The Mourner

by Susan Wilkins

  Calder smiled serenely, ‘Of course not.’

  As they began a stately progress to the outer door, Calder caught Nicci’s eye and smiled.

  The fat man stopped. ‘When the time comes, we’ll feed them a hint on Twitter, let them ferret it out for themselves. Then they’ll be more likely to pick it up and run with it.’

  He seemed to be enjoying his own ingenuity.

  Calder waited a second or two then offered her hand to shake. ‘I’ll send you my notes on the briefing paper by Friday.’

  The fat man nodded, oblivious to the fact he was being dismissed.

  As they disappeared into the corridor Calder turned to Nicci and raised a cynical eyebrow at her departing guests. ‘Sorry to keep you, Nicci. I must say, you’re looking really well. Come on in.’

  Nicci followed the Assistant Commissioner into the inner office.

  ‘Did anyone offer you a coffee?’

  ‘I’m fine. Trying to kick the caffeine habit.’

  Calder settled herself in the black leather desk chair, Nicci took the seat opposite, all too aware that she was being closely scrutinized. Fiona Calder was at least four inches shorter, a petite figure but a huge presence.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, ma’am.’

  The Assistant Commissioner shot her an amused glance. ‘I think we can skip the formality.’

  ‘Old habits, I guess.’ Nicci shrugged.

  Fiona smiled, swivelled her chair slightly. ‘Well, I’ve just been informed that old habits need to change. Reform is the order of the day. Though personally I don’t see that chasing villains from behind a desk in Sainsbury’s is really going to improve matters.’

  Nicci laughed. ‘They’re not serious?’

  ‘Oh, indeed they are. And we’ve all got to get onside or be shipped out. Too many chiefs, not enough Indians, that’s the thinking.’

  ‘I’m glad I’m out of it.’

  Fiona studied the younger woman’s face. There was warmth as well as regret in her eyes. ‘Are you? I was very relieved when you called. I did write, but you never replied.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that . . . I just . . . things got a bit . . .’

  ‘Well, you’re here now. That’s the main thing.’

  They exchanged awkward smiles. She’d made it into the inner sanctum, but Nicci found herself at a loss. This was crazy. How the hell was she supposed to broach the subject of Helen Warner’s death? She was here under false pretences, exploiting her former boss’s goodwill, and that didn’t feel right.

  Sensing the younger woman’s discomfort, Calder adopted a maternal tone. ‘One of the reasons I’m glad you’re here is that I wanted you to know that I tried to stop them forcing you out, I really did. The whole thing was nonsense.’

  Nicci’s mind whirled back to the hearing. It had been an all-male medical panel, two hats and a shrink. The shrink smiled a lot but his weasel words still reverberated through her. She had trusted him with her naked grief and he’d turned it against her. She’d been honest about the booze and the pills; he’d used that to find her unfit for duty.

  How many alchies had she worked with over the years? How many stressed-out depressives, who couldn’t investigate their way out of a paper bag? But they weren’t forced to retire on medical grounds. They weren’t labelled as mental health cases.

  Fiona Calder noticed the colour heighten in Nicci’s cheeks. She wanted to reach out, offer comfort, but she was by nature a cautious woman and very conscious of the importance of proper boundaries. So she waited for Nicci to collect herself.

  ‘I get the boot, my ex-husband gets promoted.’ Nicci retreated behind a cynical laugh.

  ‘Life isn’t always fair—’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘Tim’s a good officer. But not a patch on you.’

  ‘Did you tell the panel that?’

  Fiona tilted her head to one side and smiled. ‘I understand your resentment. It’s natural.’ She took a considered breath. Nicci’s phone call had come out of the blue and certainly taken her by surprise. Her habit was to take the time to consider every move, only sometimes that wasn’t possible. ‘You’ve had a raw deal. Grief affects people differently, it takes time to process. I don’t think the panel took that into account.’ She hesitated then decided. She’d be going out on a limb, but Nicci was worth it. ‘So what I am prepared to do is go back to them now and insist they look at your case again.’

