales, in the hills above the Vale of Clwyd. I don’t even know if they got there okay. It’s probably still snowbound.’

  ‘Can you give me directions?’

  Ferguson shrugged and reached for a pad of paper. ‘Sure, I guess it’s okay. It’s not easy to find. I’ll draw a map.’

  He and Brock bent over the diagram for a while, discussing A and B road numbers, and Kathy picked up a few placenames—Mold, Ruthin and, more obscurely, Llanbedr Dyffryn Clwyd. It wasn’t a part of the country she knew. ‘When you get to the village you’ll see the church spire on the right and the shop beyond it. Take the next turn on the left, it’s easy to miss, and start to climb the hill, here . . .’

  Beyond the window men were working on top of the frame, setting out the metal roof sheeting against a heavy sky.

  ‘All right, I think I’ve got it, Wayne, thanks.’ Brock straightened, pocketing the map. ‘How long will it take to get there?’

  ‘Four, five hours, depending on the traffic. I wouldn’t try finding it in the dark, not if it’s been snowing.’

  They returned to the car and Brock checked his watch.

  ‘You’re not thinking of going today?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, and in any case, I think we know most of the story now.’ He told her what Abigail had told him. ‘Victim number three was Michael’s brother, that’s what made it so personal with Roach. But I’d like to hear what else Michael knows about the killing of those three men. There may be something that could still help us, which he couldn’t talk about before without revealing his own story. Maybe at the weekend, I might take a trip up there.’

  ‘Sounds nice, if the weather holds out.’

  thirty

  At eight that evening, Kathy was curled up on her sofa reading the book that Tom had given her. She was conscious of the rain spattering against the window and debating whether to put on a thicker jumper when her phone rang. It was the duty officer at Scotland Yard. A woman had rung wanting to speak to her. She had seemed distraught. She gave her name as Maureen Reeves.

  Kathy rang the number and was answered straight away. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hello, is that Maureen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Kathy Kolla, Maureen. I understand you were trying to reach me.’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you for ringing back.’ She spoke in a hesitant rush, veering between panic and apology. ‘I wondered . . . is Tom with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Only, he was supposed to collect Amy over two hours ago, and he hasn’t appeared. He’s not answering his phone. It isn’t like him, you see, to forget Amy. He’d have let me know. I was due to go out an hour ago . . .’

  ‘I haven’t seen him at all this week, Maureen, or even spoken to him.’

  ‘Oh . . . I thought . . . He’s been so down, you see. What happened, well, it was devastating, wasn’t it? So public and humiliating. I know things haven’t been going well for him during the last couple of years, but I’ve never heard him sound so, well, shell-shocked. I’ve tried the obvious people, but nobody’s heard from him. I’m worried.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kathy was becoming concerned as she listened. ‘When did you last hear from him?’

  ‘Yesterday lunchtime, on the phone. He sounded very flat, but he confirmed about tonight. I’d been worried that I couldn’t reach him and he explained he wasn’t answering the phone because the press had his numbers. He wanted to make sure they weren’t hanging around my house. He said he was looking forward to seeing Amy. He’d called once before this week to speak to her. He was worried about what people might be saying to her at
school.’

  ‘All right. Something probably delayed him, Maureen, but I’ll start looking. Tell me who you’ve contacted.’ She jotted down the list of names—mutual friends, several workmates, a doctor. ‘Okay, now I’ll give you my mobile number so you can reach me as soon as you hear anything.’

  She rang off, pushing down her anxiety, trying to clear her head. She began with the accident and emergency number, and while she waited for a result used her mobile to make calls to everyone she could think of—Nicole, Bren, Dot. By the time she rang Brock she’d had a negative result from A&E as well as all the others.

  He listened in silence, then said, ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘Kentish Town.’ She told him the address.

  ‘I think we’d better take a look.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’

  ‘See you there.’

