The Informant (48 page)

Nicci pulled out her warrant card. ‘I’m DS Armstrong.’

The nurse looked at her dismissively. ‘No police interviews. He needs emergency surgery. You’ll have to wait.’ She turned to Kaz. ‘Follow me.’

For Nicci this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She stepped in front of the nurse and loomed threateningly. ‘Hang about sunshine. For your information he is a police
officer. He’s been missing and we’ve been looking for him all day. Now you go and get someone a lot higher up the food chain that I can talk to about this.’

The nurse glared at her and spluttered. ‘This hospital has a policy of zero tolerance towards abusers of its staff.’

Kaz couldn’t help smiling, it was like a Pekinese in a face-off with a Rottweiler.

‘Really?’ Nicci put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, you’ve got one minute to get your boss or I’ll be nicking you for obstruction. That’s my policy.’

She didn’t have to say more. A burly charge nurse and a registrar in surgical scrubs were homing in on them to defuse the situation.

Bradley was in a curtained-off cubicle in the trauma unit with a drip in his arm. The dried blood had been cleaned away but his face looked like a punchbag. A nurse was prepping him for
emergency surgery, shaving the hair off the side of his head. She let the dark locks drop on the floor. The registrar escorted Nicci and Kaz to the cubicle. She was a horsey young woman, auburn
hair scraped back in a bun and an abundance of freckles, but her manner was breezy and confident.

‘He has an epidural haematoma – bleeding inside his skull – so we’re taking him up to theatre immediately to deal with this. We presumed he was a victim of crime and
pictures have been taken. He’s lucid at the moment, but I can only give you a couple of minutes.’

Nicci nodded her thanks, she and Kaz exchanged awkward glances. Then Bradley noticed them and attempted a smile.

‘Nic . . . glad you’re here. Can’t see that good, you need to come close.’

Nicci winced inwardly as she realized that probably meant serious neurological damage. She stood beside the trolley and took his hand. ‘We’ve been looking for you all day.’

He gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘Tell everyone I’m sorry.’

She could see he was having trouble focusing on her. ‘Jesus wept Mal! How am I meant to cover your sorry arse if you don’t talk to me, tell me what you’re doing.’

He squeezed her hand. ‘It was a secret. Wanted to help Karen but didn’t want Turnbull to find out.’

Nicci shook her head, she could feel tears prickling behind her eyes. ‘What, you think I talk to Turnbull any more than I have to?’

He was struggling to concentrate. He raised his hand in Kaz’s direction.

‘She saved my neck. Pointed a gun at her brother and stopped him from killing me. She wasn’t part of this.’

Nicci glanced across at Kaz, who was on the other side of the trolley.

‘Well we don’t really know that, do we?’

Bradley took a breath. He was focusing all his effort on speaking. His voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘Listen to me Nic,
I
know. Kaz and I were bloody lucky he didn’t kill us
both.’

The curtains were drawn back, the registrar, a nurse and some porters were waiting.

Kaz lifted Bradley’s hand up gently and kissed the fingers. ‘Hang on in there PC Mal, ’cause we’ve got a date in New York.’

Bradley smiled, then he started to cough. The cough turned to a gasp and a splutter as he fought for breath. His left arm jerked, then his whole body went into convulsions.

The registrar took charge. ‘He’s having a seizure. Call crash!’

Suddenly people in surgical scrubs were rushing in. A trolley with equipment appeared, the registrar was issuing instructions while injecting something into the cannula in Bradley’s
arm.

Kaz shot a glance at Nicci. ‘What the fuck . . .?’

Nicci swallowed hard. The small oriental staff nurse took her elbow, but there was no hostility, just a professional look of concern. ‘Please. You need to wait outside.’

She shepherded Nicci and Kaz to the waiting area. They stood in the middle of the floor staring at each other helplessly for a moment. Then Kaz sank down on her haunches, hugging her arms round
her knees.

Nicci towered over her. ‘What the fuck did you two think you were playing at?’

Kaz glanced up, anger in her eyes. ‘He was trying to help me get away from my brother. It was his fucking idea!’

Nicci released a hiss of air between her teeth. She took out her phone. ‘He said you had a gun. Where’s the gun?’

‘I dunno. I left it on the floor in the lock-up.’ Kaz buried her face in her knees.

Nicci was turning the phone over and over, fast, jittery repetitions.

