Heartbreaker (Brennan and Esposito Series)

by Tania Carver

  And then, job done, as God spoke to him, he listened, nodding in places, taking in the words, receiving his instructions and the reasoning behind them. Eventually he stood up, let Trudi’s head fall gently to the floor, walked to the bathroom and got into the shower.

  Now he was ready to go. Sunday-best suit, polished shoes, even a collar and tie. Hair neat and parted. Shaved.

  Ready.

  But it was a still to be a pilgrimage. That aspect hadn’t changed. He was still going to walk. And walk he did. All the way into town, his shoes pinching his toes, hurting and rubbing his heels. His collar chafing at his neck, half strangling him, cuffs too tight round his wrists. But it was fine. All part of his suffering.

  He called in to a petrol station on the way, selected a bunch of forecourt flowers. He didn’t know what they were. Wide-headed, different-coloured bright petals. They looked fragile, as if they wouldn’t survive the journey. But they would have to do.

  And he walked on.

  Until he reached his first destination.

  Saturday Bridge was still cordoned off, the forensic teams not yet finished working the area. The white tent was still in place, the canalside path unpassable.

  Adderley walked as far down the slope as he could, as near to the tent as he could get. Nobody made any attempt to stop him. Nobody even noticed him. There was a very small collection of wilting flowers at the side of the tent. Cellophane-wrapped and dying. Adderley knew who they were from. One bunch from Gemma’s parents, one from them on behalf of Carly. He laid his pathetic, over-coloured flowers next to them, stood up, looked around.

  He tried to work out what he was feeling. Remorse? Sadness? Loss? He didn’t know. He was tempted to tell himself that he was feeling too many conflicting emotions to actually settle on something he could recognise. Something would hopefully reveal itself, define itself to him. Tell him what to say, how to feel. But that wasn’t the truth. Because what he really felt – truthfully felt – was numbness. A void where there should be emotion of some kind, any kind. An absence of thoughts where prayers and eulogies should have been. His wife’s body had been found there, mutilated, tortured and dead. And he could no longer feel anything for her.

  He turned and made his way back up the path, on to the main pavement once more.

  The route was memorised in his head. Besides, he knew where he was going. The inevitable place. Where he was always bound to end up.

  The main central police station on Steelhouse Lane.

  He stood on the street now, gazing up at the building. Behind the courts, it shared a lot of the same Gothic style, looking like an urban idea of an old Hammer horror film. But the cars, vans and uniformed officers wandering around in front dispelled that idea. Still, it looked appropriate to Adderley. As though some kind of old-style, truthfully physical justice went on in there.

  At least he hoped so.

  He found the main entrance, walked up to the desk. There were a couple of people before him so he calmly waited his turn. Eventually he stood before the glass partition. The desk sergeant looked up at him, waited expectantly for him to speak.

  And the words deserted him.

  ‘Yes?’ said the sergeant, trying not to let irritation and weariness slip into his voice.

  Adderley moved his mouth, hoped that the exercise would eventually produce words. It did.

  ‘M-my name’s… Roy… Adderley. Adderley.’ He cleared his throat while the desk sergeant waited.

  ‘Good,’ said the desk sergeant. ‘And what can I do for you, Mr Adderley?’

  ‘I want to report a murder.’

  The desk sergeant looked taken aback. ‘Oh yes? Whose?’

  ‘My girlfriend. And I’m only going to talk to Detective Inspector Brennan.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said the desk sergeant.

  ‘No,’ said Adderley. ‘I’ll only speak to Detective Inspector Brennan.’

  ‘Fine. Okay. I’ll get him. In the meantime, can you tell me, do you know who killed her?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Me.’

  And Adderley gave a smile so radiant it was like he felt the sun streaming from his face.

  60

  ‘So,’ said Imani, ‘how d’you like it in the big city?’

  Patel, in the passenger seat, laughed. She had hoped he would. They were driving back into the city centre, negotiating the roundabouts down from Balsall Heath through Edgbaston.

