The Informant (16 page)

Kaz forced a smile. She couldn’t quite look at him. The image of the murdered child was etched on the back of her retina. ‘Good.’

He gave her a sidelong look. ‘You okay?’

Helen appeared on the stairs Kaz had come down. And several paces behind her was Mal Bradley.

Joey glanced up at them, then his gaze stopped on Bradley and recognition dawned. Joey turned a puzzled frown on his sister.

‘In’t he the fella from the hostel? What’s he doing here?’

Kaz shot a look up at Bradley, who was following Helen down the stairs. He was still carrying that file. She put her hand on Joey’s forearm and whispered. ‘Leave it. I’ll
explain later.’

But Joey was staring at her in disbelief as he put it all together. ‘You slept with a fucking copper?’

‘No Joey, no I didn’t! But it’s too complicated to explain right now. Just trust me.’

Joey’s smug attitude had evaporated, he was glaring at his sister. ‘What the fuck’s going on here?’

‘Trust me, okay? You and me, in’t this what it comes down to? Trust.’

He blinked several times, confusion and anger engulfing him. Helen had reached the bottom of the stairs. She was about to join them. Kaz gave her brother a direct, pleading look. Joey scowled at
her, folded his arms across his chest.

Mal Bradley got to the bottom of the stairs too and walked past them without any acknowledgement. He headed in the direction of the interview room.

Helen noted Joey’s barely disguised fury, she gave him a polite smile. ‘Where’s Neville?’

Joey turned to her. His look was tight and blank. ‘Still inside. They’re interviewing Ashley. You been having a nice private chat with that copper, have you?’

Helen looked puzzled. Joey didn’t wait for a response, he strode out of the main doors into the car park. Helen glanced at Kaz, she was fighting back the tears.

Nicci watched Karen Phelps closely as she took her seat in the interview room. Her shoulders were hunched, tension rippled through her jaw, she was close to the edge. Bradley
had popped in before the interview and filled Nicci in on his little scam; looking at the state of Karen, Nicci was beginning to think it might’ve worked. So Bradley did have a brain after
all. Was this about to be the moment they finally turned Karen Phelps? Cheryl Stoneham switched the recorder on, noted the time and started the namecheck. Nicci sat back calmly, assessing the
chances.

Once everyone had introduced themselves, Stoneham smiled equably. ‘Well Karen, I gather you’d like to tell us about the visit to your sister . . . yesterday morning? What made you
decide to go?’

Kaz stared at Stoneham, then sighed. She felt suddenly weary, her throat was sore from the fags, her head was throbbing. The image of Zara, the huge bloody wound in her chest, was spinning on a
loop in her brain. Kaz became aware of Helen beside her, looking at her. She took a breath.

‘My sister was twelve when I went inside. I hadn’t seen her since then.’

‘Were you aware of her drug problems?’

Kaz coughed, shot a sideways glance at Helen.

‘Yeah, I guess.’

Stoneham picked up a piece of paper from the table.

‘I received a signed fax this morning from a Doctor Iqbal, your sister’s psychiatrist, outlining her condition and why she’s not fit to be interviewed at present. Did you speak
to Doctor Iqbal before going to Southend yesterday?’

Kaz’s head felt as if it had a metal band round it, it was biting into her skull. Her brain was about to explode, she wanted to escape. She took a deep breath. Helen had told her she just
had to do this then she’d be free.

‘My brother spoke to Doctor Iqbal. We arranged with him that we’d collect Natalie from her flat in Southend and then she’d go back into rehab at his clinic in
Yorkshire.’

Nicci rubbed the side of her nose. ‘If Doctor Iqbal was coming all the way from Yorkshire anyway, why didn’t he accompany you to the flat?’

Kaz stared straight back at Nicci, her eyes dark and brooding. ‘He’s a busy man. We was grateful that he was prepared to come in person, but we didn’t know exactly what time
he’d arrive. So we thought it best to take Natalie to my parents first. Also it gave my mother a chance to see her.’

Stoneham nodded, glanced at Nicci. It was a look between two experienced officers who knew they were playing the long game. Stoneham let her eyes travel slowly back to Kaz.

‘So . . . what happened when you got to the flat?’

