The Mourner

by Susan Wilkins

  A single shot rang out just to the left of him. He turned sufficiently to see one of Pudovkin’s suited minders standing pointing a smoking handgun at Tolya’s inert body. Glancing rapidly around he located the Glock. It had landed maybe a metre to his right. Pulling himself up onto his elbows he started to crawl. As he reached out a hand to grasp the pistol butt, a black leather shoe kicked it away.

  Lifting his head to look up at the dark tunnel inside the muzzle of the gun Joey wondered idly if there’d be any pain. A snatch of memory ricocheted across his synapses – jumping out of a tree to surprise his sister, the two of them rolling over and over on soft, springy turf and Kaz laughing.

  Joey Phelps didn’t hear the shot, the bullet travelled faster than the sound of the explosion in the chamber.

  The bodyguard lowered his arm, spat on the corpse then retreated into the house. It was up to the British police to clean up the mess. He had no intention of sticking around to answer any awkward questions.

  102

  Kaz Phelps leant on the balustrade beside the champagne bar and gazed down the vaulted iron hangar towards the impressive station clock. It was twenty past twelve and still no sign of Joey. He was going to miss his train.

  It was all over the news – Robert Hollister was helping the police with their inquiries. The mainstream media was being cautious, but the Net was rife with rumour – a major child-abuse scandal with possible links to the death of MP Helen Warner. The Labour Party and Hollister’s political colleagues were desperately distancing themselves; his wife had been admitted to a private clinic for stress and depression, his in-laws had taken the children.

  In a snatched phone conversation Nicci had assured Kaz that it was unlikely the police would want to speak to her – certainly not immediately – about her encounter with Hollister. And all efforts would be made to keep her involvement in the sting and her identity out of the press.

  Standing in the ex-cop’s jeans and an old sweatshirt, Kaz watched the minutes tick by on the huge clock. She’d called Joey several times and got no reply.

  Then she saw a familiar figure at a distance coming towards her along the raised walkway – not Joey, Yevgeny. He approached at a steady pace and as he got nearer she could see a coldness and blankness in his face. Was this it? Would it be Yev, who she really liked? Had he come to deliver Joey’s revenge?

  He came to a halt a few feet in front of her and Kaz realized he had tears in his eyes.

  It took several seconds for him to speak. ‘I didn’t know what they planned to do. Not ’til the last minute.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I tried to stop them.’

  Kaz gave him a puzzled frown. ‘What you talking about, Ye v ? ’

  ‘Joey, he want to surprise you. He knew you was upset that Pudovkin kill your friend. And the cops, they never get a man like Pudovkin. No way. Joey decided to take him out for you.’

  She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Joey’s killed Pudovkin?’

  The Russian shook his head sorrowfully. ‘They tried. Him and Tolya. Pudovkin’s people shot them dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ Her brother dead? The word seemed to just hang in the air. All motion, everything, including her own heartbeat stopped. She grasped the balustrade for support.

  ‘He love you more than anything, Kaz. He thought if he do this for you, you trust him again.’

  His voice seemed to fade, overwhelmed by the rushing in her ears. A howl of raw pain engulfed her. It took her a moment to realize it was coming from her own mouth.

  EPILOGUE

  Kaz wandered along the path through the dappled shade of the towering London plane trees. She’d agreed to meet Nicci Armstrong in Russell Square – it was public and she wasn’t taking any chances. She saw the ex-cop turn in at the gate; the sling was gone and she was looking sharp in a business suit with a new leather briefcase dangling from one shoulder.

  As Nicci walked up to her, Kaz smiled. ‘How’s the arm?’

  ‘Fine thanks. Practically healed.’

  They stood for a moment in silence. Kaz’s brain was buzzing with questions, but she wasn’t about to jump in first.

  Nicci heaved a sigh. ‘I don’t know what the fuck you were thinking of, Karen.’

  ‘For the record, I had no idea what he planned to do.’

  There was a bench next to them on the side of the path. Nicci dumped her briefcase on it. ‘Okay, say I believe that. You’re still guilty of harbouring a convicted felon who’d escaped from jail.’

  ‘I wasn’t harbouring him. He came after me, as good as took me hostage. I thought he was gonna kill me.’

  ‘So why did he try and shoot Pudovkin if you didn’t ask him to?’

  Kaz plonked herself down on the bench. ‘It’s complicated. I think maybe he just wanted to impress me. Get me back onside.’ She knew it was more than that. It was an act of love as well as an act of violence. It was Joey’s attempt to win back the affection of the only person he’d ever cared about.

  Nicci exhaled, joined her on the bench. ‘If they find out that you were even in touch with him, they’ll revoke your licence. You’ll be straight back inside.’

  ‘You gonna dob me in then?’

  The ex-cop shook her head wearily. ‘You’ve put me in a difficult position.’

  ‘What about Pudovkin? When are the police gonna question him about Helen’s murder?’

