The Informant (42 page)

He texted his apologies to Mike explaining he’d be a bit late. But still he ran most of the way from the tube station to the bar. As he walked through the double doors he saw Mike settled
in a corner booth nursing his pint and across the table from him sat Karen Phelps. Bradley walked towards them with a bemused look on his face.

Mike turned and gave him a mischievous smile. ‘I didn’t realize what a colourful pair I had in my class. Usually it’s teachers and civil servants. But an undercover detective
and an ex-con? Quite exciting.’

Bradley cast an enquiring glance in Karen’s direction. She looked pale and tense, she gave him the ghost of a smile.

‘I called Mike. My future, I figured I should be here.’

Bradley had to suppress his annoyance. He could’ve stayed in Chelmsford after all. ‘Anyone for a refill?’

Mike shook his head, but Kaz got up, smiled at Bradley for a second time.

‘I’ll get them. You sit down, you look knackered. What d’you want?’

Bradley was playing catch-up in his head. Karen Phelps expressing concern like a normal person was a new experience for him.

‘Umm, yeah. A pint of lager thanks.’

Bradley sat down as Kaz went to the bar. Mike watched her then inclined his head.

‘I knew there was something between you two. But I thought you just fancied her.’

Bradley gave him a wry smile. ‘Maybe I do. Stupid, eh?’

‘She’s been telling me about her family and her upbringing. Sounds like a complete nest of vipers.’

‘Yeah that’s quite a good word for them. Vipers are ruthless killers, aren’t they?’

Mike tilted his head sadly. ‘There’s a whole world out there that most of us only read about in the papers.’

Bradley leant forward across the table. ‘If you can help her Mike then you probably would be saving her life.’

Mike coughed, the raspy gravel from a lifetime of nicotine rumbled through his chest. But his eyes twinkled, he was excited. ‘I’ll certainly do my damnedest. Never expected to find
the artistic equivalent of Jean Genet in my own backyard.’

Bradley laughed. ‘Don’t tell her that. Her head will swell.’

Kaz returned to the table with a pint of lager and a coffee for herself.

Bradley took a long draught, wiped his mouth neatly with his fingers and turned to Mike. ‘Okay, what we thought is you’ve taught at various places in the States. You’ve got
contacts. What are the chances of getting Karen in somewhere over there?’

Mike raised his eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks. ‘The States? I’ve got more influence this side of the pond. Be much simpler to have a word with our own admissions
tutor.’

Kaz was about to speak. She seemed to Bradley to have lost her usual stroppy attitude and the confidence that went with it. Her eyes glinted with tears, she swallowed hard; telling the truth
wasn’t going to be an easy habit to acquire.

‘The thing is Mike, my brother . . . he’s a psychopath.’ She glanced at Bradley, jutted her chin, partly in defiance but also to control the quiver in her voice.
‘It’s taken me a while to . . . to really see this. I need to get as far away from him as I can. I’m sorry, this probably sounds like some kind of con to get into some posh
American college that wouldn’t look twice at me otherwise.’

Mike fixed her with his eagle eye, reached out and put his claw-like fingers over hers. ‘No it doesn’t.’ He pondered then grinned. ‘One of my oldest friends is a
professor at the Pratt Institute in New York. I’ll call him as soon as I get home. I’ll scan some of your work and send it. I think he’ll recognize your potential as much as I
do.’

Kaz’s jaw slackened. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. ‘The Pratt Institute?’

‘You’ve heard of it?’

Kaz nodded. She’d heard of it all right. She’d found its website, back inside when she used all her allotted IT time trawling the Net in search of dreams to inspire her. It was full
of images of cool, rich students and exciting art.

Bradley glanced from one to the other. ‘I haven’t.’

‘It’s . . .’ Kaz had a look he’d never seen on her face before, that of a wide-eyed kid.

Mike smiled and helped her out. ‘It’s a good school, as they say over there.’

‘Even if I could get in how the hell would I pay for it?’

Mike took a slug of his pint, he was enjoying himself. This is what teaching was all about for him, finding the Kaz Phelpses of this world and helping them on their way.

‘Good schools have big endowment funds, which means scholarships. Anyway I’m sure we can find some philanthropic bunch of Yanks who are into supporting reformed criminals.’
Mike gave a dry chuckle. ‘I’m presuming you are reformed.’

