The Informant (32 page)

Bradley held out his hands in supplication. ‘It wasn’t us, I swear.’

But even as he spoke Bradley was thinking of Turnbull. Was he up to something? With Turnbull you could never tell.

Kaz’s tears were flowing now but she ignored them. ‘Remember what you said to me on the phone? Or were you too pissed?’

He turned away, ashamed. ‘I was pissed but I didn’t mean—’

‘You said the fact I’d talked to you lot could be used against me. Next thing Sean’s after me and he’s accusing me of offering to grass him up. Don’t take a genius
to work out who told him, does it?’

Bradley shook his head. ‘Whatever Sean found out, it didn’t come from us.’

Helen took two steps across the floor until she and Bradley were face to face. ‘Let’s see if I’m understanding this. You thought it was a legitimate tactic to put pressure on
my client by threatening her with Sean Phelps?’

‘Yeah, well sort of.’ Bradley sighed. ‘But it was just that – an empty threat. We didn’t actually do anything.’

Kaz hugged the duvet around her. She wiped away the tears with her hand. ‘He’s fucking lying. Look at him. Get him out of here, will you?’

Bradley tried to edge round Helen. She was standing, arms folded, making sure he kept his distance. He tried to get Kaz to meet his gaze, but she wouldn’t. ‘Karen please . . .
you’ve got to believe me. If Sean Phelps did this to you, I’ll go and arrest him myself.’

Kaz sniffed wearily. ‘You’ll have to find him first.’

‘I can do that.’

‘He’ll have a lawyer and a rock-solid alibi. Anyway, I ain’t making a complaint, there’s no point.’

Helen and Bradley exchanged looks. She felt torn. Bradley was offering a solution of sorts to this mess. She moved towards Kaz.

‘Listen to me Karen. If what you say about the threats is true, then I’m going to the IPCC. No question. In the meantime, a crime has been committed and Sean needs to be
arrested.’

Kaz looked up at them both. Helen, her brow furrowed with anxiety, Bradley, gazing at her like a sad puppy.

‘You two make me laugh. I don’t know what world you’re living in, but it ain’t the same as mine. You nick Sean, his lawyer’ll have him out, couple of days tops. You
know that Helen. Then what do you think he’s gonna do? He’ll come looking for me again – and I don’t think I’ll be getting off with a beating.’

Bradley was shaking his head. ‘We can protect you. We’ve got safe houses, a witness protection scheme . . .’

Kaz laughed drily. ‘I just got out of jail. I don’t fancy going back.’

Helen returned to the sofa. She sat down on the end of it, put her hand on Kaz’s good ankle.

‘What are you going to do then?’

Kaz shrugged. ‘Do what the doctor said, rest up, get better.’

Bradley shovelled his hands in his pockets, strolled over to the window. Lights were now twinkling in the buildings on the far bank. He was annoyed, he was being made to feel responsible for
something that wasn’t his fault.

‘It’s obvious what she’s going to do. Well isn’t it?’

Kaz fixed him with a hard stare, Bradley returned it. Any softness had gone from his features. He felt sorry for her, she looked a mess. But he had a job to do. People had been murdered, there
was still the question of justice, not to mention the law. And the law was what he’d sworn to uphold.

‘You got a choice here Karen. Trouble is you don’t want the hassle and the difficulty of doing the right thing, acting within the law, do you? So you’re going to leave it to
Joey. Let him sort out your little problem for you, deal with Sean his way. Even if that makes you an accessory to murder. But hey, you’ll probably get away with it. And anyway Sean deserves
it, right?’

He pulled a business card from his inside pocket and dropped it on the kitchen counter.

‘You have a change of heart, call me. I can’t guarantee we’ll succeed in putting Sean away, but you’ll have done the right thing. That’s got to be the way you get
your life back surely.’

He gave them a thin smile and headed out. They heard the front door close behind him.

Kaz glanced at Helen, she raised her eyebrows and sighed. Kaz pulled the duvet up to her chin. ‘Pompous prick.’

Joey Phelps strode through the doors from Customs at Gatwick’s North Terminal carrying a light leather holdall. Ashley was two paces behind. The flight from Amsterdam had
been subject to a three-hour delay, some kind of security alert, which hadn’t improved Joey’s temper. Many flights had been disrupted and the Arrivals Hall was crowded and chaotic.
Yevgeny was waiting behind the barrier in a crush of bored taxi drivers and anxious relatives. Joey scanned the crowd, their eyes met and Joey gave him a curt nod. Yevgeny pushed his way forward,
took the holdall and they headed for the short-stay car park.

