Two Faced

by A. R. Ashworth

  “Or not. It seems all you have for your work in this whole investigation is a string of possibilities. Maybe this, maybe that. You’re spending more time worrying about Novak than you are focusing on the case. Your perfume”—she waved her hand in the air—“thing or whatever may not be relevant to the investigation.” She downed the remnants of her wine and scowled at Costello, who avoided her gaze.

  “But this is.” Bull shifted in his chair to more directly face Elaine. “We’ve been after that dark-coloured Jag. There are near sixty Jags registered in a four-block radius, and we tracked down all of them. Nothing. Now we’re most interested in one that came from outside the neighbourhood. It belongs to an old friend of yours—I shouldn’t say ‘friend.’”

  Costello laughed weakly. “We’ve seen you rip his ego to shreds more than once.”

  Elaine looked from one to the other. “At least now you’re focusing on something pertinent. I’ve sent dozens of blokes away crying. I can’t guess who you mean.”

  Bull grinned and nodded. “Watching you take ponces down a few notches has been instructive and entertaining, ma’am.” He took a long draught of beer and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “John Gilbey O’Rourke. Jacko, your favourite Crownie.”

  Elaine looked away. She took a sip of wine, and waited several breaths before she turned back to Bull. “More like an annoying rash that resists treatment. What do you have on him?”

  “He’s in the frame for being the third man. He arrived within the times we estimate for the murder. He left by a twisty route that didn’t take him straight home, clearly avoiding traffic cameras. And he had a passenger, a blonde woman we haven’t identified yet, but who we think is Barefoot Woman.”

  Elaine poured a half-glass of wine and sipped. “She didn’t leave the scene with him?”

  “Not that we can tell. It looks like he arrived with her and left without her, but we’re not completely sure. Glare on the windscreen, fuzzy CCTV images. But just before the murder, one of the ANPR cameras caught them getting into a car and leaving a hotel on Queen’s Gate, right on time.”

  “Do you have a video?”

  Bull exchanged a glance with Costello. “Not a good one.” He opened his tablet computer, tapped the screen a few times, and set it in front of Elaine. She leaned forward and watched.

  In the grainy video, the dark Jaguar stopped at the hotel. The valet left the driver door open and sprinted around the car to open the passenger door. Even without enhancing the image, Elaine would have bet a hundred quid the tall, bulky man who slid behind the wheel was Jacko. The blonde, sleek and elegant as the car itself, slipped into the awaiting seat and gathered her coat as the valet shut the door.

  Elaine picked up the men’s empty beer bottles and dropped them in the bin. When she turned back to the table, Bull and Costello were exchanging questioning looks. She asked, “Do you have an ID yet?”

  Costello replied, “We’ve checked with the hotel staff to see if anyone could ID her. They said she meets O’Rourke there every couple of weeks, but they’ve never learned her name.”

  Elaine nodded. “He pays for discretion.”

  “Something’s up, guv. Do you recognize her?” Bull asked.

  They evidently had read something in her face while she watched the video. “It would be in his name, wouldn’t it? The reservation. You could use the super-recognizers.”

  “Long queue for their attention these days. We’ll find out who she is before long.”

  “Bound to be somebody who knows the dirty on Jacko’s love life.” She rose from the table. “It’s late and I’m ready to get some kip. I’ll ask around and let you know if I find anything.”

  Costello remained seated. “But guv, do you know something? Who is she?”

  It had only just turned eight PM. Bull and Costello appeared perplexed—and surprised enough that neither rose to go. She smiled and repeated, “I said I’ll let you know if I find anything. Good night, my friends.”

  THIRTY

  Wednesday night, Brentford

  Elaine dragged her duvet from the bed and retreated to her veranda. She decided against taking wine with her. Wrapped warmly in the chair, she watched the lights of the narrow boats moored in the canal basin and reviewed what she had just learned.

  She’d deceived them, and they knew it. That alone was enough to turn her stomach. But what could she have done at the moment? If she were their senior investigating officer, Fiona would have already been interviewed. But then, if she were the SIO, she wouldn’t have encountered Fiona.

