Death Trap (49 page)

Foster cleared his throat and announced, ‘Ladies and gentleman, as you are no doubt aware, just under two days ago I was arrested by the police and questioned about a number of serious crimes. Of course, I fully answered the questions that were put to me and I’m pleased to say that I have now been released without charge. As you will know, over the years, I have always endeavoured to defend the innocent and stand up for justice, without fear or favour. Obviously my work has caused a lot of discomfort to the police.’

His voice dropped slightly. ‘Perhaps it was too much to hope that they would respond in a professional way to my work instead of pursuing a petty and vindictive vendetta against me. But I make no complaint about that. I’ve no doubt too that they are hoping that their campaign of intimidation will deter me from pursuing justice in the future. They are wrong. It will not. My legal career has been based on two founding principles – a love of the law and a love of justice . . .’

Abruptly Foster’s head jerked backwards until his body was nearly arched so that it seemed inevitable that he would tumble backwards. But instead he bounced forwards, regained his balance and stood erect again. Rio leaned towards him to get a better look at what was going on. And that’s when she saw it – an inky red mark on his forehead.

Foster tumbled to the ground, blood streaming from his head as someone shouted, ‘He’s been shot!’

Rio and Strong raced forwards as the crowd ducked, yelled and scattered. Rio dropped down on her knees beside the fallen lawyer and felt his pulse.

A few seconds later she looked up at Strong. ‘He’s dead.’

Strong scanned the fleeing crowd and the neighbouring buildings. ‘Where the hell did that come from? Did you hear a shot?’

‘Looks like a high-powered rifle, probably from a roof top.’

‘I’ll get the area sealed off; we might still catch him . . .’

Rio looked back down at the dead man who had a few moments ago been speaking about justice. Well justice had finally found him.

One Month Later

7.00 p.m.

‘I would just like to say a few words,’ DSI Newman said to the crowd gathered in the pub.

Rio smiled because his words came out more like, ‘I thood jus like to shay a phew wurds.’ The DS was well on his way to being rip-roaring drunk; and he had the right to be. This was his retirement and farewell do: a celebration of his thirty-seven years on the force. The place was packed with officers, but no family or friends; this was
their
time to say goodbye to one of
their
own.

It was good to see everyone so outrageously happy, Rio thought, after the fallout from Stephen Foster’s death. Accusations of police involvement had initially spread like wildfire, especially as the gunman had never been found, but then, mysteriously, the details about Foster’s past relationship with Maurice Bell had surfaced in the press. One of the news articles had included an interview with the witness who had been willing to talk about Foster’s days as a co-slum landlord; the picture painted of the dead lawyer had not been pretty. The heat had fallen away from the Met and Stephen Foster had left this world with dirt splattered across his reputation.

Rio knew that the only way the press could have got their hands on such information was if someone inside the service had leaked it.

‘Don’t worry about Mr Foster. People like him always get what’s coming to them.’

The reassurance that AC Tripple had given her put her superior officer at the top of Rio’s list of insiders who had blabbed to the media. Of course, she could never ask such a high-ranking officer if it were true. But then again, she didn’t care; sometimes knowing the truth was not the right way.

‘Looks like the guv is going to fall flat on his face,’ Detective Jack Strong whispered in Rio’s ear.

They stood together, jammed with others at the back of the room near the bar.

Rio turned to him. ‘You should be up there as well, Jack. This was your last day.’

That how she thought of him now – not Strong but Jack. His blue eyes twinkled. ‘Nah. I’m not into big goodbyes. A couple of farewell pints will do me fine.’

They both looked back at the mini stage at the front as Newman addressed the crowd again.

‘When I came into the service, policing was a much simpler game. Two cops pounding the beat together, you really got to know the community, understood their needs. And that’s what this is all about – servicing the public. And, of course, taking the bad boys out of action. My dad wanted me to join him in the building trade, but I was interested in another type of building – keeping this glorious city of ours cemented and strong, making sure that its foundations withstood anything thrown at it. And I think that I did that. But I couldn’t have done it without the help of all you good people.’ Someone clapped and the room erupted into cheers and whistles.

When the applause died down, he spoke again; this time his voice was much more sober. ‘I soon learned the importance of teamwork – that there was no way I was going to be able to do this job on my own. I was lucky because my first partner was the best cop there ever was. He walked the beat with me and put his arm around my shoulder when I needed support. It’s his final day on the force as well, so I’d like everyone to give a solid hand to Detective Jack Strong.’

The crowd and Rio turned to stare at Jack. But no one clapped. There was an awkward silence as everyone looked at him. Rio knew that many hadn’t forgotten that fatal trip-up he’d made fours years back and the storm that had hit the Met because of it.

Rio tipped her head back defiantly and started to clap. It was a lone sound for a few seconds, then someone else clapped, and another person. Soon the room was back pulsating with whistles and cheers. A few people patted Jack on the back. He turned to Rio and gave her a single nod of thanks.

‘OK, OK, I’m not finished folks,’ Newman shouted from the stage. The pub grew quiet again. ‘I know you’re all eager to find out who will be taking my place. The honour goes to . . .’ A few people looked Rio’s way, but she kept her face straight, the emotions back.

Newman gave them the name. ‘Detective Inspector Paul Mayberry.’

People clapped as Mayberry waved his hand in the air, but there was more than one person who sent Rio surprised looks.

‘Now people,’ Newman said, back into full merry-making mode, ‘let’s party.’

‘I thought it was a done deal,’ Jack whispered to her.

‘It was. I turned it down.’

‘Why the bloody hell did you do that?’

