Kill and Tell (9 page)

Jasmine Cash holds Millie tight. The little girl is in nursery now, but Jasmine cuddles her like she would a baby. She looks at Staffe as if he is the enemy, even though he tried to put her Jadus on the straight and narrow and took two bullets for his troubles. She says, ‘I’ve said everything to you.’ As she talks, she puts a hand over Millie’s ear.

‘The last time you saw Jadus, was he back with the e.gang? You have nothing to lose by telling me – unless they’re still looking after you, of course, which we could soon establish; and that would mean you’re receiving, and that’s not good.’

‘Millie’s dad was murdered. Even your own people think your sidekick killed him and you come asking me questions?’

Staffe looks at the fifty-inch TV. On the sideboard as he came in, he saw a set of keys for a Range Rover. ‘The night Jadus shot me, he was scared. I looked into his eyes and he chose to pull a trigger twice. We were stood as close as you and I right now when he decided he wasn’t going to be man enough to face the problems he made, for himself and for you and Millie. He took the coward’s way.’

‘That doesn’t mean someone can take his life in revenge.’

‘Jadus was scared that night and you know it. Had he become a liability? He wasn’t bringing in, but he was still taking out. And he knew everything. He was a risk to the gang.’

‘That’s shit.’

‘What about his bank-draft scam that backfired? Who’s at the top, Jasmine?’

Jasmine looks at Millie, says, ‘I need to put her down.’

‘I don’t think it’s Shawne Haddaway. Is it Brandon Latymer?’

Jasmine turns her back on the question, takes Millie through to her bedroom and Staffe picks up the keys for the Range Rover, clocks the registration still written in the dealer’s hand on the fob. When Jasmine returns, she says, ‘I was told you couldn’t come round here no more. Not with your sergeant friend going down.’

‘He didn’t do it. So, I have to do what I can for my sergeant, even though he is a friend. The person who killed Jadus is close to home. I think you know that, too.’ He jangles the Range Rover’s keys. ‘This can’t be the value of a man’s life, can it? Or an innocent man’s freedom?’

Millie yells out and Jasmine rushes through.

Staffe phones the registration details of the Range Rover to Jombaugh and opens the fridge; two bottles of vintage champagne in the door. When Jasmine comes back, he asks if he can use the bathroom, goes in and runs a tap. The bathroom cabinet reveals a combination of what a woman needs and what a child needs, and a little of what a man needs. Staffe removes the top from the shaving foam and sees the nozzle has an excess of fresh foam around it. He flushes the toilet, goes back in.

‘I can see you’d need a man in your life, Jasmine.’

‘You think I need a man? You’re wrong.’

‘I will find whatever I need to find, but I don’t want to have to call on your mother over in Plaistow. I don’t want to have to get Millie’s teachers to call me whenever it’s not you who picks her up. I don’t want to dig up Jadus’s past, find out where he was every time he wasn’t here.’ He presses his phone for the text and reads the message from Jombaugh, holds it out so Jasmine can see that her Range Rover is registered to a Reuben Haddaway, Shawne’s father. ‘It was bought the week after Jadus was killed. Its MOT was paid for in cash at a garage in Bethnal Green just last week and the brake pads and rear wiper needed doing. It came to four hundred and thirty quid. Where did you get that cash, Jasmine? Give me ninety seconds with that garage man and he’ll tell me you didn’t pay for that service. He’ll tell me who did and they’ll give me a convincing story about where the money came from – maybe the dogs. And I might not get so far, but pretty soon, you’ll be more trouble than you’re worth – just like Jadus was.’

‘You used to be so kind to me.’ Jasmine’s voice cracks.

‘You’re hiding the man who killed Jadus.’

‘He’s on remand in Pentonville. His name is DS Pulford.’

‘In that case, whatever you tell me will just help prove that.’

‘All you care about is getting your man off the hook.’

‘You’d better get someone to look after Millie.’