  Should she have come clean with them after she saw the video? She’d hesitated because she had doubts about Novak. He wasn’t trustworthy, so she wasn’t about to put Fiona at risk by revealing she was the witness. Not yet. Everything she’d heard about Novak from Bull and Costello was speculation, but they were sound thinkers, and she gave credence to their suspicions. She chuckled. They were probably discussing her right now, asking themselves if their trusted old guv had lied. She’d clear it up later—they’d understand her decision to compartmentalize intelligence. And besides, she’d taken them to task for bringing her suspicions based on unfounded assumptions.

  And what about Fiona? She’d saved the silly woman from almost certain death at the hands of those thugs. She should let Fiona know it was now only a matter of time before she was discovered, and that they were both faced with tough choices. Fiona had to turn herself in, preferably to her husband. If she didn’t, then Elaine would be forced to identify her to Bull and Costello.

  She dialled, and Fiona’s voicemail answered. “Something’s happened. Call me as soon as you get this.”

  The kitchen was a helluva lot warmer than the veranda, and she was hungry. She retrieved a half-eaten steak from the fridge and popped it into the microwave. It was probably dried out, but it would do for tonight, if she slathered it with HP sauce. No sooner were the sauce, a plate, and cutlery on the table than her mobile warbled. The number on the display was unfamiliar, so she hesitated before answering. “Hope.”

  “DCI Hope. This is Jonathan Hughes. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Her heart pounded. Careful, Lainie. “Just a moment, sir. Be right with you.” What the hell could Hughes want? Had Fiona come clean? There was nothing for it but to listen and brazen it out. She took a deep breath and counted down the seconds with the microwave, to let her emotions subside, then retrieved the now-steaming beef.

  “Sorry, sir. Dinner in the oven. How may I help you?”

  “And I’m sorry for interrupting your meal.” Hughes hesitated. “Seems I’m full of apologies. First, I apologize for the way the meeting with AC Collins went. I know it was extremely hard on you, and I truly feel wretched for putting you through that. But I couldn’t see any other way to extend your compassionate leave. It was the outcome I was hoping for.”

  What did he mean, the outcome he was hoping for? Who the hell was he to play with her emotions—her life—like that for his own purposes? What the fuck did he want?

  Hughes hesitated before continuing. “I hope it was what you wanted as well.

  “Sir.” She waited.

  “Well, then, I’ll get to the point. I have a proposal for you, and I’d like to present it to you in person. Can we meet in about an hour?”

  She saw no point in making it easy on him. “So you didn’t want me on leave. Whether we meet depends on the proposal.”

  “DCS Cranwell said you could be exasperating.” He exhaled before continuing. “I’m in charge of a special investigation focused on corruption within law enforcement, and I want—need—your help. I’ve wanted you on board for some weeks, but circumstances made that difficult. I can explain more fully once we meet.”

  “I’ll have conditions.” As powerful as Hughes was, she needed to retain control.

  “Such as?”

  “We can discuss them once I know what you need. Where are you?”

  “At my office. New Scotland Yard.”

  “Who wil
l be there?”

  “Myself and perhaps another person.”

  “I’ll ring you right back.” Some wine was left in the bottle. Elaine emptied it into her glass and swirled. Sheets of the deep red liquid clung to the side of the glass, then sagged back to the surface. She took a sip, cut a bite of steak, and chewed.

  What was going on? Jacko was having an affair with … no, affair wasn’t the right word. He was fucking Hughes wife. Jacko had a gambling habit. She’d seen him meet Hughes and argue publicly. He’d met with Fiona and argued. She had quite possibly saved Fiona’s life. Bull and Costello suspected Jacko and one of his girlfriends of being a witness to a murder. Elaine was certain Barefoot Woman was Fiona. What tangled webs. Which of those strands is part of Hughes’s investigation? Who was Hughes investigating? Novak?

  And could she trust Hughes? Probably not. He was high in the chain of command that had let her down—no, abandoned her—and then afterward made supportive and compassionate noises to assuage his sense of guilt. Never mind what he’d done to Fiona. The man was a snake.

