Death Trap (16 page)

‘And why would you,’ Rio’s gaze snapped all over him, ‘give a crap in hell about that?’

‘Has it occurred to you that I want to make sure Nikki is safe as well? And that I think she’ll be safer if you’re on the case.’ There was a sadness in his face that she remembered seeing when they’d first met Nicola and she’d asked him, with an honesty so many children had, if his daughter wasn’t alive anymore. Rio didn’t even know if he had kids. But what if there was something in his background that made him need to find the girl?

But Rio didn’t mention any of that as she replied, ‘No one said that
you
were going to be shoved off the case.’

He pushed his head slightly forwards, something other than the rain making his eyes glimmer. ‘Maybe I like the touch and feel of coffee spilling all over me.’

Heat rose high in Rio’s face. Two questions stormed into her mind. Was this man, of all men, hitting on her? But by far the worst question, was she enjoying it?
Down girl!

Rio got her mind back on the dilemma in front of her, remembered what she had a reputation for. ‘No. We can’t do this. I don’t cut corners. I play everything by the book. She wants to see the girl in the morning for fuck’s sake. What are we going to do when she arrives?’

Strong moved his head out of her space. ‘Your sense of duty can wait. This girl can’t. We’ve got a lead – se15. If that’s the killer —?’

‘I’ve already said that that doesn’t make sense.’

‘Can you think of anyone else it’s going to be?’

Rio found herself nodding like someone was pulling a string attached to the middle of her head. Then she started throwing out orders.

‘Let’s see if we can track her movements through her mobile phone.’

nineteen

9:10 p.m.

‘Well, well, well,’ the woman said as her eyes lazily ran all over Jack Strong standing in the doorway with Rio. ‘If it isn’t Detective Jack . . .’ her hooded eyes rested on his face. ‘Strong in all the right places.’

Rio wasn’t sure whether to roll her eyes or chuckle because the woman in the Information Bureau looked like she was about to celebrate her seventieth birthday any day now. The Bureau was on the second floor of a building that was about a mile away from The Fort. Its workers were a small team of admin staff, not police officers, and their job was to obtain information from the three main telephone towers. Rio and Strong’s big problem was that any use of outside agencies was going to cost and that meant a paper trail that would show up their lie. Accessing mobile phone records was no different. So Jack had told Rio to let him do all the talking.

‘Sylvia.’ Strong’s lips eased into a long, cheeky grin.

Strong propped himself on the end of her horseshoe-shaped workstation.

The woman watched Rio instead with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Looks like I’ve been kicked to the kerb and you’re stepping out around town with a new lady friend.’ She flashed Strong a mock-sultry look.

‘I wish I had the time to sweet talk you back into my arms . . .’ Strong’s face became serious as he dropped his voice low. ‘I need to track when and where a mobile phone has been used in the last couple of hours. But I need you to keep it off the books.’

Teasing vanished from the other woman’s expression. ‘Since all that newspaper hacking business, things are a bit more tight around here. The higher uppers are so paranoid I think they’re going to ask us soon for paperwork every time we visit the toilet.’

‘Sylvia, I really need this one. Someone’s life is on the line.’

The woman pursed her lips, turning the creasing around her mouth into worry lines. Abruptly she turned back to face her computer screen as she said, ‘OK, let me have the number.’

Strong gave her the information she needed. Sylvia typed away as Rio and Strong anxiously waited.

‘Here we go,’ the older woman said, as information filled her screen. ‘One call, two hours and fifteen minutes ago. Placed just outside of London.’

Rio thought that fitted in with Nikki still being at home.

‘Next call was to the same number she contacted earlier. This call is placed at about one hour later near London Bridge Station. And then she texted the same number thirty-three minutes ago.’

‘What’s the text say?’ Rio dived in.

Sylvia turned to look at her. ‘No words, just a smiley face.’

‘Can you find the name and address of the person she’s been calling?’ Strong clipped in.

Sylvia went back to her computer and a minute later said, ‘Adeyemi Ibraheem. Twenty Beacon House, Peckham.’

‘Of course,’ Rio said. ‘I should’ve guessed. SE15 is the postcode for Peckham.’

Rio halted at the sudden paleness on Strong’s face.

‘Is this address known to you?’

But instead of answering her he leaned down and kissed Sylvia on her cheek. The skin on the older woman’s cheeks screwed up in pleasure.

‘Can we access the PNC from your computer?’ he asked her, the colour back in his face.

Sylvia swung out of her chair, stretched. ‘I need to make a cuppa. But not too long.’

Strong was in her seat as she walked away. He typed away for a few minutes.

‘Bingo,’ he said.

Rio leaned in close and saw a photo of a young black man. ‘Adeyemi Ibraheem,’ she read aloud. ‘Twenty years old. Juvvie record for shoplifting when he was sixteen – got community service and put into a mentoring programme. But no other . . .’ Her voice stopped again before she read on. ‘But he’s got a much older brother – Chiwetel Ibraheem - who has done time for breaking and entering, robbery and gang affiliation. You think they could be part of the Greenbelt Gang?’

‘It seems to add up, but no one said they were black.’

‘No one could see what colour they were.’ Irritation drew lines across her forehead. ‘And if they’d spoken how would anyone know they were black? Maybe our gang were all meant to be singing Bob Marley’s ‘‘One Love’’ in between telling their victims how they’re going to set them on fire if they don’t do what they’re told?’

Ignoring her sarcastic words Strong said, ‘And Twenty Beacon House is on the Bonnington Estate.’ Abruptly he jerked out of the seat as his face grew pale again.

‘You’ll have to go without me.’

They were back outside in the dark, Strong leaning against the brickwork of the building that housed the Information Bureau with Rio facing him. Silence lay for a few seconds between them. Rio could see whatever he was about to tell her was serious. And she wasn’t going to like it.

