Blood Brothers (24 page)

DCI Jackson strode off towards his office, leaving Barnard leaning against the corridor wall feeling breathless. He wondered where Kate was if she was already talking to sergeant Vic Copeland and he was filled with foreboding at the thought, although he knew that if he ignored Jackson’s instruction not to interfere he would be in deep trouble. He thumped the wall in frustration and decided that he could not hang about waiting. He would leave Kate to the tender mercies of Vic Copeland, because he had no choice, but in the meantime he would make some inquiries of his own.

He drove as fast as he dared up Regent Street and along New Oxford Street and High Holborn before turning down a short steep street which delivered him to the lower level road which undercut Holborn Viaduct. He was in the City now, not far from the nick where Vic Copeland had taken him to the drunken party a few nights before. He knew that technically he had no jurisdiction here, but when he presented his Metropolitan Police warrant card at the reception desk at Bart’s the young woman made no objection. She consulted lists and then said Ward Seven. ‘He came in last night from Casualty for Professor Nixon to have a look at. He specializes in head injuries.’

‘Thanks, love,’ Barnard said and took the long corridor indicated to Price’s ward. The swing doors opened almost noiselessly and a nurse engaged in paperwork at a desk looked up in surprise but also nodded obligingly when he showed her his warrant.

‘Third bed on the left,’ she said, pointing to one of the high beds where most patients appeared to be hitched up to drips and oxygen and machinery which Barnard did not even recognize. ‘Not that you’ll get anything out of him. He’s still unconscious.’

In fact Barnard could see that very few of the ward’s patients seemed to be conscious, most were swathed in bandages and staff were obviously busy with someone who was concealed behind drawn curtains. The bed the nurse at the door had indicated contained a motionless body, head heavily bandaged, eyes closed and with an oxygen mask covering most of his face.

Barnard glanced round for the nearest nurse who looked surprised to see him. ‘Has he come round at all?’ he asked.

‘No,’ the nurse said. ‘He’s fractured his skull in two places. Hairline fractures but not good. Are you a relative?’

‘Police,’ Barnard said.

‘It’s touch and go,’ the nurse said, with the faintest of shrugs. ‘He may never come round at all. On the other hand he might be chatting me up tomorrow, like most of them do.’

‘Were you on duty when he was brought in?’

‘Yes, he wasn’t transferred until about ten o’clock this morning. Professor Nixon operated earlier to stop the internal bleeding.’ She shrugged slightly, glancing at another patient who was sitting up in bed and waving feebly at her. ‘I’ll be with you in a second, Mr French,’ she said.

‘Just one more thing,’ Barnard said before she could turn away. ‘When he was brought in did he have anything with him? A bag, a briefcase? We want to know whether he was robbed.’

‘There’s a hospital bag in the locker which I think has just got his clothes in,’ she said. ‘Have a look if you like.’ And she turned on her heel to attend to the vocal patient behind her.

Barnard opened the locker and found a large brown paper bag containing what was obviously Price’s clothes, dirty and torn and in some cases carrying traces of blood. But as far as Barnard could see there was nothing else there, certainly nothing which could contain what he imagined would be a bulky collection of Kate’s photographs. Just to be sure he went through all Price’s pockets but found nothing more significant than a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, a crumpled handkerchief, his wallet and some change – so this wasn’t a robbery, he thought – and in the inside pocket of his jacket a piece of thick paper folded over tightly into a wad. But it was photographic paper, he quickly realized with some excitement as he flattened it out carefully on the blankets of Price’s bed. He looked in astonishment at a page of contact prints with a cross or a tick against each picture and a message in what he guessed was Kate’s handwriting asking Price to confirm which ones he wanted enlarged and printed. Barnard let out his breath in a low whistle.