  Nicci blinked several times. Had she heard correctly? She could feel a constriction in her throat; was she about to cry? She swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know what to say. I never thought . . . I didn’t come here expecting . . .’

  ‘I know you didn’t. But the reality is we’re desperately short of good officers, particularly women officers, with your sort of experience. The Met invested a lot of time and money in you. Now you’re back on your feet, makes sense we should recoup our investment.’

  Nicci shook her head in disbelief. ‘The medical panel ruled me unfit for duty. Period. No “Come back later and we’ll see how you are”. And as I recall, I was rather rude to them.’

  Fiona opened a folder on her desk. ‘I pulled up their report from the archives. Says here you called the psychiatrist a two-bit effing jobsworth who hadn’t a clue about policing. That’s just the edited highlights. Several other more graphic expletives were used too,’ she finished with a grin.

  Nicci returned the smile ruefully. ‘The point is, they were right. I was unfit for duty.’ She shifted in her chair; she was having difficulty holding Calder’s gaze, so she let her eyes drift towards the window and the patches of blue beyond. ‘Look, I still drink too much. I haven’t thrown myself into therapy and seen the light. Nothing that much has changed really. I’m still a mess.’

  Fiona Calder watched Nicci intently for a moment then leant her head back and sighed. ‘Everyone has tragedies in their lives. And some are truly terrible. But we’re human beings. We have to find ways to go on. And we all have to find our own way.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’m still looking.’

  ‘All the more reason to get back to what you do best.’

  Lost for words, Nicci crossed her legs and focused on the photographs and commendations lining the wall to the Assistant Commissioner’s left. She’d only been in the room a few minutes and already everything was starting to unravel. She’d dreamt, usually after a heavy drinking bout, of being reinstated, of apologies, getting her warrant card back, her record expunged. What she’d never believed was that it would actually happen, that she’d walk into the Assistant Commissioner’s office and be thrown a lifeline. Until now, Blake had been the only one willing to help her. He’d been her saviour. He’d seen her at her worst and still offered her a job.

  Calder leant forward, resting her elbows on the desk, and fixed Nicci with a kindly eye. ‘What happened to you was . . . Well, I don’t know that anyone ever gets over the death of a child.’ She paused for a moment, drew in a sharp breath. ‘And obviously there are no guarantees. You’d have to be reassessed, the panel would need some persuading. But it’s an opportunity to get your career back. Surely that’s worth a try?’

  ‘I don’t want a career.’ Nicci surprised herself with the vehemence of her reply.

  Fiona merely raised an eyebrow. ‘As I recall, you were pretty ambitious.’

  ‘And look where that got me.’ Now the words came tumbling out. Nicci couldn’t seem to stop them. ‘If I hadn’t been so concerned about my fucking career, I’d’ve been at the school gate to meet her, instead of leaving her to . . . to . . .’

  Nicci fought the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. This was not what she’d intended and it certainly wasn’t what she wanted. She swallowed hard, made a supreme effort to rein in her emotions, reminding herself that she had a job to do, she wasn’t here for sympathy.

  ‘It was an accident, Nicci. It wasn’t your fault.’ Fiona smiled with gentle concern.

  Nicci could only shake her head
, she didn’t trust herself to speak. Coming here had been a mistake; she should’ve stuck to her guns with Blake, made him do his own dirty work. She’d had enough prodding and poking from family, friends, everyone who felt the need to ply her with their opinions and advice. But she reminded herself it was Blake she was angry with, not Fiona Calder. For about thirty seconds that thought held her in check, until Calder made another effort to empathize.

  ‘You must’ve been through hell and back in the last year.’

  ‘What you going to tell me next? “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?” Believe me, I’ve heard that and every other cliché in the book and it makes fuck all difference!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound patronizing.’

  Suddenly feeling penned in, Nicci got up from her chair and moved to the window. She drummed her fingers on the sill, oblivious to the panoramic view. ‘No, no, you’re fine. It’s not you. I’m just . . . look, I know you’re trying to help me, but the panel got it right, ma’am. They were on the money, still are. I am unfit. That’s why I ignored your letter.’ Nerves had left her mouth dry and her palms clammy. It was time to come clean and spit it out. ‘You know why I finally came here today? Blake sent me.’

