by Scott Hunter
“DC Hill,” Pepper asked. “Was he a close friend?”
McKellar started to speak but then found herself welling up. DI Pepper produced a packet of paper handkerchiefs and gave them to her. McKellar didn’t trust herself to say any more, but after a moment she had a go.
“Thanks. I’m sorry, DI Pepper. I knew him quite well. I mean, we were friendly, but–”
“You were hoping to get friendlier? I’m so sorry. I really am.” DI Pepper’s concern was so obviously genuine it made McKellar weep all the more. DS Banner got up and hurriedly left the office.
“Men,” DI Pepper said, shaking her head. “Emotional cripples, the lot of them.”
That helped. McKellar found herself laughing and crying at the same time, and then somehow she was just laughing.
“And you don’t have to call me DI Pepper, OK? Charlie’s much better.”
McKellar blew her nose loudly and made them both laugh. “Right. Charlie it is, then. I’m Helen, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Helen.” Charlie Pepper stuck her hand out with mock solemnity and both women laughed again. Out of the corner of her eye Helen McKellar caught DS Banner scowling as he returned to his desk with the coffee he hadn’t really wanted.
Macho idiot, Helen thought. Judging by Charlie’s expression, she was thinking exactly the same thing.
“Treat you to our canteen’s famous speciality?” Helen suggested.
“Namely?”
“Cappuccino with extra cream topping. It’s the best.”
Charlie Pepper licked her lips. “What are we waiting for?”
“So, you’re fresh from Warwickshire and Coventry?” Helen asked, sipping her coffee with relish. Since the new machine had arrived the canteen had trebled its trade. In the past the dingy eatery had been shunned, but now a lengthy queue was the norm. As Moran was fond of reminding her, a police station’s efficiency was based on a plentiful supply of quality caffeine, and for a change someone in admin had actually ticked the right box.
“I’m not sure ‘fresh’ is the right word.” Charlie made a face. “The ’flu really zonked me out.”
“You don’t look bad on it,” Helen told her. She couldn’t help noticing Charlie’s flawless complexion, which, unlike her own, looked as if it had rarely, if ever, been troubled by spot or pimple.
“Thanks. It was pretty miserable, though. I’d just moved in and wham, down and out for ten days. All on my tod as well.”
“Don’t you know anyone down here?” Helen frowned.
“I have a friend in Bracknell, Anna, but she’s a busy girl – travels a lot. Also – well, the move was a quick decision. I’d have lost out if I hadn’t jumped at it.”
“You’re very brave. I don’t think I would be able to put myself out on a limb like that. I need my family and friends around me.”
A brief hint of melancholy passed across Charlie’s face. “I’m an only child. Mum and Dad died years ago, so there’s not much to miss on the family side.” She brightened a little. “But I do have some great friends in Cov. I knew I’d miss them, but … well, they’ll still be there when I go back. And I’ll make new friends here, so no probs.” She smiled.
“What was it like in Coventry?”
“I really enjoyed it. The team was brilliant. I couldn’t have asked for better, really. Especially my boss – he was great to work for and we all wanted to pull our weight, you know? Not let him down, like. There was a lot of trust between us. We looked out for each other.” Charlie took a sip of her drink and made an appreciative murmur. “You’re right. This is almost Costa quality.”
“Told you.” Helen smiled triumphantly. “A quarter the price, too.”
“So, what about you?” Charlie asked. “How long have you been with DCI Moran?”
“Just over six months,” Helen said. “But it feels like longer. It’s my first posting as a DC.”
“And you’re a Reading girl?”
Helen laughed. “No. I’m from Essex originally, but I try to keep that quiet.”
They both laughed and then Charlie pointed out a blob of cream on Helen’s nose, which made them laugh even more.
“So, what’s the deal with the nightlife then?” Charlie’s eyes sparkled. “Where’s the action in Reading?”
Helen looked down at her mug. “I’m not much of a one for clubbing,” she admitted. “I’m more into eating out, country pubs, walking, that kind of stuff.”
