Julia’s style of driving could never have been deduced from either her appearance or manner. She navigated through the back streets of South London – Brixton, Camberwell and up to the Blackwall Tunnel – like a rally driver. The manoeuvrability and speed of the little car surprised Kaz. The rush-hour traffic had been a worry, but they got through the tunnel and out on to the A13 without too many hold-ups.
Kaz sat fretfully in the passenger seat wondering if this plan was merely mental or totally deranged. She’d tried calling Glynis a couple of times, but got no reply. The last time they’d met was at Kaz’s father’s funeral. She could’ve moved in the meantime. Plus the cops would’ve taken the place apart when they charged Sean with murdering Glynis’s boyfriend, Dave Harper.
As they turned off into Langdon Hills, Julia broke her long silence. ‘What if your friend’s not home?’
‘Well, we try and come up with a way to break in without the neighbours calling the police.’
Julia side-eyed her with disbelief.
Kaz returned the look. ‘You asked. And you insisted on coming.’
Knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel, Julia was struggling in vain to get her head round all this. ‘Is she a good friend? Will she want to help?’
‘She’s more of a relative than friend. Used to be married to my cousin Sean.’
‘Where’s he?’
‘Officially in Spain. Unofficially dead.’
Julia lapsed into silence. She’d stepped into Kaz’s world and it was alien terrain, a place Helen probably knew about and could’ve maybe explained. But Helen was lost, leaving Julia floundering in a backwash of grief and confusion. Driving was actually a relief, it gave her a task to focus on.
Kaz was equally uncomfortable. Mention of Sean put her on edge. It sent her thoughts scuttling back to dark memories – the brutal fight as he tried to rape her, the blood puddling out across her beautiful wooden floor after she’d shot him. She’d put all this away, consigned it to the past, to the old life. Still it reminded her that she was capable of handling extreme situations and the icy rage flowing through her veins was her best ally.
She directed Julia along several side roads to the cul-de-sac where Glynis and Sean had lived. But when they pulled up outside the detached chalet bungalow, Kaz got a shock. During her cousin’s long years in jail the property had become drab and rundown. Now the crumbling render on the walls had been repaired and painted pink. Mediterranean-style slatted shutters had been added to the windows. The front garden was filled with an array of flowers and a neatly mown lawn. Glynis must’ve moved.
Kaz cursed under her breath. It’d always been a long shot. She registered that Julia was looking at her with an anxious gaze. She sighed. ‘I reckon she’s moved.’
‘Maybe the new people have a forwarding address?’
‘Nah, that’s not gonna help—’ But Julia was out of the car and heading up the path. ‘Julia!’
By the time Kaz had got out, Julia was ringing the doorbell. The sing-song chime was greeted by the sound of a barking dog. The door opened a crack, held on a security chain.
Kaz stared at the nervous figure peering out and her frown of annoyance dissolved into a smile.
Julia was confidently dishing up some spiel about market research. Kaz joined her on the step.
‘Hello, Glyn. I hardly recognize the place. You’ve given it a facelift.’
Two wide, heavily mascaraed eyes blinked at her.
‘Kaz? Blimey! Hang on.’
The door closed and immediately reopened with the chain unhooked.
Glynis was hanging on to the collar of a yapping Staffordshire bull terrier and beaming at her. ‘I don’t believe it! Come on in.’
Julia hesitated, peering warily at the dog.
‘He won’t hurt you, love. He just gets overexcited.’
Kaz smiled. ‘This is . . . my mate Julia.’
Glynis hauled the dog off and they followed her into the house.
In Kaz’s memory, Glynis had been neat, but not what you would call obsessively house proud. Now the interior was immaculate. The polished, pristine hallway led to a sitting room with a conservatory opening out onto the garden.
Glynis shooed the dog out into the garden and closed the sliding door. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Unless you fancy something stronger?’
Kaz’s eyes were darting round, processing, assessing just how much the place had changed.
She glanced down the garden, where the bounding dog was chasing a punctured beach-ball. ‘This is a bit of a flying visit. We ain’t exactly got a lot of time. You’ve certainly made some changes round here.’
