Death Trap (5 page)

The woman wailed, ‘Where’s my baby . . .?’

Strong politely asked her to identify herself but not politely enough for the woman. ‘I’m Nikki’s – Nicola Bell’s – mother. Now get out of our way.’

Foster walked towards her with authority. ‘Mrs Bell, I’m Stephen Foster—’

‘Hold up one minute,’ Rio threw in quickly. ‘You said that you represented the Bell family
.
’

Foster smacked his lips together. ‘Meaning Maurice and Linda Bell. They asked me to also look after the interests of their niece, Nicola, if she ever needed—’

‘We should chuck him out of here,’ Jack Strong suggested with menace, his northern accent becoming more pronounced.

But Foster wasn’t intimidated. Instead he turned to Nikki’s mother. ‘You know what happened to your husband’s brother and his wife. Your brother-in-law had been paying me a retainer just in case your daughter might ever need any legal help and advice. Of course it’s your decision, but I would say that Nicola is in need of that help now.’

Indecision, mixed with grief and pain, were stamped on Mrs Bell’s face. ‘I don’t know. My husband Frank isn’t here. He’s downstairs parking the car.’

Foster smiled as he laid a hand on her arm. ‘Let me introduce you to Detective Inspector Rio Wray, who is heading up the investigation and Detective Jack Strong.’ His hand gently squeezed. ‘And this is Mrs Patsy Bell, Nicola’s mum. Her husband Frank is Maurice Bell’s brother—’

‘Patsy? Pat? Where is she?’ A man of average height, balding hair, wearing horn-rimmed glasses called out.

No one needed to tell Rio that this was Frank Bell. She had to grab back the high ground from the lawyer, so immediately stepped forwards to greet Nicola’s father with an outstretched hand. ‘I’m Detective Rio Wray—’

He ignored her hand. ‘Where’s my daughter?’

Rio made a wide gesture with her hand towards the room where the teenager was. ‘If you step this way with me—’

‘We should speak first, Mr Bell,’ Foster smoothly cut in.

Frank Bell turned towards Foster. ‘I know you. You’re Maurice’s . . .’ His voice broke, no doubt dealing with the emotions of his brother’s murder.

Foster nodded. ‘Yes, I was his solicitor as you know. I would like a private word with you and your wife, if I may?’ His gaze shifted to Rio knowing there wasn’t anything she could do about his request.

All Rio could do, a few seconds later, was watch as he held a whispered, private discussion with Nicola Bell’s parents. Two minutes later the parents and Stephen Foster made their way to her room. Rio strode after them. They were inside the room by the time she reached them. As she went to join them inside Frank Bell blocked her.

‘On legal advice we’ve decided that Nikki is too traumatised to talk to the police at this stage,’ he said. ‘When she is well enough to speak we’ve decided that Mr Foster must be present as well.’

He closed the door in Rio’s face and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

six

11:22 a.m.

‘The Super wants to see you. Now,’ the sergeant on the desk at The Fort told Rio as soon as she stepped inside.

HQ, where Rio ran her squad of detectives from the second floor, was known as The Fort by everyone, even the criminals, because it had once been the site of a Roman Fortress and a secure building during the Cold War.

‘And this,’ the sergeant reached for something under the desk, ‘arrived for you. I was going to leave it on your desk.’

She handed an A4-sized sealed envelope to Rio who pushed it in her pocket, too preoccupied by having to see her superior to deal with it at the moment. Inwardly Rio groaned. She didn’t need to hear the words coming out of DSI Newman’s mouth to know what he wanted to grill her about – the progress of the case. Mind you, she could use the opportunity to talk to him about something else that was urgently on her mind; her gaze shifted onto Strong who stood at her side. Rio could barely bring herself to speak to him, but she did.

‘Pull the team together.’

She left him, but that didn’t stop her hearing his response: ‘Yes . . . ma’am.’