If Carter Price had been carrying pictures or negatives they had obviously disappeared but this crumpled record of at least some of the photographs Kate had taken had survived against the odds. He refolded the document, put it in his pocket and glanced at Price’s motionless form and left the ward quickly. Back in his car he could not resist pulling it out of his pocket again and spreading it out on the steering wheel. It was not, he quickly realized to his relief, a record of pictures taken outside Ma Robertson’s house in Bethnal Green but of some previous day’s work south of the river. To his relief he knew that he would not appear in any of these pictures, most of which seemed to have been taken outside a pub near the Thames. But Reg Smith was in there and so was Ray Robertson and another man Barnard did not recognize. And if it told Barnard anything at all it was that Ray was still seeing Smith long after he had told him that he wasn’t. It told him that Fred Bettany had made a wise move, choosing to bail out before the going got too rough. It was just a pity he’d taken Shirley with him, Barnard thought with a wry smile. But he didn’t need that distraction anyway he told himself more soberly. What he needed to do now was find Kate O’Donnell very quickly and make sure she was safe. She may have known too much about the crimes Georgie Robertson was charged with for months but a day was too long for her to know too much about Reg Smith’s affairs. With Carter Price out of action, and quite possibly dying, she must by now be top of the gangster’s list of people to see.

B
arnard drove as fast as he dared down Oxford Street where the sales shoppers were spilling off the pavements into the paths of buses and cars and sat fuming in the usual jam at Marble Arch. Finally he cleared the congestion and put his foot down as far as Shepherd’s Bush. He glanced at his watch as he turned down Goldhawk Road. He knew Tess was a teacher and hoped that at four forty-five she would already be home. But he leaned on the doorbell for some time before anyone responded and when they did it was only to reveal a face in the narrow crack allowed by a security chain.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ Tess Farrell said, releasing the chain and opening the door. She was in a dressing gown, with a towel wrapped turban style around her head. ‘I hoped it was Kate, but I didn’t like to wash my hair without the chain on the door. I don’t think there’s anyone else in the house, and after what happened last night …’ She shrugged and Barnard took in how pale and anxious she looked.

‘Kate isn’t back yet?’ Barnard asked, his heart thumping.

‘I hoped she was with you,’ Tess said. ‘You’d better come in if you haven’t seen her yet.’ She led the way up the stairs to the first floor flat she shared with Kate and flung herself on to the sofa looking exhausted.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘We didn’t get a very good night’s sleep. We stayed with a friend. Kate didn’t want to sleep here. I think we were both thinking about what happened in Notting Hill.’

‘So what happened?’ Barnard asked. ‘I haven’t seen Kate today so tell me. What the hell is going on?’

Tess told him what had happened to Kate on the way home from work the previous evening and his face darkened as he listened. He glanced at his watch.

‘What time does she usually get home?’ he asked.

‘About six,’ Tess said.

‘Can I use your phone to ring the agency? If she’s not left yet I’ll go and pick her up.’

‘That would be good,’ Tess said.

But when Barnard spoke to Ken Fellows it was only to discover that Kate had already left. ‘Her contract with Carter Price has fallen apart so I told her to go early. She looked a bit shattered actually, but she just said she thought she was getting a cold.’ Fellows sounded as if he regretted this unusual act of kindness now it had been revealed.

‘Carter Price is in hospital at death’s door,’ Barnard said angrily. ‘He was attacked in the street last night.’

‘Jesus,’ Fellows said. ‘Does Kate know about this? She didn’t seem to when she came in this morning.’

‘She knows now,’ Barnard said. ‘One of my colleagues was talking to her earlier. Did she say she was going home when she left or what?’

‘She didn’t say anything,’ Fellows said. ‘Just thanks.’

‘Right, I’m with her flatmate now so we’ll wait for her to turn up.’

‘She shouldn’t be too long,’ Fellows said. ‘She left about four thirty. She said she wasn’t feeling good and she certainly looked as though she should be in bed.’

Barnard hung up and glanced at his watch. It was half past five. ‘She’s on her way,’ he said. ‘She should be here soon.’ He flung himself back against the sofa cushions and their eyes met for a moment in shared anxiety.

‘I’ll go and dry my hair,’ Tess said getting to her feet. ‘Make yourself a cup of coffee if you want to.’

Barnard shook his head and lit a cigarette instead. But he found he had smoked several more before seven as his mood had darkened from anxiety to serious concern. Kate, he thought, was almost certainly not coming home. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said to Tess. ‘I’ll go back to the nick and put out a call for her.’

‘You think she’s really at risk?’ Tess whispered.

‘If someone wanted to get rid of Carter Price I think someone might be looking for Kate too,’ he said bluntly. ‘Let me know if she turns up back here, and I’ll keep in touch at my end. And don’t let anyone into the flat.’ He gave her the CID number and his own.

