The Mourner

by Susan Wilkins

  His total disdain infuriated Kaz. In spite of the golfer’s get-up and the neat office, he still exuded the hypocrisy of a pimp.

  ‘Get up,’ she ordered.

  He rose slowly to his feet. ‘Okay, I give you fair warning. This is where you make a choice. You leave here now, alone, I’ll let this go. You pursue this course, you’ll end up getting yourself killed for an ungrateful whore.’

  Kaz jabbed the barrel of the gun into the side of his neck. ‘Or maybe it’s you who gets killed?’

  He raised both palms. With her free hand she grasped the soft cashmere sleeve of his jumper and pulled him round the desk. Sadik and Tevfik stood glaring at her, less than a couple of metres away – two mad dogs wired and ready to spring.

  She glanced at Yasmin. ‘You go in front. Down the stairs, out into the alley.’ Yasmin didn’t move, she was shaking and crying. ‘Trust me, Yas, it’s the only way you’re gonna live.’

  Lip trembling, she met Kaz’s gaze. Holding on to the filing cabinet for support, she staggered towards the door. Once she was through it, Kaz backed out of the room after her. She towed Kemal behind her, the barrel of the gun pressed against his neck.

  She knew once she was out of the office Sadik would go for any weapons that might be stashed in the filing cabinet or a desk drawer. Then the shooting would start.

  Yasmin’s progress down the stairs was painfully slow. She stumbled several times and fell once. Kaz used Kemal as a shield and remained at the top of the stairs, staring through into the office.

  She could see Sadik edging forward. ‘Don’t you two fucking move, or I’ll blow his fucking head off.’

  Mr Kemal spoke curtly in Turkish.

  Sadik raised his hands. ‘Hey, no sweat.’

  Once Yasmin had reached the downstairs hall, Kaz changed her grip from Kemal’s sleeve to his collar. ‘I’m going down first and you’re coming slowly after me. Backwards. One step at a time.’

  Kemal didn’t speak. He obeyed Kaz’s instructions. In the office beyond she could hear Sadik and Tevfik having a whispered conversation. Drawers and the filing cabinets were being opened. They were searching. Kaz reckoned she had maybe thirty seconds to get out into the alley.

  Yasmin was already outside, her breath coming in gasps, leaning against the wall. A four-by-four was parked beyond the yard gate; the driver standing beside it was young, one of Tevfik’s mates. Unsure how to react, he was glaring at them.

  Kaz yanked Kemal’s collar. ‘Tell him to come in the yard. Over there, where I can see him.’

  Kemal spoke in Turkish. The young driver complied. It gave Kaz some satisfaction to see that the Turk had begun to sweat. She could feel his tension, smell his fear; it was contained, but it was there.

  Then Yasmin gave a hoarse shout. ‘Kaz! The window.’

  Her eyes flew up and she saw Sadik framed in the open window above them, brandishing a handgun. He took aim. Kaz yanked Kemal round to cover herself.

  Panic erupted in him. ‘Sadik, no!’

  Sadik cursed, lowered his arm and disappeared.

  Kaz turned to Yasmin. ‘Down the alley, to the right!’

  With Yasmin limping ahead of her, Kaz dragged Kemal out into the alley. It was now completely dark, the surface uneven. This was the part of the plan that Kaz hadn’t thought through in any detail. In truth, she hadn’t ever really expected to get this far. Then at the end of the alleyway, standing with her back to the lighted street, she saw Julia. She was simply standing there, hanging on to Buster. The dog started to bark.

  Kaz nearly flipped. ‘Get in the fucking car!’ The car was parked across the road. Kaz’s panic rose – how the hell would they get to it and escape before Sadik started shooting? ‘Now, Julia!’ But Julia didn’t move.

  As Kaz tried to propel Kemal along in front of her, he twisted round and made a grab for the gun. He wasn’t a large man, but he was wiry and fit for his age. He wrenched it from her grasp and shouted out in Turkish.

  Suddenly from the dark maw of the alley a fist flew out and struck Kemal squarely under the jaw. He reeled back and collapsed, the gun clattering from his grip. Kaz froze in surprise, but only for a second. She was stooping to retrieve it when two figures emerged from the shadows. Kaz didn’t recognize the man; she assumed his fist had felled Kemal. But she did recognize Nicci Armstrong.

