A Matter of Blood (3 page)

‘Yeah?’ On the other side of the bar, Artie watched him. ‘They still got you coming after me for the murder of those two boys?’ His eyes were hard. ‘Not that I have to ask. I’ve developed a case of permanent plainclothes shadow. It’s a right pain in the arse when I’m trying to do business. I should sue you lot for loss of income.’

Cass shrugged and Artie smiled. Beneath the surface warmth, there was something of the shark in it.

‘Funny how my money buys safety for my employers, but not for me, isn’t it?’

‘You know the bonus doesn’t cover that kind of shit. They might have been aiming for Macintyre, but whoever shot those kids broke the rules. All bets are off in this case.’

There was a pause and Artie sipped his beer, then looked at Cass thoughtfully over the rim of the glass. For his own part, Cass lit a cigarette and then met the man’s gaze. He was tired and all he wanted to do was go and shower Carla Rae’s death away, but he’d known this conversation was on the cards. The boys had been gunned down the week before, and all fingers pointed to Artie Mullins. For those screaming for a quick arrest, Artie was the obvious choice. Sam Macintyre was becoming quite a force among the firms, and he was a clear rival to Artie’s rule. It was pretty obvious that he had been the drive-by shooter’s target, even though it was the two kids, who just happened to be passing by, who ended up bleeding to death on the pavement. The whole thing was a fuck-up and everyone was screaming for a name, the press, the commissioner, even the rival firms. Both sides of the law wanted it sorted quickly so they could get a swift return to the status quo.

‘What’s
your
view though, Detective Inspector?’ Artie put his glass down. ‘You think I did it?’

‘No.’ Cass met his gaze. ‘Not your style.’ He meant it too. Artie Mullins had been around a long time. If he’d wanted Sam Macintyre taken out, he wouldn’t have done it Hollywood Mafia style. ‘Not that my opinion counts for much,’ he added. ‘I’m only the officer in charge. My job is just to do as I’m told and take the shit if we don’t catch someone.’

‘It counts to me.’ The cold glint had left Artie’s sunken eyes and Cass felt a small knot untie in his stomach. He wasn’t ashamed of being slightly afraid of Arthur Mullins. It was probably a healthy response.

‘I don’t want Macintyre dead.’ Artie sniffed. ‘Not yet anyway. He’s ambitious, but that’s not always a bad thing. And the Irish are better than the Yardies. That lot don’t have any code. And if I
did
want him sorted, then I wouldn’t have done it so fucking loudly. I’d have taken him out somewhere private - somewhere he wouldn’t be found.’

Cass nodded. ‘That’s what I figured. But you’re the top dog, Artie. They all think it’s you. You’re the one who’s potentially got the most to lose by Macintyre’s rise.’

‘Then you’re going to have to convince them otherwise.’ Artie winked. ‘Although they’ve got no evidence it was me, so they can hang off my arse and follow me around for as long as they want. Suits me fine - saves me sorting myself out some extra protection while persuading the Irish this was nothing to do with me.’

‘But if it wasn’t you, it was still someone. Those two kids are still dead.’

Artie nodded. He leaned forward, keeping his voice low so that his drawn-out north London mumble was almost a growl. ‘I’m no grass, Jonesy, everyone knows that, but if I had something on this one, trust me, I’d give it to you. We’ve had a nice little balance since we started the arrangement between you lot and us lot. We get on with our business and you get on with yours.’ He shook his head.

‘I’d never have gone for a hit like that. Not in a public place with schoolkids around. The way I see it is you’d have to be one of three things to take a pop at someone like that: plain stupid, a lunatic, or too powerful to care about the consequences.’

Cass wasn’t sure if it was the dim lighting or whether a dark shadow passed across Artie’s face. It was almost like a flash of fear, but Cass found that hard to believe. Who was there for Artie Mullins to be afraid of in the London underworld? The moment passed and the old gangster smiled. ‘And I may be a bit of all three, but not enough of any one of them to make this my doing.’ He paused. ‘I rest my case, your honour.’

‘I’ll tell them that back at the station. I’m sure they’ll take your word for it.’