  Weeks, Hughes had said. Why now? She’d be a perfect scapegoat. If his investigation went pear-shaped, guess who’d be blamed—the damaged, outcast, rogue detective they could say had fucked up. Or mishandled evidence. Or even better, roughed up a suspect. They’d find something and then disavow all connections with her. In the end, senior officers would retire to their all-male clubs with cigars and nice pensions, and shake their heads at one another about the woman who’d ballsed it up for them.

  It could be a trap in so many ways. Would a dark van intercept her on the way to his office? It was a possibility, but she doubted it. She stood at the French doors and looked out.

  But if it wasn’t a trap? Why her? Bull and Costello? Could she use Hughes to get the answers she sought? A quid pro quo? So many questions. If she refused, she might never know the answers. She picked up her mobile and dialled. A familiar voice answered.

  “Guv.” Bull’s voice grated, with an edge that implied he wasn’t pleased to hear from her. Traffic sounds in the background told her he wasn’t home yet.

  “I know I acted strangely tonight, but I had reasons. I’ll make it up to you and Costello. Something’s come up, and I need a favour. The kind of favour that only you of all my friends are capable of delivering. Can we meet at your flat? In, say, forty-five minutes?”

  “Friends.”

  She sighed. “I hope so, Bull. I’ll explain when I get there, if you’ll listen. Can we meet?”

  “Liz will be there. Costello?”

  “I’ll ring him. I can’t leave Liz out. But time is short. Forty-five minutes, then?”

  “We’ll put the kettle on.”

  Like Bull, Costello was wary, but he agreed to meet.

  When she rang Hughes, he picked up immediately. “I’ll be longer than an hour getting there, perhaps as long as two. Make sure we’re passed through security.”

  “We? Who are you bringing with you?”

  “Never mind who. This is my first condition.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Wednesday night, Bermondsey

  “When you saw that video it was like someone had slapped you, guv. You knew something, but you weren’t telling us.” Costello leaned against the wall, facing Elaine across the small sitting room of the flat. Bull and Liz eyed her from the sofa to her right. Waiting.

  “That’s exactly what I felt like. Staggered anyway. I needed time. I’d been watching Jacko, but until then I didn’t know you were interested in him too.”

  “Novak wants us to interview him informally,” Costello replied. “Just ring him and ask. Not create a fuss.”

  Something in his tone told her that he was more concerned about Novak’s activities than what they’d learned about Jacko. “There you go again, letting Novak distract you from the case. An interview is an interview. You know the routine, both of you. Jacko’s weak. He lives to feed his ego, so crack that. Show up at his office unannounced. Make sure his colleagues see you. Let him know you’re watching him. Then do your mea culpas with Novak. The case comes first. Crack the case and you’ll find the truth about Novak.”

  Costello replied, “Still digging. Boxe-Berkshire is an old name in real estate, but the true ownership isn’t easy to suss out. Only a couple of named people, who are on the boards of other companies. I’m thinking it’s a shell. We have a specialist in Companies House working on it. Maybe we’ll know in the next day or two.”

  “I’ve done some digging too. There may be crossover between Boxe-Berkshire and IRG. I may know more soon.”

  “What about Barefoot Woman, guv?” Bull glanced at Costello, then Liz. “Seeing her on the video jolted you more than anything.”

  “I know her. Until you told me about Jacko I had no reason to connect her to your case. But now … there are connections. I got a call after you left tonight.”

  Costello shrugged himself away from the wall and took a step towards Elaine. “We’ve been looking for Barefoot Woman for days. If you know and you’re not saying…”

  Elaine waited a beat. “If what? Calm down, DS Costello. Don’t get tetchy—just listen. There’s—”

  “There’s what? More you haven’t told us? If you were any old witness, I’d—”

  “Shut up, Simon!” Liz leapt to her feet. “After everything she’s done, you go off on her like that?”

  Costello turned to face Liz, who stood scarcely six inches from him, her upturned face almost as red as her hair. Elaine interjected.