Kaz returned his look with a bleak smile. ‘The other big hurdle is my probation officer. I’m released on licence. They’d have to agree.’

Mike pondered this then his eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘Last year chap came to the summer school – as I say we get a lot of civil servants. He bought a couple of my own paintings,
we’ve kept in touch. He’s the senior, permanent head-something-or-other at the Ministry of Justice. I’ll give him a ring. Tell him we need his help in the interests of
art.’

Bradley beamed. ‘You think he’ll listen to you?’

Mike gave him an impish grin. ‘Haven’t I taught you anything Mal? What matters is what you see, the way things look, the world of appearances. Wonderful PR coup for them, of course
they’ll listen.’

Bradley hailed a cab for Mike. He and Kaz stood side by side on the pavement as it drove off.

Kaz started to smile and shake her head. ‘Scariest-looking geezer I’ve ever met. But he turns out to be the most all right bloke there is.’

Bradley gave her a teasing glance. ‘That’s the world of appearances for you.’

They both laughed. Bradley looked her up and down. She’d relaxed a bit, but she still looked wired and tense. Her face was pale and drawn.

He cocked his head. ‘You all right?’

She sighed. ‘Yeah. Stressful couple of days is all.’

He nodded. ‘Is Sean still giving you grief?’

She shot him a wary look. ‘No, he’s . . . I dunno. He’s gone off. Haven’t seen him.’

Bradley seemed to be scanning her face, it made her nervous. She knew the mask had slipped and she needed time and calm in order to get it back in place. She felt like shit. Was he suspicious or
was she being paranoid? She wanted to run.

He gave her a warm smile. ‘Don’t look so worried. I think there’s an odds-on chance this’ll work.’

Kaz nodded. ‘And you’re still not going to ask for anything in return?’

Bradley raised his eyebrows. ‘Nope.’

They started to walk down the street towards the tube. He smiled. ‘Although . . . purely for my own satisfaction I wouldn’t mind knowing how you’ve come to change your mind
about Joey.’

Kaz considered this. Part of her really wanted to tell him, tell him everything, come clean. That feeling of release, she craved it more than any drug. And in a bizarre way she felt he would
understand. But that would be mad, he was still a cop.

‘Oh I dunno.’ She put her hands in her pockets. ‘I’ve spent time with him, watched him. He thinks he’s special. He don’t care who he hurts. No conscience.
That’s the definition of a psychopath, in’t it?’

‘Pretty much. But you didn’t used to think that about him.’

Kaz shot him a combative look, a glimpse of the old Kaz. ‘You don’t know what I used to think.’ Then she shook her head savagely and her tone became tinged with grief.
‘Truth is I din’t used to think. Period. I’m stupid. He’s my little brother. Or he was.’

They walked on for a few moments in silence. Bradley could see the entrance to the tube up ahead. He turned to look at her and realized she was crying. She made no sound. She seemed cocooned in
her own misery. He sensed that any offer of comfort would be an intrusion. They reached the station and turned to face each other. He smiled awkwardly. ‘I’ll say goodbye here because I
need to make a call.’

She nodded. Then abruptly she grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard.

‘I’m sorry PC Mal. If I could do the right thing . . . but I want to escape. I have to escape. I know I’m as bad as him. Probably worse.’

He drew her gently towards him, wrapped her in a hug and she didn’t resist.

‘No you’re not. You have got a conscience. Sometimes running away is the smartest thing to do.’

He didn’t want to let go, but he didn’t want her to feel trapped. As he released her he took a step backwards. ‘You going to be okay?’

She nodded. ‘I’m planning my exit. Mike comes through, I’m going. You won’t see me for dust.’

He smiled, reached out for her hand, drew it to his lips and kissed it. ‘Take care.’

She nodded, turned on her heel. He watched her pass through the ticket barrier and disappear.

He stood alone on the pavement feeling very flat, which made no sense. He’d achieved what he’d set out to do. He told himself he was being foolish. He’d drunk one pint in the
bar, but he really felt he needed another. Probably another three or four if he was honest. He noticed there was a pub across the road. As he started to walk towards it he scrolled through his
phone to Nicci Armstrong’s number and rang it. She picked up on the third ring.

‘Bradley, where the fuck are you?’

‘I left a message for you, something I had to do. How’s it going?’

