The Mourner

by Susan Wilkins

  At about ten past six a couple of paramedics turned up and Joey was transferred to their stretcher. Papadakis offered him pain relief, but Joey refused.

  The prison officer was due to go off shift, but when he phoned the office he was told that the night shift were short-handed and he would have to accompany Joey to the hospital. His name was Travers, he’d seen it all, been in three riots and faced down every sort of villain. He matched Joey in size, but his belly sagged over his belt and his forty-a-day habit had put pay to any claim to fitness.

  He stared down at Joey with a gimlet eye as he snapped on the cuffs to shackle them together. ‘Right, Phelps. Medic says you’re going to hospital. But don’t let that give you no ideas.’

  Joey lounged back on the pillow with a weak smile. ‘If you lot was doing your job and keeping them fucking ragheads in order, I wouldn’t be laying here bleeding like a stuck pig.’

  Travers’ lips curled into a sarcastic grin. ‘Oh, poor you.’ He turned to the paramedics. ‘Can we get this bloody show on the road. I got a darts match at half eight.’

  As the trolley was wheeled out into the yard towards the waiting ambulance, Joey let the fingers of his free hand stray to the side seam of his jogging pants. Out of sight under the blanket, he started to pull at the loose thread with thumb and index finger.

  The trolley was lifted and slotted into the back of the vehicle, then the doors slammed shut. Travers sat down on the side bench, his left hand cuffed to Joey’s right. With his other hand Joey continued to tug at the thread, and as the stitching unravelled he could feel the razor-sharp blade of the homemade shiv come free from the material and drop into his hand.

  Joey turned his face towards Travers, who was twisted sideways, peering through to the front cab. His chin was elevated exposing the side of his neck. Joey could see small patches of grey stubble that he’d missed when shaving.

  The vehicle was moving slowly. As soon as it cleared the prison gates it picked up speed and the siren started to wail. Joey liked the sound; as if it were riding to the rescue. It was just the adrenaline pump he needed. The discomfort from his wound was minimal, a battlefield scratch any true soldier would ignore. He took a deep breath and identified the jugular vein as it emerged from below the jawline and travelled down the neck. His grip tightened on the narrow handle of the weapon.

  Travers didn’t even see the blow coming. The lethal blade plunged into his neck three inches below the ear. He gasped in shock as a spurt of arterial blood arced sideways and hit the wall of the ambulance. Eyeballs frozen with incredulity, he slumped sideways.

  As Joey rammed the shaft home he looked into the prison officer’s eyes and saw the void open up. His heart soared. For him, it was the perfect moment. Raw power – nothing matched its potency. The warrior had risen, reclaimed his authority. And Joey knew his days as a PoW were over.

  13

  Nicci spent half an hour sitting in the coffee shop in Victoria Street, staring out of the window and churning over her meeting with Calder. The reason she’d gone there had become irrelevant. She’d been offered a way back, a chance to return to the only job she’d ever wanted and she’d turned it down flat. Maybe she was actually mad. Somehow the sorrow and booze had warped the neural pathways in her brain or had turned her biochemistry toxic. She’d come out of Calder’s office feeling ashamed of how she’d behaved, especially after the kindness the woman had shown her.

  When she finally walked back to Victoria to pick up the tube, she discovered that there’d been an ‘incident’ at Bond Street and the whole Central Line eastbound was down. As she didn’t fancy the pushing and shoving necessary to get on a bus she started to walk.

  London had been her city since she explored it as an eighteen-year-old student at UCL. The first in her family to make it to uni, moving to the capital had left her exhilarated but broke. So she learnt the city on foot, mile upon mile of grey flagstone pavements flecked with rock-hard gum accretions clinging to the pathways like some exotic lichen. When she joined the Met on the graduate entry scheme she was the only trainee at West End Central who knew the patch.

  It was six thirty by the time Nicci made it back to the office; she had a faint hope of checking in with Blake then going home. She pictured her flat, a bottle of wine on the table and the relief of solitude.