  The man grasped her arm urgently. ‘Give me the gun.’

  Nicci was beside him. ‘It’s okay. Just do it.’

  Kaz let him take it. He spun round, checked it, pointed it upwards and sprayed a hail of bullets into the air above the alley, then fired a volley into the back of the four-by-four and the wall of the yard behind the kebab shop.

  The shots pinged and cracked and ricocheted off car and wall. Shattered brick and wood flew upwards in an eruption of smoke and dust.

  Nicci caught hold of Yasmin, hauled an arm round her shoulder. ‘Right, let’s get out of here, before my former colleagues arrive.’

  54

  Kaz sat on a chair in the waiting room at Whipps Cross A&E. She felt drained but curiously calm. It was approaching eleven and the place was filling up with the casualties of a night on the lash. Nicci was speaking to the charge nurse. Yasmin had been stretchered away into the treatment area.

  The man, Rory, had driven Kaz with a petrified Yasmin crammed on her knee in the passenger seat of his old Porsche. Nicci and Julia had followed in the Figaro. He hadn’t spoken during the journey. His manner was detached and alert. Kaz wondered who the hell he was. Once he’d deposited them at the hospital, he’d driven off. Julia went in search of a parking space whilst Kaz and Nicci had practically carried Yasmin into the department.

  Kaz watched Nicci. She still dealt with situations as if she were a cop. And the charge nurse was responding accordingly. It crossed Kaz’s mind that she should get up and out of there while she could. Nicci had no power to detain her. But she and the bloke had the gun – definitely incriminating evidence.

  Having given the nurse a nod of thanks, Nicci walked over.

  It was hard to read the look she gave Kaz – pissed off, certainly. ‘She’s gone to X-ray, but she’s been badly punched about. Several fractured ribs, internal bleeding. Bones of the cheek could be fractured too. She’ll be admitted.’

  Kaz managed a thin smile. ‘Thanks.’

  Nicci shook her head fiercely as if she were trying to erase the whole event. ‘Fucking hell, Karen! What did you think you were playing at?’

  Ignoring this, Kaz exhaled. ‘What if the Kemals come after her?’

  ‘I’ll talk to the local CID. They’ll want her as a witness, so she’ll be protected.’

  ‘What will you say to them?’

  Nicci had no answer for this. What the hell would she say? The delicacy of her position hadn’t escaped her. On the phone she’d provided the police with the sketchiest outline of events, posing as a concerned passer-by.

  ‘Y’know, a stunt like this, by rights you should be headed straight back to jail.’

  Kaz dipped her head, stared down at the tough cord carpeting. She didn’t speak. Was there any point trying to explain? Cop or no cop, Nicci lived on the other side of the fence. She would never get it.

  Folding her arms, Nicci positioned herself right in front of Kaz. Her tone was one of sarcastic belligerence. ‘I don’t know what it is about you, but Julia’s got you pegged as some kind of hero. And you know and I know that you were shagging her partner behind her back. So how does that come about, eh?’

  Kaz’s gaze rose defiantly to meet hers. ‘If you’re gonna dob me in, do it. But I don’t have to justify myself to you.’

  ‘It would serve you right if I did. Where the hell did you get a gun like that?’

  ‘Ah yeah, the gun.’ Kaz gave a wry smile. ‘I just borrowed it to scare them. It was your mate who sprayed bullets all over the shop like he was in some fucking back alley in Baghdad. You might have a bit of a problem explaining that to the Old Bill, don’t you think?’

  Nicci sc
anned the room. They were attracting curious glances from the restless gaggle of druggies, drunks and walking wounded waiting their turn to be seen.

  Lowering her voice, she moved in closer. ‘You are one ungrateful bitch, y’know that?’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s pretty much my mum’s opinion too.’

  The two women glared at one another. Nicci was frustrated and furious in equal measure. How on earth had she landed in this mess? Didn’t she have enough problems?