‘She’s only just gone down. You can’t do this!’

‘I’ll have a WPC come for you. We’ll probably have to detain you overnight.’

Jasmine and Staffe each look disappointed with the other. They always were quite fond, but Jadus did what he did and Staffe is what he is. No matter how hard you try, sometimes people are just too different. Staffe says, ‘You can take a better road, Jasmine. No one will ever know it came from you. All I need is the name.’ And he can tell by the way she sets her jaw that she is lost. ‘You will be absolutely immune. I promise you.’

She crosses her arms and as she looks at him, her expression changes, slowly, until her eyes have narrowed and her lip has curled to the point where, indisputably, she hates him. Her decision is made.

On his way down the stairwell, he gets glimpses of the Attlee Estate, just a few hundred yards away.

He will call on Shawne Haddaway, see how he or his father paid for the Range Rover. Josie can check out the garage who MOT’d it. They will squeeze everyone around the e.gang, see what oozes out.

First, he waits for the WPC to collect Jasmine Cash, but twenty minutes later, he’s still waiting so he calls Jombaugh to check where she is. Jombaugh’s voice falters. ‘They’re not coming, Will. Pennington has said you’ve to lay off Jasmine Cash, says there’s no way in the world he can let you question her in custody.’

‘She could be harbouring the man who killed Golding. She could be about to send Pulford away, for God’s sake.’

‘You’re going to have to find another way. And when you come in, he wants to see you.’

In the Limekiln’s quadrangle‚ a gang of teenagers slouch in a circle, on their iPhones, but when they see Staffe, they galvanise, start moving. ‘I’ll be in later, Jom.’ He clicks off.

The youths all wear baseball caps and their hoods pulled up and he recognises one from the visitor centre at Pentonville the other day. Staffe takes a deep breath, and walks up to the youth, his nerves twitching and his heart racing. Every now and again, he feels a flutter at the top of his stomach. With the young ones, you never know. They don’t always know the score. He bends down, whispers to Louis, ‘Got your name, Consadine. I’ve got your number, too.’

Louis looks afraid. His face is swollen, yellowing, and his mouth is cut and tender. He says, ‘You’re a fuckin’ nutter, man.’

‘Fuckin’ muppet,’ says one of the others.

They’re all under age and full of themselves, valuable to their elders in the light of the reduced tariffs their crimes attract. Staffe looks in their eyes and sees what they’ve got to enable them to hurt him the most: no hope. But Louis, he looks like he might be able to glimpse a different life, a better outcome.

Staffe feels them watching him walk up to the Attlee. They follow him for a while and then he loses track of them, but as he enters the estate, a low-rise affair with brightly coloured fascias to the decks, he knows for sure he is being followed by someone. It gives him the shivers and he feels the eyes all the way up to Haddaway’s floor. His heart pumps. Again, he is sure he can hear steps behind him but not a whole gang. Maybe just one person.

At the top of the stairs, he is short of breath and has a shooting pain in his chest, so he pauses. All he can hear, through the murmur of distant beats, is Louis and his mates laughing, far away. Then they stop and he makes his way along the concrete deck to Shawne Haddaway’s place. The Attlee is dead quiet now.

Haddaway opens the door straight off. His eyes are heavy and his mouth hangs open. He smiles, clearly stoned, says, ‘You the fuckin’ pussy, man. Am I right?’ He takes a step back and puts his hands down the front of his Sean Pauls, suggesting he might be carrying.

‘Tell me about Jasmine Cash’s Range Rover.’

‘She’s got fuckin’ wheels, so fuckin’ what?’

‘We know you bought it for her.’

‘You know shit.’

‘She got it three days after Jadus was shot. Is that the price of silence these days?’

‘Your sergeant fuckin’ killed J. Fuckin’ execution, man. You lucky there isn’t more trouble on the streets.’

‘I think it’s time we brought you in. You want to call your brief?’

