by Rod Reynolds
He couldn’t meet her eyes.
Lydia walked into the police station at two minutes before eleven, trying to make sense of how her life could’ve been shattered at such speed. Even a fortnight ago, she couldn’t have believed she’d be living a Monday morning like this. All the time she’d spent waiting for something to change, for her life to pick up again; her mother’s voice in her ears now, Be careful what you wish for.
It was ten minutes before Wheldon showed up to take her through to a meeting room. He gestured for her to take a plastic chair and asked if she wanted anything to drink.
‘No, thank you.’
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ He held up a hand almost in apology as he slipped out the door.
The room was bare, but not as intimidating as it could’ve been. There was a yellowed spider plant in one corner, a light-grey carpet on the floor. She was there at Wheldon’s request, and ready to co-operate – but leaving her to stew seemed designed to make her nervous.
Wheldon came back a few minutes later, Singh in tow this time. They took seats across from her, setting a file folder and a laptop down in between them.
Wheldon tapped his pen on the table. ‘Thanks for coming in, Miss Wright, we’ll try not to keep you. How’ve you been since we spoke?’
‘Fine. I’ve been working a lot. Keeping my mind occupied, you know?’
‘I was very sorry to hear about your colleague. It must’ve been a terrible shock.’
Lydia nodded. ‘Do you know any more yet?’
‘A murder investigation’s been opened, as I’m sure you’re aware, so I can’t say too much while that’s ongoing.’
‘Have they figured out who she went to meet that morning? About money laundering?’
‘I can’t answer that, I’m sorry. We’re liaising with DS Littleton’s team. I’m sure they’ll speak to you again in due course.’ He squared the folder in front of him. ‘Now, I want to state upfront that we haven’t made an arrest in your case as yet. That’s not why you’re here.’
‘I didn’t … I didn’t expect you had.’
‘Okay. I just need to manage your expectations. That’s not to say we’ve made no progress, though. I’d like to show you a photograph if I may.’ He flipped open the folder and slid out a stack of papers. He leafed through until he found it, spinning it around on the desk so it faced her. ‘Do you recognise this man?’
The image was a grainy shot of Michael standing in front of Brent Cross station, a still from a CCTV feed. She put her finger on it to bring it closer. ‘That’s the man that helped me. The man in the suit.’
Singh nodded without saying anything. Wheldon opened the laptop and positioned it so they could all see the screen. ‘This is the CCTV footage from that night. The camera looks right at the station entrance, can you take a look for me?’
She nodded, a sick feeling blooming inside that she was about to see Michael working with the other two, before or after the attack. She started trying to conjure up a way to tell them about her contact with him.
The video played and she saw herself come out of the ticket hall, and then he appeared right after her. He looked in her direction and then took his phone out.
They let it continue. Lydia walked along the parade of shops and then back. Wheldon hit fast-forward while she waited outside the station, then brought it back to normal speed as Michael walked past her, towards the road. ‘At this point he leaves, but not for long.’
She had her lips apart, shaking her head. ‘I never noticed him.’
Wheldon fast-forwarded again, then pressed play when the woman appeared at the bottom of the picture. ‘Now, here you are going to meet this character. She’s one of the two that attacked you?’
‘Yes.’
Singh took over. ‘She barely comes into the shot and she keeps her back to the camera. Even here, when she looks around, she makes a point of scratching herself so her face is obscured.’
Wheldon circled her on the screen with his pen as she did it. ‘So we’ve not been able to get a good look at her.’
The woman led Lydia out of the camera’s range. Then a few seconds later, Michael came into view again, crossing from left to right, on their trail.
‘So wherever he’d gone, he was waiting for you,’ Singh said. ‘Somewhere out of shot.’
‘I suppose so.’
Wheldon paused the footage and interlaced his fingers. ‘So it seems likely that this man was there because you were. Can you think of any reason why that would be?’
She looked from him to Singh and back. ‘No.’
‘And this man wasn’t known to you?’
‘No. I’d never seen him before.’
‘Who else knew you were going to be there that night?’
‘No one. I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing in case they thought I was mad.’
Singh looked up. ‘Not even Tammy Hodgson?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘I couldn’t get hold of her. I only agreed to go there a few hours before.’
‘When was the last time you heard from Miss Hodgson?’
‘Sometime the day before. Around lunchtime – we were arranging to meet that night.’
‘And did you?’
Lydia looked down. ‘She didn’t show up.’
‘But Miss Hodgson had been communicating with the same Facebook account.’
‘Yes.’
Singh noted something down but said nothing more.
Wheldon nodded. ‘Okay.’ He pressed play again and fast-forwarded. ‘Now, I want to show you one more thing.’ He waited, all three of them staring at the screen. After a few more seconds, Lydia saw herself appear again. Wheldon slowed it down as she watched herself sprinting across the car park and into the station. Even watching it back raised her heartbeat.
‘That was after, obviously. What are we looking for here?’ She looked at Wheldon.
