The Informant (36 page)

Kaz sat on the end of the bed eating the food she’d cooked, Glynis pushed the pasta around the plate with a fork. She sighed.

‘You gone to a lot of trouble. But I just ain’t hungry.’

‘Try and eat a bit. You need to build up your strength.’

‘What’s gonna happen Kaz? You heard that cop, they got no evidence. When he gets out . . .’

‘He won’t come here okay? Why? Because he don’t even know where this place is. Tomorrow me and Joey’ll put our heads together, come up with something.’

Kaz washed up the dishes, tidied the kitchen. It felt really comforting to be doing domestic chores in her own home. When she looked in on Glynis, she’d dozed off. Kaz switched off the
light and quietly closed the bedroom door. Then she made up a bed for herself on the sofa.

She lay on her back staring up at the ceiling. The room was dark but curtainless, so the reflections from the river and the street lamps played across the walls. She watched the dancing
patterns. She hadn’t picked up her sketchbook in days. All that had gone out of the window. Her course was due to start soon, the new life she’d planned so meticulously. But was being
an art student just about impressing Helen?

Whether she liked it or not she seemed to have landed back in the family business. It had bought her this flat. But she felt that was no more than her due for the time she’d served. Joey
had promised to turn the business totally legit, if she stuck with him, held him to that, maybe they’d both have a new start. That still left the problem of Sean. But even if he had made some
kind of deal with the old bill, he’d murdered Dave and sooner or later she and Joey would discover how. They’d get the drop on him. Knowing Joey he was on it already.

After what seemed like hours of rumination Kaz was drifting off to sleep when she heard a low tapping. At first she thought it was Glynis. She got up, limped down the hall to the bedroom and
opened the door. Glynis was on her back, sound asleep, her breathing steady and deep. The tapping was repeated and Kaz realized someone was knocking softly on the front door. She hesitated,
thoughts, fears, skittering through her brain. It was very late. Joey or Ashley would’ve called. Her heart soared, maybe it was Helen? Maybe in the middle of the night she’d realized
her true feelings and rushed round to declare her love. But how would any of them have got into the building? The main doors were locked, that’s what the entryphone system was for, to keep
the flats secure.

Without turning on any lights, Kaz crept down the hall and put her eye to the spyhole in the door. The fisheye lens showed the distorted nose and cheek of a man’s face. He stepped back
slightly and knocked again. She realized it was Mal Bradley.

Kaz opened the door on the chain, Bradley’s face turned towards her. He smiled.

‘Sorry, did I get you up?’

The unmistakable reek of booze wafted through the door at Kaz. Four years sober she smelt it everywhere, on people in the street, on the tube.

She glared at him. ‘What the fuck d’you want?’

‘I got an idea, a solution.’

‘To what?’

‘To all this. Just let me come in and talk to you. Please.’

‘How did you even get in the building?’

Bradley grinned. ‘Waved my warrant card at one of your extremely respectable neighbours. She’d been out to take her dog for a dump.’

Kaz huffed, closed the door, unhooked the chain and let Bradley in.

‘Keep your voice down ’cause Glynis is asleep.’

‘She okay?’

‘No. She’s a mess.’

Bradley followed her down the hall into the open-plan living space. Kaz picked up a sweatshirt, pulled it on, folded her arms and turned to face him. Despite the bruises from her encounter with
Sean, she looked good in her jaunty PJs, comfortable in her body. There was never anything girly or fey about her, the look was straight defiance and Bradley realized this was what he liked. It
didn’t matter how tough things got, she stood her ground.

He ran a hand through his unruly curls. This time he wasn’t trying to con her, the dazzling smile came naturally. ‘First up I want to apologize.’

‘Yeah? What for?’ She stared at him very directly, she wasn’t giving an inch.

‘For what I said about leaving it to Joey. I don’t really think you’d get your brother to kill Sean.’

‘Why not? Solve everyone’s problems, wouldn’t it? Including yours.’

‘I don’t think you’re as hard a nut as you make out.’

Kaz laughed drily, retreated to the sofa and sat down. ‘Cut the crap Bradley. Just tell me why you’re here.’

He pulled up a dining chair. ‘Okay, here’s the idea. Mike Dawson, the guy who ran the drawing class . . .’

‘I know who he is.’

‘Tomorrow I go and see him. Show him the badge, tell him I’m a police officer and I talk to him about you, your family, trying to make a fresh start.’

Kaz huffed. ‘What the fuck’s it got to do with him?’

