Death Trap (4 page)

Rio gave it ten seconds. The door remained firmly closed. Good. Now she could get back to the case. The teenager was lying on top of the pale blue blanket that covered the bed. Nikki Bell was about average height, but she looked small and shrunken in the bed. After seeing her mother butchered in the kitchen the girl had started shaking and crying with such pain that Rio knew there would be nothing gained by talking to her straight away. So she’d let Nikki have some personal space and got her to the hospital as quickly as possible.

‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Rio said as she walked towards the bed.

The February light coming through the single window was bleak and uneven. There was a chill in the air that even the central heating couldn’t dispel.

‘I’m sorry that you had to see her like that,’ Rio continued when she reached the side of the bed.

Nikki didn’t say anything; instead she dropped her gaze to stare at her fingers twisting tightly together. She’d refused to remove the lilac-and-black striped fingerless gloves from her hand, even when Doctor Green had wanted to feel her pulse. Maybe the gloves acted as some type of anchor to reality, Rio thought, or maybe they were a gift from her mother. Whatever the reason, Rio had told everyone to not make such a drama out of it. She needed this girl as steady and as grounded as possible to uncover every detail of what she’d seen.

‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Rio quietly asked.

The teen shook her head, unleashing the natural bounce of her blonde hair now the sweat had dried out. But she refused to make eye contact.

Rio knew she had to take this slow, but she was the first to admit she was shit with kids, especially the adolescent kind. All those hormones and moods clogging up the road towards the truth; she’d rather be busting the balls of some serial killer.

‘I know this will be painful for you,’ Rio started, ‘but you’re the one person who can help us because you’re the only person who saw what happened. Do you think you can tell me what you saw?’

Rio hoped she’d got the tone right: didn’t want the teenager to think she was talking down to her like she was some seven-year-old.

The girl didn’t answer. Instead two of her fingers pulled up a small part of the blanket and started to rub the material together.

Take it slow
, Rio warned herself, although instinct jabbed her to press on.

Finally Nikki raised her eyes to look at Rio. Her face wasn’t so pale anymore. She had a bit of colour in her checks and on the tip of her nose. Her eyes had lost that silver shine, and were now brimming like soft clay.

Then she spoke. ‘Can I have my iPad back now?’

‘I explained earlier that we’re keeping it for evidence.’ Rio punched firmness into her voice. ‘What happened, Nikki?’

The girl’s gaze flipped away again. ‘I don’t remember.’

Was this kid playing her?

‘Then why were you hiding inside the airing cupboard?’

Nikki swallowed deep, but kept her stare locked away from Rio.

‘Ania made me get inside.’

‘She must’ve told you to do it for a reason.’

Nikki shrugged. ‘Dunno. She just told me to do it.’

‘You don’t come across to me as someone who would just do something without a reason.’ Rio paused, controlling the irritation she heard in her tone. ‘Do you want to get the people who did this?’

Nikki nodded.

Rio got out of the chair and eased down on the bed next to Nikki’s hip. ‘Then help me out.’

Nikki’s fingers stopped playing in the blanket and she folded her arms over her belly.

‘OK.’ She raised her head and her light grey eyes stared at Rio. ‘I was in the bedroom, on Hamlet—’

‘Hamlet?’ Rio asked, confused.

‘That’s what I call my iPad. Hamlet.’

Well at least this kid was getting a good education, not that Rio knew anything about
Hamlet
or any other type of Shakespearean play, except the unnecessary tragedy of
Romeo and Juliet
.

Nikki’s arms tightened around her body. ‘I thought I heard a noise from downstairs . . .’

‘What type of noise?’

‘Something falling . . . I don’t know . . . Maybe a scream . . .’ Her voice jerked with her memories.

‘Then what did you do?’

‘I got up . . .’

The door opened and Detective Strong pushed his head into the room.

The temper that Rio had been holding back came out full blast. ‘I told you to stay outside.’ She pointed at the bottom of the doorway. ‘Not to cross the threshold.’

