Death Trap (29 page)

‘Alarm?’ She stared up at him. ‘I didn’t know that the house had one.’

He smiled again. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know, kiddo.’ He waved his thumb at the door. ‘Go on, hop it.’

And that’s what she did, opened the door and felt the cold blast of safety and the early morning at the same time. The Notting Hill street was dark, still. The solitary street light shone bright, much further down the road, but Calum’s car was parked in the shadows. Nikki hummed the theme tune to
The Walcotts
as she moved to the car. Kept up her humming as she pulled the back door open. Swung her bag . . .

A hand clammed over her mouth from behind. The shock froze her. Her head was jerked back. She slammed into a body. The tick-tock of her attacker’s heartbeat pulsed against the side of her neck. Then her world became truly black as something was shoved over her head.

A voice growled deep and hard into her ear. ‘Do everything I say.
Everything.
You don’t want to find out what’s going to happen if you step out of line.’

2:57 a.m.

‘Let me out,’ Nikki screamed for what felt like the millionth time. She thumped her small fists against the door, then leaned back and let fly a kick that hurt her more than the door.

She was frightened, scared of what was going to happen to her now. One minute she’d been standing outside the safe house, waiting for Calum, and the next a hood had enclosed her in a nightmare of darkness. Then she was bounced in the back seat of this car taking her on the ride from hell.

She had felt so disorientated that she couldn’t say how long they drove for. But when the car stopped, she was taken out, not roughly, but with a gentleness that terrified her even more, and guided up stairs to someplace that felt flat beneath her feet.

‘Turn around in thirty seconds,’ the same voice had instructed.

Then the hood had been whipped off her head and something slammed behind her. Nikki didn’t wait thirty seconds, but immediately spun around to find a door shut behind her. Instantly she had gone for the brass handle, but the door wasn’t moving. So she’d banged, yelled, screamed – but no one came. There was no window, only a single bed and a freestanding black lamp in one corner.

Now she slumped to the bare floorboards exhausted, almost broken. She didn’t want to end up dead as well.

thirty-eight

7:56 a.m.

Rio was already dressed, ready to go as she stared at her mobile phone in her hand. Rain tapped against the window almost matching the rhythm of her beating heart. Today was going to take her down a path she never thought she would go down.

The mobile rang. She took a breath. Then calmly answered.

‘Detective Insp—’ She clawed the remainder of the word back, remembering she was suspended. ‘Yes? . . . What?’ She nodded. ‘I’ll be right there.’

She terminated the call, left the room and strode with ease towards the front door.

‘Who was that on the phone?’

She turned to face Strong who waited just outside what she assumed was his bedroom. ‘That was the Super. He needs me at The Fort. They can’t find Nikki.’

8:05 a.m.

Greenbelt Gang Die in Gun Battle with Cops . . .

A rain-soaked Cornelius Bell stumbled as he heard the breaking news headline coming from a car that had stopped at a red light near him. The headline made him feel sick, so he pulled even harder on the spliff as he found shelter from the aggressive rain huddling in the shadow of a closed shop doorway. He felt the three crack rocks in his jeans’ pocket and the desperate urge to indulge in something stronger than weed to take him to a place where reality wasn’t crowding in on him. His reality was that he needed to decide whether he was going to talk to that cop. But what was he going to say to her? How was he going to explain?

He felt the cold and the wind around him as he scurried into an alleyway. The pain was back: sharp this time, almost unbearable, as if he were drowning, lungs filling with his own self-inflicted torment.

The Greenbelt Gang were dead.

He pulled out his pay-as-you-go mobile. Called the number the cop had left with him. The phone connected, started to ring.

Come on, come on
 . . .

But no one picked up; just voicemail:
This is Detective Inspector Rio Wray of the Metropolitan Police Service. Your call is important to me, so please leave a message after the tone.

The beep sounded harsh and too loud in his ear. He hesitated. Didn’t want to leave a message, wanted to speak to her directly. But he spoke, his words worked up by weed.

‘Cornelius Bell here . . . I need to speak . . . to talk . . . Now . . . Ring me back . . .’

The phone made a fussing sound Cornelius knew well – out of juice. He threw it as hard and as far as he could, but was so high on dope and his troubles he didn’t hear it clatter and smash in the distance somewhere.
Shit. Fuck.
He rarely cursed, even in his head. His mother had taught him that no matter how bad the situation you always minded your manners.

Mum.

Why wouldn’t her face leave him alone?

He thought about that girl at The Rebels’ Collective, who had come on to him a while back, right in front of Cookie – which had so embarrassed him – pushing her Canary Wharf high boobs and chat about karma in his face. Maybe she was right and all he needed to make everything right was some karma.

Yeah, right, the reading of the will had been some kinda karma
.

The crack cocaine started to burn up in Cornelius’s pocket.

Why had he thrown the phone? He needed to call that cop. Or had he just done that? No, he couldn’t remember doing it; he needed a phone. He moved out of the shadows, into the savage rain, and hurried down the street. As he passed the shrouded railway station he looked over his shoulder, convinced he heard footsteps: no one behind him. He pushed only one thought in his head – get a phone. When he hit the high street he noticed several cars waiting outside a kebab shop. Cornelius hurried over to one and tapped on the door. The woman inside lowered the window a fraction.

‘Hello, I’m Cornelius Bell. My parents were murdered by the Greenbelt Gang. Could you lend me a couple of quid to make a phone call? I’ll give it you back.’

The woman recoiled in horror, hastily closed the window and locked the doors. Cornelius started banging against the window with the flat of his hands. ‘I just need some cash for a phone call—’

‘Oi!’ a commanding, deep voice yelled. Cornelius turned to find a big, burly man looking at him. ‘Get away from my motor, you stinking junkie . . .’