The surly sarcasm in his voice was laced with provocation, meant to slow her down. But she wasn’t dealing with his shit now. In fact she hoped to get Newman to toss him off her team. No point putting energy into something that wasn’t going to be there pretty soon. She kept her stride long and balanced as she moved towards the lift. Pressed 3. Once inside, she straightened the collar of her jacket, smoothed her palms against the top of her black trousers, pushed her shoulders back and strong. Then she pulled out the envelope that had the Metropolitan Police Service official stamp on it. She opened it up and knew what it was instantly: her request for an annual firearms training refresher course. She had taken one each year since leaving the armed response unit ten years back. What she read in the letter did not improve her mood.

Request denied.

Reason: A need to prioritise strategic resources.

Cock and bull management chat for there was not enough cash in the kitty. Well there was nothing she could do about it; she’d just have to re-apply again next year. She pushed the letter back into her pocket and finger-combed her ’fro. Feeling more in control it took her a few seconds to walk from the lift to the inner sanctum of her superior’s office.

‘He’s waiting for you,’ DSI Newman’s PA told her.

Rio nodded and opened the teak coloured door. But froze on the threshold of the room when she saw that Newman wasn’t alone.

‘Ma’am.’ Surprise was evident in Rio’s voice at finding Assistant Commissioner Pauline Tripple also present.

Everything about AC Tripple was smart: her formal uniform; her no-nonsense brown hair that tapered around the ears and neck with longer strands on top; her quick, logical mind that had helped get her nearly to the top of her profession. Rio had heard some other officers – always male – snidely call her Raspberry Ripple – a take on her surname, but also Cockney slang for nipple. Not everyone on the Force appreciated one of the top brass being a woman.

‘Wray,’ Newman ushered, waving a hand at the empty chair positioned on the side of the desk nearest to her.

The Super had the bulk of a brawler, but the reddened and deeply lined face of a man under much stress.

Rio took the seat in an office that was clean, bright and clinically white. Soulless. One of those minimal, paper-free affairs, the uplighters on the walls giving it the mood of a sanctuary of therapy rather than a place concerned with law and order.

Newman let out that unnatural half-cough he always did before having to say something awkward. Rio tensed; was she about to be booted off the case?

‘Assistant Commissioner Tripple just wanted you to update her on the current case—’

‘Are this morning’s murders related to the incidence of house robberies in the Home Counties?’ the older woman enquired over Newman. Her question blunt, her voice hinting at the city of Manchester she hadn’t lived in for over twenty years.

‘Looks like the same MO,’ Rio swiftly answered. ‘The bodies were discovered this morning by the gardener—’

‘How can you be so sure—?’

It was Rio’s turn to interrupt. ‘There’s a witness. Young girl: the niece of two of the murder victims. She’s different from our other witnesses – the gang didn’t know she was at the scene. But we’ve got a problem. The girl has a solicitor who has convinced her parents that she’s too traumatised to talk at present. And when I do get to question her they insist that he be present.’ Rio drew in a breath. Let it out. Paused. ‘It’s Stephen Foster.’

That pushed the AC to her feet, irritation pulling the skin tight around her mouth. ‘That man . . .’ Her lips clamped together. ‘Whatever you do make sure he does not have anything to come knocking at my door about. But do what you have to do to get that information from the witness. We’re getting a lot of heat from some powerful people to get this investigation resolved. We need to get this gang closed down and behind bars, because some of the great and good of Surrey are starting to feel like they’re living in downtown South-Central L.A.’

Her chin thrust out. ‘I’ve assured Surrey’s Police and Crime Commissioner’ – there was something about the way AC Tripple said the title that showed she didn’t quite approve of the role – ‘that the person heading up this task force is one of my most competent and efficient officers.’

The appointment of Police and Crime Commissioners were seen by many as a way for the politicians to interfere in the work of the police; many inside the Force weren’t happy, and it appeared that the Assistant Commissioner was among their number. She continued: ‘You’ve been on this case for just over two weeks, so, with this new incident, I expect something drastic to happen, especially if you now have another witness who the gang knew nothing about. We can’t afford any more murders. I trust you to get this job done quickly.’