Artie laughed, and then coughed, the rattle in his chest declaring a lifetime of too many cigarettes and not enough fresh air. ‘You do that.’ He waited till the small fit had passed. ‘So if you haven’t been trying to nick my arse today what’s been keeping you so busy?’

‘They think Bowman’s bloody appendix has burst. I’ve got to cover his cases until he gets back, but fuck knows when that will be.’ He shook his head. ‘So now I’m working two murder cases and all because that bloody jobsworth didn’t want to take a couple of days away from his desk.’

He drained his beer and picked up the brown envelope before getting up from his stool. ‘I’d better go. It’s going to be an early start in the morning and I’m not designed for dawn.’ He tucked the money inside his jacket. The plainclothes officers who were no doubt watching the club would know what he was doing here, but there was no point in making it too obvious. Appearances were everything.

‘I’ll do my best to get them off your back, Artie, but all I can advise is sit tight. We’ve got no evidence leading back to you, so you know how it goes. Keep up the “no comment” line if we pull you in and they’ll have to back off in the end.’

‘I know the drill. Done it often enough over the years.’ He grinned. ‘Now fuck off before the girls start turning up or you’ll never leave.’

Cass smiled, although he could feel it was slightly sheepish. He knew his own weaknesses, but he wasn’t sure how much he liked other people spotting them that easily. It sometimes felt to Cass that he’d spent his life trying to mould himself into a good man, and in most ways he’d managed, but when it came to the opposite sex, the leopard couldn’t quite get rid of those spots. He’d almost given up trying.

‘We all have our sins, Artie. I’ve learned to live with mine.’

‘That’s what I like about you, Jonesy. You know your shit smells the same as mine.’ Cass headed back towards the stairs and the pavement, where time had been slowly ticking by.

‘You know, if you ever get bored paying taxes and fancy a change of sides you’ve always got a job working with me.’

Cass laughed and waved, but didn’t answer. He took the stairs two at a time and was happy to get out into the cool night air. In some ways, Artie wasn’t that different from the police commissioner. What neither understood was that he just couldn’t see things in terms of sides any more. It was just everyone doing their thing, and the way Cass saw it, he sat somewhere in the middle. If he ever had been on the good side, he’d lost that place ten years ago when he was undercover. Everyone knew that. There was no going back, no matter how much they all pretended. All things considered, he was pretty happy that he’d learned to live with it.

 

 

 

T
he envelope pressed uncomfortably against his chest as he slid behind the wheel of the Audi and he tossed it onto the seat beside him before letting out a long sigh and shutting his aching eyes for a brief second. It was finally time to go home. He wished the thought raised more joy in his heart. He briefly considered stopping somewhere for a drink on the way back to Muswell Hill, but decided against it. There were only so many more disappointed looks he could take from Kate, and only so much guilt he could stomach. On top of that, he now had two high-profile murder cases to solve, with not a single lead for one, and a lot of catching up to do on the other; drink wasn’t the answer, not right now.

He drove out of the small street and navigated through Soho. Although rush hour was virtually over, central London was still a mesh of traffic and people weaving in and out of each other; pedestrians and vehicles moving at an almost identical speed in their haste to reach their destinations. No one looked happy; most just looked drained. Lights dazzled from the shop fronts of the Georgian buildings on either side of Regent Street and streaked across his windscreen, vying for attention with the headlights of the oncoming traffic. They blurred the people hurrying around his unmoving car, needing to get home so the same routine could start again tomorrow.

No wonder crime was rising. There were no thrills to be found in simple pleasures any more. The passers-by were all filled with a grim determination that few journeys home warranted, and none of them took a moment to look up at the strange wonder of the city that glittered around them. They had no time to marvel at the magnitude of the task the builders had set themselves, or the beauty that had been wrought without a single piece of machinery, just imagination and determination. DI Cass Jones knew that in the main he was a miserable bastard, but he always looked up. Funny that it had been a gangster not dissimilar to Artie Mullins who’d taught him that - and just in time for when he really needed it.

As he shook the memory away, the picture of Carla Rae’s lifeless body rose up in his mind to fill the space. Her last night had slipped by and she’d probably not even taken a moment to enjoy it. It was unlikely she’d paused to see the beauty of the bright lights competing with the stars to keep the world safe. She wouldn’t have savoured the cold air in her lungs, or the goosebumps dancing on her arms as she did whatever she did that led her to that filthy Newham apartment. He doubted she had ever realised just how wonderful being alive really was. Maybe she did, just before the darkness claimed her.