Tess gazed at him with tears in her eyes. ‘She can’t keep out of trouble, can she? What are we to do with her?’

Barnard shrugged, his eyes bleak, standing by the door. ‘I’ll find her,’ he said with far more confidence in his voice than he really felt. ‘I promise you I’ll find her.’ He let himself out quietly and went back to his car where he thumped the steering wheel in frustration. ‘I’ll tear this city apart if they’ve hurt a hair of her head,’ he muttered as he accelerated away from the kerb. ‘I’ll bloody swing for them.’

Barnard slept badly and went into the nick late after checking with Ken Fellows that Kate had not turned up at the picture agency that morning. Seriously worried now, he hardly noticed as he went into the CID office and hung up his coat that he was attracting one or two curious looks as he made his way to his desk. But terrified for Kate he thought no more about them as he checked out the night’s reports terrified that more bodies – and in particular one body – might have been found dumped somewhere in the city overnight. What made him most afraid was the fact that Kate did not seem to have tried to contact him after her interview with Copeland, who was nowhere to be seen this morning. But he was not to be left with his anxieties for long. Before he had chance to set in place the procedures for an official effort to trace her, DS Vic Copeland came into the CID office looking grim and beckoned Barnard peremptorily.

‘The DCI wants to see you, mate,’ he said. Barnard took a deep breath and then decided to say nothing. He followed Copeland in silence to Jackson’s office where the DCI was as usual sitting behind a pristine desk, with a single file in front of him. He did not ask Barnard to sit down although Copeland took a chair to one side of him, placed strategically to give the impression that in whatever discussion was about to take place he was not on Barnard’s side.

‘Guv?’ Barnard asked uneasily.

‘I have been asked by Assistant Commissioner Amis to launch an inquiry into your relationship with Ray Robertson and associated criminal elements.’ Jackson’s expression was emotionless but Barnard felt his stomach lurch as Copeland, sitting out of Jackson’s direct eyeline, allowed himself a very satisfied smirk.

Barnard opened his mouth to protest but Jackson waved him down before he got a word out.

‘Before I suspend you from duty while this inquiry proceeds, AC Amis wanted me to question you immediately about some recent events to which Sergeant Copeland here can bear direct witness. Are you willing to consent to that in the interests of preventing what we believe is a major criminal conspiracy? It would obviously assist your defence in any subsequent proceedings.’

Barnard took a deep breath. ‘What exactly does AC Amis want to know?’ he asked, his own voice sounding strange to him, as if echoing in a large empty room rather than the stuffy office they were in. Jackson glanced at Copeland and indicated that he should continue.

‘We are looking for Fred Bettany urgently,’ Copeland said. ‘We are concerned for his safety. We know you visited his house before he and his wife left. Two questions. Did you warn him that AC Amis’s inquiries were coming to a successful conclusion? And do you know where he and his wife have gone?’

The questions took Barnard by surprise. He had known that ever since he arrived Copeland had been watching his movements but he had no idea he had been followed to Hampstead when he went to see Fred at home that last time. And the thought that the couple might not have had the chance to take themselves off to warmer and safer climes shook him. ‘I’ve no idea where they’ve gone,’ he said. ‘He certainly didn’t confide in me. But it was obvious when I went to talk to him that something serious had spooked him. He’d had enough and wanted to get out.’

‘Did he say where he was going specifically?’

‘Just abroad,’ Barnard said. ‘I got the impression he was in a hurry though. He didn’t want to hang around.’

‘Why did you go to talk to him in the first place?’ Jackson snapped. ‘Were you acting as a messenger boy for your friend Robertson?’

‘Certainly not. I’d been trying to persuade Ray Robertson that it was a very bad idea to get involved with Reg Smith and his mob from south of the river. Ray seemed to have backed off but I wasn’t sure. I went to see Fred to try to find out what exactly was going on. And to see if he could persuade Ray to see sense.’

‘That’s bollocks,’ Copeland said. ‘You’re in with Robertson up to your neck. I’ve seen you myself going to his gym after you went to see Bettany. And then at his mother’s house. It’s perfectly obvious you’re working for him. If Bettany was having second thoughts about his boss, you were sent there to persuade him to stick with it and then to report back to Robertson and his friends. There’s no other explanation.’