Brock And Kolla - 09 - Spider Trap (26 page)

‘At the end of shooting,’ Tom explained, ‘the American girl, Jean Seberg, was so disgusted by the whole thing that she said she didn’t want her name attached to it, and Belmondo, too, was appalled by the amateurishness of Godard’s production. Then the film came out and everyone went crazy about it, and they both realised that it was the most important thing they’d ever done. That’s genius, you see. The masterstroke that no one recognises until it’s been pulled off.’

The way he said it, it didn’t sound so much like a bit of film criticism as a statement about life. Kathy wondered if Michel would have put it like that.

Tom had another quote about Belmondo. ‘He said that women over thirty are at their best, but men over thirty are too old to recognise it.’

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but took it as a compliment, and as he drove her home she found herself warming to the thought of him coming up to her flat. She even got as far as trying to remember if she had any eggs to give him for breakfast, but when they reached her door he kissed her tenderly for a long moment, then said he couldn’t stay.

seventeen

O
n Monday morning Brock reassigned his team to other cases. No one referred to the Roach episode, as if it was over and best forgotten. But by the end of the briefing Kathy and Tom hadn’t been mentioned. Brock nodded to them as the meeting broke up and they followed him up to his office.

They noticed that he hadn’t removed his own copies of the Brown Bread material from the big wall facing his desk. Kathy was struck by the symmetry between the pictures of the Roach family on one side and of the Brown Bread victims on the other, like the line-up for opposing soccer teams.

‘Despite what I said downstairs,’ Brock said, pouring coffee, ‘I still believe that discovering the truth behind the events of twenty-four years ago will be the key to finding Dee-Ann and Dana’s murderers. So . . . your boss says you can stay with us for a while longer, Tom.’

‘Glad to be rid of me, is he, Chief?’ ‘He didn’t say that exactly. It was my request. You all right

with that?’

‘Yes, certainly.’

Brock smiled benignly, passing the cups around, but Kathy wasn’t fooled. He was watching their body language, the way they chose seats and leaned in together for the milk, trying to work out what was going on between them. Or maybe she was just being hypersensitive, the three of them together like that in his room.

‘Good. I didn’t mention it downstairs, but I’d like you two to stick with Brown Bread for a while longer, tie up some loose ends. Tom, you’re our Roach expert now. Commander Sharpe has asked for a summary of our investigation to put on file for the Organised Crime Liaison Group. Did you ever come across an OCLG or JIC file on Roach?’

‘Don’t recall one.’

‘You might use your Branch contacts to see if there is such a thing—informal approach, nothing official.’

‘Okay.’

‘Did you meet the MP, Michael Grant? His office in Cockpit Lane helped Kathy track down the identity of our victims. Grant is also interested in Roach. He’s a bit of a crusader against drugs and crime in his community, and he’s convinced the Roaches are still operating, in partnership with the local black gangs.’

‘Really?’ Tom looked doubtful. ‘News to me. The Trident people didn’t think it likely, did they?’

‘No, but still, Grant claims to have information that he’s willing to share with us. I want you to talk to his research officer, Andrea.’ He handed Tom her card. ‘See what you think. They’ll want some quid pro quo, I daresay, but don’t give them anything without talking to me first.’

‘Haven’t really got much to give, have we?’

‘True. Kathy . . .’ He put his hands flat on the desk, as if at a

loss.‘What do you think?’ ‘Loose ends? Well, who pressured the Singhs and Ferguson?’ ‘Yes. Anything else?’ ‘Neighbours? Rainbow?’ ‘Ah, Rainbow, of course. How did we manage without it?’ ‘I’ll have a look, shall I?’ ‘Please . . . By the way, did Michael Grant put you in touch

with Mrs Lavender among his contacts, by any chance?’ ‘No, he didn’t.’ ‘Mm, she may have passed away by now. All right. Let’s meet

again tomorrow afternoon, see how we’re doing.’ On the stairs, as they turned a tight corner, Tom slid an arm

around Kathy’s waist and gave a squeeze.‘Did we pass scrutiny?’ ‘You felt it too, did you?’ ‘We must have a talk sometime, about your relationship with

the old man.’

Kathy arranged to visit the Rainbow Coordinator at the area command that covered the elder Singhs’ home in Streatham. There they identified the cameras operating in the immediate area. There were none in the Singhs’ street, but a local council camera covered its junction with a shopping street at one end, the most likely direction of approach. As she talked to the coordinator, Kathy began to appreciate the difficulties.What exactly was she looking for? She had a list of cars registered to members of the Roach family, but Ricky was a car dealer and could presumably lay his hands on any number of other vehicles. Then there were the unknown associates and employees who may have been sent to give the Singhs the message. In the end, the coordinator agreed to try to provide a list of all the vehicles that had passed through the junction over a four-hour period on that night.

‘You realise that’ll probably be a couple of thousand? Who’s going to authorise the request?’

Kathy gave Brock’s name and returned to her office, where she found two phone messages, one from forensic services and the other from a Mr Connell. She stared at the name, feeling a slight flush in her face, then rang the first number.

The man at forensic services began by apologising for the delay. ‘We’ve had a rush of work and you did say it wasn’t top priority.’

Kathy didn’t at first recall the job, and the man had to remind her about the cigarette end she’d found behind the fence overlooking the railway site.

