The Informant (6 page)

When she and Tim finally split up, Alex Marlow had been her divorce buddy. He’d been friends with both of them but he took her side, which at the time felt like a moral victory. He’d
listened to her rants, gone over the paperwork with her, accompanied her to the so-called mediation sessions, threatened to punch Tim’s lights out on one memorable occasion and babysat
Sophie. And Nicci had discovered that having a gay man in this role was perfect.

Her parents were disappointed with her; they basically agreed with Tim, she should be at home with her daughter. Her unmarried girlfriends seemed to relish her failure and the married ones gave
her a wide berth in case it was catching. So bitching and drinking and clubbing with a gay bloke and his mates had got her through.

Alex didn’t look or behave like anyone’s idea of a homosexual. On a night out he could queen it up with the best, but the rest of the time, if he seemed to be anything, it was a
copper’s copper. Large, lean, gym-fit with a mordant sense of humour, he was always popular on the team. He made no secret of being gay, but he didn’t advertise it either. He
didn’t join any organizations or carry any banners.

One of Nicci’s frustrations, the question that had kept her up at night, that she was desperate to ask him, was how the fuck did he let Joey Phelps get the drop on him? He was a tough
bloke, why didn’t he fight back? Beat the shit out of the twisted little fucker. But in a way she already knew the answer.

Alex had jumped at the opportunity to go undercover. To the bosses he was eminently qualified, but it was probably only Nicci who knew that he had a thing for Joey Phelps. Phelps was handsome
and dangerous, a fatal combination for Alex. As far as anyone knew, Joey was straight. His taste was fairly predictable: glamour models and actresses, anything fuckable that also looked good on his
arm and confirmed his status. Alex never lost sight of what Joey was or the task in hand. But still there was part of him that loved hanging with the bad boys, worshipping at the shrine of
testosterone-driven power. Nicci’s private view, which she’d never expressed to anyone, was that Alex Marlow had fallen in love with his murderer.

Nicci sipped her coffee and scanned the office. There were few people about, leads were being followed, witnesses sought. She felt vaguely guilty; since she didn’t have the stomach for the
PM she herself should be out there working the case. But she was exhausted, close to breaking point and she knew it. All she wanted was to go home, hug her child and curl up on the sofa until the
pain stopped.

She was staring into space, trying to pull herself together, when the new DC wandered across her eyeline. He was called Bradley and according to the DCI, he’d been asked by Turnbull to go
undercover. Just the notion of this struck her like a slap in the face. It was an insult to even imagine that anyone could step into Alex Marlow’s shoes. She knew this was an emotional
reaction dictated by grief, but still what the fuck was some rookie DC going to achieve that Alex couldn’t?

Bradley caught her eye and started to come over. He was smiling. Nicci reflected ruefully that his exotic Middle Eastern looks would probably have appealed to Alex. It had been a standing joke
on the team that when a pretty new DC came along Alex would always try and take them under his wing.

Bradley seemed a tad nervous, gave her a diffident shrug. He looked like he was about to ask a question, but Nicci got up abruptly and walked away. She could feel the tears prickling her eyelids
and she was damned if she was going to blub in front of anyone, least of all Bradley.

Kaz sat in the front seat of the Range Rover, Joey was at the wheel, Ashley tucked in the back next to various bags and boxes. They’d started out at Westfield, Joey
insisted they do the posh designer shops. When Kaz expressed her discomfort with this, they moved on to Covent Garden. Okay, she needed some new stuff, that was clear. But she wasn’t about to
swan into her probation officer in Versace jeans.

Joey carried a clip of fifty-pound notes in his pocket and peeled them off to pay for each purchase. He was having a whale of a time. Kaz was less enthusiastic. A little voice in her head was
whispering: ‘Helen’s not going to like this.’ But what was she going to do, kick up, refuse to let her brother buy her a few grand’s worth of gear? She’d persuade
Helen just as she’d persuaded herself this was not the issue on which to make a stand. And trying on new stuff, getting out of trackie bottoms and sweatshirts after six years, well it made
her feel like a proper person again. When she looked in the brightly lit full-length mirrors it was almost a shock; what she saw was a woman, not a scrawny kid. Somewhere along the line she’d
grown up and now she was in the right gear, heads were turning.

They stopped off for lunch at a little Italian place in Soho and Kaz made it crystal clear that she was off the booze. It wasn’t a problem. The boys had a beer apiece. She had an ice-cream
milkshake and it was bliss.

