The Informant (15 page)

Kaz stood facing her, shoulders hunched. She stared at her feet, colouring up like a schoolkid caught out by a favourite teacher. ‘I was going to say that the only reason I came down to
Southend with Joey was to see if Natalie was okay.’

‘And she wasn’t. But you knew that Karen. You knew she was going to be in a mess. Still you went looking for trouble.’

‘What would you have done if it was your sister, eh? Your sister wouldn’t have turned into some scabby drug addict though, would she? No, she’s probably at fucking Oxford,
drinking champagne with the toffs.’

Helen took a deep breath, glanced around to check if they were being observed. ‘This is not the place for an emotional audit of our respective families. And anyway, I don’t have a
sister.’

‘Lucky you.’

Helen huffed, this was getting ridiculous. She had been determined to remain detached and professional, but she could see how wretched her client was. She reached out and put her hand on
Kaz’s arm. It was an awkward gesture for both of them, but Kaz was grateful at least for the attempt to comfort her.

She met Helen’s gaze directly. ‘I’m being a total wanker, I’m sorry. But you don’t have to be angry with me. I’m angry enough with myself.’

Helen squeezed her arm. ‘Listen, let’s just go in there and do this. Anything else can be discussed later. I presume you and Joey have got your stories straight?’

Kaz nodded, wiped her hand across her face.

Helen smiled. ‘Ready then?’

Kaz took a deep breath. ‘Yeah.’

Helen gave her a penetrating look. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t believe for one moment that you were a party to anyone’s death.’

Kaz shot a look straight back at her. ‘You sure about that? ’Cause I’m not.’

A uniformed PC ushered Neville and Joey into the interview room. Joey’s hands were shovelled in his trouser pockets, he took a turn about the room.

‘Kaz’ll be fine, she’s a bit . . . y’know . . .’

Neville let his eyes travel significantly in the direction of the wall-mounted camera.

Joey picked up on this immediately, he gave a small giggle. ‘Oh yeah. Nearly forgot.’ Then he waved in the direction of the lens. ‘Morning all.’

In the adjacent room, watching the monitor, Cheryl Stoneham stood, arms folded. Armstrong and Bradley were either side of her. Stoneham smiled.

‘Always such a cheerful chap, our Joey.’

Nicci glanced at her. ‘You interviewed him a few times then?’

‘Oh yeah, since he was a juvenile. I was DI on the team that sent his sister down. We were convinced that it was him who half-bludgeoned the cashier to death. We tried every which way to
get her to talk, but she wouldn’t dob him in.’

Bradley inclined his head sadly. ‘Hardly surprising. Probably scared stiff. Plus she was a junkie.’ The two women gave him sideways glances. ‘I’ve studied her file.
Don’t see how anyone could’ve survived unscathed in that family.’

Stoneham put on an indulgent maternal smile. ‘And they say women are the romantics. I think blokes can be far worse. Plenty of people suffer a childhood of abuse Constable, without growing
up to be armed robbers. Personally I regard that as more of a career choice.’

With this Stoneham headed briskly for the door and was off down the corridor.

Nicci grinned at Bradley. ‘You try too hard.’

Then she followed Stoneham, leaving Bradley feeling even more like a spare part.

Cheryl Stoneham entered the interview room at a clip, file in hand, flanked by Nicci. Neville Moore immediately offered his hand to shake.

‘How are you Chief Inspector?’

‘Very well Mr Moore, but somewhat surprised to be seeing you and Mr Phelps this morning. What can we do for you?’

Joey held out his hand to shake too. He gave Stoneham a dazzling smile. ‘You’re looking well Cheryl. Lost a bit of weight, I reckon.’

A look of pleasure quivered round Stoneham’s lips, even she wasn’t totally immune to Joey’s charm. ‘Must be from worrying about you and your exploits Joey. This is DS
Armstrong.’

Nicci was aware of the blue eyes coming to rest on her. He’d been her target for nearly a year, he’d murdered one of her best friends, but this was the closest she’d ever got
to Joey Phelps.

At Stoneham’s invitation they all sat at the bare table, Joey and Neville facing Stoneham and Nicci respectively. Stoneham beamed and waited.

Neville Moore glanced at the tape deck at the end of the table. ‘Aren’t we recording this?’

Stoneham let her gaze travel to the tape deck too, she affected a look of mild surprise. ‘Oh, I thought this was just an informal chat. Am I to assume that your client wishes to make a
statement or answer questions on a particular matter?’