“Me too,” Charlie agreed, “but I need a bit of a boogie now and again, if you know what I mean?”
Helen grinned. “Well, OK, maybe now and again.”
“You can give me a tour sometime,” Charlie said, draining her coffee. “Show me the sights.”
“I’d love to. Reading itself is a bit grim, but the countryside is lovely. There are some great pubs out in the sticks.”
“Sounds perfect. Let’s do it.”
By the time they finished their coffee Helen felt as if she’d known Charlie for years. She hoped some of Charlie’s exuberance – not to mention her confidence – might rub off on her.
The Zodiac was full to brimming. Helen McKellar, aka Gill McShane, followed DS Banner (aka Rob Giles) into the throng. It was around half past nine in the evening and Helen felt a tingle of excitement, the way she always did when she was working in the field. The only downside was Banner, but even if she didn’t trust him to keep his hands to himself she trusted him as a copper, and with DI Charlie Pepper keeping an eye on things she felt secure. Moran hadn’t showed up back at base – some problem with his elderly mother, apparently – but Helen knew that with DI Pepper in the background she was in safe hands. That made all the difference, especially with Rob Phelps temporarily out of the picture. She could hardly believe that the big, tough sergeant was flat out in the RBH cardiac unit, but at least the latest news was positive. He was through the worst, and by all accounts he should make a full recovery. That was a huge comfort; she couldn’t have coped with the death of another close colleague so soon after DC Hill’s murder. The knowledge that she was helping to catch his killer only sharpened the edge of her excitement.
The music hit her in the gut as the DJ cued another song. Banner made a sign and headed for the toilets while Helen found a bench seat in a quieter corner and squeezed onto the end.
She casually scanned the clientele; the club was a melee of male and female, young and not-so-young. She was aware that they had precious little time to nail a result. Sharron Flynn’s cover name was Ann Hooper. Moran’s instructions had been simple: mingle fast and drop the name into the conversation to see what fell out.
A heavily made-up girl sashayed up and sat next to her. “All right if I sit here?”
“Sure.” Helen tried to smile through her tension. The girl looked like a street girl, but then so did a lot of kids in the town centre clubs these days. It was hard to make a judgement.
“Club’s OK, isn’t it?” Helen began, immediately realising how lame she sounded.
The girl shrugged. “I suppose.” She tapped a painted nail on the table in time with the music.
“I’m trying to find someone.” Helen had to shout as the track reached a crescendo. “She promised she’d be here.”
The girl was sitting back with her eyes half-closed, letting the rhythm wash over her.
“Her name is Ann,” Helen persisted. “Ann Hooper.”
“Oh yeah.” The girl opened her eyes and took a pull at her bottle of lager. “The ice queen.”
“Ice queen?”
“Cold cow.”
“Oh, I see. You know her, then?”
“Most people do. If you get my meaning.” The girl laughed and made an exaggerated smoking gesture.
“Right,” Helen said, forcing a smile. “That’s the one.”
“You want to watch it with her,” the girl said. “She’s bad news.”
“Oh. Why?”
The girl put down her bottle and studied Helen’s face. “You don’t look like you belong h
ere, love.”
Helen thought quickly. “You’re right; I’m not really a clubber. My boyfriend and I are new to town. We’re just having a look see, you know? This Ann Hooper told Rob she could get hold of some good smoke. Said she’d be here tonight.”
The girl gave Helen a measured look. “Yeah? Oh, by the way I’m Zoë, if you want to know.”
“Gill.” They shook hands.
“You’re after some hash, then.” Zoë looked Helen up and down again. “You don’t seem the type.”
Helen shrugged. “It’s for Rob really. I usually stick to beer or wine.”
Zoë nodded doubtfully. “If I see Ann around I’ll let her know, all right?”
“Thanks.” Helen was getting worried about Banner. He’d been gone fifteen minutes at least.