  It took the Assistant Commissioner a couple of seconds to pick up this thread. ‘You mean Simon Blake?’

  ‘I’m working for him now.’

  Fiona Calder looked genuinely taken aback. ‘You’re working for Simon Blake? What? As a private investigator?’

  ‘I thought you might know that.’

  Fiona’s brow furrowed. ‘Well I didn’t. How on earth did that come about?’

  Nicci shifted her gaze to the window again, she couldn’t meet the Assistant Commissioner’s eye. ‘Blake offered me a job. The GP wouldn’t sign me off any more and I was running out of money.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you come to me then?’

  ‘The point is, Blake’s world suits me fine. I work when I want, and when I want to stay at home and drink myself into oblivion, that’s what I do.’

  Fiona got up from the desk and took a tentative step towards Nicci. ‘You should see someone. It doesn’t have to be some Met-approved shrink. I have a friend who’s a psychotherapist. She’s brilliant, hugely experienced and—’

  Nicci raised a warning palm and backed away. She had to remember why she was here, she needed to put space between them. Now that they were both on their feet Nicci found that the height advantage bolstered her confidence. ‘Aren’t you wondering why Blake sent me? Surely you want to know?’

  Fiona shook her head sadly. Then returned to the desk and sat down, her eyes never leaving Nicci’s face. Remaining perfectly still, she waited.

  Furious with herself, Nicci turned to stare out of the window again. She’d fucked this up royally. Well, Blake had nobody but himself to blame.

  Finally the Assistant Commissioner spoke, her tone detached and professional. ‘Okay, so tell me. Why did ex-Commander Blake send you?’

  She was streets ahead already. Nicci knew without even looking. Still she turned to face her directly; Calder had tried to help, she deserved a straight answer.

  ‘You know why. The Warner case.’

  Fiona sighed, rubbed her forefinger over the crease between her brows as if to ease away the pain. Then she closed the folder on her desk. ‘I had no involvement in that.’

  Nicci felt like a complete scumbag, but there was no going back. ‘You pointed Julia Hadley in our direction. Why?’

  ‘Whose idea was this? Yours or Blake’s?’ Calder fixed her with a steely glare. ‘I hope it was Blake’s.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘And I was stupid enough to think you’d come here for my help.’ An acid tone had crept into Calder’s voice. Nicci could feel the weight of her disappointment.

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Don’t think you can play me, Nicci.’

  The look that accompanied Calder’s words was blistering; it had cowed murderers, politicians and every species of villain in between. Nicci could see the tension rippling through Calder’s jaw. She wished she’d just explode and throw her out. At least then it would be over.

  But in the next instant the anger evaporated. Calder’s eyes glistened with the hint of a tear and she spoke very quietly. ‘It never crossed my mind for one moment that you of all people would end up working for an outfit like Simon Blake’s.’

  Nicci felt her cheeks redden. Calder’s disillusionment with her was palpable and it filled her with shame. She wanted to apologize, somehow explain, but before she could speak the Assistant Commissioner turned away with a weary shake of the head.

  ‘You’d better go.’ It was an order, not a request.

  Nicci hit the first coffee shop she found on Victoria Street. It took all her willpower not to make it the first pub. The encounter with the Assistant Commissioner had left her feeling shitty enough; she knew if she fuelled that with booze she would be on a downward spiral. She settled instead for a double-shot espresso.

  The place was in a late-afternoon slump – a student tapping away on his laptop, a gloomy young woman texting as the toddler strapped in the stroller beside her grizzled and whined.

  Nicci glanced at the child, as she always did, then turned away. Every child reminded her. She found herself a window seat, started to pile up the dirty crocks and wipe the table with a paper napkin. A boy emerged from behind the counter, clearly reading her actions as a reproach. He dumped the cups and saucers on an adjacent table, sprayed hers with cleaning fluid and smeared it across the surface with a cloth. Nicci thanked him and he nodded curtly. She settled in her seat and gazed out at the slow stream of buses, taxis and cars floating past the window.