  ‘They’re not.’ Nicci met her eye. ‘The Met have been instructed to leave Pudovkin alone.’

  She waited for the explosion but Kaz simply raked a hand through her hair. ‘Why? ’Cause the fucker’s rich?’

  ‘Because he’s an important back channel to the Kremlin. That’s what Blake’s contact in MI6 told him. The MPS will, however, be looking into your brother’s attempt to kill him. They may well want to interview you about that.’

  A bitter chuckle erupted from Kaz. ‘Let me get this straight – no one’s gonna even ask him about Helen’s murder. But me, I could end up back in the nick, if they can prove I’ve seen Joey since he escaped.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’

  ‘And what about Helen?’

  ‘They’re sticking with the suicide story. She was a longstanding victim of sexual abuse, she despaired of ever proving it, the shame was eating her up, so she took her own life.’

  ‘What’s Julia got to say to that?’

  Nicci tilted her head. ‘I think the revelation of what the Hollisters did to Helen profoundly shocked her. And the fact she had no idea about it. She seems to be leaning towards the view that it was suicide.’

  ‘It’s just total bullshit.’ Kaz’s eyes bored into her, dark and disturbing. ‘You don’t believe that.’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  Jumping up, Kaz towered over her. ‘Oh, come on, Nicci! Paige Hollister? Her sleazy perve of a husband, you heard what he said.’

  Nicci raised a placatory palm. ‘Okay, I think Pudovkin had Helen Warner murdered in order to gain leverage over Robert Hollister. But it’s a theory and the chances of finding any evidence to prove it are zilch.’

  ‘I wish Joey had killed the bastard. That would be justice.’

  Shaking her head, Nicci rose to her feet. ‘That would be revenge.’

  Kaz folded her arms. ‘We’re gonna have to disagree on that one.’

  ‘You think in all the years I was a police officer it didn’t stick in my craw, all the villains who got away with murder on a technicality, because they had a smart brief? You of all people should know how flawed the system is. But it’s the best we can do. You want to see the alternative, look at the Middle East – militias running round with guns. Anarchy.’

  A restless rage pulsed off Kaz, she kicked a cigarette butt across the path. ‘Pudovkin gets away with it. He’s filthy rich, got political connections so he’s untouchable. That’s the best you can do?’

  ‘Sadly, yeah.’ Nicci tried to meet her eye, but Kaz had turned away. The tension of her anger rippled around them both.

  The ex-cop picked
up her briefcase and hooked the strap over her shoulder. ‘Are you going back to Glasgow?’

  ‘And wait ’til your lot come calling, asking me questions about Joey?’

  ‘You can stonewall them. You’re good at that.’ Nicci hesitated, but only for a split second. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m not going to tell them anything.’

  Kaz shot her a belligerent glance. ‘What about your boss?’

  ‘Blake won’t either.’

  A curt nod was the best Kaz could manage. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Go back to college, Karen. Get your degree. Get on with your life.’

  The two women faced one another in a summery London square, surrounded by tourists, joggers, office workers and vagrants. Nicci smiled and held out her hand, Kaz Phelps took it but her gaze remained unreadable and adamantine.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I have relied once again on the generous advice and professional expertise of DCI Roy Ledingham and Professor Dave Barclay. I also received invaluable help from Professor Sue Black OBE, Director of the Centre for Anatomy and Human Identification at the University of Dundee. The background information and input provided by my good friend GC was, as always, indispensable.

  Second novels are notoriously difficult to get right but I was lucky enough to have the advice and guidance of an excellent editor in Trisha Jackson, ably assisted by Natasha Harding. The team at Pan Macmillan have certainly gone the extra mile to ensure that both The Mourner and my first book, The Informant, have the best chance in an overcrowded market. James Annal produced fantastic covers. Jodie Mullish and Amy Lines ran a brilliant marketing campaign. Stuart Dwyer and his sales team, Guy Raphael, Lucy Dale-Harris and Rebecca Bader, got the books out there and on the shelves. Sam Eades, in charge of publicity, was a whirlwind of creative ideas and energy. Laura Carr and Anne O’Brien sorted out my grammar, wobbly syntax and repetitive verbal ticks.

  My agent, Jane Gregory, was a brilliant champion, as ever. And special thanks once again to my two first readers Sue Kenyon and Jenny Kenyon for their excellent feedback and for telling me the things I didn’t want to hear.

  THE MOURNER

  After a degree in law and a stint as a journalist, Susan Wilkins embarked on a career in television drama. She has written numerous scripts for shows ranging from Casualty and Heartbeat to Coronation Street and EastEnders. She created and wrote the London-based detective drama South of the Border of which the BBC made two series. The Informant was her first novel.

  Also by Susan Wilkins

  The Informant

  First published 2015 by Pan Books

  This electronic edition published 2015 by Pan Books

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

  Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

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  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-4472-7593-0

  Copyright © Susan Wilkins 2015

  Cover Images © Colin Thomas

  The right of Susan Wilkins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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