Nicci was sitting alone in the corner of the police canteen trying to decipher the date stamp on a fruit yogurt. The choice had been this or a couple of tired sandwiches.

‘I come out the interview room thinking you’d gone to the bog, but no, you’ve buggered off back to London. Where is your head Bradley? Stuck up your arse yet again?’

‘I’m sorry. Promise I had to keep, it was important. Did you get a statement out of Leysa?’

‘Sort of. Now we’ve got Turnbull on the phone throwing his weight around, arguing with Cheryl’s boss about who’s the lead on this. And I’m stuck in the middle. On
my tod.’

‘Thought Mayhew was coming down.’

‘You walked out on me. I went out on a limb for you with Cheryl Stoneham. I don’t know why I bothered.’

Bradley sighed. ‘Nic, I wouldn’t have gone if it hadn’t been important.’

‘Yeah, important to you. I’ve got a life too y’know. I had to phone up my ex-mother-in-law who hates my guts and beg her to babysit Sophie. I’d like to be able to keep a
few promises myself, especially to my own kid.’

Bradley was approaching the door to the pub, it looked Victorian with hints of neo-gothic tracery in the window arches. He got a glimpse of the ornate tiled and mirrored interior, it was pretty
quiet and the prospect of drinking a beer alone in peace was all he could think about. But he needed to finish the call first.

‘Look, I’m sorry and I’ll—’

As he stopped a couple of feet from the threshold a large bloke barged straight into the back of him sending the phone flying from his hand and clattering to the pavement. Nicci heard a loud
crack in her ear as it hit, then the line went dead.

‘Bradley?’

Now the fool had dropped his bloody phone, she couldn’t believe it.

In confusion Bradley turned to apologize but a fist slammed into his gut knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over gasping and hands grabbed him from behind. Before he could even get his
breath two men were dragging him across the pavement. A black BMW X5 was pulled up kerbside, rear door open. They chucked him on the back seat and as he struggled to sit up someone leant over from
the front passenger seat and coshed him. For a brief instant he thought he recognized the face, then everything went black.

Nicci Armstrong sat in the canteen and opened her yogurt. This was dinner and come to think of it lunch too. She was irritable with hunger. All she wanted was to be at home with Sophie. She
thought of ringing Bradley but what would be the point? He was probably in a bar somewhere half-cut and that’s why he’d trashed his phone. Cheryl was right, he didn’t give a toss
about her. Had she gone soft on him because he had a pretty face? Make it all right for the boys so they’ll like you? It felt as though she’d been doing that her whole life and it never
worked. Tim had always been at his most charming when he was feeding her a pack of lies. She knew relying on men was a hiding to nothing. And they always stuck together. In the end Bradley was
still Turnbull’s boy, he’d get the credit for the bust, she’d be ignored. Well sod that. Bradley could cover his own useless arse from now on.

Bradley came to with the side of his face pressing against rough concrete. He could smell engine oil and brick dust. His arms were pinioned behind him, firmly bound with duct
tape at the wrists. He looked up into a bright fluorescent tube that hung on a chain overhead, beyond that was an arched ceiling of bricks. A face loomed over him, young, unfamiliar.

‘He wake up boss.’

The place was chilly, a draught of evening air wafting in from somewhere. A voice floated over his head, which felt extremely sore.

‘Stick him on that chair Tol.’

He was lifted bodily, plonked on an orange plastic bucket chair. The frame of the chair swayed as he landed awkwardly, arms trussed behind him. A figure stepped from the shadows: Joey Phelps. It
had to be. Seconds after he’d come to his senses Bradley had realized this. He was in big trouble.

‘You know who was the last person to sit in that chair?’ Joey smiled, but his eyes remained cold and blank. ‘Your mate Marlow.’

Bradley focused on Joey. If there was any chance of getting out of this alive, fear wasn’t an option. He adopted a chatty tone.

‘Never met him personally. Before my time.’

Joey nodded thoughtfully. ‘I always liked him. We had some laughs. But then he was put in to lead me up the garden path, wasn’t he? Like you been doing with my sister.’

‘Only met her the once, when you were both interviewed in Southend.’

Joey rolled his neck around, flexed his shoulders. Bradley got the impression this was all a ritual, the build-up, and Joey was enjoying himself.

He gave Bradley a quizzical look. ‘Oh, come on Mal, don’t lie. I’ve even texted you back on her phone. How long you been shagging her?’