  ‘It’s not that different, you know,’ he said. ‘We’ve got mosques in West Bromwich.’ He pointed to one through the right window. ‘We’ve got roads, just like this one, we’ve got… oh, everything you’ve got here.’

  ‘Including crime.’

  ‘Well, that happens everywhere.’ He looked out of the window, then back to her, still smiling. ‘Scenery’s prettier here, though.’

  Imani tried hard to keep her eyes on the road, but glanced at him in mock surprise and admonishment. Or at least she thought it was only mock. She wasn’t sure.

  ‘Any more sexist comments like that, Detective Constable Patel, and you’ll be walking back to Steelhouse Lane.’

  He looked away from her, seemingly genuinely embarrassed. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Just trying to give you a compliment.’ His words sounded clumsy, his body shifting like he was itching all over, hands gesturing impotently. He looked like someone trying not to lose their balance and fall downstairs.

  ‘I know you were,’ she said. ‘Or I think you were.’

  ‘I was,’ he said. ‘Honestly. That was all.’

  Imani said nothing more. Just looked out of the opposite window and smiled to herself, hoping he wasn’t watching her reaction.

  She turned on to Bristol Road, heading into the city.

  Patel had stopped talking. Imani risked a glance at him. He was looking out of the window, away from her. Something seemed to be on his mind, troubling him, furrowing his brow. It was a nice brow, she thought. Too handsome to look troubled.

  She stopped herself. What was she thinking? Did she really fancy him? Well, yes. That much was obvious. And he fancied her. She knew that. Didn’t have to be Psychic Sally to work out what he was thinking and feeling.

  But why was she falling for it? It wasn’t like her. She had spent a large part of her career fighting against the lazy, institutionalised sexism that was inherent in the police force. Batting away the wandering hands of senior officers, wondering whether to ignore or complain about the jokes directed at her. Knowing that she shouldn’t have to stand for that kind of treatment, but that if she complained too much, stood up for herself, someone, somewhere, would be marking her down as a troublemaker. And if that happened, no matter how brilliant she might or might not be, her career would be less than stellar.

  But Patel seemed different. Not like the usual rank and file, not treating her the same way. He had accepted her promotion to CIO, shared her concerns about domestic violence and even demonstrated that to her. It couldn’t all be bullshit.

  She found herself smiling once more. Risked another glance at him. He was still staring out of the window. She did like him. Admitted that much to herself. Even though she had told herself she would never end up with a copper. Because she knew what they were like. Not just from experience. Not just from working with them. Because she was one herself.

  ‘Maybe…’ Patel started, then stopped just as quickly.

  ‘Yeah?’ she said. Keeping her eyes on the road, negotiating the Queensway underpass.

  ‘Well, I dunno,’ he said. ‘This investigation. I’m enjoying it. Better than we get in West Brom, you know what I mean?’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But we are the Major Incident Squad, don’t forget. We don’t do run-of-the-mill.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that. But…’

  Imani waited. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I was thinking… maybe I should put in for a transfer.’

  ‘To Birmingham or MIS?’

  ‘MIS.’ He looked at h
er, then quickly away. ‘If, you know. If you think I’ll be good enough. If you’ll have me.’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘I mean, how would you like that? If I was on your team?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ she said, trying and failing to keep a teasing tone out of her voice. ‘We only take the best, you know.’ She looked at him. ‘You the best?’

  He smiled. ‘Oh yeah.’ And there was a cockiness, a swagger she hadn’t seen before. Not unattractive, she thought. He nodded. ‘I’ve got some moves. Just wait and see.’

  ‘I’ll bet you have,’ she said, and smiled all the way back to the station.

  61

  ‘Change of plan,’ said Cotter, striding into the incident room and beckoning Imani and Marina towards her. They looked at each other, confused. The three of them huddled together in a corner.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Claire Lingard, ma’am,’ said Imani. ‘She’s ready to go tonight.’

  ‘Well,’ said Cotter, ‘it may not come to that.’

