Heartbreaker (Brennan and Esposito Series)

by Tania Carver

  Marina, listening in on the other line, knew it was working, gave her a thumbs-up in encouragement.

  But Imani didn’t need it. ‘Please,’ she sobbed into the phone, ‘please. I just need… I need to get away. Please. You have to help me…’

  On the other end of the phone Alice said, ‘Would you like to come here?’

  Imani’s eyes lit up. But she kept in character. Didn’t want to lose it now, in the final few lines. It would be like a survivor at the end of a disaster movie slipping and falling on the way to the helicopter.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes please…’

  ‘Right. Whereabouts are you?’

  Imani told her the name of the place the team had agreed on, and a fake name. Alice gave her directions where to go to meet the car.

  ‘How… how will I know it’s the right car?’

  ‘You’ll need a password. Ask the driver for it. The password’s clementine. You got that?’

  Through her sobs, Imani said she had.

  ‘We’ll see you soon.’

  She put the phone down. Sat back and breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘Jesus, that was hard work.’

  ‘You did brilliantly,’ said Marina.

  Imani smiled. ‘Lot harder than playing a shepherd.’

  Marina laughed. More out of relief than anything.

  Cotter re-entered the room. ‘We on?’ she asked.

  Imani stood up. ‘We are.’

  69

  He couldn’t believe it. The first night back listening in and here it was. Perfect. Perfect.

  He could have leapt up, danced round the room with joy, but he controlled himself. Because he wasn’t finished. The Heartbreaker still had something important to do. He watched the screen again. Saw the number being called. When it was just about to be picked up, he intercepted.

  ‘Hello?’ he said, his most passive voice.

  ‘Hi,’ said the voice, ‘it’s Alice from Safe Haven. Is Jan there?’

  ‘She’s… just nipped out. Shouldn’t be long. Can I help at all?’ As non-threateningly as possible.

  ‘Oh, we need someone picked up and she was on call tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll try someone else.’

  ‘It’s no problem. As I said, she shouldn’t be long. I’ll tell her you called. She’ll only be a few minutes. Shall I take the details?’

  ‘You sure it’s no trouble?’

  What did I just fucking say, you thick fucking bitch?

  ‘Absolutely. No trouble at all. And she’ll be there. She won’t keep your new charge waiting.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Alice gave out the information about where Jan was to go. ‘And her name’s Melanie.’

  ‘Melanie, right.’ Talking like he was writing this down. ‘Same, what is it, password, secret word, whatever as last time?’

  ‘Same one.’

  ‘I’ll let her know.’

  He said his goodbyes and hung up.

  Same password as last time… He laughed to himself. Alice obviously thought she was being clever by not giving out the password. But in fact all she had done was confirm it for him.

  He stood up, stretched. Eager to get going, excited that at last he was back in action. And this time there would be no mistakes. No fuck-ups. This time he would do things properly.

  70

  Claire Lingard was sitting at the dining room table, having commandeered it as her home office desk, papers spread out in front of her. She hated the idea of having a home office, wanting to compartmentalise her working hours and her leisure hours, her family hours. But unfortunately there were times when she had no choice but to combine the two, and this was one of them. She disliked working from home at the best of times, and completing grant forms counted as one of the worst.

  Her phone beeped beside her. Grateful for any distraction, she picked it up, checked the screen. A text message from Imani: It’s on.

  She put the phone down, looked at it. Should she reply? If so, what should she say? She didn’t know the etiquette of this kind of operation. She picked the phone back up again, answered.

  Keep me posted.

  That should do it.

  She put the phone back on the table, took a mouthful of wine, looked at it.

  A murderer. An actual murderer. Preying on the kind of women she helped on a daily basis. She still couldn’t quite get her head round it. A murderer. Not in a film or a book, but here. Real. In her life. She shook her head. Took another drink.

  Maybe it shouldn’t be so hard to believe, she thought. Murders did happen. Some of the women she had worked with were testament to that. But that was always an enraged, maddened husband or partner. This was different. A deliberate killer choosing his victims, targeting them. Killing them. A Hannibal Lecter. Here. On her doorstep. That was the hard part to work out.

  The door opened.

  ‘Hiya.’

  Keith. Back from working in one of the other flats. Rubbing his hands together, shaking the dust from his clothes.

  ‘Not in here,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry,’ he replied with an apologetic grin. ‘I’ll go to the bathroom.’ He set off down the hall, stopped, turned, came back. ‘Oh, by the way. Just to let you know, I’m popping out for a bit.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, scratching the back of his neck, face pulled into an awkward expression. ‘Call from Brendan. Needs a chat.’

  She sat upright. ‘Brendan? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Dunno. You know what he’s like. Him and Cath having problems, probably. Just needs a sympathetic shoulder.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘Or at least an ear. He does most of the talking.’

  ‘But… didn’t you see him the other day?’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but…’ He gave a helpless shrug. ‘What can you do?’ He turned away, began walking towards the bathroom once more.

  ‘But you’ve had a drink,’ Claire called after him. ‘You won’t be able to drive.’