  When they’d arrived on the scene and heard Julia’s garbled summary of events, she’d called the police. But Rory had simply crossed the road and headed straight into the alley behind the kebab shop. Nicci was completely taken aback. She had no idea what he planned to do, so she’d followed. It was only then that she’d realized how crazy he was. The buttoned-up major was just a facade. He was a combat soldier and this was what he craved – the danger, the adrenaline rush. Gangsters or insurgents, they were all the same to him. He loved conflict because like her he had a creature of his own hidden inside and it needed feeding.

  ‘You want gratitude?’ Kaz curled her lip. ‘Okay, I’m grateful.’ She kowtowed. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

  The automatic doors opened with a swish, bringing a cool rush of night air as Julia stepped into A&E.

  She hurried over to join them with an anxious frown. ‘Will she be all right?’

  ‘Hopefully.’ Nicci sighed and turned away.

  Julia met Kaz’s eye with an apologetic look. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry if, well . . .’

  Kaz gave her a rueful smile. ‘You did the right thing.’ Julia still looked sceptical. ‘Really. You did. Thank you.’

  They both turned to face the ex-cop. Nicci had her back to them, arms clutched around her torso. She appeared to be brooding.

  Julia reached out tentatively. ‘You okay, Nicci?’

  She spun round. ‘No, I’m not fucking okay!’ Glancing round, she brought her voice down to a whisper. ‘Now unless you two want to spend the night in a police interview room explaining to a bunch of not very sympathetic cops what the hell you thought you were doing, you need to get out of here.’

  Julia gave her a pleading look. ‘I’m really sorry for involving you, but I—’

  ‘Shut up, Julia. Just listen and do what I say. That way we’ll maybe all avoid getting arrested.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Julia dropped her eyes like a scolded child. But Kaz met the ex-cop’s fierce gaze with a jut of her chin.

  Nicci raised her index finger and eyeballed Kaz. ‘You owe me. So tomorrow morning, ten a.m., be at my office. ’Cause you are going to give us a complete and detailed account of your relationship with Helen Warner, including the meeting in Glasgow. You don’t turn up, I’ll make sure the relevant authorities know you’re in breach of your licence and that a warrant is issued for your arrest.’

  She produced a business card from her pocket and thrust it at Kaz. ‘I’m serious. Be there.’

  Kaz took the card. There was still intransigence in her demeanour, but her tone was less confrontational now. ‘Yeah. Okay. All this stuff today was . . . well, the result of a stupid mistake. I came down here to find out what happened to Helen.’ Her gaze floated over to Julia’s tense face. ‘We all want the same thing. The truth. And I got nothing to hide.’

  Nicci couldn’t help noticing the soppy expression on Julia’s face when Kaz looked at her. Had grief made her stupid? She was being taken in, maybe even seduced. Kaz Phelps had always been smooth, the lies seamless. Would she even turn up tomorrow? Nicci doubted it.

  Realizing she was in danger of losing it with them completely, she waved them toward the door. ‘Just go home. Now. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  Julia nodded. She and Kaz headed for the exit and Nicci watched them disappear through the automatic doors.

  Being alone finally was a relief. She had a toxic headache brought on by red wine and stress. Pulling some change out of her pocket, she walked over to the vending machine. What she longed for was a stiff drink and a cigarette, but a liquid sugar-hit would have to do. As she fed the coins into the machine she reflected on the sheer madness of the evening.

  She’d got drunk and had sex with a man she hardly knew then watched him shoot up an alley in North London. Had anyone actually been hit? She hoped not. And to top it all off, she was now protecting a convicted criminal who should be sent back to jail.

  The vending machine dumped a plastic bottle of orange fizz in its tray. Nicci lifted it out, cracked it open and took a long draught. Ethel Huxtable’s murder, the Helen Warner case . . . the thoughts kept on and on, spiralling round in her brain. She had to get a grip.

  Having downed half the bottle she noticed an unmarked car with a blue flashing light drawing up outside. It was time to make herself scarce. She screwed the top back on to the bottle and headed off down a side corridor in search of an alternative way out.

  55

  The meeting had been called for nine thirty and Fiona Calder presented herself in good time, in fact several minutes early. However, when she entered the Commissioner’s office, Phil Slattery was already there, comfortably ensconced, with a half-drunk cup of coffee on the table in front of him. The boys, it seemed, had been having a cosy chat. As a female officer she was used to finding herself out of the loop. Much lip service was paid to ridding the organization of institutional racism, but institutional sexism was simply ignored.