  She was the first to arrive, checking that there were no lights on in the basement flat before she rang the bells of the other flats above and on each side of Tom’s. No one had seen him that day. Brock arrived and they went down into the well, knocked a pane of glass out of the front door and opened it. There was no sign of him, and they began a rapid search, quickly coming up with a string of negatives—the mail unopened, the bed unmade, breakfast plates unwashed, a message pad blank, the absence of a diary or notebook, the answering machine switched off, and no response to dialling 1471 for the number of the last caller. There was no indication that anyone else had been in the flat recently. Then Kathy found the laptop.

  She switched it on and checked his email, nothing but junk for two days. Then she tried Recent Applications, and found that the photo album was top of the list. She opened it, then called Brock over. The most recent picture had been taken at one thirty-five p.m. that day, of a smartly dressed young woman hailing a cab. She had jet-black hair and a warm tan complexion.

  ‘Magdalen Roach,’ Brock murmured.

  Kathy clicked back through the album, pictures of Magdalen coming out of the office where she worked, in a bus queue, stepping out of her aunt’s red BMW.

  ‘He’s been stalking her,’ Kathy said. She felt shocked, catching sight of something private and obsessive, and also sad. It was as if she were being allowed a glimpse into the depth of Tom’s anger and despair at what had been done to him.

  Brock asked, ‘Do you think he wants to hurt her, pay her back?’ Kathy found she couldn’t give an answer.

  Then she was staring at the next image on the screen, a stream disappearing into the mouth of a concrete tunnel set into a grassy bank. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘I think it’s the culvert that runs under the Roach place. Tom found some information on it.’ She told him about the helicopter flight and their conversation afterwards. ‘I told him it was a ridiculous idea, and he turned it into a joke.’

  The picture had been taken two days earlier, the day after his mauling in the parliamentary committee meeting.

  ‘Surely he wouldn’t try to go back in there?’ Kathy whispered.

  ‘To justify himself,’ Brock said. ‘To prove he was right and everyone else was wrong. To make amends to Michael Grant. Yes, I think he would. But how is Magdalen involved?’

  ‘Perhaps we should ask her,’ Kathy said. She closed the photo album and opened his computer address book. Magdalen’s email address and phone numbers were listed. Kathy raised her eyebrow at Brock and he nodded. She took out her phone and tapped in the mobile number. Brock watched her listen for a moment, then quickly switch off.

  ‘Not there?’

  ‘Yes, she answered, and I think I know where she is. There was the sound of a crowd in the background, and a heavy ragga number playing.’

  ‘What’s ragga?’

  ‘Dancehall reggae. I think she’s at the JOS club.’

  They heard the music from a block away. Kathy cruised slowly past the club entrance and parked on a double yellow line near the street corner. Brock stared at the old building, thinking of a night in April, twenty-four years before.

  ‘I’d better do this,’ she said.

  ‘What if Vexx’s in there? He knows you, doesn’t he? I’ll go.’

  ‘He knows us both.’

  ‘Then we’ll both go. Come on.’ Brock got out of the car and she followed. Clusters of people were standing around the entrance, smoking and appearing to be cooling off, sweat gleaming on their faces. They eyed them curiously as they walked up to two large men in suits and shaved heads at the door. Kathy was waved through but Brock was stopped with a hand on his chest.

  ‘Hey!’ Kathy laughed and slipped her arm around Brock and pressed herself against him. ‘He’s mine.’

  Several watchers laughed and the men gave bleak smiles and stepped back. Brock handed over some money, and they climbed stairs towards the booming sound. At the top they were plunged into a dark space vibrating with dancing lights and figures and heat. It seemed impossible to identify anyone in here, let alone talk to them. They hesitated at the edge, trying to adjust their senses, then began to make their way slowly around the edge of the writhing crowd, Kathy half a dozen paces in front of Brock. Eventually he saw her stop and turn back to him, signalling to stay where he was. He watched her approach a couple against the wall, standing very close together, holding drinks, their faces almost touching so they could talk.