‘He’s seen your work, he knows what you’re capable of. He can help you walk away from all this.’

Kaz cocked her head contemptuously. ‘Oh yeah. How?’

Bradley leant forward in his seat, smiled as he warmed to his theme.

‘That bloody drawing class – I spent a lot of time hanging round, waiting for you to show up, y’know. Me and Mike, we had quite a few chats. He’s spent loads of time in
the States, used to teach over there, various art schools. He goes back all the time to see his mates.’

Kaz folded her arms again. ‘I don’t see what this has got to . . .’

‘Point is he could maybe help you get a place in a college over there. As a student. Get you out of this country, away from Sean, away from Joey. Karen, this could be your escape
route.’

Kaz smiled, shook her head cynically. ‘You fix this for me? And what do I have to do in return? Let me guess.’

‘No.’ Bradley held up his palms. ‘Absolutely nothing. No strings attached. I swear.’

Kaz stared at him hard. ‘I don’t get it.’

He held her gaze. There was only a single lamp on in the room, so not enough light for her to see the moistening of his eyes.

‘I’m . . .’ He swallowed hard. ‘Well, I guess I’m trying to help you here. Proper help, real help. No deals, no tricks. You go to college in the States, you leave
the family, Joey, the past behind you.’ He sighed deeply. ‘You’ve served your time. I reckon you deserve the chance to make a life for yourself.’

As Kaz digested this her penetrating gaze never left his face. He seemed quite emotional but he was probably pissed. What was his angle? She couldn’t figure it. Finally she took a deep
breath, got up.

‘Want a cup of coffee? Might sober you up a bit.’

‘Yeah cheers.’ He smiled. ‘But y’know, this is not booze talking.’

She went over to the sink, filled the kettle and slotted it back on to its base. She turned to face him.

‘It’s a nice idea, but you’re forgetting one thing. I’m released on licence. Next six years I got to keep my nose clean and my probation officer happy. Can’t see
them letting me swan off to the States.’

Bradley considered this. ‘I’ve known of instances of offenders getting permission to travel abroad, even lifers. It depends on the circumstances and the perceived risk.’

Kaz lifted down two mugs from the cupboard.

‘Okay, even if I could wangle some special deal, what’s it going to cost? An arm and a leg. Plus I don’t think they’re about to take someone like me with one AS-level she
got in the nick.’

Bradley stood up, shovelled his hands in his jeans pockets. ‘Yeah I know it won’t be easy, but that’s where Mike comes in. They’ll see your drawings, but most of all
they’ll listen to Mike’s recommendation. And there are all sorts of scholarships and bursaries available. Ex-con turns into a brilliant artist – the Americans love all
that.’

Kaz smiled. ‘You got it all figured out, haven’t you?’

‘It could work.’

‘Does Woodentop know about this? Or your snotty mate Nicci?’

‘No one knows. Or need ever know. This’ll just be between you and me and Mike.’

‘And the probation service.’

‘Okay, them too. But the ones I’ve met go out of their way to avoid cops.’

Kaz spooned coffee granules into two mugs. ‘I gotta say Bradley, I didn’t think you could surprise me. But you have. I don’t know what angle you’re working here but
it’s slick . . .’

He took two urgent steps towards her. ‘There is no angle. That’s the angle. The lies, the deals, the tricks – I’ve had enough. Why should your life go down the pan so we
can get Joey? I don’t think the end does justify the means.’

Realizing he was looming over her, he took a step back. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . y’know.’ He turned away, ran his hand through his hair.

Kaz watched him and wondered: was he being straight with her? Or had they merely come up with a more astute way of wooing her? Play the long game, make her grateful to Bradley so they did really
become mates? She thought about the States, living in New York. If this was the bait it was a smart choice.

She poured boiling water into the coffee mugs. ‘Milk?’

‘Yeah, cheers, just a dash.’

She milked the coffees and handed him one.

He gave her a warm smile. ‘Thanks.’

She returned to the sofa, settled herself in one corner. ‘Okay, say I buy all this – which I’m not saying I do – where’s that leave you?’

Bradley took a sip of the coffee. ‘I’m thinking of putting my papers in. You’ve said it yourself, I’m a crap cop. Maybe I’ll go off and do some travelling myself. I
got cousins in Australia, I wouldn’t mind seeing that part of the world. After that, who knows?’