‘Where’s the lock-up?’

Kaz rose up in one fast and fluid action. At her full height she was a couple of inches taller than Nicci. She fixed her with a fierce glare.

‘Fucking cops! He’s probably . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘And all you can do is ask fucking questions!’

Nicci met her stare, raised her chin defiantly. ‘I’m doing my job. Preserving the evidence to make a case – to send your fucking psychopath of a brother to jail.’

Kaz seemed to deflate, her shoulders sank. She breathed a heavy sigh. Nicci was close enough to feel the exuded air on her face. She could see the tears welling in the corners of Kaz’s
eyes. She watched the younger woman’s trachea rise and fall as she swallowed. Then on the periphery of her vision she saw the auburn-headed registrar come through the swing doors. She stepped
back and turned.

The registrar met her gaze and Nicci knew at once what was coming: the professional condolences, the sparse medical details, the official pronouncement that DC Mal Bradley was dead.

Kaz watched DS Nicci Armstrong disappear through the automatic doors and into the nicotine fug beyond. The doctor had explained in short, matter-of-fact sentences that the
blood leaking inside Bradley’s skull had turned into a massive haemorrhage. There was nothing they could do. Nicci had thanked the doctor politely, turned and walked away. Kaz had simply
stood there, thinking about him, how he’d kept turning up, cajoling her, harassing her. How was it that she should feel so much pain over the death of a cop?

She concluded she was in shock. Her mouth felt dry. Although she hadn’t eaten since breakfast she wasn’t hungry, but she was certainly dehydrated. She walked over to the vending
machine. She was peering at the contents, looking for something that wasn’t entirely sugar water, when she heard a familiar voice at her back.

‘Need some change?’

Her heart leapt. She turned and there was Helen. Kaz didn’t want to feel so absurdly glad and grateful, but she was. They stared at each other awkwardly then Kaz stepped into her arms.

‘Thanks for coming.’

Helen held onto her but only briefly before stepping back. ‘I thought they’d certainly take you in for questioning. So best if I’m here.’

She fed some coins into the machine and a plastic bottle of water plonked into the tray; she handed it to Kaz with a smile. Her manner was friendly but business-like.

‘I’ve seen DS Armstrong outside. There are some other detectives who’ve just arrived. How do you want to play this?’

Kaz scanned her lover’s face. Although they’d only made love on one occasion she found it hard to think of Helen as anything else. The memory of that intimacy was too precious. She
longed to stroke her hair or touch her cheek. Instead she cracked open the bottle of water and took a long draught.

She wiped her mouth with her hand. ‘Bradley’s dead.’

‘Oh, I see. That’s a bit awkward. Do they know you helped him?’

Kaz stared at Helen. ‘A bit awkward?’

‘What d’you expect me to say? Tragic obviously. But my main concern at this moment is that you may be about to be charged as an accessory to murder and have your licence
revoked.’

Kaz let her gaze rest on Helen’s face. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. But then Kaz began to wonder, was that all an illusion, the product of confused feelings, but mostly
desire? When she looked closer she could see a tightness round the lips, a prissiness, an assumption of superiority. Helen was certainly good-looking, but there was a harshness in her features, a
need for control. Kaz wondered why she’d really come. To do her job? To salve her conscience? It was impossible to get behind the mask.

She took a deep breath. ‘I know I phoned you, asked for your help. But y’know, all this is complicated. I’ve decided I’m gonna get myself a new lawyer. Your firm
represents Joey. Don’t think that’s gonna work for me any more.’

Helen raised her eyebrows, she seemed surprised and mildly offended. ‘Neville represents your brother and I’m quite capable of separating—’

Kaz reached out a hand and brushed Helen’s arm. The frisson was still there, and hard to ignore, but Kaz knew she had to.

‘I know what you’re capable of. And I’ll always be grateful to you. But I’ve made up my mind.’

Helen pursed her lips, it left her face tight and pinched. She wanted to be the one to draw the line, not Karen. The power had been wrested from her and she resented it. ‘Well . . . I hope
we can remain friends.’

Kaz gave her a sombre smile. ‘Who knows? Maybe.’

Helen bit back an angry riposte.

Kaz tilted her head. ‘Sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.’

Helen shrugged, turned on her heel and stalked off. Kaz watched her go. She still looked magnificent, very haughty and very Helen. Kaz swallowed hard but the tears still came.