  ‘Just one glass of wine,’ he said. ‘A small one. With dinner.’ He laughed. ‘Officer.’ He came back into the room. ‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  He pulled on his jacket, kissed Claire on the forehead and left.

  She looked at the door to the other flats, the ones he was renovating. Where he spent all his spare time. Doing them up, preparing them to rent out. Bring in a bit of money. Or if everything went to plan, a lot of money.

  She nodded to herself. Then looked at her phone, back to the door. She gets that text, he leaves. Coincidence? Of course. Of course it was.

  She kept looking at the door. Unable now to concentrate on the grant forms.

  Had she ever seen the flats? The work Keith had done? No. Wait until they’re finished, he’d said. See them all at once. She’d be impressed.

  She kept staring at the door.

  Just a coincidence, that was all. Just a stupid, ridiculous coincidence. Not Keith. Not her husband. Rubbish. She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. Because if that was the case, if he was…

  No. He couldn’t be. No.

  On her doorstep…

  Claire kept staring at the door.

  71

  ‘Where to this time?’

  ‘Just out,’ said Ellison, pulling on his coat. He turned to look at his wife, still in the same chair, the TV turned up as if she was deaf. He hated her. ‘For Christ’s sake, woman, what business is it of yours?’

  ‘I’m your wife, Hugh. I should know where you’re going. Every night it’s like this. I have to sit here while you go out.’

  ‘You don’t have to sit there. You could get up and do something.’

  ‘Other husbands take their wives out places. Other husbands ask their wives if there’s anywhere they want to go and take them. Not you. Oh no. Out with your friends.’ She gave a snort of derision. ‘Friends.’

  ‘Yeah, friends,’ said Ellison, turning from the front door, walking back into the lounge. ‘Work friends. Colleagues. That’s the only way to move up in thi
s job. Networking. You know that.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ she said, almost standing. ‘I know that. There was a time when you used to take me with you. When there were parties and nights out with other coppers and their wives. Remember them? I know all about networking.’ She stared at him, a cruel, unhappy look in her eye. ‘I know all about the kind of networking you do.’

  Ellison felt his hands shaking. He stuck them in his pockets so he didn’t do something with them that he would later regret. ‘What are you talking about?’ he mumbled. ‘You’re talking rubbish.’

  ‘I know your networking. I know who your friends are. Networking on their backs, is that what they do? Your friends?’

  He stood over her, hands itching to come out of his pockets. He had never hated any woman as much as he hated her.

  ‘You’re a miserable, ugly cunt. Go fuck yourself.’

  She was too stunned to reply.

  He turned and walked out.

  Trying to feel good about himself, about how he had behaved and what he had said. Trying not to hear the tears coming from behind him.

  72

  The Moseley Road Baths was a historic landmark, looking more like a church than a swimming pool.

  An ornate Gothic Renaissance building with terracotta stone, red bricks and an imposing bas-relief coat of arms over the main entrance, the baths had been standing for over a century and was part of the city’s rich Victorian and Edwardian heritage. But it had seen better days. Some of the square leaded windows were broken; moss and mildew grew on the brickwork. If it had been in a more secluded setting rather than a main road in Balsall Heath, it would have made an imposing haunted house.

  Imani stood in front of it, checked her watch. Ten fifteen. The car was late.

  It had been a struggle to organise things so quickly without making the driver suspicious. If indeed it was the Heartbreaker. Operations like this were usually planned well in advance, with areas chosen only after risk assessments had been done, negotiations conducted with all departments and permission granted from on high. But the speed of this one meant that no such action could be taken.

  They had done the best they could given the time they had. The Moseley Road Baths wasn’t a bad location. Somewhere public, somewhere it would be possible to make a scene if things went wrong. Hopefully.

  Imani stood by the bus shelter before the baths. She shivered, even though the night wasn’t particularly cold. But it had started raining again. Pouring. She was glad of the shelter to keep her dry.

  The rest of the team hadn’t been so lucky.

  They were secreted all about the area: the junction with Edward Road, Moseley Road itself, even the back alley opposite. With an armed response unit stationed nearby, waiting for the word. The cavalry. Avi Patel had been elected personal back-up. Out of all of them he had the most recent firearms training, so he was armed. He was across the road, hood up, sitting on the bench of the bus shelter opposite.

  ‘Anything yet?’

  Imani heard his voice in her ear. She was in radio contact with all of them, but they were trying not to use it in case the Heartbreaker was watching, saw her talking to herself and put two and two together.

  She sighed. ‘No,’ she said, trying not to move her lips. ‘I’d let you know if there was.’

  ‘You sound like a ventriloquist,’ he said, laughter in his voice.

  ‘Get off the line, Avi,’ she said. Not unkindly.

  She waited.

  Just because you can’t hear them, she told herself after a while, doesn’t mean they’re not there. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there. Her team were close. She knew they were.

  Knew it.

  But that still didn’t stop her from shaking.

  She waited. A bus came along, stopped. She made no move to get on it. It pulled away again, the driver giving her a less than friendly look. She waited some more.