  There was a meeting in progress in what they rather grandly called the board room; in fact it was an office of comparable size to Blake’s, furnished with a large oval table and half a dozen cheap IKEA chairs. Blake was seated at the end of the table, Eddie was at his elbow like an attentive hound, Pascale and Liam were there with piles of papers in front of them. Nicci sighed – they’d obviously been having a busy afternoon.

  Easing open the plate-glass door, she caught Eddie in full flow: ‘—point is, boss, once you start digging . . .’

  Blake heard her enter and looked up. Eddie, sensitive to every shift in his master’s attention, broke off. Conscious of being watched, Nicci slipped into a chair and cracked open one of the bottles of water on the table.

  Finally she allowed Blake to catch her eye. ‘Eddie’s come up with quite a promising lead.’

  Nicci took a long slug from the bottle. ‘Yeah?’

  Blake gave Eddie the nod.

  ‘It’s just this bloke I know, media adviser at Labour HQ. I used to feed him stuff when he was on the red-tops, so he owes me a favour or two. Now he reckons—’

  Nicci fixed Eddie with a resentful glare. It helped to find someone to dump on. ‘Let me guess: she was shagging a senior member of the Shadow Cabinet. No, better still, a senior member of the Shadow Cabinet’s wife. She thought it was a) true love, wife chucked her, went back to the old man, she topped herself in despair, or b) wife chucked her, she got the hump, decided to sell her story to the Sun and the forces of darkness moved in on her.’

  Nicci took another long draught of water and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Eddie glanced at Blake for guidance, but he was just smiling. He knew why she was kicking off and in anyone else it would’ve annoyed him. But this was Nicci. He closed the file in front of him and checked his watch. ‘Maybe we should call it a day. Thanks, everyone. It’s been really useful.’

  Pascale and Liam gathered up their papers, grateful to escape.

  Reluctant to be excluded, Eddie hovered. ‘Anyone fancy a bevy?’

  Blake was focused on Nicci; he didn’t even give Eddie a look. ‘Not for me. We’ll pick this up in the morning.’

  Once Eddie had shuffled out Blake threaded his fingers together, waiting for Nicci to speak. Ignoring him, she continued to drink.

  He gave her a quizzical look. ‘So what’s your plan? Go home and swap that for a bottle of vodka?’

  ‘Not that keen on vodka.’ She crinkled her nose.

  ‘What can I say?’ He tilted back in his chair, but his expression remained laid back. ‘I’m sorry we had to do it this way.’

  Nicci almost snorted on her water. ‘No you’re not!’

  ‘Did she give you a hard time?’

  ‘Not really. She thought I’d gone there for her help.’

  Blake rubbed his chin with his thumb. He was scanning her face. ‘Don’t feel bad, Nic. She’s playing us, we just played her back. That’s all.’

  Nicci met his gaze but didn’t reply.

  He got up, slid his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘What did she actually say?’

  ‘She said she’d had no involvement with the case.’

  ‘See, she’s lying too.’

  Nicci shot him an acid glance. ‘Oh, well that’s all right then.’

  Blake jangled his change, the only sign of his frustration, then his brow wrinkled with concern. ‘Y’know, if you’re not up for this, you only have to say.’

  ‘Then what you gonna do? Rely on some sleazebag who owes Eddie Lunt a favour?’

  This drew a wry smile of acknowledgement from Blake. ‘You’re right. I do need you. I just . . . well, you know, I worry.’

  ‘Do
n’t.’ Nicci flashed him a resentful look. He knew exactly how to push her buttons. ‘I do best when I’ve got distractions. Plenty of stuff to do and to think about.’

  ‘Well, this certainly fits the bill.’ He picked up his expensive tailored jacket from the back of the chair. ‘You didn’t want to hear Eddie’s contribution, so what’s your theory then?’

  ‘Haven’t really got one. But I think the partner’s right: definitely not suicide. She wasn’t the type. Accident? Unlikely.’

  Blake nodded. His face was solemn, but there was a glint in his eye. ‘Murder then. Some trouble taken to make it look like suicide, so could be a professional hit. That takes us to who – and may also explain why the Met don’t want to touch it.’