Zoë got up and smoothed down her skirt. “You’re a nice kid. Do yourself a favour, love. Walk away. You let your bloke deal with Hooper. I don’t know how you ran into her in the first place, but she’s bad news down here. Take my word for it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look.” Zoë leaned in close and Helen caught a whiff of some pungent perfume. “Ann Hooper keeps bad company, know what I mean?”
“Not really.” Play dumb, Helen, play dumb...
“She deals, sure. Always has done, but she had a kid a while back, right? I’ve seen her with it. So she’s upped the ante. Brought all sorts out of the woodwork. I’m not sayin’ no more.”
Before Helen could reply the DJ had cued up another song and Zoë was walking away.
“Hi.” A young emo appeared out of the crowd and winked through a gelled sweep of dyed black hair. Helen repressed a smile. He looked way too young to be drinking, but Helen supposed the Zodiac management were too busy to pay much attention to under-agers tonight.
Helen smiled and looked away in the time-honoured ‘no thanks’ signal. As she did so she caught sight of Banner weaving his way towards her. Thank goodness for that. But where had he been?
The DS had covered half the distance between them when Helen saw him wince, as if he had stumbled or had had a sudden attack of cramp. Two men moved alongside and Helen thought they were trying to help until they grabbed Banner by the shoulders and frogmarched him in the opposite direction. She called out, but the throbbing drum ‘n’ bass track drowned her voice.
She half-stood in a froth of indecision. Who were the men? How did they know who Banner was? Then it struck her. If they know his face, they probably know mine...
Even as the thought flashed through her mind she saw a couple moving purposefully towards her, a man and a woman. The man was a hefty, muscular type and the woman was wiry and thin-faced. They didn’t look like punters. They looked heavy.
Helen thought quickly. She reached over to emo, whose mates had taken over the remaining seats on her table, and tapped him on the shoulder. The boy’s face lit up. Helen motioned for him to sit closer, which he did with alacrity. Without hesitation, Helen leaned over and kissed him full on the lips.
Emo’s mates began cheering and whistling, audible even over the sound system. All eyes swivelled in their direction. Helen came up for air and risked a glance across the dance floor. The two escorts had vanished. Grabbing emo’s hand she pulled him to his feet.
“Take me outside. Quick.” Eyes widening with a mixture of pleasure and confusion, emo obliged to a reprise of thunderous cheering from their table.
Outside the air was dense and sultry. A few smokers hung around chatting and laughing. Helen retrieved her ID card. “Look, I’m really sorry. I’m a police officer.” She showed the card and the boy’s face fell. “I’m in a spot of trouble. I can’t say much more. Can you wait with me a minute?”
Emo shrugged. “Sure.”
Helen dialled Charlie Pepper’s number. “Charlie? It’s Helen. Banner’s been rumbled. I’m OK; I’m out of the club but I need back up. What do you want me to do?”
Charlie Pepper’s voice in her ear was calm and precise. “Stay put, Helen. Keep your eyes peeled, especially round the back; they might try to get him out and away. Make a note of any cars leaving the premises. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Moran turned the key to his front door and felt in his pocket for his mobile. The battery had died a few hours previously and he’d forgotten his charger. Hopefully no one had needed him. Nevertheless, he always felt a moment of dread when he plugged back in and the list of missed calls appeared.
Archie the spaniel bounded into the hall, a well-chewed toy clamped between his jaws. “Hello, boy.” Moran wrestled the toy from the dog’s grip and threw it the length of the hall, enjoying Archie’s skidding pursuit and retrieval. He propped his stick against the wall, plugged his mobile into the charger and went into the kitchen. The wall clock told him it was just after a quarter to ten. He’d been out of the loop for four hours. He poured a generous glass of Sangiovese and shrugged off his coat.
His mother was not good, not at all. She had seemed weaker, thinner, more confused than ever. All in all, the signs were not hopeful. Moran draped his coat over the chair by the telephone.
His daily had left the day’s post on the kitchen table. A letter from the RBH confirming his CT scan: nine forty-five on Friday morning. A couple of bills, an official-looking letter, a card. Female handwriting? He opened it. It was from Shona.