He kept his eyes on the screen and she looked back just as Michael appeared again. He crossed the car park, looking over his shoulder, then stopped outside the minicab office, turning to face the road. He looked like the world’s skinniest bouncer.
Lydia edged closer to the screen. She watched him stand there, minutes passing by, not moving, apart from to glance over his shoulder into the ticket hall. This was when she would’ve been inside – dropping her phone and trying to keep herself together long enough to get on a train. The sense of terror came back to her, and suddenly she wished she’d known he was there. More than that: she wished he’d come inside to tell her she was safe.
Wheldon stopped it again. ‘Now, what’s he up to here, would you say?’
She looked up at him, running her nail back and forth along the edge of the table. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Seems almost like he’s keeping watch,’ Singh said.
She shrugged. ‘I mean … why?’
‘We’ve been through the rest of the footage immediately before and after; the woman you met doesn’t appear again, nor does anyone fitting the description of the man that attacked you. Not really surprising, given how aware of the cameras the woman acted. There was also no sign of a red Kia, although from what you said, it does sound like that was always a lie.’
‘Yeah.’
Singh leaned back in his chair. ‘We’ve spoken to the gentleman working in the station that night; he had no recollection of any of you, and we’ve not turned up any other witnesses so far. So you can see why we’re even more keen to speak to this man.’ He looked at the screen again, Michael dead centre in the frozen image. ‘You’re absolutely sure you don’t know him?’
Lydia shook her head, staring at the screen. Her emotions running haywire, feelings she couldn’t put a name to. A debt to pay. ‘Can you track where he went after?’
‘He goes into the Tube but we lose him from there.’ Both detectives stared at her. She kept her eyes on Singh, not certain she believed him.
Finally Wheldon looked down to thumb through the stack of papers again. ‘You made a report
last weekend that your phone was stolen.’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t mention that when we spoke.’
‘I didn’t think it was relevant. It was a girl that robbed me.’
‘Had you spoken with the woman you believed to be Paulina Dobriska at that point?’
‘No … Well, I’d sent her a message on Facebook but she hadn’t responded.’
‘Right.’
‘So it is possible these people were aware of you and had already taken an interest. That there could be some connection between the two incidents.’
‘I guess so. I don’t know.’
‘Given subsequent events, I don’t think that level of coordination is out of the question,’ Singh said. He moved forward in his chair again, bending low over the desk. ‘Miss Wright, if this man has approached you, or threatened you, the best thing you can do is tell us about it. Whatever he might have said, we can help you.’
‘Why would he threaten me? He stopped them.’
‘Perhaps. But the only people who knew you were going to be there that night were you and the people you met. You said you didn’t tell anyone, so how else would he have known?’
‘You’re saying he was working with them?’
‘It’s one possibility.’
‘It doesn’t look like it from this.’
‘The things criminals do often don’t make sense.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘I just want you to be absolutely certain that you don’t recognise this man. Not even someone you’ve noticed hanging around your office or your flat maybe?’
‘I’ve already told you I don’t.’
Singh kept his stare on her, hooded eyes that were half closed but alive with silent accusation. Eventually he looked at Wheldon, who closed the laptop.
‘Okay, thank you for talking to us today, Miss Wright.’ He pushed the photograph of Michael towards her. ‘Take that with you; it might prompt something to come back to you later.’
She took it from him and folded it into her bag. ‘What about Paulina Dobriska?’
‘We’ve passed her details to our colleagues in the missing persons team. They’re making inquiries.’
‘Did you speak to her neighbour? That car he saw traced back to—’ She stopped herself, glancing from one to the other and thinking about dropping Sam Waterhouse in the shit.
‘Traced back to…?’
Sam could look after herself; Paulina was more important. ‘I traced it to a house in Surrey. It seemed to be empty.’
‘How did you do that exactly?’
‘A source.’
Wheldon opened his hand on the desk. ‘Miss Wright, I don’t need to remind you that—’
‘Leave the investigations to us,’ Singh said. ‘Not least because you’re putting yourself at risk.’
‘Fine. But did you speak to him – Mr Siddons?’
‘We’re carrying out our enquiries.’
They stood up and she found herself looking up at them like she was back in school.
‘That man’s presence on the night in question was clearly no coincidence,’ Singh said, opening the door for her. ‘And I’d consider him a danger. If he should approach you, you need to alert us immediately, whatever story he might spin you.’
She got up and stopped in the doorway to face him. ‘I hear you.’
CHAPTER 41
Stringer sat at the table closest to the door, the breeze from the outside the only respite from the wet heat inside the cafe. The place was a few metres down from Kilburn Tube, a part of London he didn’t know well. In front of him, a black coffee was going cold. He watched the street for Angie, looking down when his phone started to ring. A blocked number. He answered, thinking it might be her to say she was running late.
‘Mr Stringer?’
Hearing Sir Oliver Kent’s voice threw him. ‘Yes.’