‘Fuck off. You’re not even supposed to be here. See, we know more than you think. We see the whole picture – like a map. Like Google fuckin’ Earth.’

‘That Range Rover of Jasmine’s is ringed. Your boys have a history for ringing.’

‘Come back when you
know
it’s fuckin’ ringed. Cos you know what? It’s fuckin’ not and if word’s out you’re harassing the friend of a man you executed, there’ll be murders.’ Shawne takes a step closer and beckons Staffe to him with a curl of the fingers of both hands. He has fat gold rings on every finger of his right hand. He smiles, sly, and looks past Staffe, who looks over his shoulder, sees the gang of boys from earlier: Louis, plus four.

Staffe’s heart flutters fast and misses. A searing pain skewers his chest and he must grimace because the gang snigger. He wants to clutch his chest, but resists, and the four from behind close in on him. Haddaway says, ‘Officer enters without warrant; we didn’t fuckin’ invite him in. He didn’t show any ID. He coulda been anybody.’

‘Stupid fucker comes without back-up.’

‘I’m just asking about Jasmine’s car.’

‘He is a copper,’ says Louis. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t—’

‘Shouldn’t what, Louis?’ Haddaway goes up to Louis, hands behind his back. He’s broader than Louis, and the back of his head is mapped with scars. Next to Haddaway, Louis is like an infant.

Louis lowers his voice, but Staffe can just hear him when he says, ‘Just, maybe we should talk to Brandon before we do anything to a copper.’

‘You fuckin’ muppet.’ Haddaway slaps Louis across the face with the back of his right hand and the big rings make four tramlines. Blood comes straight up to the surface of Louis’s already broken face. Haddaway turns to Staffe. ‘You still want me to come to the station?’

The pain shoots into Staffe’s chest again and Haddaway takes a step closer. This time Staffe can’t help himself. His head sags and he gulps for air, sinking to his knees.

Haddaway lays his hands on Staffe and pushes him backwards, puts his foot on his chest, presses down with all his weight.

‘Leave him.’

‘Who the fuck?’ says Haddaway.

‘Leave him,’ says the man, again. And it is a man, not a boy. Staffe looks up from the floor. In the doorway, Abie Myers’ suede-headed minder.

Haddaway moves back and Louis and his mates disperse. Abie’s man holds a telescopic steel in one hand. His other hand is knuckle-dusted with large, angular rings. Staffe sits up, the pain abating.

‘Mister Myers wants a word, lucky man.’ He has perfect teeth and luminescent blue eyes. He turns to Haddaway and says, ‘You help this gentleman to his feet.’

Haddaway thinks twice, evaluating his prospects. After a few seconds, he holds out a hand and Staffe takes it, pulls himself up and they stand chest to chest. One on one, he’s not so sure if these days he could take Haddaway. On the way out, he says to himself, ‘Brandon. Brandon. Brandon.’

The Cavendish would be easy to underestimate, hunkered down in one of the city’s groins, off the Tottenham Court Road. The lighting is dim and Staffe glimpses a couple of women in long black dresses through a curtain beyond the small stage, but otherwise it’s only men.

Abie’s minder offers the cashier the name ‘Miles Hennigan’ and leads Staffe to where Abie is sitting in on a blackjack game. He folds. Looking at the players, you can’t tell who is winning, which suggests to Staffe that these are serious hands.

‘You seem to like your gambling,’ says Abie. His eyes are cloudy but he has a kind face, with bushy brows and a strong jaw. He beckons Staffe, who draws up a chair.

‘I don’t dabble.’

‘But you like to watch.’ Abie taps his nose. ‘Taking a View From Above.’

Staffe laughs. ‘I’ll wager it wins next time out. Not quite at the races today.’

Abie laughs. ‘You have a job to do, inspector. I appreciate that, but if I can help in any way, I’d rather you asked me straight. I have nothing to hide.’

‘There’ll be some direct questions if Carmelo Trapani dies.’