  Nicci plonked the plastic bottle down on the table and carefully screwed the top on. ‘Is that why you can’t resist this?’

  Blake had the gleeful expression of a small boy who’d just been given permission to ride the big dipper, but he maintained the nonchalant tone. ‘Well you’ve got to admit, it’s marginally more interesting than investigating some boring company takeover or preparing a defence brief for some guilty-as-hell villain with only half a brain.’

  Nicci couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’m telling Heather on you! Poor woman thinks you’ve settled for the easy life and the easy money. But you still want to get down and dirty with the big boys, don’t you?’

  ‘Do I?’

  Blake gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence, but Nicci pressed on: ‘Calder’s worried, the whole pack of them are running scared. You’ve got to ask yourself why, Simon.’

  He checked his watch. ‘I never was much good at the politics.’

  Nicci knew him well enough to realize the calm indifference was a sham. ‘You were just too egotistical to play the game.’

  ‘And you’re not?’ He gave her a provocative glance. ‘C’mon, Nic, you could’ve used your visit to Calder to negotiate a way back in for yourself. Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Don’t try and be smart. You’re just avoiding the question. This case could put you out of business.’

  He eased the jacket on, settled it on his shoulders and adjusted his tie. ‘Okay, let’s look at that. This is exactly the kind of case you need to make a reputation.’

  ‘Yeah, but a reputation for what?’

  Blake’s gaze drifted towards the window. ‘It’s all going to be up for grabs. The way policing’s going in this country, they’ll outsource as much as they can get away with. Homicide, the investigation of serious crimes, fraud – most Chief Constables are going to end up buying it in just so they can keep the public happy and maintain a few uniforms on the beat.’

  ‘You really think it’ll come to that?’

  Blake laughed. ‘Don’t you think some policy wonks in Whitehall aren’t already drawing up the plans? It’s not just going to be back office and support services.’

  ‘I don’t think the voters’ll accept it.’

  He widened his eyes as if surprised by her naivety. ‘I think the world is changing very fast. I plan to be ahead of the game. Then those smug bastards at the Yard’ll be queuing up begging me for a job.’

  Now they were down to the nitty-gritty.

  Nicci got up and followed him into the outer office. ‘So it’s all about payback?’

  ‘Depends if payback’s what you want.’

  Nicci ran her fingers through her hair. What she wanted was peace, an escape from the recriminations that shadowed every waking hour and skittered through her dreams, but that didn’t feel as if it was coming any time soon. ‘How the fuck do I know what I want?’

  Blake paused and considered her for a moment. ‘You know Eddie’s asked me for share options.’

  ‘Cheeky sod. I hope you told him where to get off.’

  ‘I did. But if you were to ask me the same question, I’d call the accountants and put the wheels in motion. You need to think about the future, Nic. Where d’you think you’re going to be in ten years’ time?’

  Nicci stared at him for a moment and laughed. ‘I don’t even know where I’ll be in a week’s time.’

  ‘Then take the share options. They could turn into serious money. What have you got to lose? We sink or swim together. Could be exciting times for us both.’ He gave her a wistful smile. ‘Who knows? Could maybe even help you get your life back.’

  14

  Kaz left the house in Walthamstow by the back door. She climbed over the fence into the garden behind and found a way out through an alley that led into another street. Sadik Kemal seemed to have bought her story, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She ducked through the side turnings with her hood up and jumped on a bus that was headed into town. The top deck was almost empty, she sat at the back and stared out of the window. Kids were playing football on Hackney Marshes, shouting and laughing, people were walking their dogs and enjoying some evening sunshine.

  It made Kaz feel even more wretched and alone. Some homecoming; she’d only arrived in London a few hours ago and already a man she didn’t even know had wanted to kill her. She considered her options; there weren’t that many. At least it was summer; a night sleeping on the streets probably wouldn’t be too bad. A student hostel would be better, if she could find one. Then again, it was still high season for tourists, so the likelihood was they’d be full.