Now they were cruising through the afternoon traffic headed out of town on the A13. Kaz had her feet up on the dash and she was frowning.

Joey glanced at her. ‘Trust me babe, it’ll be fine. They are gonna be so chuffed.’

Kaz gave him a baleful look. ‘You reckon?’

Crammed in the back seat with their purchases, Ashley shifted his position and farted. He giggled with embarrassment. ‘S’cuse I.’

Joey chuckled. ‘Aww fuckin’ hell Ash! Ladies present mate!’

Ashley glanced from one to the other sheepishly. ‘I’m really sorry Kaz. Me mum’s always saying I got no manners.’

‘Got no control of yer own bum, that’s what it is!’

Kaz listened to the banter, she was getting used to their antics. The designer shirts, the Rolex Oysters on their wrists, the platinum signet rings, the diamond ear-studs, these were their toys;
they were two lads of twenty-three going on fifteen. She found it faintly reassuring; Joey hadn’t changed. He was still a big kid, a bundle of infectious energy, and when he was in a mood
like this, fun to be around.

She shook her head and grinned. ‘And you expected me to shag him? I’d rather go down on Fat Pat.’

Joey laughed out loud. ‘Who the fuck’s that?’

‘You don’t wanna know.’

Three lanes of traffic snaked and dipped over makeshift flyovers until the A13 broadened into more of a motorway. Joey put his foot down as the elevated section carried them
through Dagenham, past the wind turbines and messy acres of new and old industrial developments and on into the flat estuary marshland, the gateway to Essex. London had the buzz, and Joey liked
that, but this was still his home turf. The city could be chaotic, full of strangers, ethnic gangs and constant change. But Irish, Jew, Bangladeshi or Somali, down the generations they all became
English when they moved out to Essex.

Kaz stared blankly out of the window, pylons criss-crossed the landscape and she could see the flares on the oil refinery down by the river. Going home was not a prospect she relished; in fact
the whole notion of home was something she’d ring-fenced in her mind. It was off-limits, a place she refused to visit mentally or emotionally however much various therapists had pushed
her.

She was born in Bethnal Green nine months after the old man got out of jail and three months before her parents married. But she’d grown up in Essex. They started off in a council house in
Basildon, then as the old man’s business picked up their fortunes improved. Terry Phelps was obsessed with security, which in his line of work wasn’t unreasonable. He bought a piece of
land, a field really, out beyond Billericay and he got it dirt cheap because it had no planning permission and a semi-permanent travellers’ camp next door. Terry fixed the local planning
committee with a few bungs and saw off the pikeys with a JCB and a couple of sawn-off shotguns. Then he built his dream home.

As they pulled up in front of the electric, wrought-iron gates, Kaz turned to her brother. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’

‘They’re expecting us. Can’t bottle now.’ Joey leant out of his window and pressed the intercom on the wall. ‘Anybody home?’

There was a muffled reply, which possibly included a squeal of excitement, and with a clank the gates swung open.

Joey drove into the compound. The property was surrounded on all sides by an eight-foot solid brick wall topped with decorative but lethal spikes. The house itself was an imposing mish-mash of
styles: a mock Tudor facade with a portico supported by Corinthian pillars. As the Range Rover pulled up, Kaz took it all in. The small leaded-light windows reflected the afternoon sun, making it
impossible to see inside. But in Kaz’s memory the interior was dismal, a place of shadows and unmentionable horrors.

Joey patted her knee and grinned. ‘Well, we’re here now.’

Kaz knew she’d been bullied, but it was hard to resist coming here without spoiling the mood of the day. Then the front door opened and there was Ellie Phelps beaming at them.

The last time Kaz had seen her mother was at Chelmsford Crown Court. As she’d been led into the dock, she’d glanced over at the public gallery and Ellie had been there, staring
straight ahead, eyes glassy and blank. Valium had been Ellie’s drug of choice for many years until Prozac came along, but she mixed it with a cocktail of gin, vodka, painkillers and anything
else that came to hand. Life with Terry was a rollercoaster, his temper unpredictable at best. So Ellie had found escape and solace in the only way available to her.

