Death Trap (30 page)

‘If Stephen Foster has her,’ Newman spoke again, ‘at least we know that she’s somewhere safe. As her next of kin you can talk to her about him and what she wants to do next. The important thing is that we find her and I’ve no doubt that with your assistance we can do that sooner rather than later.’

Ophelia absently nodded as she grabbed her handbag and stood up. ‘Can I find a coffee somewhere before I start making those calls?’

Only when she was on her feet did Rio see how much more weight she’d lost. How she was standing on legs that appeared more like poles Rio would never know. It compelled her to say, ‘You need to get some food into you as well. There’s a vending machine at the end of the corridor where you can get a snack and a drink.’

After she was gone Rio stood up and looked at DSI Newman. ‘I’ve been warned to stay away from the case, so if anything else crops up—’

‘I tried to persuade the AC to consider giving you a desk job while the internal inquiry is underway, instead of a complete suspension.’

Rio let out a long puff of air. ‘I didn’t need to hear you say that – I knew you’d try everything you could to help me.’

‘It’s hard times for the Met at the moment. We’ve had two firearms incidents that have got everyone on edge. We can’t police this great city of ours if the people don’t trust us.’

Rio nodded, then asked, ‘Have you brought in Terry Larkin for questioning?’

‘We had a little chat with him at his home. He was at a party during the incident, so he’s got plenty of witnesses to confirm he was nowhere near Kent.’ Newman shrugged. ‘And of course he knows nothing about anything. So what will you do with your time?’

Rio hesitated, then answered, ‘Catch up on life, I suppose.’

In the corridor on the way out, she bumped into Ophelia, who was having a tussle with the vending machine.

‘It’s a touch temperamental,’ Rio said softly when she reached the other woman. ‘Let me.’ She gave the machine a thump on one side and a Kit Kat lurched and fell.

But the other woman didn’t reach for it; instead she turned her gaunt face to Rio. ‘She is going to be OK, isn’t she?’

Rio sympathised with the naked pain printed on her face. ‘Your daughter—’

Her lips clamped together; she hadn’t meant to say that.

Ophelia reared back, any trace of blood left in her skin flowing away. ‘My what?’

‘Sorry.’ Rio held her hand up. ‘Not my—’

‘It’s OK.’ The other woman sighed. ‘It was bound to come out some time. How did you know?’

Rio pulled out the adoption papers from her bag and handed them over. ‘I found them in your aunt and uncle’s home after their murders. I didn’t know what the score was about whether Nikki knew or not, so I kept them. It was only after she cut her hair,’ Rio smiled, ‘to look like you that I saw the resemblance.’

Ophelia pushed the papers in her pocket. ‘I was fourteen, mucking around with some boy and not even realising what was going on. Maybe if my parents hadn’t sent me to that strict convent school I might’ve figured it out; we weren’t even Catholics for God’s sake. No way was my father going to have people know that his daughter was in trouble.’ Her voice softened. ‘And truth be known, I wasn’t up for being anyone’s mother. Uncle Frank and Auntie Patsy had been trying for years for a kid . . . so that’s what we did: gave Nikki over to them. The only thing I asked was that when she got a bit older that she spend a couple of hours each year on her birthday with me.’ Her voice now shook. ‘But a few years back they decided to stop her from coming. They never explained why . . . maybe they thought Nikki was getting too close to me.’

The explanation for the tension between Pasty Bell and her niece in the hospital was suddenly clear to Rio: two mothers vying for the affection of their daughter.
Family. The people you don’t choose but who you are stuck with for life.

Rio touched the other woman gently on the shoulder. ‘I won’t say anything to her; it’s not my business. You need to get some rest. And eat. With your history . . .’

‘My eating disorder is a lifelong battle.’ Ophelia smiled, a bit too brightly. ‘But I’m fine. I’ll be back to my normal self once I know that my child . . . that Nikki is OK.’

Rio left her and two minutes later found herself hovering outside the operations room on the second floor.

You shouldn’t be here.

Just a little peek . . .

That room was practically her whole life, where she’d staked out her ambitious for all to see. And now it might be out of her reach . . .

‘Thought I might find you here.’

Rio turned to find Jack Strong behind her.

‘Any news on Nikki?’ he continued.

Rio shook her head. ‘Her cousin’s going to check out any contacts she has. But she’s probably with her boyfriend—’

‘Should I contact his mum?’

Rio shrugged. ‘Can’t help you with that one, I’m suspended remember.’

He took a few steps towards her. ‘Newman and Tripple want me to head up a small unit looking for the hitman – that’s if he’s still out there. Cornelius Bell left a message in your voice box. He sounded weird. Said it was urgent. Maybe Nikki’s with him?’

‘Doubt it; he didn’t seem close to her. Probably just wants to find out about Nikki. I’ll go over . . .’ Rio stuttered to a stop. She couldn’t just visit Cornelius Bell. She was suspended. Meant to stay the hell back from this case. Nikki’s stubborn face took up pole position in her mind. The Assistant Commissioner might not agree with her but her first duty was to that girl.

‘I’ll pay him a visit now,’ Rio said quickly. ‘Although, of course, I’m no longer part of this investigation’

‘Of course.’ A knowing look passed between them.

‘But you might want to see this.’ Strong continued as he took out his mobile phone and passed it to Rio. On the screen was a mug shot of a young man she recognised as Samson Larkin.

‘It just came in from the authorities in Cyprus.’

Rio handed the phone back to him with a grateful nod.

‘You know where I am if you need me,’ he told.

Rio didn’t want to implicate him in anything she might do, but having someone on the inside would prove to be useful.

‘Keep me briefed about any evidence found at the house.’

He didn’t say anything, just gave a single nod.

As soon as she was back in her car she got onto her mobile to Calum.