‘I got some life insurance money. From Dave.’ She shot a sheepish look at Julia. ‘Does she know about . . . all that?’
Shaking her head, Kaz turned to give Julia a reassuring smile. Was it necessary to tell her that Glynis’s boyfriend Dave had been shot dead by Kaz’s brother in order to make Sean the prime suspect for his murder? Probably not. On the other hand, should she warn Glynis that Joey was out of jail? She decided against that too.
Both women were looking at her expectantly. Nothing to do but come out with it:
‘Reason we’re here, Glyn, is I need a gun.’
‘A gun?’ Julia yelped. ‘We’ve come here for a gun!’
‘You didn’t think I was gonna go after this lot empty-handed, did you?’
Her jaw slack with disbelief, Julia turned away, shaking her head with incredulity.
‘I ain’t got no guns.’ Glynis was looking at her dumbfounded.
‘What happened to Sean’s stash?’
‘I dunno.’ Glynis’s shoulders sagged as the past rose up to engulf her. ‘What the fuck you doing back here anyway? Thought you was supposed to be on witness protection.’
‘Some things have happened. And a mate of mine is in trouble. Big trouble. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t desperate. Think back, Glyn,’ Kaz pleaded. ‘I know the Old Bill took this place apart, but did they touch the shed?’
‘What, the garden shed?’ Glynis frowned. ‘They must’ve searched it.’
‘You ain’t done nothing to it since?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s good for the lawnmower and my tools.’ Her voice dropped to an agitated whisper. ‘I don’t want no trouble, Kaz. I try not to think about the past. I don’t mix with none of Sean’s old mates. I just go to work and do my best to keep everything nice.’
‘And it is nice, Glyn.’ Kaz touched her arm gently. ‘This place is amazing. Isn’t it?’ She glanced at Julia for support.
Julia was listening to the exchange with the stunned look of a witness hearing of some past atrocity. But she managed to nod her assent.
Looping her arm round Glynis’s shoulder, Kaz gave her a squeeze. ‘One time – I’m talking years ago – Sean got completely bladdered and he boasted to me about his stash. A stash of guns, said they was buried under the shed. Not even Dad knew. Said he’d got them off some Irish geezer and he was keeping them for a rainy day.’
‘Not Mad Mickey? Him and Sean was really tight.’ Glynis’s face had taken on a haunted look. The ghosts of the past were crowding in on her.
‘Probably. Some IRA connection, I dunno.’
Blinking her heavy, mascaraed lashes Glynis peered down the garden. ‘Under the shed? You think they’re still there?’
Kaz reached for the door handle, took a breath. ‘I fuckin’ hope so.’
48
Nicci loved the moment when the booze first hit and a warm loosening cheer slid through her veins. It was the only time she felt at ease with herself. For a brief instant the veil lifted and she could see beyond the sorrow that shadowed her waking hours and haunted her dreams.
The problem was it never lasted. The whiff of elation that came with the first drink soon dulled. And by the third or fourth, the anger came seeping back.
She put her wine glass down and smiled at Rory as he topped it up. They were in a small expensive Italian bistro close t
o Upper Street in Islington. The wine was red and well chosen – Rory’s decision, he hadn’t sought her opinion. It was the kind of place where the waiters were ageing grey-haired men who took the ritual of service seriously. They seemed to like the fact they were dealing with a gentleman. Or maybe they just expected a bigger tip. Who cared? Despite being cynical about the whole charade, Nicci was enjoying the wine.
After she’d texted Rory he’d picked her up in Mare Street. He was freshly showered and shaved, giving off a faint aroma of something musky and masculine. Nicci felt scruffy by comparison. She’d fallen out of bed with a hangover and had been on the go all day. Persuading Delgado to do the right thing had been taxing. She sank into the soft leather bucket seat of the old Porsche Boxster and was happy to just let go.
They spoke little on the way to the restaurant. As far as Nicci could recall, they’d always harboured a cordial dislike for one another. Then she remembered the debauched office party. Was it him or the other one, Hugo? Hugo was younger and seemed the more likely candidate for a drunken snog, but she’d been so far gone that night she couldn’t be sure. For all she knew, Rory was happily married with kids. But then what was he doing driving a natty old Boxster and why had he dressed for a date?