His phone vibrated and he tugged it free. It was Claire May, his sergeant. His eyes ached looking at the glowing name. She rarely called him just for a chat any more. Maybe it wasn’t time to go home after all. He pressed the green answer key and held it to his ear.

‘Yep.’

‘Hey, boss. Are you home yet?’

‘I should be so lucky. I’m on my way though. Why?’

‘Something’s arrived at the station for you. I think you should see it straight away. I’ve been trying to ring you for half an hour, but your phone’s been going straight to answer phone.’

‘I had someone to meet.’

There was the slightest hesitation before Claire spoke again. ‘Oh yeah. Of course.’

‘What is it?’ Cass didn’t have time for Claire’s discomfort with the pick-up. She took her money like the rest because she was bright enough to not rock the boat. They’d had a brief relationship, when he and Kate had split up briefly, and he’d tried to get her to see that the world wasn’t black and white but a multitude of glittering greys. He hadn’t quite succeeded. She was too young. A few more years of policing would wisen her up.

‘It was delivered by hand. It’s a DVD. The picture’s pretty bad, but it’s a film of the Jackson and Miller shootings.’

The city lights brightened in a surge of adrenalin and his tiredness was gone in a snap. ‘I’ll be there in ten. And get the envelope and whatever else came with it down to forensics. See if we can get some prints or DNA or something. ’

He dropped his phone on the passenger seat and put his foot down, weaving through the traffic past Oxford Circus and onto the Marylebone Road back to Paddington Green Police Station, ignoring the men in bright jackets setting up the kerbside barriers for the protest march the next morning. Cass wasn’t even sure what this one was supposed to be about, and since that bastard MacBrayne had gone missing a few months back the various protest groups seemed to have lost their way. Maybe they had a point, and maybe they didn’t. Cass was too busy fighting person-on-person crimes to start worrying about corporate ones.

The phone rang again and he pushed the answer button as he held it to his ear, not pausing to check the screen.

‘What else, Claire?’

‘Cass?’ A heavy breath filled his ear, as if the person on the other end hadn’t expected him to answer it. ‘Is that you? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.’

Cass gritted his teeth. Christian. This he really didn’t need. He should have checked the caller ID.

‘Sorry, mate. Things are more insane than normal round here at the moment. I’m heading back to the station. I can’t talk now, something big’s come up on one of the cases I’m working.’

‘Look, we really need to talk, Cass. I mean it.’

His brother sounded funny. He was always softly spoken, but tonight his voice had a sharp edge to it. What was it? Fear? Cass felt his heart tighten. Whatever it was, it didn’t change the fact that he had no desire to talk to Christian. Not now. If he were honest with himself, he’d happily go the rest of his life without speaking to his younger brother again. Their parents had died five years ago and he’d managed to pretty much avoid him since then, other than the occasional birthday or family lunch he hadn’t been able to wriggle out of. And then a few months ago Christian’s son Luke had collapsed at school, and his little brother had needed more support. They’d spoken occasionally since then, but Cass knew he hadn’t really given Christian much in the way of a shoulder to lean on. That wasn’t in him, not now.

‘Is this to do with Luke?’ he asked finally. ‘Kate said he was okay now? Isn’t he?’

There was another pause. ‘No, it’s not Luke. Not as such. I don’t want to talk about it like this. Not while you’re driving.’

He knows
. The thought peeled strips of Cass’s heart away in serrated chunks.
After all this time
,
she’s finally told him
.

‘Well, I can’t talk now.’ He heard the snap in his own words. ‘Why don’t you call me at home later. Give it an hour or so?’

A sigh of relief rushed through the handset. ‘Thanks, Cass. Thanks. I didn’t know who else to talk to. You will be there, won’t you? This . . . I don’t think this can wait.’

‘Just give me an hour. Call around eight.’

‘It’s . . .’ Christian hesitated. ‘It’s about redemption. That’s the key.’ He was talking softly, as if someone might be listening. ‘Redemption and corruption.’