Rio didn’t answer straight away; this had been one of the toughest decisions of her life. She’d thought AC Tripple was going to throttle her when she’d knocked the promotion back. The Assistant Commissioner had asked her why? Rio now gave Jack Strong the same answer.

‘Simple; it’s not my time yet. I don’t want anyone to think this was handed to me because of my colour, gender—’

Jack seemed dismayed. ‘Look, all that stuff and nonsense I said to you—’

Rio placed her hand on his arm. ‘It wasn’t you; it was me. I like my job, love the thrill of the investigation,’ she shrugged, ‘and maybe I just can’t see myself sitting all day in an office. When my time comes, I will know it.’

Jack opened his mouth, but he never answered because someone slung their arm around his shoulder and dragged him away for a drink. He twisted his head to stare back at Rio. She just smiled and mouthed, ‘Good luck.’

Rio took that as her cue to leave the festivities behind and head for the quiet of home. The air outside was cold, but there was a warm thread in the current that held the promise of a good spring to come.

‘Hey stranger,’ a voice called.

Rio peered in the dark to find Calum sitting in his car, the driver’s window wound down. She might have made a decision about her job, but she hadn’t made one about him. She walked slowly towards him. She shoved her hands in her coat pocket when she reached him.

‘You don’t look bad for a man who was at Death’s door not that long ago.’

Calum smiled, drawing Rio’s gaze to the thin scar line around his neck, a permanent memento from the wire the hitman had tried to strangle him with.

‘Nothing keeps me down, not for long.’

‘Well it’s good to see you up and about.’ Suddenly her tone changed. ‘Look if you want to discuss a divorce—’

His smile dropped away. ‘No. Not now. Let’s leave that for another time.’

That was the theme song for their personal life – let’s leave it for another time.

‘I dropped by to tell you about something I just found out,’ Calum continued. ‘Stephen Foster’s death was definitely a hit. Someone was paid – get this – half a mill to take him out.’

Rio made a nasty sound. ‘Five hundred thousand pounds. The same bounty he put on Nikki’s head. What goes around, comes—’

Abruptly Rio caught the rest of the words back as her mind clicked into gear.

No, it couldn’t be true what she was thinking. No way.

‘You did say five hundred—’

‘Grand,’ Calum finished for her. From the look on his face Rio knew he was thinking the same thing that she was.

‘I’ve already gone down that road,’ Calum continued, with a single shake of his head. ‘It can’t be true. You’re putting two and two together and coming up with something bigger than four.’

But she couldn’t leave this; she had to know. Rio turned and started rapidly walking away.

‘Leave it alone, Rio . . .’ Calum called after her.

He above all people should know that the one thing she’d never been able to do was
leave it alone.

8:28 p.m.

When Rio saw the house she felt as if she’d come full circle – another house in Surrey – imposing and high-end, just like the Bell’s. Every step Rio took down the winding pathway seemed to reinforce the thoughts twisting through her mind:

Sometimes the truth is not the right way.

You don’t have to do this.

Turn around and walk away.

But she couldn’t do that. The policing instinct inside her demanded that she confront this head on.

And then what?

What are you planning to do if this is the truth?

Rio stood in front of the door. Maybe she had this all wrong; no way in hell could this really have happened. Rio pressed the bell. A woman opened the door. This must be Mrs Harkins, the mother of the friend that Nikki was staying with.

‘Detective Inspector Wray,’ the other woman said, a small smile lighting up her face. ‘Nikki has talked so much about you.’ She laughed. ‘Made you sound like a superhero.’

She pulled back the door, an invitation to step inside, but Rio shook her head. ‘Do you mind if I speak with Nikki?’

‘She’ll like that.’ Mrs Harkins leaned into Rio, her voice dropping to a ‘just between us friends’ whisper. ‘She’s getting ready upstairs. She’s got a date.’

That made Rio feel even worse about what she was about to do. Nikki had obviously moved on with her life and here Rio was, planning to drag her back again.

A few minutes later Nikki appeared downstairs. She looked like a colourful mix of radiance – the glowing tone of her face, the above-the-knee mauve dress, the block-heeled peep-toed ankle boots and her skin that was creating its own definition of healthy colour.

‘Rio,’ the teen greeted softly, once she stood in front of her. ‘I’m on my way out, so I don’t have much time.’

Nikki anxiously looked over Rio’s shoulder outside.
Probably wants me gone, so she can meet her date and forget about the past.
But what she had to ask wouldn’t take too much time.

Rio took a step back. ‘Let’s talk outside.’

The happiness surrounding the teenager faltered and she hesitated for a few seconds before complying with Rio’s instruction.

‘I’m OK, you know, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ Nikki jumped in first, the words coming out in a rush. Her eyes darted down the pathway, then came back to Rio’s face again.

‘You’re right; I’m worried. What’s worrying me is all that money you’ve got and what you might have been doing with it.’

Nikki looked at her innocently, her grey eyes widening. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You were left a significant trust fund that you can access when you reach twenty-one, but you were also given six hundred thousand pounds that you can dip into anytime you want.’

Nikki half-twisted around, reminding Rio of the kid she’d spent time with, who did a runner every time she was confronted with something she couldn’t handle. ‘I’ve got to go—’

But Rio grabbed her lower arm and spun her around. ‘Why did you do it, Nikki?’ Only after she’d spoken did Rio feel the real heartache she was carrying around about this.

‘I don’t know what you’re—?’

Rio hardened her heart. ‘Foster. You had him killed—’

‘What?’ Now Nikki fought to get free, but Rio only tightened her grip. ‘No way.’

‘You asked me to let you know if Stephen Foster was being released—’

‘And so what?’ The girl wrenched free. ‘I had a right to know. And if Calum told you I asked him how to find a hitman, so what? We talked about a load of stuff.’