‘That case I was involved in,’ Strong quietly started – Rio could hear something in his voice; it wasn’t remorse, but she’d swear it was grief – ‘where the teenager died in the cell. He lived with his family on the Bonnington Estate. I can’t go back there. Can’t do it.’

Rio knew this wasn’t the time or place to ask him what had happened, but she could see that he was having a massive fight with his emotions. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what to say. So she did what Rio Wray did best, kicked the emotions aside and got back on with the case.

‘I can’t go on my own—’

‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Strong’s response was savage and loud. He pushed off the building. ‘I can’t go back on that estate. All I ever wanted to be was a cop. Plain and simple,’ he said, his voice more gentle. ‘Sure, I’m a bit rough around the edges, but that didn’t mean I went out of my way to do a bad job. I was one of the best.’ His palms rubbed together as he said the last with pride. ‘Then one messed-up day—’

Strong looked away from her as his nostrils flared. ‘I can’t help you . . .’

Rio let out a long breath. ‘Then I’m going to need to find someone who can.’ She thought instantly of John ‘Mac’ Macdonagh. She was reluctant to contact him, knowing he’d had his own troubles recently, but what choice did she have? ‘There’s another officer I could ask who will keep his mouth shut.’

Rio pulled out her mobile. The line connected with Mac’s. Rang six times. Voicemail. She snapped off the connection. The only option left to her was one she didn’t want to take. Nikki Bell’s face planted itself in her mind reminding her that she had to use any options she could.

Rio dialled another number. ‘Listen . . .’ Her voice grew louder. ‘You cut this call and . . . Meet me . . . You heard right, meet me. I’ll be parked up by the entrance to the Bonnington Estate in Peckham. Fifty minutes. Be there.’

Her heartbeat was pounding in a way that wasn’t healthy.

‘Who are you meeting?’ Strong asked.

Face grim, she didn’t answer him as she walked away.

Sylvia watched Jack Strong and his colleague being swallowed up by the darkness as they moved away from the building. She turned away and moved out of the office to the drafty corridor near the top of the stairwell. Pulled out her mobile.

‘They were here. About five minutes ago . . .’

twenty

10:11 p.m.

The north Peckham that Rio’s BMW parked up in was very different from the one she’d remembered policing years ago. The residential skyline dominated by miles of walkways, that had once been the notorious North Peckham Estate, was gone. In its place were low-rise homes that weren’t jammed one on top of the other, but with spaces that gave residents privacy and maybe that chance to breathe more easily.

The homes on Bonnington Street were half-hidden in the semi-light of two lamp posts and the moon which was round and strong above. The quiet unnerved Rio as she looked through the windshield trying to find the person she waited for. She checked her watch.

10:12 p.m.

He was late. Maybe he wasn’t coming, which wouldn’t surprise her. Bollocks, she might have to do this one on her own. She might—

Two rapid taps sounded on the glass of the passenger-side window. Rio’s hand reached for her baton as she looked across. Her hand relaxed.

Calum.

Rio released the lock on the door. He slid inside, taking care with his right leg. Shut the door. The air closed in around Rio; she felt the heat coming off his body. It felt good. It felt bad.

‘I take it you haven’t asked me here for a quickie in the back seat?’ Calum asked, his mocking green gaze looking straight ahead.

‘Nicola Bell’s parents were murdered this evening.’

Calum swore.

‘I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t have any option, so—’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re not telling me anything I haven’t already figured out.’ Now he looked at her with a sideways glance. ‘I gave you a heads-up about your girl, which doesn’t give you the right to start stalking me.’

‘Which begs the question what are you doing here? Why come running to the woman you told to stay the hell away?’ His gaze shifted away from her, confirming what she suspected was his motivation. So she told him. ‘Whatever you’ve cooked up with Foster means you need to stay near to this investigation and what better way to do it than to remain cosy and close to the detective leading on it. So let’s agree to drop the bullshit drama.’

She expected some outraged denial speech in response, but what she got was silence as he hitched his stare back at her while his green gaze lingered on her face.

‘What do you need me to do?’ Calum finally said.

‘First thing is, leave our past in the past. We don’t go there. This isn’t about you and me, it’s about a young kid who’s probably in danger.’

‘So the girl cut out on you.’ His expression became stern. ‘After what I told you earlier, you should’ve been sitting on her twenty-four–seven—’

‘I think someone is holding her in one of the houses on this street—’

‘So why haven’t you got an armed response vehicle with you? What the heck are you doing here on your own?’

‘Because as soon as someone knows I let her slip between my fingers I’m off this case.’

Calum smiled. ‘Never thought I’d see the day when Ray Gun would be going all Lone Ranger.’

Rio’s hand curled into a fist. Sometimes this man just made her want to . . .

‘You deck me, baby,’ Calum warned softly, ‘and who’s going to get you out of this mess?’

Rio’s hand fell flat.

Calum’s gaze scanned the street. ‘Which house are we talking about?’

She gave him the address and the name of their target.

‘You tooled up?’ Calum asked.

‘The usual – CS, taser and baton.’

‘You might need one of these.’

Rio couldn’t help but gasp when he pulled out a revolver, reminding her of her stint in the armed response unit.

‘No guns,’ she told him firmly. ‘This needs to be done quick and quiet and clean. We knock at the door and take it from there.’

Calum’s response showed his frustration. ‘If the girl’s alive and we knock on the door it could lead to her immediate death.’

‘We do this my way, which means no gun play.’

Rio knocked on the beige coloured door as Calum waited half a step behind and to the side of her. The house was well kept from the outside and the mini-garden in the front appeared well loved and cared for. Rio tensed as she heard the slap of feet from inside. Her warrant card was already in her hand.