The Informant (38 page)

‘You don’t know him.’

‘Oh don’t I? When he was a kid, pissing himself every five minutes, your dad used to say “that boy has got a screw loose”. And he was right.’

‘And whose fault is that? None of us is exactly normal.’

‘He’s pulling your strings little cousin. You realize it was him told me that you’d tried to grass me up to the bill?’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Believe what you like. He’s a twisted little fucker, you’re just too blind to see.’

She glared at him across the breakfast bar. His eyes were devouring her, it was clear what he had in mind. The thrill of the chase, the prospect of conquest, it was giving him a hard on.

He adopted a soft, wheedling tone. ‘Come on Kaz, I don’t wanna fight with you. You and me, we had some laughs din’t we, back in the day?’

‘No. You laughed, I didn’t. Mostly I cried.’

Suddenly his face broke into an ugly grin. ‘Naaah, you want it really. You always did. You bitches are all the same. Think you can stitch me up? I am gonna teach you a lesson you
won’t forget in a hurry.’

He lunged forward, made a grab for her arm, but Kaz was too quick for him. She threw herself sideways, tripped and skidded on her knees across the wooden floor.

He laughed, he was loving it. ‘Wanna play games, do you?’

She did a quick roll on to one side and jumped to her feet. Her back was to the window, she thought about the balcony but it was a long drop. He took off his jacket, laid it neatly over the arm
of the sofa. Then he unbuckled his belt. His eyes were glassy with lust. She decided to let him move in on her, then go for the balls.

As he stepped forward she made a grab for his groin, but the material of his jeans was too thick around the crotch, she couldn’t get a firm grip. She only succeeded in exciting him
more.

He gasped. ‘Oh yeah, you’re gonna get plenty of that.’

She pulled back her right fist, punched him hard in the stomach. Her knuckles cracked against a solid wall of muscle, a daily workout in the prison gym had given him abs most blokes would kill
for.

He laughed, grasped her T-shirt by the neckline and ripped it right off. They both froze for a moment. He stared at her breasts, she was skinny, but still had an ace pair of tits on her. She
covered them reflexively with her forearms, then realized that effectively immobilized her.

Sean was almost drooling, so she dropped her arms, let him lean in, his lips going down towards her left nipple. His tongue lolled, she felt it warm and wet on her skin, like being licked by a
dog. Then she brought her right knee up sharp and hard under his jaw. He bit his own tongue and howled.

‘Fucking bitch!’

He grabbed her by the shoulders, she struggled, kicked, he grappled her to the floor and pinned her down with his superior weight. He was red in the face, sweat dripping off him, but loving
every minute. Kaz jerked and twisted with all her might, trying to throw him off, bite him. Her battered body was screaming with pain, but a fury was rising in her, the anger that had always been
there at the brutality and injustice of it all. She screwed up her face and started to scream. ‘Get off me you bastard! Get off!’

He put his left forearm across her windpipe, choking off her screams and her breath, then he used his right hand to reach down and pull off her pyjamas. She gasped for air, her legs were
flailing, but she managed to free her right arm. As he unzipped his fly she jabbed him in the eye with the nail of her index finger.

He bellowed. ‘Aawww, fucking hell!’

The moment his grip on her throat loosened, she shoved him hard and he fell back with one hand over his eye.

‘What d’you do that for, you bitch!’

She wriggled from under him, sucking in air in short, hoarse gasps. She scrambled to her feet and made for the kitchen drawer. She pulled it open, grabbed the plastic bag.

Sean was on his feet behind her, his tone full of indignation. ‘That hurt. You could’ve fucking blinded me!’

‘This’ll hurt even more.’ She pulled the SIG 220 from the bag and pointed it straight at him.

He stared at her in disbelief, stark naked holding a gun. Then he laughed. ‘Come on it was only a bit of rough and tumble. You used to like all that.’ He eyed the gun speculatively.
‘Anyway, you got the safety catch on.’

He stepped forward, held his hand out for the gun, like a father dealing with a naughty child. Remembering Joey’s instructions Kaz quickly dropped the hammer with her thumb. Sean made a
grab for the barrel, he got hold of the silencer, twisting it down, trying to wrest it from her grasp. As her wrist was wrenched sideways, she pulled the trigger.

The dull snap of the bullet being discharged took them both by surprise. Sean lurched backwards as it tore through the flesh of his thigh. He landed on his backside, clutching the side of his
leg. His face was puce with shock and fury.