  She painted on her best smile; she wasn’t taking any prisoners. ‘Morning, sir. Sorry if I’m a little late.’

  The Commissioner gave her a vague smile. ‘Not a problem. Phil has been bringing me up to speed. Help yourself to coffee.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ She picked up the silver thermos jug from the side table. ‘Can I get anyone a refill?’

  Both men declined. Slattery watched her, a sour and vengeful look flickering over his features. He’d had a bad twenty-four hours trying to shovel up the shit she’d dumped on him. Now the smug bitch was making them wait as she poured herself a coffee and settled at the conference table.

  Calder could feel the resentment pulsing off him. He was on a short fuse, which could play to her advantage. She took a sip of her drink and waited.

  The Commissioner removed his glasses and pinched the flesh between his eyebrows. ‘I think the decision to pull the plug on the inquest was essentially sound. The problem is, where do we go with it now?’

  Slattery fidgeted in his seat. ‘I really don’t see how a week’s adjournment helps us. The investigation is complete. The woman committed suicide. All it’s succeeded in doing is stirring up media speculation and making things worse for the family.’

  The Commissioner gave Calder a quizzical glance. She remained silent.

  He sighed. ‘To be fair, Phil, I think this is a question of erring on the side of caution. If the family reject the suicide verdict, we don’t want to appear negligent in any way.’

  ‘It’s not the family, it’s her bloody partner.’ Slattery was having a real problem holding on to his temper; Calder’s calm presence was winding him up even more. ‘Julia Hadley’s the one who hired Simon Blake and his crew.’ He shot Calder an accusing glance.

  She made a conscious effort to relax into her chair. He was spoiling for a row but there was no way she’d let herself be drawn in. What would be the point?

  It was obvious the Commissioner was starting to get impatient with Slattery. He rose from his chair and strolled to the window. ‘Phil, I think you’d better tell Fiona about your conversation with Hollister.’

  The Detective Superintendent looked surprised. ‘That really was only for your ears, sir.’

  Calder smiled to herself. Bingo! Slattery was relying on boys’ club rules, but anger had got the better of him. He’d openly criticized the Commissioner’s decision and now he was being slapped down for it.

  The boss met his aggrieved eye. ‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, Phil. But when it comes to politics, I rely on Fiona’s judgement.’


  Slattery picked up his coffee cup and drained it. He’d ballsed this up completely and he knew it.

  Calder decided it was time to give him a helping hand: ‘Of course, I’m not familiar with the details of the case, but Robert Hollister is an old family friend of the Warners, isn’t he?’

  Slattery aimed a baleful look at her. ‘It seems he’d become more than that. He and Helen Warner had apparently been involved in an affair for some time.’

  ‘I thought she was a lesbian. Surely her partner’s a woman.’

  Slattery shrugged. ‘Beats me. I’m just telling you what Hollister said. They’d been having this affair. She was pretty smitten with him. He decided to end it. She was very upset, begged him to reconsider. He refused, admits he was pretty harsh with her. A week later she took her own life.’

  Calder leant forward. ‘Has he made a statement to this effect?’

  An uncomfortable look of complicity passed between Slattery and the Commissioner.

  It was the Commissioner who picked up the baton. ‘This only came out in a confidential conversation yesterday after the inquest was adjourned. It certainly corroborates all the other evidence that Phil has gathered.’

  ‘Is there some reluctance on Hollister’s part to make a formal statement?’

  Slattery jumped in. ‘I think he’s a decent man trying to do the right thing. But obviously the political repercussions of this could be huge for him. You know what the media are like. They’d tear him to shreds.’

  Calder tilted her head towards the Commissioner. ‘So we’re not asking him to make a statement?’

  ‘The thing is, Fiona, do we have to?’

  ‘If he’s asserting that Helen Warner killed herself over him, then I think the Coroner and his jury need to hear that assertion tested in open court.’

  ‘And what bloody good’s that going to do anyone?’ Slattery was glaring straight at her.

  ‘So we believe him?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m just asking the question, Phil.’