‘Carmelo will die, of course. As will I. Even you, inspector. I heard you were at the reading of the will. I wasn’t invited. What do you make of that?’ Abie looks around the table, raising his bushy brows. Within seconds, everyone in the hand folds, leaves the table – including the dealer. Abie lowers his voice. ‘Carmelo’s idea of a joke, is what it is.’

‘It’s a shame for poor Attilio. From what I can gather, he needs the money.’

‘Poor Attilio doesn’t need to worry. I know right from wrong.’

‘You already have horses with him – but that’s not enough to keep him above water.’

‘I will say this once, inspector, because I am feeling generous. You can forget about casting aspersions on Attilio. Look closer to home.’

‘Closer to Carmelo’s home? Are you talking about Jacobo Sartori?’

‘You catch on quick, inspector.’

‘I can spot a secret when people clam up.’

‘I didn’t say anything about a secret,’ says Abie Myers, his eyes narrowing.

‘Do you want me to find Jacobo Sartori for you, Mister Myers?’

‘I simply want my good friend Carmelo to be found.’

‘Carmelo shifted his money around, these last few weeks – he knew something was going to happen.’

Abie Myers beckons Staffe closer. ‘Me and Carmelo, we used to be tight, but this bequeathing came out of the blue. You shouldn’t read anything into it and it certainly won’t help you find him. I guarantee it.’

‘He had a stake in one of your investment trusts and pulled out not so long ago. Then he leaves you all his money. So you understand why I come to you.’

‘It was I who brought you here. Good job for you that I did.’

‘Every time I dig into Carmelo’s past, something stops me. Attilio is tight-lipped, which I can understand. Jacobo is gone. No wives. Not even Esther.’

Abie Myers’ eyes darken. ‘You’ve no business bringing my wife into this, inspector. Watch your step.’

‘Where is she, Abie?’

‘The honest truth? I don’t know. She left the house forty years ago without saying a word. She didn’t take a penny, or even so much as a toothbrush. Once, a couple of years after, she let me know she was safe. I pray for her every day. Now, Jacobo Sartori, inspector – he’s the one you need, don’t doubt it.’

Abie Myers stands, stiff-limbed, but he somehow cuts an imposing figure. As he walks slowly across the casino, people turn, smile benignly, and one of the women comes from behind the curtain, skirts around the stage to take his arm, lead him into a room.

Miles Hennigan reappears, says to Staffe, ‘I’ll show you out.’ At the door, he says, ‘Try Brighton.’

‘To find Jacobo?’ says Staffe, turning.

But Miles closes the door, smiles through the glass as if he knows something the inspector doesn’t, and something in the empty, mercenary eyes that accompany his smile gives Staffe the chills.

Staffe walks through Bloomsbury’s tidy Georgian squares into studiously dishevelled Clerkenwell. When he reaches Leadengate, he asks Jombaugh to send Brighton and Hove CID a copy of the photograph of Jacobo Sartori.

As soon as he gets to his office, he puts a hand to his heart, feels the memory of what happened on the Attlee and he calls Janine up at City Royal, to see if there is someone she knows who can give him a quick once-over.

‘What’s happened, Will?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Is it your wounds again?’

‘No. Just a pain I had.’

‘In your chest?’

‘I don’t want a fuss.’

Janine says she will make a call. A friend of hers is a chest specialist and she thinks he is working tonight.

‘Thanks, but keep this to yourself.’ He hangs up, looks out on the quiet city and feels his way along the threads Carmelo Trapani has left for him to weave.

Ever since he disappeared, the old man has been whispering into the void he left behind: shifting his money and squeezing out Attilio; deserting Anthony Goldman and urging him on in the direction of Abie Myers. And now, all points seem to want to lead him to Jacobo Sartori.

But are Abie and Jacobo in cahoots, sending him on a goose chase? And what of the long-missing Esther Myers, never actually reported missing?