Joey started to fidget in his seat. His left leg was already tapping, still he beamed at Stoneham. ‘Aww come on Cheryl, we’re old mates, let’s not play games. My sister’s
boyfriend topped himself and I’m here to make it clear, ’cause I know you lot’ve got suspicious minds, that I had nothing to do with it. Okay?’

Stoneham held his intense gaze for several seconds, then she reached over and clicked the tape deck on. She glanced at her watch. ‘The time is eleven fifteen. I’m Detective Chief
Inspector Cheryl Stoneham. With me in the room are . . .’ She glanced at Nicci.

‘Detective Sergeant Nicola Armstrong.’

She tilted her head towards Neville.

‘Neville Moore of Crowley Sheridan Moore, representing Mr Phelps.’

Joey laughed out loud. ‘I love this bit. Joseph Patrick Phelps.’ He jumped up from his seat and took a bow. ‘Taaadahhh! In person and for one night only. So make the most of it
ladies.’

Stoneham watched his antics. ‘Like the whistle Joey. Is that for our benefit?’

Joey stroked the lapels of his Italian hand-tailored suit as he sat down. ‘Not bad, is it? Got it made special. In Milan.’

‘Is that what all the drug dealers are wearing this season?’

Joey caught Stoneham’s eye and smirked. ‘Now you’re just trying to wind me up, aren’t you Cheryl?’

Stoneham gave an innocent shrug. ‘Not at all, it was a friendly enquiry.’

‘I’m a businessman. Suit’s only a uniform really, innit? It’s what I wear all the time now.’ Joey leant back in his chair, seeming perfectly at ease, not a care in
the world. Everyone else sat quietly, waiting for the next move; the score, fifteen all.

Kaz Phelps and Helen Warner had been shown to a bench in a draughty corridor. It was a busy thoroughfare, people coming and going, with automatic doors at one end that were
slow to open and close. They sat in mutually agreed silence, too many people to eavesdrop and too much tension between them. Mal Bradley came strolling along with a file under his arm. Kaz
didn’t notice him at first, she was lost in her own thoughts. But when he stopped right in front of them she looked up.

‘Morning Karen.’

It took a moment for her to register. ‘Well well, PC Malik, my new best friend.’

Bradley smiled, turned to Helen Warner. ‘Detective Constable Mal Bradley.’

Helen gave him a tepid smile.

Kaz looked him up and down. ‘Thought you was Met. What you doing down here?’

‘Nowadays we go all over the place. But today, I’m here ’cause you’re here.’ He glanced around him with a dissatisfied look. ‘Don’t know why they stuck
you in this horrible corridor. Probably trying to soften you up. It’ll be ages yet. Fancy a cup of tea? ’Cause I happen to know where the canteen is. And they have doughnuts.’

Bradley held out his hand, inviting them to follow.

Helen sighed. The prospect of a shot of caffeine definitely appealed. ‘Why not?’

She got up, Kaz followed suit and Bradley led them towards the canteen that he’d visited earlier with Stoneham and Armstrong.

While Bradley was being served at the counter Kaz had the opportunity to tell Helen who he was.

A frown gathered on Helen’s brow. ‘I did call Turnbull after our last conversation. He gave me a load of flannel.’

‘When is that nasty ponce gonna stop hassling me?’

Helen gave her a withering glance. ‘At the rate you’re going, not any time soon.’

Bradley carried a tray over and placed it on the table in front of them. He’d adopted the role of attentive host. He placed a cup and saucer in front of Helen. ‘That’s the
espresso. I think you made the best choice. It’s all done by the one machine.’ He placed a cappuccino in front of Kaz. ‘But it doesn’t froth the milk separately I’m
afraid.’

Kaz pulled her cup towards her. ‘It’ll be fine.’

Bradley unloaded a cup of tea for himself and sat down opposite the two women. ‘Sure about the doughnuts? I had one earlier, they are good.’

Helen shook her head, but her attention was focused on the file Bradley had been carrying with him throughout. He placed it carefully on the table beside his cup. She gave it an appraising look.
There was something about his body language, the way he handled the file. She had a shrewd idea of what was coming next, but wasn’t sure how she was going to deflect it. She cursed herself
for accepting his invitation to the canteen. She should’ve said no and if she hadn’t been so pissed off with Karen she would’ve done.

Bradley sipped his tea and smiled. ‘How’s Natalie?’

Kaz ignored the question, she wasn’t getting into that.