Cornelius started running and running, his mind spinning, his thoughts churning. He ignored the looks he was getting until he reached The Rebels’ Collective. He bashed his fist heavily against the corrugated sheet door. He was let in by a face he didn’t know, and as soon as he was inside Monica, self-styled leader of the group, cornered him.

‘We’re setting off in the van for the anti-fracking demo at ten, so we can be there by late evening, and for the rest of the week. You are joining us, of course.’

She sounded like his dad, always telling him to do this crap, that crap. Always telling him he just wasn’t cutting it as a Bell.

‘Frack off,’ he roared. His eyes roamed wildly around the room at the others: ‘The lot of you. Get out of my face.’

Monica pushed herself into his space. ‘We’ve been talking about you, Connie, having doubts about your commitment to the cause. We all understand about your parents, but if you don’t pull your shit together soon, you’re out.’

The crack was eating away at his skin.

Without answering, he pushed past her, almost making her fall.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, remembering his mum’s advice, and rushed up the stairs. Once inside his room he leant heavily against the door, his breathing high and erratic. He was glad Cookie wasn’t here; she didn’t like seeing him like this. He reached for the belt in his trousers. Funny how wearing a belt was the one thing from his past life that he couldn’t let go of. Dad had impressed on him from an early age that belts were a man’s way of showing the world he was smart, decent, respectable, someone to be relied on.

When he’d left home the first thing he’d promised himself he would do was to stop wearing the belt – like he was sticking all that crap straight back into his father’s moralising face. He’d tried to do it, but couldn’t. Sure he got off his face every now and then, but maybe he wanted people to see him as a decent and respectable guy.

But he didn’t feel either of those things anymore. And he didn’t have a phone. He moved further into the room and stopped at the cardboard box that masqueraded as a table with its peaceful yellow cloth that Cookie had put over it. He stared at the framed picture of the small boy, Cookie’s brother, and almost started to cry.

The rocks in his pocket burned deep into his brain. He dropped on to the bed, took out the crack and laid his belt neatly, like good memories, next to him.

thirty-nine

9:04 a.m.

Rio spotted a frantic Ophelia Bell as soon as she entered DSI Newman’s office. Strong had come back to The Fort with her, but he’d gone to the operations room while she’d come upstairs. The actress appeared haggard, her skin pale as if it hadn’t received any nourishment for a week. She was all bug-grey eyes and veins standing tall on her neck.

‘Tell me what’s happened?’ Rio asked as she took the seat that Newman waved her towards.

But it was Ophelia who dived in. ‘They can’t find her. I came here as soon as they called to tell me they would be releasing Nikki into my care, but they said they couldn’t find her.’ Her bony fingers weaved the air with her every word.

Rio turned to Newman. ‘I don’t understand, she was with Calum.’

‘Whose Calum?’ Nikki’s cousin asked, confusion deepening on her face.

Newman answered, with a nervous little cough as an introduction. ‘Calum Burns is a private security consultant that we sometimes use. He’s one of the best and has been making sure that Nicola was kept safe—’

‘’But I can keep her safe,’ Ophelia burst over him with anger. ‘She needs to be with family now.’

‘We all need to calm down,’ Rio said gently. She turned to her superior officer. ‘What happened?’

‘Calum said that she went missing early hours of this morning. The fool should have contacted us straight away, but said he was sure he could find her.’

‘Do you think someone has taken her?’ Ophelia asked, then her teeth twisted into her bottom lip.

Rio looked over at her superior officer who shook his head slightly. They hadn’t told Ophelia about the hit out on her cousin and Newman obviously wanted to keep it that way.

Rio’s next words were meant to reassure her. ‘What we know is that Nikki has a history of taking off. Her boyfriend’s mother was here yesterday—’

‘Ade’s mum?’ Seeing Rio’s surprised expression, she continued, ‘She told me all about Ade, and that Uncle Frank and Auntie Patsy tried to keep them apart. She trusts me.’

‘Ade’s mum came here yesterday to report him missing. Nikki and Ade probably cooked up some scheme and are safely together somewhere. Or maybe she’s gone to a friend, so what I suggest you do is call anyone you can think of who she may have gone to—’

‘But you’ll help me do that?’

Rio switched her gaze slowly back to Newman who was looking very uncomfortable indeed. Rio could see that he wasn’t going to help her out here so she turned back to Nikki’s desperate cousin.

‘I’m taking some personal time now that the case is closed, but we’ll make sure that finding her is a top priority. We’ll have her back with you in no time.’

The expression on Ophelia’s face became fierce. ‘I bet that bastard Foster has got her nice and snug somewhere.’

‘Why would you think that?’ Rio asked.

The other woman let out a full-blown scoff. ‘Oh come on, you were there for the will reading. She’s his client and now worth a zillion bucks. Nikki’s not a vulnerable kid to him anymore; she’s an investment. He’s going to spin her so many different ways she won’t be able to tell north from south, and while he’s doing that he’s going to make sure he helps his greedy little self to as much of her money as possible. That’s what really gets me, not that Mummy and Daddy left me out in the cold, but that that detestable man will be sitting pretty and flush for the rest of his money grabbing life.’

Ophelia’s words left the air polluted with ugly animosity. Whatever foulness lay between this woman and the Bell’s solicitor, Nikki was the one who was going to end up in the muck, Rio thought.

‘I’m not letting that creep get away with it. I’m challenging the status of the will as soon as possible.’

Rio wasn’t surprised to hear this pronouncement. ‘For whatever it’s worth, Miss Bell, Nikki said that she was more than happy for you and your brother to share it with her.’

‘You don’t get it.’ The words were so biting and cold they forced Rio back in her chair. Ophelia screwed her lips together as one of her hands came up to pat her hair. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just so anxious about Nikki’s whereabouts.’