  The bus trundled through Dalston making frequent stops and as it turned into Kingsland Road, Kaz realized they were heading towards Liverpool Street. She got off in Bishopsgate and rode the escalator down into the main station concourse; she allowed herself to be carried along with the crowd. She had no fixed notion of where she was going, but somewhere in the back of her mind was an unconscious longing, a desire to go home. She bought a coffee and sat on a step watching the legion of homeward-bound Essex commuters marching past her.

  The last time she’d seen her mother had been at Joey’s trial. Ellie had sat in the public gallery, supported by Brian, her late husband’s dogsbody and now Ellie’s live-in lover. When Kaz gave her evidence, Ellie had got up and walked out. All contact had been severed with her family when she went on the witness protection scheme. It seemed pretty unlikely they’d have anything to say to each other if they were to meet now.

  Ellie had been a far from perfect parent and any affection she did have had always been reserved for her son. Kaz had known this as soon as her little brother was born. Ellie may have omitted to feed him and change him, but her attention, when she wasn’t drugged up to the eyeballs, had always been focused on Joey.

  Having sat staring into space for nearly an hour, Kaz came to a decision, bought a ticket from the machine and boarded the Billericay train. She had no idea whether Ellie and Brian were still living at the old place. They’d be unlikely to welcome her, but with Helen dead she had a visceral need to retreat, find a familiar bolthole. Only then could she get her thoughts straight and make a plan.

  She didn’t have enough money for a cab so she took a bus from Billericay station. She walked the last mile or so. The house looked benign and glowing in the fading summer light. Russian vine was tumbling over the walls and there were several varieties of clematis. A ‘For Sale’ board was nailed to the gatepost. The housing on the entryphone had been removed and its circuit board hung down, attached by a single wire. The electronic gate was ajar. Kaz stood looking at her old home, different and yet the same; clearly they were moving or maybe they’d already gone.

  As she walked across the gravel drive she could see a faint glow leaching through the dark dining room from the kitchen at the rear. It was the only visible light in the dusky interior. Kaz hesitated. She felt apprehensive, though she couldn’t say why. She didn’t want to ring the doorbell and risk having to offer some explanation for her presence to strangers.

  She skirted round the side of the house. The wrought-iron gate leading to the back garden stood open. Kaz peered round the corner. The patio, overshadowed by the back of the house, was almost in darkness, but she could make out the silhouette o
f a man. He wasn’t tall – slight in build and holding a bottle of beer in his hand. He stepped into a patch of light pooling out from the kitchen and Kaz recognized Brian.

  ‘Well, come on then, you two! We gotta celebrate.’ He raised the bottle and laughed.

  A much larger figure stepped out of the house, but his face remained obscured and he had his back to Kaz. He too held a bottle, which he raised and chinked against Brian’s. Kaz felt a jolt of fear and nausea rise from her stomach to her throat. As he put the bottle to his lips, his face caught the light. The cheeks were now bearded but Kaz knew there could be no mistake; it was definitely Joey.

  15

  It was nearly dark when Nicci Armstrong got off the bus in Newington Green. The aroma of meat and fat wafting from the kebab shop on the corner reminded her that all she’d had to eat was a BLT at about one o’clock. She considered the run of fast-food establishments all trying to entice her with their wares and opted for a curry. Curry went with beer and if she stuck to beer instead of opening a bottle of wine she had a better chance of not getting completely pissed.

  After Blake left she’d spent some time in the office trawling the Net; the Warner case had attracted wide and diverse coverage. Pascale had already sifted the reams of data and Nicci settled for transferring a selection of the researcher’s files to her iPad, which she stuffed in her backpack. When she finally put the key into her own front door it was close to nine o’clock.

  She was unloading the takeaway from a plastic carrier onto the kitchen counter when she heard a soft tapping. It puzzled her at first, but further investigation revealed that someone was knocking on the door to the flat. Access to the building was controlled by an entryphone system with a buzzer; no one had ever got past that to the actual door before. Nicci peered suspiciously through the spy-hole. It took her a second to recognize the old lady from the bus stop and she appeared to be carrying something.