Bradley fingered the corner of the file. ‘Got something here I’d like to show you.’

Helen knew she had to intervene quickly. ‘This is not an appropriate place for this Constable.’

Bradley looked up, all innocence. ‘Only a couple of pictures I thought Karen might like to see.’

‘Absolutely not.’

But Bradley flipped open the file before Helen could finish. He swivelled it round with a flick of the wrist and Kaz found herself staring at a full colour print of a small black girl, maybe
five years old. She was flat on her back on a piece of concrete, eyes wide open and staring, a gaping, bloody cavity gouged in the centre of her small chest, pools of blood all around her. Kaz gave
an involuntary gasp.

Bradley nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s pretty shocking. Her name’s Zara . . .’

Helen’s hand shot out to push the file away, but Bradley was too quick for her. He pulled it to one side, leaving the image of Zara’s little corpse on the table between them.

Helen got up. ‘You are bang out of order Constable. Come on Karen . . .’

Kaz’s eyes were riveted on the photo. She gave Bradley a puzzled frown. ‘Why you showing me this?’

She felt Helen’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Leave it Karen . . . let’s go . . .’

Bradley held up his hand. ‘She wants an answer. I think she’s entitled to one. I’m showing you this because before you go and lie for your brother yet again, I thought you
should see some of his other handiwork.’

Kaz stared at him, her gorge rising. ‘You saying Joey did this? Killed this . . . this little kid? No way!’

Bradley pulled two more pictures out of the file, two more bullet-ridden corpses. ‘This is Zara’s father. Hackney drug dealer. Came up through the gangs. Joey took over his patch
about a month ago. Took out him, his girlfriend and his kid.’

Kaz shoved back her chair, got to her feet. She wanted to fling her hot coffee in his stupid face, but Helen’s hand was on her arm.

Bradley smiled. ‘See, this is your brother’s very special MO. Most gang violence, gang members target each other. Occasionally civilians get caught in the crossfire. When Joey moves
in, he targets the whole family. Wipes them out. That’s how he makes his point: Don’t mess with me, I’m not some teenage posse, I’m a serious villain and I’m taking
over this turf. Fear is a powerful tool. It works.’

Kaz was aware of Helen tugging her arm, but her eyes bored into the copper’s pompous face. Her mouth was dry, she swallowed, ran her tongue over her lips. ‘You’d say anything,
any lie, to nail him. You show me some random picture, some poor little kid, and you say it was Joey. Where’s the evidence? You ain’t got none, have you? ’Cause if you did,
you’d be arresting him.’

Bradley nodded. ‘You’re right of course. No one will give evidence against him, all too scared. No one will stand up to him, no one will stop him. That’s why we need you Karen.
Unless of course you’re shit-scared of him too?’

Their eyes remained locked. Kaz refused to be the first to look away. She’d been doing this all her life, arguing with them – teachers, coppers, shrinks, screws – listening to
their lies. She realized that, whatever she did, however law-abiding she became, the battle lines would always be drawn. All the so-called respectable people, they were on one side; she and Joey,
her whole family, they were on the other. But she realized Joey was right, posh people were no different, everyone was at it. They just got away with it, like this lying slag in front of her.

She pulled her arm free from Helen’s grasp, still glaring at Bradley. ‘I’m not scared of him. I got no reason to be. So get off my back copper. He’s worth ten of
you.’

She turned on her heel and strode out of the canteen.

Helen looked at Bradley and exhaled through her nose. ‘Turnbull’s not going to be happy with you.’

Bradley’s jaw was set, he was annoyed with himself. Maybe he had gone in too hard. The murder of Zara Kingston and her parents was definitely down to Joey’s firm, who’d used it
to gain control of a swathe of territory from Dalston up to Stamford Hill, plus the gangs who operated there. As to whether Joey himself pulled the trigger, he had no way of knowing that.

‘He’s a psychopathic killer. When’s she going to figure that out?’

Helen sighed. ‘He’s also her little brother. When are you going to take
that
into account?’

Kaz had found her way from the canteen to the main desk and exit; she was heading through the door when she saw Joey outside the interview room. He waved at her and smiled. She
stopped. She just wanted to get out, out into the air, maybe run for it. But he was coming towards her.

Strolling along, hands in his pockets, he looked like the cat who’d got the cream. He waited until he’d come up close, his tone was confidential: ‘Piece of piss. They got
nothing. Absolutely sweet FA. They’re having a word with Ash – as if he’s gonna say anything.’