Rimmer is in the incident room, tapping away at his computer keyboard. His desk is clear and he sits with his back to the window. They are the only ones in.

‘Where is everyone?’ says Staffe.

‘There’s a black alert. Some trouble up Hackney.’

‘Damn.’ Staffe knows that any tension on the streets will be bad for Pulford. Over Rimmer’s shoulder, the City’s glass peaks twinkle in the night.

He needs to get on with the business of tracking down Brandon Latymer, but also needs to get to Brighton, and to try to find Esther Myers. He says to Rimmer, ‘We really could do with tracking down Abie Myers’ wife. She left him forty years ago.’

‘I know. You’re not sending me off on a wild-goose chase, are you, Staffe?’

‘If I was, would I tell you?’ he laughs, but he feels a stitch, puts his hand to his chest.

‘You all right, Staffe?’

‘I’m fine.’ He grimaces. ‘I just need to prioritise. Pulford is innocent and I can’t do everything. Your loyalties are in the right place, aren’t they, Rimmer?’

‘There is a bigger picture here.’

‘No, there’s not,’ says Staffe, leaving. In the corridor, he sees Josie coming out of his office and she says, ‘Your phone was going. It’s Janine up at City Royal. She says you’ve to see a Doctor Wellbeck at ten tonight. What’s going on, sir?’

‘Nothing. Call her back and say I can’t make it.’

‘What are you seeing a doctor about?’

‘Tell me about Brandon. That lad Louis Consadine mentioned his name tonight.’

‘You’re not supposed to—’

‘Just tell me!’

‘There’s nothing to tell. Like I said to you before, he’s clean. We’ve no live connections to him. He’s like a ghost.’

‘Yet Pulford was on his case. He was calling him. Do you still have a key to Pulford’s place?’

Josie nods.

‘Come on, let’s go over there.’

‘You should see that doctor.’ Josie looks at him disapprovingly. ‘I can go to Pulford’s on my own.’

Rimmer pokes his head into the corridor, calls to Staffe, ‘You’d better come in. Smet’s just sent something over from the Met. They’ve got a CCTV match on Carmelo’s car from the night he was taken.’

Staffe and Josie go into Rimmer’s office and the three of them look at the screen, watch the Daimler pull up to a set of lights. Text in the top right tells them it is Brompton Road, looking east. The image in the car is vague and the driver wears a hat and a big coat. A figure sits in the back and the driver turns to talk to the passenger.

‘They’re travelling west out of London. The way I’d go home if I lived in Ockingham,’ says Rimmer. ‘But wait.’ He clicks the mouse twice and brings up a new image of the same car at a set of lights. ‘Tibbets Corner,’ says the text. ‘Facing West.’

This time, they see into the rear of the car. There is no glare on the rear window now and the image is clear enough for them all to say, as one, ‘Carmelo Trapani.’

‘What time was this?’ says Staffe.

‘Six minutes past ten,’ says Rimmer. ‘And he’s still alive. They didn’t kill him at Beauvoir Place.’

‘They’re taking him somewhere to persuade him to do something,’ says Staffe.

‘Or dissuade him from doing something,’ says Josie. ‘Maybe the money he was moving around?’

‘Who the hell’s driving?’ says Rimmer.

‘You can’t tell.’

‘Send it to the techies.’

‘We should pay Attilio another visit, though,’ says Staffe. ‘Carmelo’s car was going that way.’

‘I’ll do it. I’m on that track,’ says Rimmer.

Staffe turns to Josie, winks at her and says to Rimmer, ‘Can we do it together? You take the lead, naturally.’

Rimmer looks bemused, and more than a little delighted. As they leave, Josie whispers, ‘I’ll do Pulford’s place.’

‘Look for anything at all to do with the e.gang, and especially Brandon Latymer,’ says Staffe, and for some reason, he is suddenly touched by the realisation that evidence can incriminate, as well as redeem.