‘Now look what you done, you stupid bitch!’

It was a flesh wound and there was blood, but the bullet had gone right through, missing arteries and bone. Kaz looked down in astonishment at the weapon in her hand. Sean grimaced in pain.

‘Well don’t just stand there, get a towel or something.’

Kaz blinked at him. She was in shock herself. Picking up a tea towel from the counter, she tossed it to him. A blood-soaked patch was forming on the side of his jeans, he wrapped the tea towel
round it. Then he pulled his mobile from his pocket and glared at her.

‘You have got to be the stupidest fucking bint on the planet.’ He scrolled through the numbers with one hand, keeping the other pressed hard to the tea towel on his leg. ‘You
are going straight back to jail and for a nice long stretch.’

Kaz considered this. The gun going off had paralysed her momentarily. Now goosebumps were prickling up on her naked skin, her throat felt sore and bruised where he’d crushed her windpipe.
She raised the gun and pointed it at his head. The range was less than two metres. Her hand felt surprisingly steady.

‘No, I don’t think so Sean. Not for a scumbag like you.’

She took a deep calming breath and squeezed the trigger.

Detective Chief Superintendent Turnbull chose a phone shop in Victoria Street. It was part of a large national chain and far enough away from the office to make it unlikely
he’d bump into anyone. He was skimming through the pay-as-you go display when the assistant came over and asked if he needed any help. Turnbull gave the girl an appraising look, she was mixed
oriental background, a south London accent. He smiled broadly, just the ally he needed.

‘My daughter, she’s fifteen. You think she can hold on to a phone? Lost two – one nicked, dropped another down the toilet.’

The shop assistant giggled. ‘Yeah, stuff like that happens quite a lot.’

Turnbull warmed to his theme. ‘I’ve told her, no more smart phones. Cheap and basic, until you can learn to look after it. Any suggestions?’

He stepped out of the shop ten minutes later with a small pink handset, untraceable SIM loaded and ten pounds credit. He paid cash. He scrolled the contacts list on his own BlackBerry until he
came to Duncan Linton’s number, keyed it into the new phone and hit call.

Linton ran his business from an elegant address in South Audley Street. A roomful of quants, a small management team – he liked to keep a tight rein on everything himself. He was watching
the BBC News channel on one of his five computer screens when the call came through on his mobile. He didn’t know the number, but he recognized the voice even before Turnbull identified
himself. Linton leant back in his chair.

‘I’m watching the BBC news. The Commissioner’s just announced the posthumous award of the Queen’s Gallantry Medal to an Alex Marlow. Is that him?’

Turnbull was standing in a shop doorway. ‘That’s him. So now the clock’s ticking.’

‘You’re ready to make your move?’

‘More than ready. Don’t worry Duncan, it’ll work.’

Turnbull sounded confident. There had been a few private doubts but he’d reminded himself he was going nowhere in the Met, because there was nowhere to go. Senior officers were being axed.
This was the smart move, this was about stepping up into a different league. Still he took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘Make sure you sit firmly on Foxley’s tail. We don’t want
him reneging on the deal. Remind him he’s promised us the contract.’

He heard Linton laugh. ‘He’ll be fine Alan. I’ve got my eye on him.’ His tone was worryingly casual.

Turnbull wondered if this were true. Linton had numerous deals on the go, if this went pear-shaped he wouldn’t be the one to lose. Turnbull had to remind himself he was talking to a
potential partner, an equal. Though who wouldn’t be star-struck by Linton’s wealth? The Learjet, the mansion in the Caribbean, it wasn’t Turnbull’s world.

He coughed to conceal the tension in his voice. ‘This is a secure line, so I’ll keep you posted. Let me know any developments your end.’

Linton chuckled again. ‘I will. Good luck.’

Turnbull ended the call, slipped the phone in his inside jacket pocket. He glanced up and down the street. Buses, taxis, a taint of exhaust fumes and the bustle of the city in all its forms.
Nothing had changed but to Turnbull it all seemed brighter, more vivid. He was going for gold and a surge of adrenalin was rushing through his veins. Years ago, when he was a young DC in the Flying
Squad and they went out on a big bust, this is what it felt like. He smiled to himself, he’d made the right decision. Maybe there was something to be said for the God-awful school motto
they’d had drummed into them:
Audentes fortuna iuvat
. Fortune favours the bold.