Kaz watched him as he prowled the room with the coffee mug in his hand. If this was all an act he’d suddenly become very good at it. She found herself looking at him more closely,
observing with the artist’s eye. He was tall and rangy with a nervous energy, the type of bloke who was never going to get fat. And he was used to women fancying him, there was a cocksure
look in his eye, an expectation that his overtures would be reciprocated. But at the same time he was totally different to the men she’d encountered in her life before. They’d simply
scared or revolted her, beginning with her own father.

Bradley was a new experience, but what was it about him? If you set aside the fact he was a cop, being around him was never awkward or uncomfortable. It felt a bit like being with Joey, except
there was something else, a physical tension in the pit of her stomach, a pleasant lassitude. Kaz realized with a jolt that it was sexual, a definite sexual buzz. Bradley gave off a whiff of some
kind of sexual pheromone and it hit her on a purely physical level. She found herself imagining what it would be like to have sex with him. It wasn’t anything to do with passion or the
painful longing she had just to be close to Helen. This was happening on a completely separate plane.

It had never occurred to Kaz that sexual attraction could be such a simple animal thing. All her sexual encounters with men had been freighted with coercion and violence. But she didn’t
find Bradley in the least bit frightening, nor did she like him particularly. If anything she thought he was soft in the head. The whole thing was a complete conundrum.

He was aware of her watching him and he turned, gave her a nervous smile. ‘So what d’you reckon? Want me to go and see Mike tomorrow, see if I can make this thing happen?’

Kaz folded her arms. The prospect of going to the States flashed through her brain, but what if it was all a con? Well, there was only one way to find out. She shrugged with as much nonchalance
as she could muster.

‘Yeah. You could give it a go.’

Sean Phelps and Neville Moore walked out of Basildon Police Station shortly after eight o’clock the next morning. Four officers from Sussex Police had taken turns to try
and run Sean into the ground with a marathon interrogation session, but he’d remained calm and polite, enjoying the fact that for once he was telling the truth. Neville kept insisting on
regular breaks and at the end of it all they came out looking far better than the frazzled and frustrated cops.

Sean took in a lungful of morning air, summer had faded and there was a decided autumnal chill. He clapped his hands together, the custody sergeant had kitted him out with an old tracksuit to
put over his pyjamas.

He smiled at Neville. ‘Fancy a spot of breakfast before you get off?’

Neville rubbed his fingers over the stubble on his jaw. He was not a man who liked to be grubby. ‘Thanks, but I need to call the office and my wife.’

Sean nodded. Neville Moore was always professional to a T, but he didn’t do chummy.

‘Wives, yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Well mine thinks I tried to off her boyfriend. What the fuck am I gonna do about that?’

Neville fixed him with a direct look. ‘Take my advice Sean: do nothing. The police aren’t finished with this yet, not by a long chalk.’

Sean huffed impatiently. ‘I know, but where’s that leave me, eh? I get out the nick, find she’s been lying to me for years. Okay, we have a bit of a ruck about it. I clumped
her, I’ll admit that. But she’s my wife, I’d never do her any real harm. I gotta make this right with her Neville.’

Neville took out a linen handkerchief and wiped his face, it had been a long night, he wanted to wrap this up, get in his car and drive back to London. ‘We don’t even know where she
is.’

‘Oh I can take a guess.’

‘I’d wait for her to come home if I were you.’

Sean gave him a speculative glance. ‘Look, you was brilliant, done the business as always. But do me one last favour before you go.’

Neville laughed, shook his head. ‘All right – as long as I can bill you for it!’

‘You know me. I know how to be grateful. All I need now is for you to get on the blower to your office, find out my cousin’s new address.’

‘Joey? He lives in Southwark near the Tate Modern.’

‘Not Joey. Karen’s got herself a new place apparently.’

‘And you think that’s where Glynis’ll be?’

‘Good chance.’

Neville sucked in a long breath through his teeth. Strictly speaking he should refuse, Karen wasn’t even his client. But saying no to Sean Phelps would put him in an awkward position. He
was fairly convinced that Sean was telling the truth when he said he hadn’t shot Dave Harper. They could all do stony-faced but he’d dealt with enough serious criminals to read the
telltale body language. Sean wanted to sort things out with his wife, he could sympathize with that. Moreover, sympathizing with Sean was the more lucrative option, gangsters like him expected to
pay over the odds for a deluxe service and that’s what kept the firm afloat in the face of massive cutbacks in the government’s legal aid budget. As to the domestic abuse, Neville found
it personally distasteful, but that was part of the culture with people like the Phelpses and Glynis knew that as well as anyone.