‘We cool?’ she asked.

‘We’re cool.’

‘I need to check on Cornelius Bell first and then I’ll be straight around. Any problems—’

‘The only problems we’ll have is when you get here.’

Rio knew he was right. But she stood rock solid behind the decision she had made.

‘There’s one more thing I want you to do . . .’ she said.

9:25 a.m.

Nikki lay on the floor, knees tucked tight to her chest, her arms wrapped around her shins, trying not to think about what was going to happen to her next. But the same terror-drenched words that had taken over her mind as she hid in the cupboard at Uncle Maurice and Aunty Linda’s beat in her head.

They are going to kill me.

Going to kill me.

Kill me.

KILL ME.

forty

10:15 a.m.

Rio wasn’t surprised to be stonewalled at the entrance of The Rebels’ Collective by the same woman she’d had a verbal ding-dong with two days ago. The woman wasn’t doing pink, fluffy slippers this time, but a pair of black Dr Martens that were splattered with squiggly, bright-coloured patterns that looked like they’d been painted by local graffiti artists as practice before they did the real stuff on some council-owned wall.

‘Well if it isn’t the woman who sold out her brothers and sisters by becoming the agent of an oppressive regime. The cop who beat up Cornelius—’

‘I didn’t touch him. I had a job to do, which was to give him the regrettable news about his parents’ deaths.’

‘Monica,’ a voice shouted from inside. ‘We’ve got to get on the road now or we won’t make it to the demo.’

Monica? Rio stared at the woman in front of her. She decided sarcastically that the name was too soft, too wholesome for the next leader of the free world.

‘Look,’ Rio said, ‘he called me and left a message saying he needed to speak urgently, so here I am. Now – are you going to let me in?’

‘Have you got a warrant?’

Rio was about to tell her that she could go and get one until she remembered that she couldn’t do that anymore, ‘No. Do I need one? He called me.’

‘Why don’t you call him back then?’

‘I did, but there was no response.’ Rio could feel her irritation growing. ‘Why don’t you go and get him if you don’t believe me?’

‘OK.’

The makeshift door slammed in Rio’s face. Less than a minute later Monica was back, but this time she didn’t open the door.

‘He’s here but he’s not answering his door. He’s probably sleeping; yesterday was a rough day for him. I’ll get one of the others who are staying to tell him you called in the morning. I won’t be here to tell him.’

Irritation boiled over into anger and Rio kicked the door. Did it a second time and said, ‘I think he’s worried about something.’ A third kick. ‘I’m going to keep this up until I get to see him.’

‘OK, OK, for fuck’s sake . . .’

The door started opening . . . Rio kicked it again and it banged back. Monica jumped inside the room. Rio strode in, her gaze quickly taking in the small group of people, some with rucksacks on the floors, others with them on their backs. A few didn’t have any bag.

Rio turned stern eyes onto Monica. ‘From the amount of luggage you and your friends are packing it looks like you’re taking a long trip to save the world, so let’s make a little deal, me and you; you stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours.’

Rio turned her back and went up the stairs. Once she got to Cornelius’s room she tapped against the door. No answer.

‘Cornelius, it’s Detective Inspector Rio Wray. I know you want to talk, so let me in.’

No answer. This time she hammered against the door.

Nothing.

Rio leaned her ear against the door. No sounds. That worried her. She could feel it in her bones that something was wrong. She started kicking the door with the same force she’d used downstairs.

‘That’s all you people know.’ Rio half-turned to find Monica on the end of the landing. ‘Kicking and stomping on others to get what you want.’

‘How was Cornelius the last time you saw him?’

Monica’s expression changed to something Rio would swear was either alarm or guilt.

‘He looked a bit fucked up to be honest. I would never have bugged him about . . .’

The voice tailed off. Even more alarmed, Rio turned back to the door and booted it in with an almighty motion that shook her from head to toe. The door crashed back and she rushed inside. And stopped. Behind her there were gasps, muffled cries and whispered words of horror from the people in the doorway.

A belt had been tied to a pipe that led from the ceiling and the other end formed into a noose. An overturned chair was nearby. Cornelius was hanging, neck red and stretched, face purple and his tongue obscenely poked out of his slack mouth.

Monica’s broken voice asked, ‘Shall I call an ambulance?’

Rio sighed and said nothing. Cornelius Bell didn’t need an ambulance.

He was dead.

Rio inspected but didn’t touch the body. She looked at Cornelius’s fingernails: torn and bloody. She looked up at the ceiling. Fresh scratch marks flecked with blood. In his death agony, Cornelius had clearly clawed at the ceiling, trying to save himself, but he’d left it too late.

Rio turned to look at the stunned crowd that had gathered by the door. ‘Can you tell me anything?’

The members of The Rebels’ Collective were in shock and said nothing, apart from one girl with purple hair who offered, ‘He hasn’t been himself since his parents were killed.’ She turned an accusing eye on Monica. ‘And while some of us wanted to support him, others wanted to kick his arse out into the cold.’

Monica’s neck inched back in a defensive motion. ‘We all agreed—’

‘Only because you kept on bullying us,’ the woman with the purple hair accused. ‘He was a brother of the collective. And we let him down.’

‘Someone needs to call an ambulance. And the police,’ Rio said.

Monica looked at her sharply. ‘But you’re a cop.’

Rio knew she was in difficult position; what she was doing could be interpreted as the ‘investigating’ that the AC had warned her to step back from. But she was covered to the extent that Cornelius had called her and asked to talk . . . Then again she didn’t have to needlessly put herself in the spotlight.

‘Call the police . . . I need everyone to go downstairs to give me some space.’

‘Yeah,’ the purple-haired woman answered, before adding, ‘Maybe this will give us time to decide whether we want to talk about the leadership of the group when the rest of you get back from the demo.’