Kaz squatted on her haunches in the corner of the kitchen, naked and shivering. She felt like a small feral creature that had survived the predator’s onslaught, but only
just. The first bullet had merely grazed Sean above his right temple. He’d yelped, then as he’d tried to scramble to his feet Kaz had adjusted her aim. Her second shot went straight
through the eye and he’d collapsed in a heap, stone dead.

Now a large puddle of blood was edging towards her bare foot. She stood up to avoid it, letting the gun clatter to the floor, turned and retched over the sink. A thin skein of saliva, laced with
scrambled egg, dripped from her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and had to grasp the kitchen counter firmly to stop her legs from buckling under her.

Suddenly there was a noise in the hall. Kaz’s heart lurched. The front door hinges creaked. Someone had come in. Kaz’s first thought was Bradley. He’d finally turned up, too
late to save her. Now she was most certainly going back to jail. But the prospect suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Life inside was predictable. She wouldn’t have to think any more, worry
any more. She could give in, let the days and then the years simply wash over her. A sense of relief coursed through her sore, battered body and oblivious to the fact she was totally naked, she
turned to face him.

But the man who appeared framed in the hall doorway was larger and squarer. Tolya stood, hands on hips, wearing a big grin. He glanced at the corpse and nodded with approval.

‘Dead?’

Kaz stared at him, completely thrown. Was he about to attack her? He simply smiled, then squatted down to take a closer look at Kaz’s handiwork.

‘Nice shot. I call Joey. You need take a shower, put clothes on.’

Kaz clutched the kitchen worktop for support. She knew she was in shock, still none of it made sense.

He stood up, gave her a reassuring look. ‘It’s okay. Go take shower. I call Joey.’

‘I don’t . . . understand . . .’

Tolya frowned as if it should be obvious. ‘Joey, he say me keep eye on things ’til you kill him.’

‘Kill him?’

‘Kill him, kill Sean. Bam.’ Tolya mimed the shot and grinned.

Kaz’s brain was racing to catch up. Tolya’s accent was hard enough to decipher. She shook her head. ‘Joey? But . . . you were working for Sean?’

Tolya laughed. ‘No no, Yevgeny and me, we work always for Joey. Joey say me to . . . to . . .’

He screwed up his face with frustration as he searched for the right word.

Kaz’s mind was ricocheting between relief and anger. She clutched her arms round her naked torso protectively. ‘What the fuck you trying to say? Joey told you to what . . . pretend
to work for Sean?’

Tolya beamed and slapped his thigh. ‘Yeah pretend! I pretend. I keep watch on you, wait ’til you kill him.’

As the truth sank in, Kaz’s brain exploded. ‘He could’ve fucking killed me and you stood by and watched!’

Tolya looked mortified. ‘No no no! Sean, he beat women for his pleasure. He don’t kill them.’

‘He tried to rape me!’

Tolya nodded sagely. ‘Joey say if he try rape you, you get mad enough then you kill him.’

Kaz swallowed hard as she absorbed this. Joey had engineered the whole thing? She couldn’t quite believe it. Why? Why would he do such a thing to her, knowing how she felt about Sean? It
was bonkers.

Tolya watched her, he couldn’t help letting his eyes stray a bit over the contours of her naked body. He started grinning like an idiot, then he wagged his finger at her, as he supposed a
concerned brother might.

‘Go shower, get clothes. I call Joey. Don’t worry. We clean this up.’

Bradley tracked Mike Dawson down to an office at the Slade only to discover he’d gone to an art history conference in Oxford. The departmental PA, a young African woman
with an impenetrable accent, assumed Bradley was some kind of student and was less than helpful. Only when Bradley produced his warrant card and a tone of voice that promised trouble did she become
marginally more compliant. He ended up exchanging texts with Mike and arranging to meet him in the early evening on his return from Oxford.

All of which left Bradley at a bit of a loose end. He sat in a coffee shop feeling like a kid bunking off school. Was he really going to chuck it all in as he’d boasted to Karen Phelps? On
a sunny morning with a head free of booze his career prospects didn’t look so bad. Maybe what he needed was a sabbatical? He’d never taken a gap year as a student, waste of time and
money his dad had said. It was something rich kids did: help the poor for a couple of months then have an exotic holiday. Maybe he could persuade his bosses to give him some time-out now. He could
travel, have time to think, reassess, pick up the job again later.