It was Rory who broached the subject of Turnbull.
‘So you used to work for our new colleague and you think he’s bad news?’
Nicci twisted the stem of her wine glass. ‘That’s not just my personal opinion. Disciplinary action was taken against him and he was expelled from the Met for gross misconduct.’
Rory considered this. ‘Apparently he told Simon he was made a scapegoat.’
‘You were in the army. What happens when an officer betrays his own men and sets them up to fail?’
‘Worst-case scenario? Someone gets killed.’
‘Someone did get killed.’ Nicci took a hefty slug of wine. ‘A young DC who Turnbull tasked to work undercover.’
‘Doesn’t necessarily make it his fault. Though any decent officer feels responsible for all his men.’ Rory’s eyes clouded. ‘Those you lose, you never forget.’
A waiter brought their starters, affording Nicci a chance to take a closer look at her companion. There was something almost comic about his storybook soldier manner, as if he’d decided to play the role of an old-fashioned officer and gentleman. He had no discernible accent. He was scrupulously polite but gave the impression he didn’t suffer fools gladly. Nicci wondered about his history. What was behind this carefully managed facade? Maybe nothing. It could be that he was just another emotionally cauterized veteran.
She picked up her fork and eyed the avocado and crab swimming in vinaigrette. ‘I went to talk to Hackney CID about a neighbour of mine. An old lady, nearly ninety. She was stabbed last night outside our block. She died.’
‘A mugging?’
‘No. They’ve arrested another neighbour, a soldier recently back from Afghanistan.’
That got Rory’s attention. ‘What regiment?’
‘I don’t know.’ Nicci put a chunk of avocado in her mouth. She hadn’t eaten anything quite so healthy in a while. It tasted far better than she’d expected.
Rory rested his cutlery on the sides of his plate and steepled his fingers. ‘Well, if I were going to kill an old lady I’d break her neck.’
Nicci stared at him. Was he really such a cold fish or was it all part of the act?
‘Easy. Quick.’ He raised his hands to cup an imaginary head, then gave it an abrupt twist. ‘Part of the training.’
They continued to eat in silence. He seemed comfortable with that.
‘I started kickboxing as a kid, then got into mixed martial arts. Used to belong to a club, but I let it go.’ Nicci watched him, hoping this might provoke a reaction. Rory didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d approve of such unladylike behaviour.
‘What made you give up?’ To her disappointment, the question was phrased with a bland curiosity.
‘I got pregnant.’
They relapsed into silence again. The waiter cleared their plates. Rory replenished her glass, emptying the bottle. He called for another, then leant his forearms on the table.
‘Have you met Duncan Linton?’
‘Briefly.’
‘You know who he is?’
‘Yeah, he’s one of our main investors.’ Rory’s tone, the silences and the wine were all conspiring to make Nicci feel obstreperous. ‘I thought we were here to talk about Turnbull.’
‘That’s what we’re doing. It seems to me that Turnbull is Linton’s appointment, and Simon feels unable to refuse.’
‘That may be so.’
Rory rearranged his napkin. ‘I think it most certainly is so. The question is, what can be done about it?’
‘You got me there.’ Nicci took a large mouthful of wine. She realized she was getting pissed, which had not been the intention. But they were on their second bottle and the main course was a long time coming.
Rory raised his own glass, took a sip. ‘When I left the army I thought of teaching. Then a former colleague suggested the security sector. SBA is the third company I’ve worked for and it’s easy to move around because of the rate of expansion.’
‘So if you don’t get on with Turnbull you can always leave.’ Even to herself, Nicci sounded flip bordering on rude.
‘I like SBA. I think it has great potential. And so does my brother.’
‘Your brother?’
‘He works in the financial sector. Now that we’re established, he’s convinced it should be possible to attract alternative investors to SBA.’
‘You mean boot Linton out?’
‘I agree with you. The association with a disgraced cop will taint the brand.’
‘You want to persuade Simon to look for alternative backers?’