  They separated when Kathy reached them, and after a moment the man moved away. Brock watched the two women trying to communicate, with hand and body gestures supplementing shouted words, but this seemed to prove impossible, and they began to thread their way through the crowd towards the entrance, Brock following them down the crowded stairway. They stepped through the doors and stopped as Magdalen fumbled in her bag for a cigarette. She was swaying slightly and seemed clumsy in her movements. Kathy was talking to her and trying to guide her away towards the car. Suddenly the girl’s mood changed and she pulled away from Kathy and said something angry, flapping her hand in the air. Some of the people standing around were watching them now. Brock hurried forward and she tottered as she turned to him. He caught her arm.

  ‘Easy now, Magdalen,’ he murmured.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘He’s another friend of Tom’s,’ Kathy said. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Yeah, well don’t hassle me. I just want a fag.’ She fumbled with the lighter and got it going.

  One of the bouncers at the door called out, ‘You okay, Magda?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She waved to him. ‘It’s all right, Troy.’

  ‘She saw Tom here last night,’ Kathy said.

  ‘That’s right.’ A gleam of perspiration lit Magdalen’s face beneath the streetlights as she tilted her chin and blew out smoke. ‘Look, I’m sorry about what happened to him, but he tried to use me too, right?’

  Kathy nodded.

  ‘Yeah. He told me he’s goin’ to lose his job, is that right?’

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘Well, who wants a job like that anyway?’

  ‘Was he angry with you, last night?’

  ‘No, no. He was sweet, really. Just kinda sad. He said he still liked me.’

  ‘He does like you,’ Kathy said, ‘in spite of what he had to do. He likes you a lot.’

  ‘Yeah?’ She shivered suddenly and clutched her arms across her chest. In the cold wind of the street her short glittery dress looked like no protection at all.

  ‘You’ll catch a chill,’ Kathy said. ‘Let’s talk in the car,’ and before the girl could object they both steered her to the parked car and eased her in. Brock got behind the wheel and started the engine, turning up the heater.

  ‘Did he say why he came to the club last night?’

  ‘To see me, he said.’

  ‘Did he talk about his plans?’

  ‘No, I just assumed he’d be around. We talked about tonight, and I thought I might have seen him here again, but he never showed up.’

  ‘How do you mean you talked about tonight?’
>
  ‘Oh, about family and that. It’s St Patrick’s Day, right? The Roach family throws a big dinner-dance for all their friends. It’s traditional, year after bloody year. I hate it. I told him I’d be the only one not there.’

  ‘They hold this at home?’

  ‘No, at a hotel on the river.’

  ‘So there’s no one at home tonight?’

  She shook her head and Brock and Kathy exchanged a glance.

  Magdalen caught their look. ‘Hang on,’ she said, ‘you don’t think—Oh, Christ, no. I can’t believe—’

  ‘Did you tell anyone else about your conversation with Tom?’

  ‘No . . . Wait, yes. Teddy Vexx saw us together at the bar downstairs last night, and he asked me later what we were talking about.’

  ‘Where’s Vexx tonight?’

  ‘I dunno. Troy said he had a job on. I’d better ring my dad. If that stupid bastard—’

  ‘Better still,’ Brock said, putting the car into gear, ‘let’s pay him a visit.’

  As he drove, Kathy called for back-up, and a patrol car joined them on Blackheath, leading them fast under lights and siren as far as the turn-off into Shooters Hill, where Brock overtook and led the way to the gates of The Glebe, which were open. They drove into the central courtyard where they saw a car parked askew outside Magdalen’s parents’ house, whose front door was standing open.

  ‘That’s Mum’s car,’ Magdalen said, and jumped out and ran to the house, the others following. Inside they found Magdalen’s mother Adonia kneeling beside a chair on which Spider Roach was sprawled. She was holding a glass of water and a bottle of pills. Every light in the room was on, including the garish central chandelier, and the old man looked pale and sick in the dazzling illumination. Adonia rose to her feet as they ran in, saw the uniformed men and said, ‘You took your time.’

  As Magdalen ran to her mother, Brock said, ‘What happened?’

  ‘We had a robbery, that’s what. Some bastard broke in here and started going through the place.’ She gestured at a cabinet with drawers hanging open.