Hi Brendan – get together soon? Be nice to get a call now and again. S x
And when had he had the chance to do that? Moran threw the card down with a muttered expletive. There was nothing he’d like better than to spend a quiet evening with Shona, to smooth over the dinner date misunderstanding, but right now his time was not his own. Right now? And the rest... a small voice whispered. A lyric from a song on one of his old LPs came to mind: ‘...and then one day you find, ten years have got behind you. No one told you when to run. You missed the starting gun...’
“That’d be right,” Moran muttered to himself and tore open the letter. It was from the insurance appeal committee. They had heard his case, but they regretfully had to inform him that his appeal had been turned down. The insurance company policy was quite clear regarding acts of terror, having fully taken all circumstances into consideration etc.
Moran topped up his wine and contemplated a chaser. The failure of his appeal meant he was in hock to the tune of around £25,000. The explosion had caused extensive damage and he’d had no choice but to take out a loan pending the appeal result. His pension lump sum, which he had earmarked for paying off his mortgage, would instead have to pay the repair bill.
From the hall his mobile gave a bleep. Archie reappeared and dumped the toy at his feet. Moran stroked the spaniel’s head while he drained his wine. The mobile bleeped a second time. All right, all right...
Archie followed him into the hall and then stopped, ears twitching, alert. A low growl began deep in the dog’s throat and emerged as a series of short barks.
“What is it, boy?” Moran went to the front door and opened it. Nobody there. Archie continued barking until Moran showed the spaniel the empty doorstep and drive. “False alarm, Archibald.”
Moran examined his messages. Two from the station, one from a mobile he didn’t recognise. Not good. He dialled the unfamiliar number and waited.
“Hello? DS Snook speaking,” a familiar voice said. Brian Snook, one of the current night shift officers.
“Brian? It’s DCI Moran.”
“Yes, sir. We have a serious incident, I’m afraid. I can’t get hold of DI Pepper so I called you – sorry, sir, I know you’re officially off duty.”
“No such thing, Brian. What’s up?” Moran didn’t want to ask. It wasn’t likely to be good news.
“St James’ Catholic Church, sir. Tilehurst Road. On the roundabout, you know it? There’s been a fatal stabbing.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Brian. Tell them to keep the scene nice and tidy.”
“It’s pretty self-contained, sir,” DS Snook said. “By all accounts,” he add
ed in a slightly more subdued voice.
“Thanks, Brian.” Moran signed off and checked his other missed calls. One from DI Pepper. He decided to leave them for later; Pepper would have to rely on her own initiative for now. That wasn’t a bad thing, Moran reflected, given her recent arrival; she now had a golden opportunity to prove herself before she’d even got her feet properly under the desk.
As Moran’s car pulled away, Gregory Neads emerged from the shadow of the bus stop three doors away and sauntered towards his ex-DCI’s house. As he reached the gate he heard a dog barking. Neads tutted to himself. He’d have to sort that out before he did anything else.
His hand was on the gate latch when he heard footsteps approaching. He walked on until the pedestrian had passed by. Neads stopped at the corner and glanced back. The hooded figure was loitering outside Moran’s house. Neads ducked out of sight. When he looked again a few moments later the pavement was empty.
Chapter 15
DI Charlie Pepper was at the Zodiac in five minutes flat, which was damn good going from the other side of town. By that time Helen had recruited two uniforms from a nearby patrol car and was impatient to move in.
“This has to be subtle,” Charlie told them. “We can’t just charge in like the cavalry and turn the place over. Not with the OCG interest.”
“But Banner–”
“Will be OK, Helen. Trust me.” She gave Helen a look which said, I can handle this. Support me and everything will work out...
Helen bit her lip and nodded.
“Any cars left the car park?”
Helen shook her head. “No.”
“OK. Round the back, then,” Charlie told the first uniform, a fresh-faced mid-twenty-something. “Nice and easy.” She addressed his female partner. “Taylor, you stay here. Try to look like the Zodiac isn’t even on your radar, OK? Anyone leaves in a way you don’t like the look of, let me know immediately.”