  The two of them looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Roy Adderley’s just walked in and confessed to the murder of his girlfriend.’

  Marina and Imani stared at her. She continued.

  ‘We’ve sent uniforms round to his place, and her body’s there on the floor of the living room. It looks like he beat her to death.’

  ‘Jesus…’ Marina stared.

  Cotter turned to her. ‘Could it be him? For the other two? Could it?’

  Marina, put on the spot, shrugged. ‘It’s possible. As I said, he could be hiding in plain sight. So I’d say all bets are off.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ asked Imani.

  ‘Interview room one.’

  Imani looked at the door, back to Cotter. In a hurry to go. ‘Who’s handling it?’

  ‘Well that’s the thing,’ said Cotter. ‘He’ll only speak to one person. Phil Brennan.’

  Marina’s mouth fell open. Before she could reply, Cotter continued.

  ‘That was the deal. Phil’s on his way into the building now.’ She turned to Marina. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Marina recovered some of her composure. ‘No, it’s… it’s all right. Had to happen some time. If that’s what… It’s fine.’ She was breathing heavily.

  ‘So if we can get him to admit to the killing of —’ Imani stopped in her tracks, eyes drifting to the door.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Cotter.

  The other two followed her gaze. DS Hugh Ellison was once again in the incident room. He spotted the three of them and began walking towards them.

  ‘Doesn’t he have any work to do in Digbeth?’ said Imani.

  ‘You’ve met him?’ asked Cotter in surprise.

  ‘Came in yesterday. Wanted to know if there was any progress on the Gemma Adderley case.’

  ‘I worked with him on that,’ said Marina. She gave an involuntary shudder.

  ‘He’s as slimy as they come,’ said Cotter. ‘We’ll have to disinfect this place after he’s gone.’

  He reached them. They gave no indication that they had been discussing him.

  ‘DS Ellison,’ said Cotter, unable or unwilling to keep the dislike from her voice. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘Is it true?’ he asked. ‘He’s come in? He’s admitted it?’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’ Cotter’s face was blank.

  ‘Adderley. Heard he’d copped for it.’

  ‘Roy Adderley is in for questioning, yes. I’m afraid I can’t say any more than that.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Ellison, lip curling nastily. ‘I worked that case. I’m not some sodding reporter that you’re trying to fob off. Has he copped to it or not?’

  ‘No,’ said Marina, sensing that Cotter was becoming angry, jumping in to save a confrontation. ‘He’s come in but he hasn’t been questioned yet.’

  Ellison turned, looked at her. Didn’t bother to disguise the leer on his face as he gave her a head-to-toe appraisal. ‘Hello, Marina. Good to see you again.’

  She nodded, not trusting herself with words.

  Ellison reluctantly took his eyes off her, turned back to Cotter. ‘So when and where?’

  ‘When and where what, DS Ellison?’

  ‘When’s the interview? I want to watch.’

  ‘That’s out of the question, I’m afraid. We’re —’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ he said, in what he clearly assumed was a charming voice but which came out thin and wheedling. ‘I was there at the start, I should be there at the end. Want to hear him admit it.’

  ‘Sorry, but no. You’re not part of the investigating team. I won’t allow it.’

  Cotter held firm. Ellison stared at her. She returned his gaze. Hard, steely. He glanced at Marina.

  ‘You’re letting her watch,’ he said petulantly.

  ‘Dr Esposito is a valued part of my team,’ Cotter said. ‘She’s allowed to.’

  He stared at Marina once more, mouth open to speak, then closed it again, apparently thinking better of it.

  ‘So that’s it, then, is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, DS Ellison. I can’t allow it.’ Cotter reached across, shook his hand. ‘But thank you for making time in your busy schedule to come in. We’ll let you know what happens.’

  Realising he was getting nowhere, he made to leave. But before moving off, he turned back again. ‘Nice to see you again, Dr Esposito.’ He made the words sound like an insult.

  The three of them watched him go.