  What had Fiona Calder meant when she said it had never crossed her mind that Nicci would end up working for an outfit like Blake’s? And why did that idea upset her so much?

  Nicci sipped her coffee for a couple of minutes, then pulled out her phone and speed-dialled Blake’s number.

  He answered on the second ring. ‘Nic?’

  ‘I’m taking a guess, but I’d say we’ve been set up.’

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Nicci listened to his breathing.

  ‘Yeah, I did wonder about that. Any hints as to their agenda?’

  ‘Nope. As soon as she rumbled me, I was out the door.’

  His tone was diffident. ‘Okay, well I’ll see you back at the office.’

  ‘Don’t you think it might be sensible to pass on this one?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Simon, it’s a can of worms.’

  ‘That’s a bit dramatic. It’s just another investigation.’

  He was trying for nonchalant, but failing. She could sense his excitement. This was exactly the kind of opportunity he’d been waiting for – controversial, a headline-grabber – and he didn’t care about the risk.

  ‘So we’re still going ahead?’

  She heard a dry chuckle at the other end of the line. ‘Hell yes!’

  10

  Kaz propped Tevfik against the chaise longue while Yasmin answered the door. He raised his hand slowly and wiped it across his mouth. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Kaz. At first his expression was blank and confused, but then he started to remember. His fingers went to the back of his head and came away smeared with blood.

  His face crumpled into an angry scowl. ‘Fucking bitch!’

  A large, middle-aged man appeared in the parlour doorway. His dark hair was grizzled and greying, his face lined. But there wasn’t an ounce of fab on him. He was solid muscle. Looking down at Tevfik with a mixture of weariness and disgust, he spoke in Turkish, but the sharp anger in his tone needed no translation.

  Tevfik hung his head, raised a pleading hand and launched into a gabbled explanation. Yasmin had slipped into the room behind the newcomer, with two serious-looking minders bringing up the rear. Tevfik pleaded and whined, pointing at Kaz.

  The man’s gaze travelled in her direction
, then he shot a glance at Yasmin. ‘Who’s she?’

  Kaz stepped forward and met his eye. ‘I’m Karen Phelps and I can speak for myself. Are you Mr Kemal?’

  The man scrutinized her for a moment, nodded. ‘Sadik Kemal.’

  Yasmin edged forward. ‘Mr Kemal’s brother.’

  Kaz sighed. ‘Okay. You wanna know what really happened here or are you just gonna take his word for it?’

  Tevfik tried to scrabble to his feet. ‘Fucking whore tried to kill me, that’s what happened.’

  ‘Don’t look much like a whore to me.’ Sadik cast an appraising eye over Kaz. ‘Too scruffy.’

  Yasmin was at his elbow. ‘She’s a mate, a student. We met inside. She just came to visit. This is all a big misunderstanding, Sadik, I swear.’

  Sadik’s lip curled with what might have been amusement. ‘You met inside? Now she’s a student? What kind of fucking student does time?’

  Kaz folded her arms. ‘They call it the rehabilitation of offenders. Government policy, if you wanna know. And I’m a fine art student at Glasgow School of Art.’ Kaz pulled a small wallet from her jeans pocket and slipped out her plastic student ID card. She kept her thumb over the name, but showed Sadik the mugshot.

  He glanced at it, shook his head and laughed. ‘Fuck me! So, Miss Student, what you doing, starting a fight in a whorehouse?’

  ‘I didn’t start it. I just finished it. Your nephew was drunk and breaking the place up. You’re a businessman, this is cutting into your profit margin. So, in a way, I’ve saved you some money.’

  Sadik rested his fists in the pockets of his leather jacket and directed a baleful stare at Tevfik. ‘If you can’t drink like a man, then don’t drink. Drink Coke or milk, like a child. Now go get in the car.’ One of the minders stepped forward and helped Tevfik to his feet, while the other dragged his mate from the chair.

  Tevfik shrugged the minder off and glared at his uncle. ‘You just gonna let this go? You let these bitches laugh at me? Baba would not let this go. I’m gonna talk to Baba.’

  Sadik growled at the minder. ‘Onu alin!’