But he wasn’t moving; in fact he dared take a step into the room. ‘I need to speak with you—’

‘Not now you don’t.’

‘Yes now.’ There was a bite in his tone for the first time since Rio had met him. Well screw him; she was the one calling the shots, not him. But just as she was ready to let another comeback fly he turned and strode briskly back into the corridor leaving the door wide open. Rio thrust herself to standing. If he wanted a punch up she was so ready to put her boxing gloves on.

Then she remembered Nikki. She plastered on a half-hearted smile of reassurance. ‘Just try and relax and picture what happened. I’ll be back.’

Rio found Strong in the corridor leaning casually against the wall.

‘I don’t like your tone.’ Her gaze ran over him, slowly, from head to toe. ‘Or the way you’re posing against that wall.’

He slowly peeled himself off.

‘Mind you, it doesn’t matter because you’re going to be off this case as soon as we get back to base.’

‘In the meantime,’ he answered, ‘I’ll do my job. I don’t know who that girl is in there, but she isn’t the Bells’ daughter.’

That shook Rio up; she wasn’t expecting that.

‘She said her name is Nikki Bell.’

‘The neighbours are saying the only daughter Maurice and Linda Bell have is called Leah. She’s thirty years old.’

‘She had to be in that house for a reason. Maybe she’s their granddaughter?’ Rio reasoned to Strong.

‘Both the Bells’ children are single without any kids attached.’

‘Shit,’ Rio let rip. She straightened her shoulders, turning to look with determination at the door of the room she’d just left.

‘Go easy on her,’ Strong gently advised.

Rio flung her gaze with contempt at him. ‘Like you went easy on that lad four years back?’ Strong tipped his chin up in defiance, but said nothing. ‘Why don’t you cash in your cards? The Met doesn’t need the nasty stain of cops like you stinking up its four walls.’

And with that Rio re-entered the room. She stared hard at the teen. The time for being gentle with the kid had passed. Swiftly she headed for the other side of the bed. This time when she reached the girl she didn’t sit, but shifted her legs slightly wide, looming and looking down.

‘Who are you, Nikki?’

The girl’s tongue darted against her dried lips before she answered. ‘I told you, Nikki Bell.’

‘You see that’s causing me a bit of a problem because the man and woman who lived in that house, who are now dead,’ the girl flinched, ‘didn’t have a daughter your age. So whose little girl are you?’

The child whipped her head around to face the other side of the room.

‘Look. At. Me.’ Rio’s slow, hard words had the effect she wanted: the girl turned back to her.

‘There were four people in that house; three of them are dead. You’re the only one alive, so you’d better start telling me who you really are.’

Nikki’s teeth played nervously in her top lip, the skin on her cheeks splashing with a warm red. ‘There were two of them,’ she finally threw out, answering a question Rio hadn’t asked her, but one Rio needed to know.

She leaned over and braced her hands against the blanket. ‘What did they look like?’

Nikki lifted her slim shoulders in an anxious shrug. ‘One of them couldn’t—’

But before Nikki could continue, a commotion outside had Rio pulling straight again. Furious voices filled the air, one of which she recognised as Strong’s. Rio rushed to the door and thrust it back. Stepping into the corridor, she found Strong pinning a man in a blue suit against the wall. His forearm pressed deep into the man’s throat. A lone black rucksack lay tumbled on its side near the man’s polished black right shoe. The protection officer was right by Strong’s side.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ she asked.

‘This . . .’ Strong looked the man insolently up and down, ‘gentleman was trying to get into the room. When I told him he couldn’t go in he didn’t want to take no for an answer.’

He pulled the man, who was gasping for breath, slightly forwards. Then slammed him back into the wall again. And in a menacing growl, let out, ‘Who are you?’

five

‘Let him go,’ Rio instructed Strong, but her eyes remained firmly fixed on the man against the wall. Unfortunately, she knew exactly who he was. Her mouth twisted in annoyance. This day was turning into a bellyful of trouble she didn’t need. Rio wouldn’t be surprised if Satan himself turned up to join the party.