As Yevgeny waited in the long queue at the ticket machine, Joey became increasingly impatient. Finally he snapped, barged in front of an elderly man who was taking an age to work out what to put
in which slot.

‘Sorry mate, bit of an emergency here. Yev!’

Yevgeny stepped up, slotted his ticket and some coins in the machine.

A woman two places behind them in the queue started to object. Her tone was upper class and commanding. ‘Well, if everyone jumped the queue there’d be anarchy.’

Joey turned, in less than a second he was in her face. He towered over her.

‘You talking to me love? ’Cause if you want a bit of anarchy, I can certainly arrange that for you.’

Ashley was at his elbow. ‘C’mon Joe, leave it. We don’t want no trouble.’

Joey continued to fix the woman with a cold, intimidating stare until he was satisfied that she was scared stiff. Then he turned abruptly away, following Yevgeny across the car park.

Ash glanced at the woman. ‘Sorry. He’s had a bad day.’

She pulled out her mobile, her hand was shaking. ‘I’m calling the police.’

Ashley sighed and trotted after the other two. Yevgeny clicked the door lock to the Range Rover, Joey climbed into the front passenger seat and folded his arms.

‘Fucking security alerts. And what is the government doing about these bloody terrorists? They should stand ’em all up against a wall and shoot ’em. I’d do it for
’em if they asked for volunteers.’

The Range Rover navigated the tight turns of the exit ramp and emerged from the multi-storey car park into darkness and rain. The wipers started to slap across the windscreen.
Joey glanced at Yevgeny.

‘You track him down then?’

The Russian nodded. Joey checked his watch.

‘How long?’

‘Satnav say one hour fifteen minute.’

Joey folded his arms and settled against the headrest. ‘Maybe I can get a bit of kip then.’

He closed his eyes. The Range Rover negotiated two roundabouts then headed south on the M23. Low cloud made the night very black, the taillights ahead of them were red pinpricks, the glare of
oncoming headlights spiked and refracted in the rain.

Ashley sat with his feet up in the back. For an instant he caught Yevgeny’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. The Russian was alert and ready, every inch the professional soldier. He might not
wear a uniform any more, but he remained focused and disciplined. Ashley understood why Joey relied on him so much nowadays, but it still left him feeling a little jealous.

An hour down the road and several miles from their destination Yevgeny pulled into a lay-by. The rain had eased off and a waxing crescent moon could be glimpsed behind scudding clouds. Joey had
been heavily asleep for the whole journey, his breathing low and steady. Ashley put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Joe.’

Joey opened his eyes, blinked, rubbed his face.

Yevgeny got out of the car, went to the boot and returned with a small backpack. He opened it and pulled out a pistol. It was the latest version of the Russian SPS, a powerful and deadly handgun
capable of penetrating most Kevlar vests not to mention titanium plate. Yevgeny looked it over with an expert eye and loaded a clip. He glanced at Joey. ‘You want me to do this?’

Joey shot him a look. ‘Nah. I can manage.’

Yevgeny handed Joey the gun, reached into the backpack and brought out a pair of latex gloves. Joey took them.

‘Hope you haven’t got the powdered ones. They make me itch.’

Yevgeny shook his head. ‘No powder.’

Joey glanced from him to Ashley. ‘Don’t know what you two’re looking so fucking gloomy about. This is the fun part.’

Ashley gave him a half smile. ‘Don’t enjoy it too much, ’cause we don’t want no forensics.’

Joey huffed. ‘I know. I’ll put on the plastic suit and the hat. Happy?’

Ashley nodded.

The Range Rover pulled up across the street from a small parade of shops. Yevgeny indicated some steps at the side of the building leading to the flats above. ‘Up there. Number
four.’

Joey put the beanie hat on, pulling it low over his forehead and ears. The plastic suit was white, disposable, polyethylene coated. Joey zipped it up to his chin. ‘Anyone sees me,
they’ll think I’m a right prat.’

Ashley was wearing the ghost of a smile. ‘That’s the idea.’

Joey slipped the SPS into the pocket slot at his hip, got out of the car and trotted across the road. He mounted the steps three at a time. As he went along the walkway in front of the flats he
drew on the latex gloves.

The door to number four was half glazed and Joey could see a faint glimmer of light through the frosted glass. He rang the bell, waited. A shadowy figure appeared behind the glass, the voice was
anxious.

‘Who is it?’

‘Joey. Joey Phelps. Come on mate, let me in. I’m freezing my nuts off out here.’