‘That spliff you sent us. Interesting smoking mixture, must try it some time—tobacco and marijuana, half and half, with a garnish of cocaine. Prime sensimillia ganja, too, nothing cheap. Mr Murray has the right connections.’

‘Murray?’

‘The smoker. We’ve got his DNA on file. George Murray. Done for possession in a raid on a South London nightclub eight months ago.Charges dropped due to processing irregularities.We should have wiped the record. Oops.’

‘Do you have an address?’

‘Eighteen Cockpit Lane, SW9. Know it?’

Kathy did. She could picture the sign over the window, W
ELLINGTON
’
S
U
TENSILS EST
. 1930.

She thanked him and then, more cautious this time, pressed the numbers for the second call, a mobile.

‘Martin Connell, hello?’

The voice still had that sonorous tone, which could be so skilfully adjusted to each occasion: a TV news soundbite, a judge, a former lover.Kathy waited a beat before revealing which one it was.

‘Hello, Martin.’

‘Kathy! It’s so good to hear your voice again. Seeing Bren Gurney the other day made me think of you. How are you?’

‘Fine.You?’

‘Yes, great.You know what I was thinking, while Gurney was going through all that nonsense?’ He said it as if he knew perfectly well that she’d been watching.‘I was thinking how really good it would be to see you again, have lunch, catch up.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I know, you’re frantically busy and we’re just old history. But we were important to each other once,and I think it’s wrong to lose contact completely with people who have been important in your life, don’t you? Christ, there aren’t that many of them when it comes right down to it. I don’t suppose you heard about Daniel?’

It took a second for Kathy to remember.‘Your brother?’

‘That’s right.We buried him last month. His heart packed in, just like that. It was a hell of a shock—makes you stop and think, Kathy.’

‘I’m very sorry.’ She’d never met Daniel, but she remembered the tone Martin’s voice took on whenever he spoke of his elder brother, a mixture of admiration, envy and intense frustration.

‘Well, anyway, maybe you’re a little curious, eh? To catch up?’

She laughed. He’d perfected that inveigling pitch at an early age, she’d once decided, to get whatever he fancied—his brother’s cricket bat or his mother’s undivided attention—and it still worked a treat with juries and impressionable younger women.

‘What do you really want, Martin?’

‘Just to buy you lunch, and talk to an old friend, and maybe pass on a little gossip for our mutual entertainment. How about tomorrow?’

She agreed. The key words were ‘pass on’. Martin was a messenger. And he was right, she was curious.

Within an hour the weather had turned bitterly cold again, dark clouds looming overhead. Kathy parked her car in a side street, pulled a woollen beanie down over her ears,turned up her coat collar and paced briskly towards Cockpit Lane. The market was deserted, the stalls stripped back to metal frames, cardboard boxes stacked ready for collection. There was a light showing in Winnie’s shop window and Kathy pushed open the door. The old woman heard the buzzer and emerged from the back,wiping her hands on a towel.

‘Hello, dear,’ cautiously.‘What can I do for you?’

‘Hello, Winnie. I wondered if George was around. There’s something I need to ask him.’

Winnie’s face fell.‘He’s not here. Maybe I can help you?’

‘I’d really like to speak to him. Any idea where I can find him?’

The woman’s brow creased like an old glove as she shook her head.‘He’s gone, he don’t work for me no more and I haven’t seen him in over a week.’

‘Oh?’

‘We had a row, a week ago last Saturday it was. I wanted him up early to get things ready for the market, but he was out till four or five o’clock the night before, doing goodness knows what. He said some wicked things and walked out. I haven’t seen him since. What is it you want to ask him? Is he in trouble?’

‘I don’t know.We got some reports that someone was watching us when we were digging up the railway bank, from across the other side, in one of the gardens. Whoever it was was smoking drugs, and now we’ve learned that it was George.’

Winnie nodded resignedly.‘Dat don’t surprise me.The drugs, I mean. He wasn’t even tryin’ to hide it from me no more. And it’s true, for over a month now he’s been disappearing for hours at

a time, just when I need him.’

‘Why would he spy on us? There wasn’t much to see.’

‘Once, when I asked him where he’d been, he said I wasn’t the only one prepared to pay for his services.’

‘Any idea who he’d be working for?’

The old lady shrugged as if to suggest the worst.‘All I can tell you is that one of my friends in the market said the other day that she’d seen him with some girl. Maybe he’s staying there. I don’t know. She lives over the laundrette in Cove Street, back of the tyre place, you know?’

Kathy knew very well from their abortive raids on Mr Teddy Vexx. She hurried back to her car and drove to Cove Street, then turned into the laneway that led past the tyre yard. From there she could see the back of the block of shops and laundrette. Stairs led to an open access gallery to the flats above. There were lights on in one and Kathy was about to get out when its front door opened and a young woman,heavily wrapped against the cold,manoeuvred a child’s pushchair out onto the deck.She reached back into the flat to turn the light off, then carefully locked the front door with three separate keys before pushing the chair towards the stairs. Kathy guessed that there was no one left in the flat, and stayed where she was as the girl struggled down the stairs. Kathy realised why it was such an effort when she emerged into the lane and Kathy saw that the pushchair was a double one,with a pair of little pink hats visible under the hood. Kathy locked her car and followed.