Kaz was warming to the tale, as she spoke she was loosening up. Lies were easy to tell once you got in the swing of it. She’d learnt this as a child. No one could see inside your head. The
trick was to think of it as a story, make sure all the details fitted together. But the crucial thing was how you felt. If you felt you were doing something wrong, you’d mess it up. If you
felt justified, it was fine. For Kaz, most of the time it felt justified, she’d spent a lifetime telling lies to save her own skin. Growing up in the violent shadow of Terry Phelps, honesty
was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She’d followed her mother’s example, telling tales was simply how you survived.

Kaz let her shoulders relax, she glanced from one detective to the other and began her tale.

‘Her boyfriend Jez let us in. He went back in the sitting room downstairs, carried on watching telly. Place is a sort of maisonette. We found Natalie in bed upstairs. She was pretty much
out of it. Joey had to help me get her dressed. He carried her downstairs. I went into the sitting room, I told Jez we was leaving. He was crashed out on the sofa, can in his hand, drunk, stoned, I
dunno, probably both. I told him we was taking Natalie and she was going back into rehab.’

Stoneham dipped in. ‘Where was Joey whilst you were doing this?’

‘He carried Natalie straight out the flat, Ashley went with him to help. They had to carry her all the way to the car.’

‘What did Jez say to you?’

‘Nothing. He stared straight through me, like junkies do. So I left, caught up with the others by the lift.’

‘Jez didn’t follow you, attempt to stop you?’

‘He looked at me for a minute, then he changed channels.’

Stoneham nodded thoughtfully. ‘So you were the last to leave the flat and Jez Harris was sitting watching television?’

Kaz nodded. ‘Yeah. We went down in the lift. We was getting Natalie in the back of the car when it happened. There was like this crash. Sort of heavy thud. We all looked round and saw this
body had landed on the bins . . .’

Kaz paused for effect, then she exhaled softly. ‘When we saw it was Jez, we didn’t know what to do. I thought Natalie sees this she’ll freak.’

Nicci chipped in. ‘But you said she was out of it, had to be carried.’

Kaz looked at her. ‘She wasn’t completely unconscious. She was dopey, like a rag doll. We wanted to get her away from there. Various other people come running, someone got on their
mobile to call an ambulance. There wasn’t nothing we could do, so we left.’

Stoneham glanced at Nicci then back at Kaz. ‘So how do you think Jez Harris went from sitting on his sofa watching the television to throwing himself off his balcony less than five minutes
later?’

Kaz shook her head. ‘Beats me. Junkies do funny things. I know, I been one. Time gets all out of sync, slows down. You don’t react for ages, then you do.’

Nicci frowned. ‘So you think it took time for it to sink in that Natalie was gone. But when he realized, he decided to commit suicide?’

Kaz shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

Nicci inclined her head. ‘Seems a bit impulsive even if he was high. You take his girlfriend off to rehab, so he kills himself. Why would he do that?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’m only telling you what happened.’

Stoneham smiled, linked her fingers loosely in front of her, rested her elbows on the table. ‘C’mon, haven’t you spent enough of your life lying to protect Joey? Where’s
it going to end Karen? You’ve just done six years, you’ve got six more on licence. Did you really rob that petrol station all on your own and beat the cashier half to death?’

Kaz shifted in her seat. ‘That’s water under the bridge.’

Helen leant forward. ‘That case is closed Chief Inspector. Karen’s come here voluntarily to tell you what happened at her sister’s flat. Unless you have any more questions on
that subject I think we’re done.’

Cheryl Stoneham pushed her chair back. ‘I’d say you went to see your sister, found her in a right state and you lost your rag. Jez Harris was a small-time dealer and general
low-life. According to a social worker who tried to help Natalie a couple of years back, she got clean before. Then she went back to Jez. She was dependent on him and he fed her habit. I’d
say that’s a pretty good motive for murder.’

Stoneham fixed Kaz with a direct look. ‘If I hadn’t seen my baby sister for six years, I come home and I find she’s gone down more or less the same path as me, I’d be
pretty gutted. So why don’t you tell us what really happened Karen?’

Kaz met Stoneham’s look and held it. ‘I have told you.’

Stoneham gave Kaz an appraising stare. ‘Plausible but not convincing. There’s no emotion in it.’

‘Yeah all right, when I saw the state of Nat I was upset. But it made me feel I wanna get her out of here, get her home, get her to the doctor. That was my priority and that’s what
we did.’