And without another word the Assistant Commissioner headed for the door and was gone. Rio and her boss sat in the heavy tension left behind.

Newman broke the silence. ‘Are you sure this case is related to the others?’

Rio nodded. ‘What worries me this time is the level of violence used. The victims were the householders – Maurice and Linda Bell – and their cleaner. We still need to make formal IDs, but I’ve little doubt that their photos, which will have been patched through to us by now, will be joining the other victims of this gang already in the situation room.’

‘You need to get this case cleaned up ASAP.’

‘Then why give me Jack Strong as tag partner on my team?’

‘Ah. Jack.’

Instead of continuing, Newman pulled open the top drawer of his desk and whipped out a packet of low tar ciggies. He stood and opened the window behind his desk. The surprisingly mild February air breezed into the room as he lit up, going against anti-smoking regulations. He leaned his face close to the window as he pulled in a deep shot of smoke and nicotine. His shoulders sagged and rose with the motion of smoking.

‘I need you to look after him,’ he finally said.

Rio instantly looked down at the faint scars on both her wrists, her face heating and her mind blurring with memories she’d fought hard to forget. ‘Not that, sir. I can’t do that again.’

There were four of them in the room now: Rio, Newman, Strong and the member of her team who was now dead, twenty-seven-year-old Jamie Martin. Murdered – throat severed, on her watch, when Newman had given her the task to mentor him in his first year as a detective. The fact that his attacker had also nearly killed her by slashing her wrists didn’t give her the peace she was desperate to find. Everyone had told her that the grief would go and they were right. But what stayed with her every day, digging deeper when she shut her eyes at night, was the guilt. She should’ve protected him in that house in Camden and she hadn’t.

‘I’m sure you’ll understand that protection is the last thing I feel towards Strong,’ Rio uttered. ‘With all due respect, sir, putting him with a black officer is not the wisest decision.’

Four years ago Jack Strong had been a Detective Inspector, the lead of his own team. He’d always been considered one of the boys, a bit of a loud mouth, but with old school experience and instincts that were much admired. That was until the day his team had stopped and searched an injured Somali teenager after a vicious mugging in South London. Instead of taking him to the hospital or getting him medical attention, Strong had detained him and slung him in a cell. Two hours later Yusuf Ishmail was dead. The Met had not only had to deal with the outraged cry of the black community but also that of the Muslim one as well, in the week leading up to Eid, the most important religious festival in the Islamic calendar. Turned out that the teenager had been attacked on his way home from Mosque by thugs who have never been found.

The Met Commissioner had spent the better part of the following year trying to regain the communities’ trust at a time when young Somali men were complaining that they were twice as likely to be stopped by the police because they were both black and Muslim. Strong had been suspended but, to Rio’s disgust, allowed to come back, with a demotion to the rank of plain detective. Plus he’d been made to undergo intensive ‘race awareness and inclusion’ training. Rio would’ve laughed at the last if the whole business hadn’t been so serious. As far as she was concerned, once a bad cop always a bad cop.

Newman tipped his head to face her and she was surprised to see the wistful expression in his eyes. ‘Did you know that me and Jack started out together?’

Rio merely folded her arms. Newman trying to drag her through a trip down memory lane wasn’t going to move her.

‘We did our training at Hendon and walked the beat for the first three years side-by-side.’ He pulled in another puff of smoke and angled his head back towards the window. ‘We were both ambitious, but in different ways. I wanted to be part of the decision makers, while Strong was happy to stay at the grassroots among the men . . . You know, rolling his sleeves up every day and getting stuck into the filth.’ He flicked his butt out of the window. Closed it. Turned fully to Rio.

‘He was a great cop. Then something happened to him that made him lose his way.’

‘We’ve all lost our way every now and again, sir, but would we ignore the desperate pleas of a dying teenager?’