‘Exactly. You know the man far better than me. He’s got himself in a hole with Linton. The question is, will he take advice and look to bring on board new equity partners?’
Through the warming fug of red wine the evening’s real agenda began to dawn on Nicci. Rory was planning his own takeover bid and he was wining and dining her because he wanted her help.
49
Kaz took a crowbar to the narrow boards that formed the floor of the shed. The timber was sturdy and dry, she had to press down with her entire body weight to lever the first one up. It cracked in the centre and she wrenched it free with both hands.
Glynis and Julia stood by the door, both tense and anxious; behind them in a heap were the lawnmower, tools and garden paraphernalia that had been unceremoniously chucked out of the shed.
The second board was slightly easier. But as Kaz ripped it up a shard of broken wood lacerated her hand. She yelped and rocked back on her heels. Her palm started to bleed. Sweating from the effort, heart thumping, a worried glance at her watch told her it was already after seven o’clock. She was running out of time.
Julia stepped into the shed, rested a hand on Kaz’s shoulder. ‘Let me have a go.’ The enterprise still struck her as totally mad, not to mention illegal, but she’d got over her initial shock and now Kaz’s fervour was sucking her in.
Kaz gave her a sceptical look but allowed Julia to take the crowbar. As she stood up, clasping her bloody hand, Julia began to attack the floorboards with surprising strength and ferocity. She prised up four boards in quick succession to reveal a sheet of heavy-duty black polythene underneath.
Julia turned to Glynis. ‘Have you got a Stanley knife?’
Glynis turned away to rummage in a toolbox. She wasn’t happy about her home being invaded in this way, but Kaz had been the one who’d saved her from spending the rest of her life as Sean’s punching bag. She owed her.
Julia, crowbar in hand, glanced up at Kaz, who was still clutching her hand. ‘You need to stop that bleeding or you won’t be able to shoot anyone.’
Was this some attempt at black humour? Kaz really couldn’t tell. Her assumption had been that Julia, mousy on the outside, was equal
ly timorous within. Maybe she was wrong. After all, Julia was the one who’d been fighting against the odds for a proper investigation into Helen’s death. Kaz pulled a tissue from her pocket to staunch the blood oozing from her palm.
Glynis handed Julia a Stanley knife. Julia knelt down and carved a slash in the plastic, then a second slash at ninety degrees to the first. She pulled back a triangle of sheeting to reveal the end of a dark blue holdall nestling in a shallow depression covered in cobwebs and dust.
The three women peered down into the hole at it.
Glynis turned to Kaz, wide-eyed. ‘Bloody hell, you was right.’
Working together, Julia and Kaz rapidly excavated a big enough opening to pull the bag free. It was Julia who hauled it up and out of its hiding place and dumped it down between them. Their eyes met. It was some kind of sports bag, long and narrow, possibly designed for cricket. The zip was partially corroded with rust. Kaz gave it a forceful yank with her good hand and drew it back.
Inside the holdall was a soft plastic bin liner. Whatever was inside was heavy. Kaz needed Julia’s help to lift it out of the bag. They brought it to rest on a piece of shed flooring that had remained intact. Kaz reached inside and pulled out a rifle. It was nearly three feet long from stock to barrel, but the top appeared to be missing. The women exchanged incredulous looks.
‘A fucking rifle! That is not what I fucking need.’ Kaz dived back inside the bin liner and brought out several smaller components and another disassembled rifle.
She threw them down. ‘Shit, and it’s all in fucking bits!’
‘Do you know what kind of gun it is?’ Julia frowned.
‘Looks like an AK47 to me.’ Glynis surprised them both. She shrugged. ‘I seen Sean with one. He loved playing around with it. Well, you know Sean.’
Kaz flashed her an angry scowl. ‘Oh, so now you remember? You can’t tell me he dug a fucking hole under the shed without you noticing.’
A sorrowful look spread over Glynis’s face; close to tears, she turned away.
Pressing the tissue to her bleeding palm Kaz exhaled. ‘I’m sorry, Glyn. This ain’t your fault, none of it is.’
The Mourner Page 21