Terry Phelps’s funeral took place on a day of unseasonable autumn sunshine. The sky was cloudless, the temperature in the high teens. But even without the weather there
was never any doubt that this was to be a spectacular send-off. Everything had to be top of the range, family dignity demanded it. A team of four plumed black horses drew a Victorian glass funeral
carriage bearing the casket. On top of the walnut coffin a memorial ribbon wreath composed entirely of white roses spelled out two words:
The Guvnor
. This had been Brian’s idea. Kaz
couldn’t remember anyone ever calling her father that, but the feeling was it fitted the occasion.

It took well over an hour for the horse-drawn cortège to wend its way through the Essex lanes to Chelmsford Crematorium. Sitting in the back of a vintage Rolls Royce, crawling along at
less than ten miles an hour, Kaz had plenty of time for reflection.

The police had arrested her at the hospital, as she assumed they would. But before the interrogation began, she pre-empted them by laying her own deal on the table. She wanted a new identity and
a place on the witness protection scheme for her and her sister. In return she’d tell them everything she knew and testify against Joey.

Fiona Calder knew a result when she saw it; Kaz’s testimony would provide the evidence for a double murder conviction. It would also help scupper any allegations of illegality Turnbull
might take to the IPCC. Calder agreed, released Kaz and called a press conference.

The crowd that turned out at the crematorium to pay their respects were a motley crew of superannuated villains with walking sticks as much in evidence as mirrored sunglasses. Ellie had been
waiting practically her whole married life for this day and she didn’t disappoint. She walked into the chapel with her two daughters in a black feather fascinator with a light veil specially
commissioned for the occasion. As the priest told his sceptical audience that although Terence Albert Phelps was a man of the streets he repented at the last, Ellie dabbed her dry cheeks with a
black lace hanky.

There was a discreet police presence in the chapel and a couple of armed response officers with MP5s in the Rose Garden. Kaz reflected ruefully that this was probably the one aspect of the
rigmarole her old man would’ve appreciated. Joey sat at the back handcuffed to a big brawny prison officer. He’d been arrested on the A12 by a couple of traffic cops who’d stopped
him for speeding. He didn’t put up any resistance and whistled up Neville Moore to get him out. When he was charged with double murder, refused bail and remanded to Belmarsh prison, he fired
Neville in a fit of pique. But then rehired him three days later.

As the mourners filed out and Kaz stood beside her mother shaking hands and accepting condolences, Joey finally caught her eye. He gave her a wink and a cheeky grin, then turned to his minder
with an appealing smile. ‘All right if I just give me poor old mum a hug?’

The prison officer nodded. The police had deployed more officers than he’d ever seen at a villain’s funeral. Joey Phelps wasn’t going anywhere.

Joey enveloped Ellie in as large an embrace as the handcuffs would allow. She wriggled free, one hand on the fascinator.

‘Careful Joey! Mind me hat!’

He smiled at her, his baby-blue eyes filling with tears. ‘I’m sorry Mum. I’ve let you down.’ He glanced at the remaining family line-up: Kaz, Natalie, Brian and Glynis.
‘I’ve let you all down. Let the family down. And I’m sorry.’

Brian shifted uncomfortably. ‘Can’t be helped lad. I’m sure your dad’d understand.’

Natalie fiddled with the cuffs on her jacket, she couldn’t meet her brother’s eye.

He glanced from her to Glynis and beamed. ‘All right Glyn? I must admit I’m really surprised not to see Sean here today. Aren’t you Mum?’ His gaze slid along the line and
came to rest on Kaz. He fixed her with a hypnotic stare. ‘I mean I know he’s probably a bit nervous of the old bill, but for him to miss Dad’s send-off, well, I have to say
I’m a bit puzzled. Aren’t you Kaz? Hope nothing’s happened to him.’

Glynis looked up from under the broad brim of her hat. ‘Oh, don’t worry Joey – he’s fine. He’s been moving about a lot, y’know how it is. But he calls me
every week. ’Course, I told him about your dad and he was gutted. He sends you his love Ellie. We got your dad a lovely wreath: heart-shaped with lots of different colour roses. Sean picked
it out himself.’

She glanced at Kaz, who returned her brother’s gaze with a serene smile.

‘Hope that puts your mind at rest little brother.’