The door opened a crack on the chain. Dave Harper had seen pictures of Joey, family snaps of the Phelps clan that Glynis had shown him, but they’d never actually met. He stared at Joey for
a moment, Joey beamed back.

‘Open up Dave, I need a word.’

Dave peered at him from behind rimless glasses. ‘You on your own?’

‘’Course I am.’

‘You know he’s got Glynis?’

‘That’s what I’m here about.’

The door shut followed by a rasping as the chain was unhooked. Then it opened wide. Dave Harper was short, a small paunch hanging over his trousers and large dark eyes blinking rapidly behind
his glasses. He was as unlike Sean Phelps as it was possible to be, which, Joey figured, must be the attraction as far as Glynis was concerned.

Joey followed Dave down the short hallway to the living room.

‘Nice place. Cosy.’

Dave glanced over his shoulder. Joey was wearing a white plastic suit, which struck him as decidedly odd, but it seemed rude to comment.

‘Comes with the job. Bookies is downstairs. You want a cup of tea or something?’

‘Nah, you’re all right. This won’t take long.’

They reached the sitting room. Dave picked up the remote to turn off the television. It was a football match, a UEFA friendly between Brazil and Ukraine. They were already into injury time and
things weren’t looking good for Ukraine.

Joey glanced at the screen. ‘Leave that mate. In fact turn it up a bit.’

Dave looked at him. ‘Thought you wanted a word.’

Joey pulled the SPS out of his pocket.

‘Not really. As I said, turn it up.’

Dave’s eyes widened, his nervous fingers fumbled on the volume control button as he stared at the gun in disbelief. ‘I don’t get it. Glynis said you wanted to help
us.’

Joey held the gun at waist height, his grip was easy, his hand steady as a rock. ‘My sister wanted to help you and I went along with it. But you should’ve got on that plane to Ibiza
mate. I had everything worked out nicely. You missing that plane has caused me no end of stress.’

Dave took off his glasses, wiped his hand over his sweaty face.

‘We was packed and ready to go. Then Glynis got a call. It was her next-door neighbour from the old place. He kept an eye on things for her. He said the alarm was going off and he sounded
really anxious.’

Joey shook his head and tutted. ‘What? And it didn’t occur to you two fucking knuckleheads that it was Sean?’

‘Oh yeah Glynis knew. But she was worried about her neighbour. Poor old boy has terrible arthritis and his wife’s in a wheelchair. They’d been really good to Glynis. She was
scared Sean’d hurt them if she didn’t go back. I begged her not to go.’

‘She should’ve listened to you.’

‘She didn’t want them to suffer because of her.’

Joey sighed. ‘Ironic really, ’cause it means you’re gonna suffer instead.’

Dave was shaking, the sweat trickling from his receding hairline down his forehead. ‘Don’t shoot me Joey, I’m begging you. I’ll do whatever you want. Go to Ibiza, stay
here, disappear, whatever. You just say.’

Joey gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘That’s all very well Dave and I appreciate the offer. But what I want now is for you to be dead, so that when your body’s found
there’s a good chance the old bill’ll go knocking at Sean’s door. Sorry mate. You seem to me like a decent bloke, so I’ll make it quick and clean.’

Dave fell to his knees, sobs racked his body. He crawled towards Joey. ‘No please, I’m begging you . . .’

Joey extended his arm, took aim. ‘Keep still and look up.’

Dave’s dark myopic gaze met his. Joey could see the fear, smell it, it was exhilarating. He squeezed the trigger. The gun’s report coincided with the final whistle and cheering fans
on the television. The bullet struck Dave squarely in the front of the forehead, his eyes froze in shock as it passed through his brain and blew off the back of his head. Blood and brains exploded
over the sofa, carpet and wall behind him.

Joey lowered his arm with a satisfied grin. As the body slowly came to rest in a heap on the floor, he glanced around. He hadn’t touched anything. The blood spray had missed him, and any
tiny particles would’ve hit his disposable boiler suit. He slotted the gun into his pocket and headed for the door.

The sense of elation he felt was like no other experience in his life. He wanted to join the Brazilian fans on the telly and shout with joy, he restrained himself. Tonight it was business. This
killing was a strategic move, but it was also a pleasure, one day Kaz would understand that. It was the key to any kind of real success in the world. Natural selection, ensuring the fittest
survived. And Joey knew he was special. He’d never suffered from the maelstrom of debilitating emotions that seemed to paralyse most people. He could always stand back, remain detached and
see the bigger picture. It was a huge advantage.