‘I thought you’d want to know that I’ve settled the matter we discussed in my office.’
‘My fee?’
‘The same.’
‘Okay.’ He sat up straighter in his seat. ‘Okay, thank you.’
‘My inclination was to hold off until I was more certain of progress with Nigel Carlton, but I wanted you to know the proposal I made was serious. A show of intent.’
‘I appreciate that, but…’
‘But?’
‘It would need further discussion.’
‘Naturally. Are you free today?’
‘I’m…’ He saw Angie coming down the other side of the street. ‘I can’t today.’
The silence on the line spoke of the man’s indignation, not used to hearing no.
‘Look, I want to hear you out, but now’s not a good time. Can we speak later?’
‘You’re working on something else?’
Angie came through the door and nodded to him, heading to the counter when she saw he was on the phone.
‘Yes.’
‘Of course. A man of many talents. Perhaps we’ll speak another time then.’ Kent hung up before he could say anything more.
He screwed his eyes shut. Fuck.
Stringer put his phone on the table next to his coffee as Angie sat down. He’d wiped it clean of blood and saliva, but there was a dent in the metal rim where it’d made contact with the man’s teeth, and the glass above it showed a small fracture.
Angie rubbed her eyes, then stopped when she took a proper look at him. ‘You look awful.’
‘Rough weekend.’
‘What’s going on?’
He shook his head and looked away. It still hurt to breathe.
‘Mike, you don’t have to do the Mr Strong and Silent act all the time. Everything you’ve done for me…’
‘It’s complicated. I want you to stay away from the journalist now.’
She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Better we don’t get into it.’
‘This is nuts. I never seen you rattled before all this.’
He took a wad of notes out of his pocket and dumped it in front of her. ‘That’s all I can do for now. I’ll make it up to you later.’
She covered the pile with her hand to hide it, glancing around to see if anyone was looking. She let out a breath in frustration. ‘It ain’t about the money. I just don’t get how you go from “don’t let her out of your sight” to “stay away”.’
‘It’s my problem.’
She slumped back in her chair, but sat forward again just as quick. ‘Everything is. Look, so you know, she went to talk to the Feds this morning. That’s where I was when you texted me.’
‘Okay.’
‘Doesn’t worry you?’
‘Not the police, no.’
‘And there’s something else.’
‘Go on.’
‘Before she went to the copshop, she went into town. She looked like shit – bit like you do.’
‘Thanks.’
She smiled at her own joke. ‘Nah, I mean like she ain’t slept in a while or had a proper shower neither.’
‘Stick to the point.’
‘So I’m on her and we end up at this office with HFB written on it. I Googled it and it’s like an investment bank.’
He moved his cup out the way to put his arms on the table. ‘I know it. What was she doing there?’
‘She literally lost it. First she’s just waiting but then she sees this next man come in. She goes after him and she’s like, “I really need to talk to you”. Like he’s her ex and he’s been ghosting her or some shit.’
That didn’t fit. Lydia Wright had no connections to Jamie Tan prior to the video – so this had to be a source. Someone Tammy Hodgson had put her on to? ‘Then what?’
‘Then nothing. He got in the lift and threatened to call security. She let him go.’
‘What did he look like? Could you pick him out if you saw him again?’
She pulled a face. ‘Dunno, maybe; them suits all look the same.’
He went to say something
but she waved her hand to cut him off. She held her phone up for him to look. ‘That’s his name though.’
The photo was zoomed in on a security pass worn in a lanyard around his neck. Adam Finch. Stringer couldn’t help breaking into a grin. He zoomed out again to look at the man’s face, then passed it back to her. ‘You’re good.’
His phone started ringing silently on the table. Abi. He turned it over when he saw Angie looking.
‘Answer it if you want.’
‘It can wait.’
She put the money in her pocket. ‘I like working with you, Mike. I know you’re shady as fuck, but it’s all good far as I’m concerned. And I’m serious about talking. I’m only about half as stupid as you think I am. I’m a good listener.’
‘I don’t think you’re stupid.’
She winked at him, smiling. ‘You always bite.’
Her eyes were bright and clear, crackling with energy. A different woman from the one he’d first met, somehow younger and more mature at the same time. It made him think of Ellie, a world of potential in front of them both – and how easy it was to veer onto the wrong path. Angie had escaped it once; there had to be hope in that.
‘What you thinking now?’
He didn’t have an answer at first, his train of thought freewheeling away from his control. Only when he traced it back did the answer come to him. He wanted reassurance that Ellie’s future was safeguarded – even if he wasn’t around to see it.
CHAPTER 42
‘Hello?’
Stringer coughed. ‘It’s me.’
‘Your name didn’t come up on the screen,’ Abi said.
‘I lost my phone. This is a temporary number.’
‘Okay.’ The silence was pointed, disbelief evident.
‘What?’
‘You never lose things.’
‘Well now I did. How is she?’
‘I thought you were ignoring me. Where’ve you been?’