Kaz took a deep breath and got out of the car. Ellie was hugging her son. Then she turned to her daughter with a huge grin. She was fatter than Kaz remembered and rosy-cheeked, but there was
something else too. Kaz realized with a jolt that her mother had come alive. She was no longer the drugged-up zombie of Kaz’s teenage years. Before her was a plump, middle-aged matron in a
tight silk top. Her lipstick was shimmering pink, but behind it the smile was warm and the eyes had a definite twinkle.

Ellie flung her arms round Kaz and squeezed her tight. ‘Lovey, we was gonna come and meet you. Stretch limo, the works. Joey had it all planned.’

Her words tumbled out in a torrent. Kaz had never seen her mother so animated.

‘I’ve got your room all ready for you, we’ve had it completely redone. Pink – that was always yer favourite when you was little. I wanted to come and see you loads of
times, but y’know them places they give me the heebie-jeebies. Then when yer dad was took bad I pretty much had me hands full and I thought she’s a good girl, she’ll
understand.’

Kaz stared in frank disbelief. What had brought about this transformation?

Ellie rattled on as she steered her daughter into the house. Kaz got another shock when she saw how her childhood home had changed. The mismatched furniture was gone, so was the chaos and the
mess.

Terry Phelps had owned two pitbulls, which it amused him to call Bill and Ben after some kids’ TV show. They were savage beasts and pretty much had the run of the place. For security,
Terry said. He didn’t intend to be surprised in his bed by some rival hoodlum. Kaz and Joey had been mortally afraid of the dogs; they had bitten Ellie on more than one occasion. But now the
formerly tiled and dog-shit-strewn hallway was covered in a deep-pile carpet. An ornately carved ottoman stood against one wall and on it a small tabby cat was curled up fast asleep. Kaz rapidly
concluded that Bill and Ben were history.

The sitting room was in Kaz’s memory a cold, depressing place. As kids they’d spent most of their time curled up in one corner watching a big old Philips television. As she stepped
into the room now her eyes were assaulted by a riot of bright, warm colours. Heavy brocade curtains complete with pelmets and tassels covered the windows. Three enormous plush sofas were ranged
around a glass coffee table. Lamps, ornaments, silver-framed family photos were spread liberally around the room. But the biggest change of all sat in one corner.

Terry Phelps’s hulking frame was crammed into a neat, mechanized wheelchair. His chin was sunk low resting on his barrel of a chest and a small drool of saliva snaked over the edge of his
slack lips down his chin and on to his cardigan. Kaz stood rooted to the spot. She stared into his black eyes. They were completely vacant. Ellie touched her daughter’s arm.

‘I know love, it’s quite a shock. He can’t move or talk or do nothing for himself really. It was a massive stroke. The doctors reckon it was a miracle he survived at all. But
we keep him nice and clean and warm.’

As she spoke she went over and patted him, much as you would a dog. Joey strolled over to the drinks cupboard and poured himself and Ashley a Scotch.

‘Mum has two full-time nurses to do all the lifting and that. And of course she’s got Brian to help her out too.’ Joey indicated the dapper man in his early sixties sitting on
one of the sofas. ‘You must remember Uncle Brian.’

Kaz turned to look at Brian, who was no sort of relative at all, but had been called that by Kaz and Joey as a sort of courtesy required of children to certain adults round their parents. Brian
Mason had in fact been part of the Phelps firm, at various times Terry’s driver, dogsbody and whipping boy.

He stood up and held his hand out to Kaz. ‘Welcome home love. Must say, you’re looking pretty fit.’

‘So are you Brian.’

‘Y’know, mustn’t grumble.’

At this point Ellie sidled over to him and slipped her arm coyly through his. ‘Brian’s been a great comfort to me. I’d never have got through without him. He’s my little
treasure.’

Brian grinned and squeezed her hand.

Kaz looked around her, it was all starting to make sense. The inmates had taken over the asylum. She glanced over at her father in his wheelchair. He hadn’t moved a muscle. You could
almost feel sorry for him. But Kaz didn’t. The vicious old bastard had got exactly what he deserved.

Kaz and Joey sat on loungers in the garden. He had a cold beer, she had apple juice. It was a summer evening, a scene so easy and normal that Kaz was still finding it hard to
absorb. Brian was handling the barbecue, Ellie was fussing round him and giggling; they were playing house like a couple of newly-weds. Kaz watched them, she wasn’t certain if her
mother’s current happiness pleased her or whether she resented it. She certainly resented all the years when Ellie had checked out and left her kids to fend for themselves.