Kaz locked on Stoneham’s gaze, Helen watched. It was a battle of wills between the two women. There had been a time when her client couldn’t even make eye contact for more than a few
seconds. All that had changed. Helen wondered what had really happened in that flat. Stoneham was right, the story was plausible but hardly convincing.

The detective shook her head slowly. Her tone was rueful. ‘You look strong and fit enough. But Jez Harris was a good six foot, albeit a streak of piss. So I’m guessing it was Joey
picked him up and chucked him over the balcony for you. All in a day’s work for Joey, he wouldn’t blink, would he? But you’re the one that got mad, aren’t you Karen? Jez
Harris is dead because of you.’

The life drawing course was part of a summer school run by the Slade and was being held in studios off Woburn Square. Kaz had a place on a full-time art foundation course at
London Met starting in the autumn, but she knew that the art classes she’d attended inside were more therapy than the real thing; when it came to proper drawing she needed some practice.

She stood outside the building for a few moments finishing her fag. The police had simply let her go; Stoneham clearly didn’t believe her story, but as Joey had pointed out, they had no
evidence to contradict it. She’d travelled back to London in Neville Moore’s car. Helen and her boss had chatted between themselves, Kaz had sat behind them, said little and got them to
drop her near the tube. She went back to her room at the hostel, flung herself on the bed and sobbed. She felt wretched, the pictures of that kid, Stoneham’s accusation ringing in her head.
She must’ve cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, it was the early hours and she was freezing. She crawled under the duvet fully clothed.

The next morning she took a long hot shower and contemplated her options. Helen had undertaken to explain the incident to Jalil Sahir. With the story they’d told there were no grounds for
a recall. She’d merely acted out of concern for her sister and the probation service would have to accept that. She knew Helen would convince them.

That left Joey. Should she see him, explain about PC Mal and why she’d lied? But keeping Joey happy, was that her priority? Underneath it all was she scared of him? Kaz dismissed this
notion out of hand. Joey would never harm her, he loved her. If anything he loved her a bit too much. She decided he was the one who’d been unreasonable, kicking off like that because he
recognized the cop. He’d caused this mess, it was up to him to come to her. Kaz was done with dancing to everyone else’s tune. She was going to her art class.

She ground the cigarette butt into the pavement with her heel, picked up her sketchpad and headed into the building. A series of spidery handwritten notices directed her to the lift, ancient and
clunky, and up to the fourth floor. She wandered through several large, white-walled studios until she came to the one where the course was being held.

About a dozen wooden studio easels were grouped in a semicircle round a small dais. A couple of students were already setting up, putting boards on the easels and taping paper to them. A skinny
old geezer in a faded denim shirt and even more faded jeans was arranging cushions on the dais. He glanced at Kaz speculatively, tossed the last cushion on the pile and strolled over. His narrow
face was sculpted and bristly, he gave Kaz a lop-sided smile.

‘Mike Dawson. Welcome to Life Drawing.’ The name came out with the rasping growl of a forty-a-day man.

Kaz returned his smile. ‘Karen Phelps.’

Dawson picked up the register and flipped it open. ‘Ah, the elusive Ms Phelps. We were beginning to think you’d run for the hills.’

Kaz noticed his eyes, almost obscured by lines and wrinkles, they were the dark grey of wet slate and the gaze didn’t waver.

‘Sorry, couldn’t get here before. I’ve been having a few problems.’

Dawson nodded, concern or amusement, Kaz couldn’t tell. ‘Nothing . . . medical I hope.’

Kaz caught the twinkle in his eye. Was he taking the piss? Or was this how artists behaved? He looked about ninety, his fingers curled like claws, the nails rimmed with black. Kaz had met
villains who were less intimidating.

She forced a smile. ‘No, nothing like that.’

Dawson turned abruptly and seized one of the easels. ‘Ever used one of these beasts before?’

She shook her head.

‘Well, they have a habit of defeating the novice. So I will demonstrate.’

He picked up a drawing board from a stack against the wall, hoisted it on to the crossbar support, which he ratcheted into place and fixed by tightening several paint-spattered wing nuts. Kaz
nearly jumped out of her skin when his bony fingers suddenly clutched her arm as he manoeuvred her into position beside the board. He raised his hand, forming his fingers into a flat, horizontal
plane about three inches from her left eye.