Strong glanced at her from the side, those bright eyes of his brimming with questions. Rio was about to nod at him, but stopped herself. She was in charge of this operation, not him, so she stared him down. He turned back to the man and released him. The man pushed himself off the wall with a casual motion like he had done this before, which wouldn’t have surprised Rio; he was someone who went looking for trouble. He flexed his jaw, ran his palms over his designer jacket.

As Rio walked towards him, she asked, ‘What are you doing here, Mr Foster?’

Stephen Foster was tall enough to look down his nose at Rio; but she figured he was the kind of man who would look down his nose at anyone, no matter what his height might have been. The thought left a sour taste in Rio’s mind as she waited for him to answer.

‘I’m here to attend to my client. I’m the Bell family’s solicitor and I’m here to look after Nicola Bell’s interests.’

‘And who is Nicola Bell?’ Rio felt stupid having to ask him, of all people, who the girl in the room was.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why am I not surprised you haven’t verified who she is. She’s Maurice and Linda Bell’s niece.’

‘Thank you for telling me.’ Her words were grudgingly spoken. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Rio Wray. I’m in charge of the investigation.’

‘Is that how you take charge? Shoving innocent men against walls?’

Foster seemed to enjoy his jibe. But then cop bashing seemed to be Stephen Foster’s part-time hobby, after minding the interests of his many rich and famous clients. Foster was notorious for taking on cases which embarrassed the Metropolitan Police Service even when there was no money in it for him. Civil liberties groups hailed him as a champion, the police a nasty, permanent thorn in their side. Rio had always found him an unlikely candidate for an enemy of the forces of law and order; everything about him screamed establishment with a capital E.

Voice as polished as his shoes, manners as elegant as his clothes; the exclusive and expensive worlds of public school and Oxbridge hung over him. Although he was obviously a paid-up member of the swanky posh set, this man was not afraid of putting on a pair of Mike Tyson-sized gloves, over his carefully manicured fingernails, to engage in a legal street fight; that included with the police. His mane of grey hair was a little too long and swept back in the style of an ageing rock star. And as far as Foster was concerned, he was a rock star in his sixties – but of the legal kind. With Foster on the case, Rio knew that she had to be careful, real careful; her superiors were not likely to forgive her if she thrust them in the ring, with Foster waiting for the ding-ding sounding the start of round one.

Foster looked at Strong with contempt and then back at Rio. ‘This officer is on your team is he?’

Rio nodded. She didn’t like Strong being here anymore than the lawyer, but she was loyal to her team to an outsider.

‘Detective Strong was only doing his job.’

Foster looked over at the male detective. ‘Jack Strong?’ Rio wasn’t surprised that he knew who the newest member of her team was. Probably would have been the lawyer assisting the family Strong had wronged if another solicitors firm hadn’t got there before him. ‘I see . . .’ Foster said nothing else on the subject, but then his manner showed he didn’t need to. ‘If you could take me through to my client Detective Inspector.’

‘How did you find out that Nicola Bell was in the hospital?’

He smiled cynically at her. ‘I make it my business to know where my clients are.’

If he was going to play a cat and mouse game, Rio was more than happy to join in. ‘I’m afraid the doctor’s instructions are —’

But Foster cut across her. He wasn’t loud – Foster didn’t do loud – he was about hard-edged persuasion. ‘I don’t care what the doctor’s instructions are, I will see my client—’

The sound of running feet, muffled sobs and cries of, ‘Nikki? . . . Nicola?’ stopped their conversation.

The two of them turned and watched as Strong stepped forwards and stood in front of a distraught middle-aged woman. Plump and small, wearing a bob haircut and a floral print dress. Three, chunky silver bracelets jangled around her right arm as she moved.