  Two youths walked down the street, coming towards her. Hoods up, gangster roll. Probably in their teens, she thought. Sixth-form kids trying to look tough. They saw her.

  Please, she thought, please don’t start anything. Please don’t make me start anything…

  They approached the bus shelter. One of them, the taller of the two, eyed her up, letting his gaze wander all over her body. Instead of playing meek, like her body language was doing, as Marina had taught her, she hardened her stare in return. Gave them cop’s eyes. They looked away. Kept walking.

  Imani sighed.

  But whatever relief she felt was cut short. Her phone rang.

  Heart pounding, she pulled it from her coat pocket, answered it.

  ‘H-hello?’ Still keeping in character.

  ‘Hi,’ said a cheerful male voice. ‘I’m your pickup. I’ll be there shortly. Traffic’s terrible tonight.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, as non-committally as she could. ‘Right. Thought you’d be a woman.’

  ‘Couldn’t come. Sent me instead. I’m her husband.’ Then, before Imani could answer, ‘You there? Outside the baths?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I am.’

  ‘Could you just cross the road for me, please?’

  Her heart skipped a beat. ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way but the traffic’s been terrible, like I said. If you could meet me over the other side of the road, I’d much appreciate it.’

  Imani looked round. No cars slowing or stopped. Just the hiss and swish of passing vehicles in the rain. She scanned the nearby streets. No sign of a parked car with someone in it, even hidden in shadow.

  ‘What’s… what’s the password?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Clementine.’

  She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. Or maybe he could.

  ‘I’m genuine,’ he said, and gave a little laugh.

  She nodded once more, thinking. Was there something familiar about that voice? Had she heard it before? Coming over her mobile in the rain, it was hard to tell.

  ‘So can you meet me over the road? It’s not far to go.’

  Imani looked over at Patel. He was standing up now, looking across at her. Aware that something was happening, waiting for an order. She felt good knowing he was there. Safe.

  ‘Oh… okay. Where will you be?’

  ‘You see straight over the road from where you are? There’s a road. Lime Grove. Dead end, leads nowhere. I’ll park down there. That way I can just scoot round and get you to the refuge quicker.’

  She looked across the road. Lime Grove was a narrow, shadowed, tree-lined lane with an old redbrick building on the corner and industrial units behind. It was a dead end, like he had said, mainly used for fly-tipping. Dead end, she thought. Only one way out.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good. Don’t worry, soon have you out of the cold and the wet.’

  He hung up.

  Imani looked round. Patel was ready to go, but she didn’t want him to accompany her. Too suspicious. Too obvious. She didn’t know what to do.

  She heard Cotter’s voice in her ear. ‘Imani, what’s happening?’

  She didn’t want to talk, to say anything aloud in case he was watching, in case he saw her lips moving and suspected a trap. She tried speaking with her mouth closed.

  ‘Got to… move…’

  ‘Move, move where? Was that him, Imani?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where do you have to move to? Tell me, Imani.’

  ‘Just… round the corner…’ She picked up her phone again, called Claire. Just to check that protocol was being followed. That there was no chance her driver would change the pickup spot.

  Engaged.

  She tried the refuge. Same story.

  ‘Imani? What’s happening?’ Cotter again.

  ‘Got to go over the road,’ she said. ‘Meet him there. Get Patel to cover me, follow from a distance.’

  Without waiting for a reply, she picked up her bag, stepped into the road.
/>   73

  Sperring stood up. He had been crouching behind a railing at the side of the Moseley Road Baths. He had heard everything that was happening.

  ‘Ian,’ said Cotter.

  ‘Here, ma’am.’

  ‘On my signal, get ready to move. Imani’s gone down Lime Grove. Wait a few seconds, then we follow. I’m not going to delay any longer. We can’t have him driving her away.’

  ‘He’s changed the plan already,’ Sperring said. ‘Made her more vulnerable.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that, thank you,’ she said.

  He heard her next call, to Patel. ‘DC Patel. Go after her now.’

  ‘Right, ma’am. She’s just gone down the street. Lost visual contact with her.’

  ‘Then go. I’ll call the backup team, get them in place. Stop him from coming out.’

  Sperring watched as Patel walked away from the bus stop and, moving as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself, slipped down the darkened side street.

  ‘Right, DS Sperring. Go. Now.’

  Sperring made to cross the road but didn’t make it. Another bus hove into view, slowed in front of him, stopped.

  ‘Christ,’ he said, ducking to the side of it.

  Checking for traffic, visibility cut down because of the rain and the dark, he crossed the road. He was just at the entrance to the lane when he heard a sound. It could have been a car backfiring, but he knew exactly what it was.

  Then he heard it again.

  ‘Shots fired…’ he shouted, and ran as fast as his overweight frame would take him.

  A car screeched towards him, headlights on full, temporarily blinding him, making him stop, put an arm to his face. He moved to one side but the car did the same. To the other side; the car followed him once more.

  He threw himself into a metal railing and the car sailed past him. Rounded a corner and away, before it reached the main road.

  He watched it go, trying to make out the registration number. The rain and the dark stopped him. Plus the fact that it had been obscured by something – mud, or paint.