  “Sit down, both of you. I need your help. We don’t have much time.” She raised her eyebrows at Liz and turned her hand palm down. Liz returned to her place next to Bull.

  Costello scowled, and said, “Sorry, guv. When I was a DC, I was used to not knowing everything that was going on. This is my first case as a sergeant, and I feel like it’s going to be my last. I know I can’t trust Novak, and now you’ve withheld something we should know. I’m tired of secrecy.” He ran his fingers through his curly red hair. “Liz is right. You’ve never steered us wrong. What do you need?”

  Elaine studied his face before she continued. “That’s better. After the two of you left tonight, I got a call from Hughes. He asked me to join a corruption investigation. Said he’d wanted me on board for some time, but he needed me back on leave first.”

  “What did you tell him?” Bull asked.

  “That I had to think about it. If I did, I’d have conditions.”

  “You don’t trust him,” Liz said.

  “Not even when I can see both his hands and his feet. After what these two told me tonight, and with the video, I think his investigation has crossed over into the murder case. Here’s why … don’t interrupt. Just listen.”

  Five minutes later, Bull and Liz sat with dumbfounded expressions. Costello stared at a spot on the ceiling. Elaine could tell his brain was in high gear, sorting and digesting the implications of what she had told them.

  “Tea, Bull?” Elaine held up her cup. “Milk, no sugar … you know that—sorry.”

  Costello came out of his trance when Bull returned with the tea. “Here’s what I think you said, guv. First, there was a conspiracy within the Met that delayed backup and resulted in the assault on you. When backup finally arrived, they found one of your attackers unconscious and trussed up on the pavement outside. You say you didn’t do that, couldn’t have done because he’d left before you were raped. Inside the house there were shoe prints in the blood on the floor that neither you nor Nilo Srecko, the other attacker, could have made. You were unconscious, Nilo was dead with a knife you’d rammed into his throat, so you didn’t know this other person was even there. There’s evidence he—or she—cleared blood and broken teeth from your mouth, possibly saving your life. And the footprints left the house through the back door and down the alleyway.”

  “Right,” Elaine said. “And this other person must have been watching for some time. Was already there when I arrived, or knew I was going there. Maybe follow
ed me. Maybe was told not to interfere. How else could it have happened?”

  Costello shrugged. “Whoever it was, or whoever was in charge of them, wanted you and your investigation out of the picture. You followed Jacko last night because you wanted something you could use to screw information out of him.”

  Elaine laughed. “Poor choice of words, but yes. I started with him because he was the sleaziest. Other top choices were Cranwell and Hughes.”

  Bull picked up the thread. “Last night Hughes met Jacko. They argued. Then Jacko met the blonde. Must have been a shock to find out she was Hughes’s wife. Tonight you discover that she and Jacko may be the two we’re looking for. No wonder you had to think about it.”

  Elaine smiled. “Then Hughes calls. Why do you think he’d want me on the team? Think back.”

  Costello burst out laughing. “Of course! He must have assigned Bull and me to Novak’s team. For some reason he couldn’t get you on board right away, but he had to keep at it, because he wants you to be our control.”

  Elaine nodded. “That’s what I suspect. Thing is, I have my own agenda. Bull, I want you with me when I go see him tonight. I need your Marine’s eyes and ears and maybe muscle if things get nasty. Costello, you and Liz find a spot on the Victoria Embankment where you can keep eyes on the vehicle entrance and Richmond Terrace. A couple out for a romantic stroll along the Thames. Plenty of benches. Watch for anything suspicious. You all have your communicators? Yes? Earpieces everyone.”

  Liz asked, “So I’m back on the team, chief?”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way. I need someone outside the investigation to help keep an eye on Novak, or whoever. Someone Novak doesn’t know about. It’s one of my conditions.”

  Liz pumped her fist in the air. “Excellent! But in the interest of disclosure, who is she? The blonde. I think you need to tell us.”

  “Of course you have a right to know. I told her I wouldn’t grass her up, that coming forward was her decision. So I need an assurance from you that you won’t use what I tell you until I say it’s okay or until you absolutely need to. Can I have that from you?”