  ‘I’m going to wash my hand now,’ said Cotter. She turned to the other two. ‘Horrid little man. Used to work Vice. And from what I hear, wasn’t averse to helping himself to freebies. He’s with MisPers now. I think it was either that or early retirement.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Imani. ‘I’m sure it’s the force’s gain.’

  Cotter gave a smile of relief. ‘Glad we’re all on the same page as far as he’s concerned. Now. What are we going to do about Roy Adderley?’

  62

  ‘Good to have you back, boss.’ Sperring was the first to greet Phil as he returned to the station.

  It felt strange to be back. He had only been away for a relatively short time, but the experience of walking into the building again was disconcerting. He had been suspended from an inquiry once before, at the behest of his then DCI, but that DCI had had a hidden agenda which Phil had then gone on to expose, so he had been reinstated immediately. This time was different. He would have done the same as Cotter in her position. Now he was back, uncertain as to when his next appearance here would be, and under what circumstances. So just do what he had to do and get it over with.

  To say he’d been surprised by the phone call was a massive understatement. Not just at being asked back so soon, but the manner of the invitation. The one thing that hadn’t surprised him was hearing what Adderley had done. He felt vindicated in his actions.

  He reached the interview room. No other members of his team – should he keep thinking of them as his team? – were about apart from Sperring. And for that Phil was grateful.

  Especially where Marina was concerned. Just knowing she was in the same building was disconcerting enough. Enough to put him off what he was here to do. Enough to send him spiralling downwards once more.

  Focus. He had a job to do.

  ‘Thanks, Ian.’ Phil looked at his DS, then at the door. He didn’t know if he should say anything further, or indeed if he could think of anything further to say. Sperring made the decision for him.

  ‘Just go right in, boss. He’s waiting for you.’

  Phil managed a smile. ‘I’ll soften him up for you to take over.’

  Sperring managed to return the smile. ‘I’ll be watching.’

  Phil entered. Adderley sat alone at the table. Phil motioned to the uniform standing by the door to leave, then crossed to the table, sat down opposite.

  ‘Just the two of us,’ he said, hoping that he would quickly fall back into the rhythm of things. ‘How quaint.’

  Adderley was wea
ring a suit, but his tie and belt had been taken from him. He stared at Phil. ‘You look terrible,’ he said, face filled with compassion.

  ‘So do you,’ said Phil, automatically. Before Adderley could speak, he continued, ‘That what you brought me in for? To say that?’

  Adderley frowned slightly.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Phil, ‘I should say before we go any further that anything you say to me doesn’t count. I’m suspended.’

  Adderley shrugged.

  ‘And also,’ said Phil, ‘anything I say to you doesn’t count. This isn’t an official interview.’

  ‘I don’t care about any of that,’ said Adderley, his voice strangely, almost disconnectedly, calm, his gave level. Too level. ‘I know what I’ve done, I know what will happen to me. That’s not what this is about. I wanted to talk to you. Just you.’

  Phil shrugged, kept his face impassive. ‘I’m here. So talk.’

  Adderley stared at him for a long time before speaking. Phil waited, his face giving nothing away. Adderley’s expression was bland but his lips were moving, like he was having a secret conversation. Or saying a prayer. Eventually he smiled.

  ‘This…’ He gestured round the room, his arms stretched out expansively. ‘This. Is all your fault.’ Dropping his arms, looking straight at Phil. Waiting.

  ‘No it’s not,’ said Phil, suddenly feeling back in the swing of interrogation, muscle memory taking over.

  Adderley nodded, still smiling, face gravely serene. ‘Yes it is.’ His voice low, sure. ‘Yes it is. You see,’ he leaned forward, explaining a point, making sure it was understood, ‘nothing would have happened. Nothing at all. If you’d left me alone. Nothing.’ Leaning back, nodding to emphasise his point.

  Phil folded his arms. ‘Bullshit,’ he said. ‘It would have happened. All of it.’

  ‘Really?’ More amused than anything else, letting a lesser intellect have their fun before spoiling it with a killer argument.